#hey it's the lines from the theme song

[ponysongbracket]

Brony Song Tournament

Please listen to both songs (at least in part) before voting

A Beautiful Heart

Faithful and Strong - (Discorded Applejack's Song)

[astraystayyh]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[winxanity-ii]

LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

ship: fashion designer!gojo x fem!model!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimualtion; p in v ; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 6.6k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀) A/N: Hey, bubbly-bear! just wanted to let you know i've moved from my my alt account to my main one, so i'm posting your request here…

Request:Hello! I had a lil gojo x reader idea but if you aren’t vibing with it please dont feel like you have to write it, or change it how you see fit! BUT I feel like Guess (ft. Billie E.) By Charlie xcx is so Gojo coded and I would love to see a fic based off of it if possible :)

p.s. mwaaaaahhhhh, thx you so much for being my first request, hope i did you justice 😩✨

This line from the song just stood out to me and i just had to write it:

I wanna try it, bite it, lick it, spit it Pull it to the side and get all up in it Kiss it, ride it, can I fit it?

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

"Turn your head like that—yes, perfect! Raise your chin a little more. Hold it!" The head photographer's voice cut through the organized chaos, every word precise and demanding. "Lighting! Can we adjust the back light, it's catching too much glare!" Another barked command as assistants scurried to fix the harsh spotlight casting an overexposed halo on you. "Makeup! Fix the lipstick; it's smudged." The pace had been relentless, as it always was on set. The camera had clicked, capturing each second of your endurance, but all you could focus on was the way your body ached.

Your feet, crammed into designer heels, screamed for relief, and your back burned from holding poses longer than it felt natural. You shifted your weight slightly, hoping no one noticed as the clicks of the camera went on like rapid fire.

"Alright, people, ten-minute break!" Finally, the head photographer clapped his hands, giving everyone the much-needed signal to stop.

A bell rang faintly in the background, and your shoulders slumped as you let out a groan.

You dropped the strained pose you had been holding for what felt like an eternity. You rolled your neck, feeling the tension snap and release in your joints.

The lights dimmed slightly as Kugisaki Nobara and Itadori Yuji sauntered over from the swimwear shoot, and you couldn't help but notice how their outfits screamed for attention—both in completely different ways.

Nobara was in a skimpy two-piece swimsuit, the top barely enough to cover her small bust, accentuating her slim waist. The delicate straps dug into her skin as she pulled at them, clearly annoyed, though the outfit highlighted her toned frame with every step she took.

The bottom piece clung to her hips, just barely covering enough to maintain some modesty, with high-cut sides that emphasized her long legs.

Despite the discomfort written across her face, Nobara moved with confidence, her slender figure not going unnoticed by the photographers still milling around.

She scrunched her nose. "This swimsuit is killing me," she muttered, fingers fidgeting with the ties around her waist. "Honestly, whose idea was it to make swimwear this uncomfortable?"

Yuji, in contrast, had an air of ease about him, rocking a pair of matching swim trunks that coordinated with Nobara's outfit—an intentional design that somehow made their shoot feel like a playful, couples-themed editorial.

His bare chest gleamed under the studio lights, each of his perfectly sculpted abs on display as though carved by a sculptor. His body was toned yet muscular, the kind of physique that didn’t need fancy clothes to stand out.

With sun-kissed skin and that infectious grin, Yuji could have made wearing anything look effortless.

"C'mon, Nobara, we don't have that much longer. Besides, you look great," Yuji said, his voice lighthearted as always.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, says the guy who could wear a trash bag and still smile like it's no big deal."

You let out a quiet chuckle as Yuji gave you a wink before being called away to review some of the shots. He shot you a playful smile over his shoulder as he walked off, his broad back flexing slightly under the pressure of moving around in the hot lights.

"Ugh, I swear, if Yuji keeps this up, I'm going to barf," Nobara muttered, shaking her head as she sidled up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.

The two of you made your way toward the refreshments table, where the scattered models and assistants buzzed like bees around a honey pot.

You could feel the material of your own outfit shift as you moved, the delicate knitted vest you wore slightly hugging your upper body. It was all part of the 'clean girl' aesthetic your stylist had chosen for you—a knitted cream-colored vest over a crisp white blouse, paired with a pleated schoolgirl skirt that swayed with every step.

It was simple, yet chic—the kind of outfit that made you feel both elegant and casual at the same time.

Yet, despite its light, airy look, the long hours standing in the heels were starting to make your feet scream. The snug fit of the vest only heightened the strain on your tired muscles, adding to the sense of exhaustion.

Nobara leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming as if she was about to share the juiciest tidbit of gossip she had yet. "So, did you hear about Kaori and that photographer? Apparently, they got caught in one of the back dressing rooms."

You raised a brow, barely hiding your amusement. "Kaori? The one who's been eyeing everyone since day one?."

"Oh, and you didn't hear this from me," Nobara continued, lowering her voice even more, "but Sumi told me that Yuji's been getting cozy with that new model, Megumi. You know, the quiet one? Well, they—"

You groaned, cutting her off. "Don't you ever get tired of knowing all the messy things?"

Nobara rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. "Never~" she said, before nodding toward the side entrance. Her voice took on a mischievous edge as she added, "Just like I know you never get tired of denying that your new stylist wants to fuck you."

You practically choked, your eyes widening as the words hit you. "W-What?" you sputtered, your face heating up. You let out a shaky laugh, then coughed, trying to gather yourself. "Stop saying that…"

Nobara's smirk only grew wider, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on. The man practically undresses you with his eyes every time he's around. You can't tell me you don't notice the way he looks at you. The man's got designs on more than just your clothes, babe."

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you averted your gaze, unsure how to respond.

It was hard to deny that your stylist's hands lingered just a bit too long during fittings, or that his gaze seemed a little too intense when he adjusted the fabrics on your body.

The clean, tailored looks he designed for you always felt more intimate than the pieces he created for other models. But surely, it was just part of his meticulous nature, right?

"I-It's just professional," you stammered, glancing down at the drink in your hand, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the growing knot in your stomach. "He's focused on the designs, Nobara. That's it."

Nobara snorted, giving you a knowing look. "Yeah, okay. If by ‘designs’ you mean figuring out how to get under your clothes, then sure. But I mean, I'm not complaining. If I were in your shoes, I'd fuck him."

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both, and you didn't need to look up to know who it was. You felt his presence before you saw him.

There, leaning casually against the side of the refreshment table, was Gojo Satoru, the man in question.

His signature smirk played on his lips as those piercing, ice-blue eyes of his scanned over you over his shades, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on your skirt.

"Ladies," Satoru drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too scandalous?"

Nobara raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing look before stepping back. "Oh no, nothing at all. We were just talking about your... designs," she said with a sly grin before stepping back. "Guess, I'll leave you two to it," she teased, nudging you as she walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone with him, heart racing as you met his eyes. His grin only widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"So..." Satoru murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in slightly. "Anything you'd like to confess?"

Your throat went dry, and you could only shake your head, praying that he hadn't overheard Nobara's playful remarks.

But judging by the gleam in his eyes, you had a feeling he probably had.

Your heart raced as you tried to compose yourself, swallowing back the nerves rising in your throat. You forced a smile, though it felt shaky at best. "I don't have anything to confess," you said, attempting to keep your voice light. "Is there anything you need help with?"

Satoru's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming as he straightened up, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "As a matter of fact," he drawled, "you could help me with something."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Before you could ask what he meant, two of Satoru's assistants appeared at his side, as if on cue, each one wearing the kind of professionalism that didn't quite mask the urgency in their steps.

Without explanation, they began to gently but firmly usher you toward the changing quarters.

"W-Wait—what's going on?" you stammered, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru, who followed behind leisurely, his long strides giving him an air of complete control. "Why am I changing? I thought my shoot was almost over?"

"Oh, nothing much," Satoru sing-songed, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "I just had a chat with the higher-ups about pushing up the date for a few of our theme releases. Ya'know, rearranging which models get which looks."

Your confusion only deepened, and you blinked owlishly, trying to make sense of his words as you were guided toward a small room at the end of the hallway. "But—what does that have to do with—"

You trailed off as you stepped into the changing room and saw the mannequin sitting in the center. It was draped in an outfit that made your breath catch in your throat. A short leather miniskirt, sleek and shimmering, paired with a crop bodycon top that clung to the mannequin’s torso like a second skin

The entire ensemble was a bold combination of black and silver, with metallic bangles adorning the arms and a choker embedded with silver and black accents.

But what truly caught your attention was the soft sheen of baby blue that ran through the outfit—a shade that was eerily similar to the blue of Satoru's eyes.

You stared at the outfit for a moment, taking in the platform boots that completed the look, their towering heels intimidating yet alluring. The whole ensemble screamed nightlife, clubbing, a world of flashing lights and pulsing music.

It was striking, to say the least.

The assistants wasted no time, setting down various items on a nearby table while preparing the room for your quick change. But you stood frozen, blinking again as realization slowly dawned.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an almost lazy amusement.

"You're joking," you muttered, half in disbelief.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

You glanced back at the mannequin, the black and silver catching the light in a way that made the outfit seem even more eye-catching.

The baby blue accents shimmered faintly, bringing your thoughts right back to Satoru, his confident smirk and those eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

The outfit looked like it had been designed for you—and only you.

The assistants were already moving around, gesturing for you to start changing, but your mind was still reeling. "You... moved up the schedule?"

"Had a feeling this look was perfect for you," Satoru said casually, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. "Wanted to see it on you sooner rather than later."

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest as you stared at the mannequin once more.

The way Satoru's gaze lingered on you sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if this entire thing had been orchestrated just for his amusement, his design, his vision.

The assistants handed you the top, a fitted crop that shimmered in the light, the baby blue accents standing out against the metallic silver.

You reluctantly grabbed it from them as they moved off to remove the other pieces from the mannequin.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened, and you couldn’t shake the tension prickling at the back of your neck.

You lifted your gaze only to find Satoru already staring at you, his eyes locked on yours in a way that made your breath hitch. You cleared your throat, your voice shaky as you tried to break the spell. "Shouldn't you leave? I need to change."

Instead of moving, his lips curved into that trademark smirk that always made your stomach flip. "I'll have to stay and oversee things. You know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I can swoop in and fix anything if needed."

Your face burned, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words lingered in the air.

You weren't naïve. You'd worked with dozens of stylists before, all of them meticulous, always staying to make sure the fit was perfect. But none of them ever made your skin tingle the way Satoru did.

None of them ever watched you like they were imagining a thousand different things beneath the clothes. And none of them ever made you feel like you were burning alive from the inside out with just a look.

Heart pounding, you turned away, hoping to escape his gaze. You began undressing, slipping out of your current outfit.

Each movement felt amplified, like you could feel the air around you, charged with tension. You reached behind yourself, trying to steady your breathing as you fumbled with the zipper.

You could practically feel his eyes on you, mapping out your body, lingering on every curve as if he could see right through the fabric.

Your skin prickled, the sensation of his gaze making it hard to even think straight. Every breath felt labored, every second stretched too long.

As you reached behind to unclip your bralette, your fingers trembling slightly, you felt a pair of hands cover yours—large, warm, and deliberate.

The shock froze you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

"Allow me to help you with that…" His voice was low, velvety, and it sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

The world narrowed to that moment, the heat of his presence overwhelming your senses. His fingers gently brushed against yours as he unhooked your bralette, the touch feather-light but filled with an unspoken promise.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the room suddenly too small, too hot, with Satoru towering behind you, his hands so close, too close.

Every nerve in your body screamed in protest, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest as a low pulse of desire curled through your veins.

His hands slid away as he stepped back, giving you room, but the mark of his touch lingered long after he'd let go.

It left you breathless, the space between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air.

Satoru's smirk never wavered, his eyes still locked onto yours in the reflection of the mirror. "There..." he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "...All done."

You stuttered out a soft, breathless, "Thank you," barely able to get the words out before Satoru turned on his heel. His presence seemed to consume the room, but as he barked an order to one of his assistants, the pressure finally lifted.

"Adjust the lighting for the next setup! And I want the backdrop changed in five minutes!" Satoru's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. With one last glance over his shoulder at you, he strode away, leaving the room in a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as he was gone, it felt like you could finally breathe again. The air in the room cooled, the weight of his lingering presence fading, though not entirely.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the leather skirt up over your hips, the fabric snug against your skin. Satoru's assistant helped you with the bodycon top, tugging it into place, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric as it clung to your curves.

The outfit was bold—almost too bold—but it fit like a second skin, highlighting every line of your body in the way only Satoru's designs could.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of camera clicks, flashing lights, and endless posing. Hours slipped by, the sun gradually lowering as the shoot continued, stretching longer than expected.

Nanami Kento, the photographer overseeing everything, was a perfectionist. His no-nonsense attitude left no room for error, and his eye for detail was unmatched.

He had insisted on waiting for the natural dusk light, arguing that it would complement the metallic sheen of your outfit and bring out the best in the overall composition.

You had worked with Kento before. His bluntness and unwavering pursuit of perfection made him a tough taskmaster, but he was one of the best in the industry.

Shoots paired with him always led to increased success. His images captured not just the clothes, but the mood, the essence of the model wearing them.

He and Satoru were at the top of their game right now, the dynamic power duo behind many successful campaigns, and you couldn't deny how they both pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

"…And… that's a wrap!" Kento's voice finally cut through the endless camera clicks, sharp and definitive. The faint ring of a bell followed, signaling the end of the shoot.

You exhaled a long, relieved breath, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders.

The shoot had taken the remainder of the day, from midday to the last golden rays of dusk.

The combination of Satoru's exacting demands—making you pose in just the right way to show off the outfit—and Kento's insistence on perfect lighting meant you'd spent hours standing, twisting, and holding uncomfortable poses.

The tightness in your back and shoulders made it clear how long you had been at it. Your feet ached in the platform boots, and your muscles screamed for rest.

As the assistants began to pack away the equipment, the space slowly emptied out. The other models and staff had long since finished their own shoots and left, leaving only you and a skeleton crew behind.

The studio, once alive with chaos, was now eerily quiet, the low hum of final tasks being completed the only sound in the background.

You peeled yourself away from the set and made your way back to the dressing room, feeling the tightness of the leather skirt with every step.

The corridors were deserted now, with most of the team having wrapped up hours ago. The silence was almost jarring after the noise and flurry of the day.

You were exhausted, every muscle in your body protesting as you moved.

Finally, you reached your dressing room, the door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The sight of the empty space—the vanity mirror now bare, clothes and shoes scattered—was a welcome relief.

The day had been long, but now you could unwind.

As you closed the door behind you, the quiet settled over you like a blanket, offering you the peace you desperately needed.

You stumbled into the room, barely keeping yourself upright as exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Practically dead on your feet, you began peeling off the clothes that had felt glued to your body for the last several hours.

The crop top slipped off first, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

You didn't care where it landed as you walked over to the couch in the center of the room, facing a large squared mirror. Each step felt like a weight being lifted from your sore muscles.

A cool draft brushed against your bare torso, making you shiver slightly as it passed over the sheen of sweat from the long day. Your fingers worked at the accessories next, unfastening the bangles around your wrists and dropping them carelessly.

The metal clanked against the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space. You massaged your sore wrists, the cool air soothing the raw skin where the jewelry had pressed tight against you.

Your fingers then moved to the choker at your neck, tugging it free and letting it fall beside the rest, relieved to feel the soft touch of air against your throat.

Your mind began to drift, wandering somewhere far away from the chaos of the day. You thought about what you'd do when you got home.

Maybe snack on those yogurt bites you found at the grocery store earlier that week. Or maybe you can finally binge-watch that series you'd been meaning to catch up on.

The thought made you feel a little lighter.

Hell, you can even spend tomorrow doing absolutely nothing, you have nothing booked!

You were right in the middle of imagining your lazy day ahead, fingers working the clasp of your bralette, when the door creaked open behind you.

"Hey! I'm—" Your arms instinctively rose to catch your slipping bra before it could fall completely. Your heart raced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

You looked up at the large mirror in front of you, eyes wide, only to lock gazes with Satoru, lounging casually against the doorway as if he had all the time in the world.

"—undressing," you finished, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

Satoru's lips curved into a faint smirk, his gaze shameless as it raked over your disheveled appearance. He tilted his head slightly, looking over his shades at the scattered accessories and top on the floor. "You know," he said, his voice light with a playful edge, "you really shouldn't leave my designs lying around like that. It's almost disrespectful."

For a moment, you thought he'd bend down to pick up the items—his creations, after all. But instead, he strolled right past them, making his way toward you.

Your breath hitched, your body freezing in place as his steps closed the distance between you.

Satoru's eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were darker now, more intense as they followed the lines of your form.

He moved with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. And as he reached your side, standing just behind you, his presence loomed, filling the small space with the heat of his gaze.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the cool draft that had once been a relief now doing little to cool the flush rising across your skin.

Satoru stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him making the cool draft on your bare skin feel like a distant memory. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small room until all you could focus on was the warmth seeping from him and the way his gaze lingered on your reflection in the mirror.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, almost idle, "a lot of my best designs… they're not the ones I spend weeks perfecting." His words drifted through the air like a secret. He raised a hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against the faint indents the choker had left on your neck. The touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. "No… the ones that really stand out," he continued, "are the ones that light up in my mind every time you fall into my vision."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in closer, his chest now just inches from your back.

The heat from his body wrapped around you like a second skin, and you watched him through the mirror, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

His hand, warm and deliberate, trailed slowly down your arm, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt both comforting and dangerous.

"You're my muse," he said, almost as if speaking to himself, lost in the thought. "Every second I spend watching you, seeing you wear my designs, it's nothing but inspiration." His hand continued to drift lower, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding back up, pulling you just slightly, coaxing your body into his.

Your breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale as you were drawn back against him, the solid warmth of his chest pressing into your bare back.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, watching the scene unfold before you—his hand resting lightly on your waist, his eyes tracing the outline of your form as if committing every curve, every inch of you, to memory.

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your ear, and it made your head spin, your thoughts running wild.

"Every touch," he murmured, his lips brushing just above your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every glance…" His voice dropped, becoming something darker, heavier. "I can't stop thinking about how perfectly you fit into my designs. Like you were made for them—or maybe… they were made for you."

His hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you watched him in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat. Then, his lips ghosted over your ear again, the warmth of his breath making you tremble as he purred, "But you know… I keep thinking about something else…"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt him shift closer, his chest now flush against your back. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and almost suffocating, and yet you couldn't pull away—you didn't want to.

His hands pressed against your waist as he lowered his voice to something almost sinful. "…How perfectly you'll fit around me."

The words slipped from his lips, dripping with raw, undeniable desire, every word reverberating through your skin, hitting you like a tidal wave. Your breath stilled in your lungs, heat coursing through your body as your mind raced.

Wait a minute—what's… b-but—

His arms tightened around you as his mouth hovered near your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you feel it too," he groaned, his voice low, growling with need as his fingers dug into your hips. "Tell me you want it… just as badly as I do."

Finally, your mouth seemed to catch up with your thoughts. "S-Satoru—"

Your voice once again falls away as Satoru's arms tightened around you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly, pressing into your back, his grip around your waist possessive, firm.

Then, in a voice so raw, so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered, "Can I... have you?"

The words tumbled from his lips in a near whimper, laden with a hunger that bordered on pleading. His breath hitched, his forehead brushing against the back of your neck as if even he was losing control of the space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind trying to process everything, yet failing to hold onto any coherent thought. His words, the way they sounded so needy, left you breathless.

You watched him in the mirror, his reflection almost ghostly in the low light of the room. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as they lingered on your form, and his lips, parted slightly, looked dangerously close to speaking something sinful, something that would push you over the edge.

The room was silent except for his panting breaths in your ear. You could feel his need in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly into your skin.

"Say yes..." he breathed, his voice low and pleading, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat with every soft, almost teasing touch. "Please... just say yes."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place as your mind blocking out everything else but Satoru.

The sound of him, the feel of him, the way his voice came out in that almost whimpering tone—it consumed you, leaving no room for anything else but him.

Finally, a breathless, barely audible "yes" escaped your lips, the word trembling from your mouth like a whimper, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of the moment.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Satoru. His wicked smirk grew, a gleam in his eyes as he dipped his head lower, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before dragging his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your skin.

The heat of his breath against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine, making your entire body tense.

"Good girl~" he purred softly into your ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even catch your breath, he pulled you down onto the couch, his movements fluid and effortless. You landed in his lap, your back pressed firmly against his chest, legs bent and pulled up on either side of him, facing the mirror.

our thighs immediately began to burn from the stretch, the leather skirt you wore sliding up all the way, exposing the lace underwear beneath—the same light blue that matched the bralette you'd worn earlier.

The delicate fabric contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment, and your face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes caught the sight of a small wet patch there.

Your heart raced as you tried instinctively to close your legs, but before you could, he gently tapped your thighs with his fingers, his smirk never faltering. "Aht aht," he scolded lightly, his tone playful but firm, making it clear that he was in control.

His arms slid under your legs, lifting them slightly and pulling them farther apart.

The stretch made you gasp, thighs burning as he forced you all the way back against his chest, your body now fully reclined into him.

His grip was strong but not painful, holding you in place as his breath ghosted over the side of your face.

In the mirror, you saw it all—your legs spread wide, your flushed face, and Satoru's darkened gaze fixed on you, his expression one of total control. His was voice, low and teasing, rumbling against your ear. "Look at you... perfect," he murmured, holding you tightly against him, his arms securing you in place, his presence overwhelming.

The reflection showed more than just your vulnerability—it was the power he had over you, and the way he reveled in every second of it.

Satoru's left hand slowly trailed down your body, his touch feather-light at first, but purposeful. The cool air kissed your skin as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, his hand pressing firmly against your most sensitive spot without pulling the fabric to the side.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and your entire body tensed as his fingers began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles along your slit, teasing and drawing out every bit of tension you’d been holding inside.

His fingers trailed gently up and down, gliding over your skin as if he were mapping you out, testing your every reaction. He found your clit with ease, rubbing small, teasing circles that sent jolts of heat through you, the slow rhythm making it impossible to think straight.

Your thighs twitched, the stretch around him making the sensation even more intense. The heat of embarrassment flooded through you as your body reacted, and when you turned your face away, unable to watch the reflection of what he was doing to you.

Satoru clicked his tongue softly in disapproval. "Uh-uh," he murmured, his voice dark with command. "Eyes on the mirror. Watch what I do to you."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the mirror.

His hand kept moving, the slow rhythm intensifying, the way he touched you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. His reflection was smug, pleased, as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open and focused on what he was doing.

It was an order, and disobeying felt impossible.

When his finger slipped inside you, your body jolted slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke inside you making it harder to think.

One became two, both pumping in and out of your clenching heat with a slow, deep rhythm. He kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place against his chest as he worked his fingers deeper.

His breath was hot against your ear as his grip on your body tightened, his voice a low groan as he spoke. "You know what I can't wait to do?" His words sent a new rush of heat through you, and he chuckled softly at your reaction. "I can't wait to taste you... spend hours learning every inch of my muse's body. Watching you come undone again and again and again."

The promise in his voice made your mind reel, the intensity of his touch and his words leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as your pulse raced.

A particularly well-angled thrust had your back arching, a breathy moan slipping free. "That's it..." he praised, curling his fingers so they can brush against your G-spot again. "You're so wet for me... So responsive."

His thumb joined the fray, rubbing firmer circles over your clit that had your hips rolling mindlessly to meet his touch. He worked you higher and higher, stoking the flames of your pleasure until you were teetering right on the edge.

And still, he demanded you watch. Compelled you to observe the wanton display you made, his dark gaze devouring you from over your shoulder.

"Come for me," Satoru growled against your lips, his fingers pumping furiously now. "Let go. Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. You shook and shuddered in his hold, a cry of ecstasy torn from your throat as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from your spasming body.

Satoru swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply as he continued his ministrations.

Only when you collapsed bonelessly against him did Satoru still his hand, drawing his glistening fingers from your depths. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact through the mirror as he licked them clean with a shameless moan.

"Delicious~" he purred, voice rough with satisfaction. "My perfect muse."

You felt weightless, the tension from the day—hell, the whole week—melting into nothingness as the lingering echoes of your orgasm left you in a daze. Your body felt loose, relaxed, like all the stress had finally evaporated, and for a moment, you simply existed, floating in the aftermath.

Then, you felt your thighs shift wider, and a small, confused sound escaped you before you even realized it.

Satoru's low chuckle filled the quiet room, dark and amused. "You didn’t think that was it, did you?" His voice dripped with mischief as his hands moved to adjust you in his lap. He shifted beneath you, pulling his pants down slightly as he repositioned you, pulling you higher onto his lap.

The movement pressed you closer to him, allowing you to fully feel him underneath you, hard and insistent. His hand returned to your underwear, the long digits returning to rub away at you.

The sudden pressure made your back arch instinctively, a small whimper escaping your lips from the mix of sensation—equal parts pleasure and the discomfort of being played with beyond your limit.

"Silly girl," he tutted softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hand returned to your waist, the grip firm yet tender, as he tugged your underwear to the side, filling you in one stroke.

You both froze for different reasons—your legs trembled as you felt the stretch, trying to stay tethered because he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, while Satoru groaned, overwhelmed by the tightness that enveloped him.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

You let out a broken whimper, arms growing weak and giving out beneath you. You collapsed slightly forward, your forehead resting against his thighs as you tried to adjust, to find some relief from the pressure.

Satoru growled softly at the sight, his hands gripping your waist with more purpose. He pulled you fully down onto him, your hips flush against his.

"S-Satoru..." you moaned, your voice shaking, tears welling in your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming.

His hips jerked forward in short, deliberate movements, and your body responded, helpless to the rhythm he set. "T-that's right, baby, say my name..." he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hands guided you, pulling you back down with each upward thrust.

He lifted his hips to speed up the movements. You could only cling to his thighs, breathless and powerless against the force of his desire.

Satoru kept going, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer, filthy words laced with desire. His grip on your waist was tight, almost bruising, as he held you firmly in place.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—wet, slick noises and the rhythmic squelching with every movement.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you, heightening every sensation, your body overwhelmed by the pressure building inside you.

Your second orgasm was approaching too quickly, the wave of pleasure rising fast, almost too much to handle. Desperation washed over you, and you tried to scoot forward, to slow things down, but Satoru's response was immediate—he went faster, his thrusts growing erratic.

You let out a choked cry, begging for him to slow down, but he only groaned in response, his pace relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and then it hit you, like you were thrown over the edge. Your eyes fluttered closed as the blinding pleasure rocked your entire frame.

Your body shook, every nerve alight as the intensity consumed you. You could hear Satoru cursing under his breath as you trembled in his arms, your body a quivering mess in the aftermath.

And then you felt it—the heat of him filling you, spreading through your lower body in a rush of warmth. Satoru let out a long, drawn-out groan, pressing himself flush against you as he reached his climax. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he stayed close, savoring the feeling.

Before you could catch your breath or say anything, Satoru moved again. He pulled you back slightly, and you gasped, the sudden movement sending a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

His hands snaked under your thighs, lifting you carefully from his lap. He groaned softly as he watched his release spilling from you, leaking out as he admired the sight.

Satoru gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "What a sight to see," he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. One of his hands trailed down to your entrance, his thumb gently grazing over the sensitive skin.

He played with your sticky entrance, his fingers teasing, before pressing back to plug up the fallen release. Your thighs twitched in response, a shiver running through you at the sudden sensation.

You called out his name for what felt like the third time, your voice weak but pleading. "Satoru..."

He let out a tired but satisfied chuckle, his hand pulling away as he finally relented. "Fine, fine," he murmured, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. He settled you down on his lap again, this time pulling you close to his chest, cradling you as his arms wrapped securely around you.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breathing slowing as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

The night grew quiet, the tension fading into a comfortable stillness, but even as you relaxed against him, your mind wandered.

As the night went on, you couldn't help but think: Nobara was fucking right.

A/N: lolol, sorry for the influx of smut guys, promise this won't be like an everyday thinjg.... 👀 anyways, hope this was up to your standards and wasn't too bad bubbly-bear, i tried my best to make it work to the song...😭

[homunculus-argument]

I think it would be great if there was some sort of an online ask-and-answer forum with the theme of "People Who Don't", where you can make an account and then choose features from a list, picking all the things that you personally are, from a huge amount of cathegories that gets updated every time people find something that's missing. Then you can ask questions directed to people who are not the things you listed yourself to be, and you're shown questions from people who are from different cathegories than what you have, which you can answer if you like.

So for example if you were homeschooled, you could tag that and ask people who were not homeschooled "do you need to sing the alphabet song every time to remember the alphabetic order?" to assess whether that's a homeschooling thing or does everyone do that. And on the side of the questions you can answer are all the questions from people who are things that you are not, asking about some subject they are familiar with, wanting to know outsiders' experiences or perspectives.

Most of the time the questions are about things you wouldn't have even thought about. You didn't tag "speaks french" because you don't speak french, and you got the question "can non-french speakers tell french spoken in France apart from french spoken in Canada by sound?" Questions to people who do not have a specific disability, questions to people who are not involved in a specific hobby.

Just a whole bunch of stuff, questions along the lines of "hey do people who are not [thing] do this too?", "what do people who are not a part of [community] think of [community]?" "is this specific activity purely a [culture] thing or do other people do this, too?"

"What do people who don't have dogs do when they accidentally drop food on the floor?"

[theostrophywife]

mattheo's mixtape.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: lovesong by the cure.

author's note: this idea has been in my head for so long, but now it's finally out. strap in babes, we're simping for mattheo on main. something about those pretty brown eyes and angelic little curls just get me. your honor, i adore him.

The bell outside the door to the record store chimed softly as the boys ventured inside. Mattheo peered curiously at the buzzing neon sign, the slightly scuffed black and white vinyl floor, and the racks and racks of records lining the walls. Though he hadn’t been to the muggle side of Edinburgh, it didn’t look all that different from its magical counterpart.

Yet Mattheo felt like a fish out of water all the same. 

Behind him, Theo continued rambling as they perused the vast collection of records laid out before them. “What songs have you picked out? Is there a theme? We’ll need to collect all the tapes for the cassette recorder and compile them all into a single tape.” 

The slew of questions Theo threw his way was enough to make him feel overwhelmed. Mattheo was well aware that he was completely out of his depth here, but he was determined to learn. Admittedly, he was quite ignorant of the muggle world until you came into his life. The more you told him about the queer customs and traditions of the non-magical population, the more he began to crave your stories of taking the tube, eating fish and chips until you were sick, and visiting Brighton with your cousins over the summer holiday. 

There was a whole world out there that you were a part of, which made him want to be part of it as well.

“You boys alright?” asked the kind woman behind the counter. "Would you like some help?"

Mattheo shied away from the attention, but as usual, Theo turned on his charm and flashed a winning smile at the older woman. “As a matter of fact, we do,” his friend drawled. “My mate here is looking to make a mixtape for his girlfriend.” 

The woman smiled warmly. “How sweet. I remember those days. There’s nothing quite as magical as first love,” she said with a dreamy, faraway expression. “I’d be happy to help. What songs did you have in mind?” 

After turning over his list, the woman, who turned out to be the owner of the record store, helped compile the cassettes Mattheo needed in order to make the mixtape. She patiently showed them how to record each track and slowed down the instructions so Mattheo could diligently write down notes. 

As Mattheo waited for the next track to record, he watched as Theo tried and failed to flirt with the older woman. 

“I’m flattered, dear. But I’m old enough to be your mum.” Mattheo snickered, causing his best friend to glare at him. 

“Age is nothing but a number, Annette.” 

“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ll find your match someday, Theodore. As I have in my husband, whom I’m happily married to.” She turned over to Mattheo and smiled. “He was my first love too.” 

Making small talk had never been Mattheo’s strong suit and you often teased him that engaging in polite conversation with a stranger every once in a while wouldn’t kill him. Without fail, he sarcastically responded that it genuinely might, which earned him an eye roll. A fond one, though. Followed by a lip bite as you attempted to conceal a smile. 

“How long have you been together?” Mattheo asked curiously. 

“Twenty years,” Annette answered proudly. “Though we were friends for ages before he finally mustered up the courage to ask me out.”

Theo snorted. “Sounds familiar.” 

Mattheo swatted the back of his head. “My girl and I started out as friends too. Best friends, actually.”

“Hey!” Theo whined. “I take offense to that. I’ve known you longer. Only difference is that you and Y/N snog, which I’m more than open to if you asked.” The wink he sent Mattheo's way made the other boy blanch.

“Sorry about him.” It was a sentiment he was quite familiar with when it came to Theo. The twat tended to flirt with anything that had a pulse. Come to think of it, he wouldn't put it past Theo to chat up a corpse. Merlin knows Mattheo had witnessed his friend trying out a pick up line on the Grey Lady. “So, your husband. When did you realize he was the one?” 

“There wasn’t a specific moment, per say,” Annette said thoughtfully. “It’s a culmination of our history together. Since we were friends for so long, Declan just knew me. He knew how I took my coffee and had it ready for me first thing in the morning. He knew that I hated driving in the snow and always offered to give me lift to work when it did. He knew that I had a soft spot for strays and never complained when I brought them home. Declan makes me feel safe. Like I could weather anything the world threw at me as long as he was by my side. I guess when you know, you know."  

Mattheo pondered her words. He couldn’t help but recall all the times that his life felt like a never ending shit storm, like it would swallow him whole and drown him from the weight of his troubles. Yet at the end of the day, he always knew that after the storm came the rainbow. That’s what you were for him. You colored his world so brightly that the dark seemed inconsequential compared to your light. 

“Y/N makes me feel like that too,” Mattheo declared. “She’s patient and kind. She’s the type of person that always sees the good in people. She saw it in me even when I couldn’t see it myself.” 

Behind him, Theo sniffled as he patted his shoulder. For all his jokes and sarcasm, his friend was actually a hopeless romantic deep down. “For Salazar’s sake, Mattheo. Don’t make me bawl like a baby in front of the pretty lady.” Theo wiped at the corner of his eyes rather dramatically. “If Y/N doesn’t marry you someday, then I will. I bet my legs would look amazing in a white dress.”

At that, Mattheo chuckled. He was suddenly glad that his best friend was more than willing to be dragged along in Mattheo’s endeavors to impress his girl. Salazar knew he never would've gotten this far without Theo's self-proclaimed expertise on all things muggle, thanks to his Advanced Muggle Studies class.

As they wrapped up, Mattheo thanked Annette for all her help. Theo promised to come back and winked over his shoulder as Mattheo gathered all of his supplies. The older woman smiled at him as they parted ways.

"Best of luck, Mattheo. Though I doubt you need it. Thank you for indulging an old woman. It was genuinely a pleasure to be able to help you today."

"No, thank you. Y/N is going to love it."

"Your girlfriend is a very lucky girl."

Mattheo shook his head. "I'm the lucky one. This is the least I could do to show her how much I..." he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "How much I care for her."

Care didn't seem like a strong enough word, but it was close. Mattheo wasn't sure he could fully verbalize the intensity of what he felt for you. You weren't just his girlfriend. You were his best friend, too. His confidante. His rock. You were everything to him.

“Remember what I told you. When you know, you know." She patted Mattheo's shoulder. "You talk about Y/N like I talk about my husband. It's clear that she's very special to you. Don't let go of that one."

Mattheo smiled to himself, his cheeks flushing. “I won't.” 

The midnight moon glowed above the Scottish Isles, enveloping the rocky shores of the Black Lake with a chilly breeze that made you shudder even underneath the comfort of your red and gold striped sweater. 

“Are you cold?” Mattheo asked softly, his voice echoing through the empty beach. 

Before you could respond, your boyfriend shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. With a shy smile, you thanked Mattheo and flushed as he took your hand in his. As you continued on your late night stroll, he cleared pebbles in your path to ensure that you didn’t trip over them on the way to the dock. 

It was the little things—the small gestures that Mattheo enacted on a daily basis that made you fall for him even more. Though the relationship was fairly new, the connection between you was undeniable. Perhaps because you started out as potions partners, which eventually blossomed into friendship and now you couldn’t even remember a time when he wasn’t part of your life. 

The two of you settled at the end of the dock and the rickety wood creaked underneath the weight, adjusting to its visitors as Mattheo cuddled you into his side. Warmth radiated off of him, heating you from the inside out with a pleasant flush. Mattheo chuckled as you shoved your cold hands underneath his sweater, curling his fingers around yours and warming you up like your own personal heater. 

“So, why did you want to come out here tonight?” you asked after a moment. 

As you peered up at him, the moonlight kissed your boyfriend’s features, illuminating the sharp edges of his jawline and cheekbones, curving down the slope of his nose and stopping right above his Cupid’s bow where his soft, plush lips curled into a shy smile as he blinked down at you. 

The flush on his cheeks was almost an exact match to the crimson scarf around your neck. He absentmindedly fidgeted with your fingers, his chocolate brown eyes flickering over your face nervously. Mattheo looked so shy and earnest, so unlike the bad boy persona that everyone else seemed to attribute to your boyfriend. 

“I made you something,” he stated. You watched as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cassette tape that you hadn’t noticed before. “I noticed that you listen to music while studying or walking through the halls, so I thought I’d compile a few of my favorite songs for you.” 

Your heart warmed at this beautiful boy. “You made me a mixtape?” 

Mattheo nodded, his angelic curls grazing his cheeks. “I can’t take all of the credit. Theo helped me quite a bit. I wasn’t sure how to make the tape for you, but he did since he’s taking Advanced Muggle Studies. We went into town last weekend and this lovely woman from the record shop showed us how to track and record the songs. I picked the ones that remind me of you the most.” 

You looked down at the cassette tape and smiled. The front was covered in little red hearts and spelled out in your boyfriend’s familiar scrawl was Matty’s Mixtape. As if that weren’t enough to make you swoon, underneath the tape was a small booklet with more of Mattheo’s handwriting. You smiled at his selection of songs. There was a mix of Queen, the Cure, the Clash, and of course, the Smiths. It was like having a little piece of Mattheo in your hands.

“I made you a booklet too. There’s a tracklist with reasons why I picked the songs,” Mattheo shuffled beside you, his body language conveying an uncharacteristic shyness. “I also drew a couple of things.” 

Sure enough, the booklet was filled with your boyfriend’s drawings. Your eyes filled with tears as you turned the pages. Mattheo rarely showed anyone his art. He was incredibly protective of anything he created since it showed a certain vulnerability. The fact that he was trusting you with it wasn’t something you took for granted. 

You traced over the drawings with a fond smile. There were portraits of you on one page, while the others contained memories that you were quite attached to. Your first date at the Three Broomsticks. The first time you wore his quidditch sweater to a Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match. The day you shared a cup of hot chocolate at Madam Puddifoot’s when the two of you were just friends. They were all in here, immortalized on paper. 

Beside you, Mattheo watched anxiously as you flipped through the pages. When you got to the last one, you grinned up at him. “Matty, these are incredible.” 

“Really?” He asked, sounding a bit unsure. “You don’t think they’re cheesy?” 

“No, I love it!” You threw your arms around him and squeezed your boyfriend into a bear hug. He chuckled, burying his face in your hair and savoring the feel of you in his arms. As you pulled away to face him, Mattheo tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His heart hurt just to look at you. He really couldn’t believe you were his. You smiled softly. “And I love you.” 

You said it firmly, like it was a matter-of-fact. Like you were reciting a truth as fundamental as gravity. 

“You love me?” 

“I do,” you replied with a smile. “I love you, Mattheo Riddle.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely positive.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to say it because I made you this mixtape and gave you cheesy drawings—”

He stopped mid-sentence as you grabbed his face with both hands. Mattheo softened at the fierce determination in your eyes. “Mattheo. You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Before that, you were the best friend I’ve ever had too. You treat me like a queen and I never have to worry about other girls trying to talk to you because you never even give them the time of day. You make me soup when I’m sick. You give me your jumpers when I’m cold. You bring me coffee when I’m pulling all nighters. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend, so yes. I love you. Not because of the mixtape or the drawings, but because you’re you.”

Mattheo was taken aback. Before you, he never thought he was capable of caring for someone so deeply. You were ingrained in him. It was like the universe had cleaved his soul in two and he’d spent an eternity searching for you. You were his other half—the better half of him that he’d been missing all along. Now that he found you, he had no intention of letting you go. 

The lovestruck expression on his face warmed your heart. His eyes—those sweet, warm brown eyes made you feel weak in the knees. Mattheo cradled your jaw and looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. 

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

You smiled as he leaned forward, bringing your lips to his in a tender kiss. He sighed in relief like he’d been waiting for this all day, fingers snaking through your hair as your body melted into his. Mattheo hummed, peppering kisses all over your face. You giggled as he pecked your cheeks, nose, jaw, and neck. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he declared with every kiss. 

Burying your face into his neck, you inhaled the familiar scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. Mattheo sighed as you scratched his scalp.

“Will you tell me about the songs while we listen to them?” you murmured against his skin. 

Mattheo nodded as his curls tickled your cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He pulled out a cassette player and popped the tape in. You cuddled into his side, smiling as he presented you with one half of the headphones. The soft crooning sound of the Smiths filled your ears as Mattheo played with your hair, telling you little anecdotes about the band and how Theo almost knocked over the cassette recorder while he tried to flirt with the record shop owner. 

You chuckled as you listened, picking up the sweet lyrics that made Mattheo choose the songs in the first place. You loved each one of his picks, but the best song by far was the sound of his heartbeat thudding in your ears, syncing with your own as it beat for him and him alone.

[carolmunson]

the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

[hoonieyun]

locked up

locked up

pairing: lee heeseung x reader “y/n”

genre: angst, criminal!heeseung (kinda), bad boy x good girl

warnings: violence, jail, cops, drugs and alcohol, profanity, suggestive, adult themes, 18+

summary: when a night out with your girls turns into you having to convince a police officer that you’re not a part of the group of guys that got into a brawl at the club, you soon realize that you’ve caught the eyes of a certain boy in a black leather jacket. 

notes: this was completely self indulgent after i saw these photos of heeseung… also... anyone interested in a part2?? 🫣 anyways enjoy (not proofread haha!!) 

word count: 2943

the music from outside of the bathroom club was bumping, walls slightly shaking at the loud music, neon lights flashing, and a line was building outside of the women’s bathroom. you were 3 people deep in the bathroom, you and your friends ningning and karina. you were sat on the toilet, peeing out all the alcohol you had drank, ningning was in the mirror fixing her makeup, and karina was glued to her phone; probably still arguing with her ex.

the whole reason you were at the club tonight was to help karina get over her ex. she found out that he had a whole other girlfriend that he was hiding when she came across the other girl’s instagram account. several of the photos being of the girl inside of a car that resembled her ex’s car a little too well. after an instagram DM starting with “hey girlie <3” to the other girl, they soon exchanged not only numbers but both of their dating history with their now ex. 

he had been two timing the both of them for the last 6 months. needless to say, he’s now single and you were now at the club with your friends trying to get karina’s mind off of it. 

“y/n, are you done yet? this is my song!” ningning asks and you tell her and karina that it’s fine if they wanna go back out. you guys bid each other a quick farewell as the girls head back out to the club’s dancefloor. you soon followed after getting yourself situated, fixing your hair and reapplying some lip gloss. you blew the mirror a little kiss before you made your way out, trying to find where your two best friends have gone. 

you narrow your eyes as you scan the dance floor to find your friends, the neon lights of the club not aiding you in any way. you huff out a sigh after not finding them so you look for a new approach as you head up to the second floor of the club. standing on the mezzanine, you scan the dance floor from above to look for your friends and just before you’re able to find them, the music at the club abruptly stops and the DJ is making an announcement on the mic. 

the DJ stops the music and calls out a group of people at a section of the club that seemed to be right under the mezzanine, out of your field of vision. the DJ calls for security to break up a fight that has started and at first you brush it off because there was no way your friends would be in a fight right now but that was until you heard your best friend’s voice, “fuck you! get the fuck off of him!” ningning yells and your eyes widen at her voice. with a sense of urgency you run back down the stairs and try to push your way through to get to your friends. 

knowing ningning when she gets drunk, she not only gets louder than usual, but she also gets the energy of a gigantic bodybuilder ready for a brawl. 

after going through the crowd of people and reaching your friends, you see ningning, a glass in hand ready to throw at one of the guys, karina is holding her back while a group of guys you didn’t know were fighting with one another. 

you quickly run over to ningning, who was still yell profanities and threats to the group of men, you reach for the glass in her hand just before she tosses it at the guys who were fighting with one another. “oh my god what the fuck is happening?” you say as you set the glass on one of the tables and your friends avert their gaze towards you. 

“these idiots ran into me while they were fighting and i spilled my fucking drink!” ningning says, looking down at her dress; an apparent wet stain just on her abdomen where the drink must’ve spilled. “karina why are you crying?” you ask her, wiping her tears with your fingers as you try to get an answer out of her. 

“i don’t know!” she says while sobbing as more tears come out of her eyes. you roll your eyes at her with a sigh as you try to get your friends to leave the club. 

“excuse me! maam! you three need to come with us.” a security guard says and you shoot him a confused look. “what? why? we weren’t a part of that!” you tell him, referring to the group of men who were now broken up and being held back by several security guards. he gives you a look of denial, indicating that he didn’t believe you, but he gestures to ningning who was now back to cussing out the men as they were hauled out by the security guards. 

you roll your eyes at ningning, at a loss for words, and just as you’re about to explain further; one of the guys being kicked out catches your eye. a tall boy in a black leather jacket, dark tusseled hair, and a charming smile attached to a handsome face. he quickly looks you up and down, his smirk widening at the sight of you, “what’s up mama?” he says with a chuckle as the security guard pushes him further out of the club. 

you were stunned by him but are taken out of your thoughts when you hear ningning and karina behind, calling out to you. 

“y/n! help they’re kidnapping me!” karina says, very apparent that she was still drunk. 

“come on miss, you guys need to leave.” the security says, slightly putting his hand on your back. you quickly retreat away from him when you feel his touch, brushing away his hand with a disgusted look, “i’m leaving! don’t touch me!” you yell, shooting him a glare as you follow your two friends being escorted out of the building. 

as you exit the building, the cold night air embraces you, giving you goosebumps. you’re met with red and blue lights as you see several cop cars outside of the club. the group of guys had gotten separated and were now being questioned by different police officers and you also seen ningning talking to an officer, arms being thrown in the air as she explains her side of the story while karina stands to the side, still sobbing. 

you walk over to ningning and karina and a police officer puts out his hand in front of you in an act to stop you, “she’s with us.” ningning says and the cop let’s you join. ningning explains what happened, how they weren’t a part of the group of guys who got in a fight but because she got involved by yelling and throwing a bottle; she had to come down to the precinct with everyone else. 

“you threw a bottle?” you ask her after hearing the new information. she shoots you a sheepish smile and you look over to karina who was silently nodding. eventually the cop says ningning has to get inside the car so you tell her it’ll be all fine and that you’ll follow behind and meet her there. 

you grab karina and hook your arm with hers as you walk towards your car, having already sobered up enough to drive. you helped karina get in the car, buckling her seatbelt, as she babbles on about how she’s so sad ningning is going to jail and you guys weren’t going to be able to see her ever again. 

“i’m going to miss her… we should drink in her honor.” karina says and you just laugh at her statement as you step into the drivers seat. “she’s just going in for questioning, she’s not dead, karina.” you explain and it seems karina doesn’t hear anything but the word dead. 

“NINGNING IS DEAD?” karina says, now sobbing hysterically as she hears your news. you give her a tight lipped smile as you rub her back. “okay, sweeheart.” you say as you turn the key in the ignition. 

the drive to the precinct isn’t long but it feels like eternity as you go over all of the possible outcomes of tonight. would ningning end up being locked up? did you guys even have enough money to bail her out?

you and karina walk into the police station and the bright white lights are blinding and if you weren’t sober before, you definitely were now. you sit karina down on one of the chairs and she starts chatting it up with a random stranger who was handcuffed to the chair. she begins rambling about her ex and the stranger seems to actually be actively listening and gives her advice. 

the lady at the front desk tells you that you have to wait until ningning is “let out”, as if she was actually locked up, until she can tell you what to do next to help her out. 

just as you’re about to sit down next to karina, a boy walks through a door that leads to the back. the same boy that seemed to make you feel giddy back at the club. his charm oozed through as he strolled through the building. his black leather jacket clung loosely to his body but you could tell he had broad shoulders but you were left imagining what could be under the black shirt that hugged his body tightly. 

he was leaning on the receptionist's counter, waiting to fill out some paperwork as the lady at the desk sifted through several folders of paper, eyes set on you and a smirk still on his face. you tried ignoring his gaze but you couldn’t help but glance over at him. when your eyes meet, he shoots a wink at you and heat begins to rise in your cheeks as you blush at his flirtacious gesture. 

you slowly walk over to him, trying to keep your cool, but in all honesty; you were nervous. you hadn’t dated anyone in a long while and if you were being frank, this boy seemed like bad news but you couldn’t help but feel like you were being pulled towards him. like there was a magnetic pull in between the two of you. 

“hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” he says and although the line was a bit cringe and outdated, it certainly worked on you. you blush and laugh at his statement and explain why you were there. he laughs at your answer and you soon learn that he was the one who accidentally ran into ningning and was on the opposing end of the bottle that she threw. you apologize on her behalf but explain that he should’ve seen it coming. he nods, “yeah, true. wish it was you instead though. then i may not have been so upset.” he says, clearly flirting with you and you can’t help but blush. at this point you were probably as red as a tomato but you wished that the conversation wouldn’t end. 

“ahem!” the lady behind the counter clears her throat, gaining both of your attention. “fill this out.” she says, monotone and a stoic gaze as she slides over a pile of papers towards him. that was when you realized you still hadn’t gotten his name. 

a few minutes, he was donefilling out the paper and handed it over to the lady. flashing her a smile and it somehow changes her mood. the lady does a complete 180 and is suddenly very nice, smiling, and even blushing at him. his charm was just undeniable and he surely had that effect. was that a red flag? maybe. but you didn’t care. 

he turns back to you and before he can say another word, you hear karina yell out ningning’s name and jump out of her seat. you turn around and look at her and she’s waving at ningning so you peer behind the boy and there was ningning. walking through the same exact doors the handsome stranger had walked through just a few moments ago. “give me a sec.” you say with a smile as you run over to ningning. 

the three of you hug one another and ningning tells you that someone bailed her out. “what, really?” you say, wondering who it could’ve been. “i’m glad you’re alive!” karina says and ningning just looks at her, “long story.” you explain and she just nods; hugging karina even tighter. 

“do you know who bailed you out?” you ask her and she shrugs, “mmm all i know is his name is lee heeseung.” she explains and the three of you ponder if you knew anyone by that name. you excuse yourself from the girls for a second and head back to the handsome stranger who was patiently waiting for you to return so you could continue your conversation. 

“so when do i get to know your name?” he says and you do just that, sharing your name, and he nods. “beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” he says flirtingly and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies in your stomach. “i’m heeseung by the way.” finally telling you his name. 

you nod at his name, repeating it in your head when you realize something, “heeseung? like lee… heeseung?” you ask and he says “yup!” while popping the p. “did you happen to bail out my friend? the one that threw the bottle at you?” you ask and he nods. explaining that it was the least he could do after spilling a drink on her and getting all three of you wrapped up in all of their mess. you shake your head at him, smiling at his kind gesture, thanking him as you drag him towards your two friends. 

“hey! you’re the fucker that ran into me and spilled my drink!” ningning says and you put your hands up in front of you in order to stop her. “ning! wait! he paid for your bail!” you explain and she instantly backs down. he once agains explains why he did it and ningning forgives him but still narrows her eyes at the man. saying that she forgives him but she won’t forget it. “you’re lucky she’s alive!” karina adds and the three of you just look at her in confusion. “long story…” you say once again. 

the four of you walk out of the police station, “bye sir!” karina says, waving goodbye to the man who was handcuffed to the chair, waving back at her. you and heeseung walking behind your two best friends as they make their way to your car, yelling a couple times that the two of them were walking towards the wrong car. before you and heeseung reach your car, he stops you, grabbing your wrist and twirling him around to face him. “i know we started off on the wrong foot, but can i take out sometime?” he asks and although you make it seem like you gave it some thought, in your head it was an instant yes. 

heeseung smiles at your acceptance and you switch phones to exchange numbers. “see you around, pretty girl.” heeseung says, shooting you another wink paired with his charming smile. “have a goodnight heeseung!” you say and you weren’t sure what compelled you but you tiptoe up to him and give him a kiss on the cheek. as you’re pulling away from him you realize what you did so in an effort to cover up your spontaneous action, you thank him once again for bailing your best friend out. 

“you better not break her heart or else i’ll break your nose!” ningning yells from inside of your car and you just laugh at her, apologizing to heeseung about her but he says it’s fine. “she’s just protective, i get it. i’ll be sure to prove myself to both of you.” heeseung explains and you don’t know why but those simple words hit close to you. a sense of comfort knowing that not only was he willing to prove himself worthy of your trust but also the trust of your closest friends. 

you watch heeseung walk back into the station, telling you that he needed to wait for his friends to get out. after joining your friends in the car and making sure they have their seatbelts on. ningning responds with a yes but you hear nothing from karina. the two of you look into the backseat and she has fallen asleep but had her seatbelt keeping her up from slumping over. as you’re about to pull out of the parking lot and head back to your apartment, you receive a text. 

from: future boyfriend

looking forward to our date, pretty girl.

can’t wait to feel those lips again. 

you couldn’t help but smile and laugh at his text. like you were a little girl all over again talking to her crush for the very first time. you shoot him a text before driving off and he wishes for you to drive safe. 

after settling your friends in your guest room, you finish getting unready and find yourself cozying up in bed. you spend several hours of the night texting with heeseung and at some point he calls you on facetime, to which you end up on call until 5 in the morning. falling asleep on the phone with one another. 

needless to say, you dreamt about heeseung, his charming smile, radiant eyes, and enchanting demeanor. thankful that he didn’t end up getting locked up. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[mssalo]

safety - Part: Il

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Scent kink, Voyeurism, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Male masturbation, Joel, still, needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

9k. enjoy.

Part I Part III Part IV Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel found out she was working at the supply store by accident.

He hadn’t planned on seeing her again. After that first encounter, he convinced himself he’d walk away.

She wasn’t his problem.

He couldn’t get wrapped up in someone like her—someone who had no idea how dangerous the world really was.

But then, on one of his routine stops for supplies, he spotted her behind the counter.

She hadn’t seen him

At first, he’d assumed she was just a customer again, passing through, but when she’d ducked behind the register, pulling out receipts, it hit him.

She worked there now.

She hadn’t told him that before, hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and yet here she was, talking to customers, rearranging gear, moving around the store like it was something she’d been doing forever.

And for some reason, that made something inside him tighten.

She was here all the time. Regular hours, regular shifts.

Easy to find.

That should’ve made him feel nothing. But it didn’t.

That’s so fuckin’ dangerous.

From that point on, whenever he stopped by the store, he made sure to keep his distance.

He’d walk in, grab what he needed, and leave before she noticed him.

There was something about seeing her there—watching her smile and chat with customers—that unnerved him in a way he couldn’t explain.

She didn’t fit in with the world he knew.

She was too soft, too bright. She belonged somewhere safe, not in a place like this.

Yet, he found himself coming back.

Over and over.

Each time, he told himself it was the last time.

That he’d stop, that he didn’t need to see her again.

But every time he came back, she was there—talking to someone, laughing at some joke, her voice floating through the air like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

Joel tried to ignore it.

Tried to ignore her.

But she was like a goddamn magnet, pulling him back in without even realizing it.

And then, one day, she spotted him.

“Joel!” she called, her voice bright and cheerful, as if they were old friends.

He froze, his hand tightening around the bag of supplies he’d grabbed.

He’d been so close to slipping out unnoticed, but now she was looking at him, smiling that same smile that made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn and meet her gaze.

She was standing behind the counter, hands resting on the edge, her eyes lighting up as she looked at him.

These damn pretty eyes.

“I didn’t know you came here so often,” she said, her tone playful.

“What’s bringing you back this time?”

Joel grunted, trying to come up with a quick excuse. “Needed more supplies. That’s all.”

She didn’t seem to notice the coldness in his voice, just kept smiling at him like he hadn’t been avoiding her for days.

“You always seem so prepared,” she said with a small laugh. “I bet you could survive out there for weeks with all the stuff you buy.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. Survive? 

She had no idea what that meant.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flicking to the side as if she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But then she turned back to him, her expression softening again.

“You know, I’ve been learning more about the gear here,” she said, leaning forward a bit. “I could help you with recommendations if you ever need it.”

Joel stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Why was she still talking to him? Why was she being so damn nice?

“I’m good,” he said, his voice gruff.

But she didn’t stop.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright with curiosity. “You sure? I’ve been reading up on it a lot. Could probably surprise you with what I know.”

You shouldn’t trust me, Joel thought, his mind racing. 

Why are you still smiling at me?

He grunted again, shifting on his feet, his gaze flicking to the door.

He needed to leave. Now.

“Well,” she said, that same smile tugging at her lips, “if you ever need anything, just let me know. I’m here most days now.”

Too much information. 

Joel’s gut clenched. She shouldn’t be telling him this—telling anyone this. Didn’t she know how dangerous it was to be so open, so trusting?

“You shouldn’t tell people that,” Joel muttered, his voice harsher than he meant. “Not safe.”

Her brows furrowed, her smile slipping for the first time. “What do you mean?”

Joel felt the weight of her confusion settle on him, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Tellin’ strangers where you work. When you work. Ain’t smart.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Oh... I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

Of course, you didn’t. 

Joel’s mind reeled, his frustration bubbling just below the surface.

You don’t know how to think like that. You don’t know what the world can do to people like you.

But before he could say anything else, she smiled again, though this time it was smaller, a bit softer.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” she said, her voice quieter. “I didn’t mean to—well, I guess I’m just not used to thinking like that.”

Yeah. I can tell.

But instead of saying that, Joel just nodded, his jaw still tight. He needed to leave, needed to stop this before he got in too deep.

Here’s a darker, more intense version of that passage:

“See you around,” she called after him as he turned to leave.

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

His throat was tight, his chest heavy. But as he pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cool air, something made him look back.

She was still watching him. Smiling. Soft. So damn innocent.

That look in her eyes—so full of trust—twisted something deep inside him.

She doesn’t know better.

His boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as he made his way to the truck.

Every step felt heavy, like the weight of his thoughts was dragging him down. His hand found the door handle, but he couldn’t make himself move.

Couldn’t shake the way her scent still clung to him, sweet and soft, like she was still standing right next to him.

Joel gritted his teeth, staring down at the truck door, but all he could see was her face.

Her wide, bright eyes, that shy smile, the way she just… trusted.

Trusted him. She shouldn’t.

His body felt hot, the tension coiling low in his gut, his muscles tight.

Too tight.

And then he felt it again—his cock, straining against his jeans, hard and throbbing, a deep, almost painful ache that made his breath catch in his throat.

Fuck.

It hit him like a freight train, sudden and unwanted. His mind raced, trying to push the thought of her away, but the harder he tried, the worse it got.

His pulse pounded in his ears, the heat in his body rising as the memory of her soft voice echoed in his mind.

That innocent, clumsy laugh. The way she fumbled with the gear. The blush on her cheeks.

Joel’s grip tightened on the door handle, his knuckles turning white.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He hadn’t felt this in years. This need. This raw, primal hunger gnawing at him.

His body betrayed him, his cock throbbing harder, almost painfully, as if it knew something he didn’t.

But it was because of her.

The realization, again, made his chest tighten, his breath coming in rough, uneven bursts.

He slammed the door shut, leaning his forehead against the cool metal, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.

No. Not her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but her image was burned into his mind—her body, her smell, the softness in her eyes.

His cock twitched again, the pressure building, his jeans too tight, the pulse unbearable.

She was so sweet. So oblivious.

And here he was, standing in the parking lot like a goddamn animal, throbbing with need for something he knew he shouldn’t want.

But the thought of her lingered. The way she looked up at him like he was something to be trusted. Something safe.

Joel forced himself into the truck, gripping the wheel so tight he thought it might break.

His heart pounded in his chest, the tension making every breath feel like fire.

He needed to forget her. Get her out of his head.

But his body told him otherwise.

The throbbing between his legs refused to be ignored. His jaw clenched, muscles tight with frustration as the thoughts swirled, dark and unwanted.

He hadn’t felt like this in years. Not since before everything went to hell.

And now? Now this girl—this soft, sweet girl—had him unraveling.

Joel’s head thudded against the back of the seat, his pulse still racing. This wasn’t going to end well.

Not for him.

And definitely not for her.

· · ────

The following days were a blur of uncomfortable tension.

Joel tried to stay away.

He told himself not to go back to the store, not to linger around her.

He even went out on longer drives, tried to immerse himself in the things that usually kept his mind quiet.

But it didn’t work. Not anymore.

She was lodged in his thoughts, a constant, nagging presence that he couldn’t shake.

No matter how hard he tried to forget her, she always managed to crawl back in.

Her face, her voice, the way she smiled up at him like he wasn’t something to fear.

It gnawed at him, a reminder of everything he’d left behind.

A week passed before Joel saw her again.

This time, it was different. He wasn’t just there for supplies or to catch a glimpse of her. No, this time, he watched her more carefully.

Observing.

He kept his distance at first, lingering near the back of the store, eyes flicking toward her every few minutes as she worked.

She hummed to herself again, that same soft tune he’d heard the first time they met.

It wasn’t loud, barely audible under the sound of the store, but he caught it.

And it made something tighten inside him.

For a man who lived in shadows, always on alert, this brightness—this innocence—felt foreign. Her having no need to be quiet so she won’t be seen.

Wrong.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching her.

She smiled as she spoke to a customer, her eyes lighting up as she handed them their change.

She was so goddamn open, so trusting. And that terrified him.

He told himself it was because she didn’t know better. She didn’t know what kind of world she lived in.

She hadn’t seen the things he’d seen, hadn’t done the things he’d done.

That was why he watched her so closely now.

He was protecting her. Keeping her safe.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

The next day, she found him again, her voice soft but cheerful as she spoke up. “You’re back! Need anything else?”

Joel stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening at how easily she smiled at him. “Just… lookin’.”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Well, if you ever need recommendations, I’m your girl.”

He tried to brush it off, tried to keep his voice steady, his eyes focused anywhere but on her.

But when she started talking about her weekend plans, everything shifted.

“I’m actually heading out for a solo trip this weekend,” she said, her voice filled with excitement.

“Found this beautiful spot just outside of town. Gonna do some camping, get away from everything for a bit.”

Joel’s blood ran cold.

Camping? Alone?

His jaw clenched as he stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said.

A girl like her? Out in the wilderness by herself?

The world wasn’t safe, and she was too naive to see that. She didn’t understand the dangers lurking just beyond the treeline.

“Where?” His voice was rough, demanding.

The softness from earlier was gone, replaced by the cold, hard edge that usually kept people at a distance.

She blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “Uh… it’s just a little spot out past the ridge. Really pretty.”

Joel felt his chest tighten.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said, his voice dark, laced with warning. “It’s not safe.”

She blinked, clearly confused by his sudden shift. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice now. “I’ve done this before.”

“No, you won’t,” Joel growled, stepping closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “You have no idea what’s out there.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, brows furrowed. “I—”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” he interrupted, his voice dropping lower, more threatening.

His paranoia was slipping through now, his need to protect her—to control the situation—overwhelming him. “You’re not prepared for what’s out there.”

There was a long pause, the tension thick between them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Joel wasn’t done.

“If you’re set on goin’,” he said, his tone calmer now, but still dark, “I know a better place. Secluded. Safe.”

His mind was spinning with the need to protect her, to make sure she was under his watch. “It’s past the ridge. You won’t find it on a map, but it’s perfect for campin’.”

That was his land. His very own property, tucked away from prying eyes, isolated and quiet. His land. Where he could keep an eye on her.

Her eyes brightened again, the tension between them easing just slightly. “Really? That sounds amazing! I’d love to check it out.”

Trusting so easily.

Joel nodded slowly, watching her carefully.

“I’ll give you the coordinates,” he said, his voice rough, his gaze still locked on hers. “Just… be careful.”

She smiled again, oblivious to the darkness brewing behind his eyes. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it.”

There's that damn blush again.

Joel nodded again, but his mind was already elsewhere.

She didn’t belong out there alone. And now, after hearing her plans, Joel knew what he had to do.

She wouldn’t be alone.

If she wouldn’t protect herself, then he would

· · ────

It happened by accident, really.

Joel had been driving through town, running his usual errands—another routine day where he tried to keep his mind occupied with anything but her.

It was something he’d been forcing himself to do for the past few days, convincing himself that the tension in his chest would ease if he just avoided her, if he didn’t let himself linger in her orbit for too long.

But fate had other plans.

As he turned down a quiet street on the edge of town, his eyes caught movement.

A figure stepped out of a small, unassuming house, barely noticeable in the corner of his eye.

Joel wasn’t even sure why he slowed down at first. He told himself it was out of habit, that old soldier instinct to assess everything in his surroundings. But the moment he saw her, all rational thought slipped away.

It was her.

She stood there, fumbling with her keys and a couple of grocery bags, her hair falling loose around her shoulders in soft waves.

Joel’s foot hovered over the brake for just a second too long as he watched her struggle to balance the bags and unlock the door.

Her face was flushed, lips moving as she muttered something to herself—a frustrated little quirk of her mouth that made his chest tighten.

There was something different about seeing her like this.

Here, in her space.

Not at the store, not somewhere public. But here—outside her home.

He felt a knot of something unfamiliar, something deep and possessive curl in his stomach.

She didn’t notice him at all. She was too busy juggling her things, her focus entirely on the door in front of her.

Joel’s gaze swept over her as he slowly rolled by, his truck moving at a crawl now.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though a part of him knew he should’ve kept driving.

But the pull was too strong.

There was a softness about her here that felt even more pronounced.

Her home, small and tucked away from the busier streets, suited her in a way that he hadn’t expected. It was unassuming, private, but open in a way that made Joel feel… unsettled.

Like she was too exposed, too vulnerable, and too easy to find. Too easy for someone to hurt.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the thought crossed his mind.

She had no idea how dangerous the world really was. How quickly things could go wrong.

He drove past, the truck moving with painful slowness, his eyes flicking from the road to her again and again.

She didn’t see him. Not once. And for some reason, that bothered him more than it should have.

She hadn’t locked the door when she finally went inside.

Of course, she hadn’t.

Joel’s chest tightened with frustration, his jaw clenching as he drove farther down the road, turning the corner and pulling to a stop just out of sight.

Now that he knew where she lived, something shifted. He couldn’t just drive away and forget about it. No, she was here, alone, with no sense of the dangers that could easily find her.

He shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem.

But that’s not how it felt anymore.

· · ────

It wasn’t until later that night, as he lay in bed, that the dream came.

It wasn’t like the usual ones—flashes of war, the men he’d fought alongside, the sounds of gunfire and the stink of blood.

This one was different and it hit harder than anything he’d experienced in years.

He dreamt of her.

Of her in that house. And something, someone, breaking in.

It was chaos.

She was screaming, fighting to get free, and all he could do was watch, powerless, as she disappeared into the shadows.

He woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins.

For a moment, Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been real—that she was in danger and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

His hand instinctively reached for the knife he kept near the bed, fingers gripping the handle like it was his lifeline.

His breath came in heavy bursts, his body rigid with the need to protect, to act.

He could still hear her screams, still see her face twisted in fear.

She wasn’t safe.

And it wasn’t just a dream. Joel knew then, in that moment, that he couldn’t let this go.

He couldn’t just stand by and hope for the best.

It was only a matter of time, before something bad would happen to her.

He had to make sure she was okay, had to make sure nothing like that ever happened to her.

And if that meant going out of his way to keep an eye on her, then so be it.

· · ────

The next day, he drove by her house again.

And the day after that.

Each time, he told himself it was just a precaution, just a way to make sure she wasn’t in any real danger.

He didn’t get too close, didn’t let himself be seen.

But every time he saw her, the tension in his chest loosened just a little, knowing she was still there, still safe.

He found out more about her routines—when she left for work, when she came back.

He watched as she went about her day, completely unaware of the eyes that followed her every move.

She wasn’t like the rest of the world—hardened and scarred by violence.

She was soft, untouched by the darkness that clung to everything Joel had known.

And that’s why she needed him.

· · ────

The more he watched her, the more he realized how easy it would be for something to go wrong.

A stranger could approach her on her walks, someone could break into her house, anything could happen.

And if he wasn’t there to stop it… she would be defenseless.

That feeling from the dream—the panic, the helplessness—still clung to him, gnawing at his gut like a festering wound.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t convince himself to turn around and go home.

That’s why he had started breaking into her house.

Naturally.

At first, it was just to make sure everything was secure.

He would check the locks, make sure the windows were latched, make sure there were no signs of forced entry.

But the more he let himself in, the more his reasons shifted.

He started checking her camping gear, making sure everything was in place.

Joel crouched down, fingers brushing over the rough material as he unzipped the bag.

His hands moved through her belongings with the same careful touch, checking each item she’d packed.

He frowned when he noticed some of the essentials missing.

No proper emergency gear. Not enough food. Definitely not enough water.

She wasn’t ready.

His chest tightened with a mix of frustration and concern.

She had no idea what she was walking into.

The wild didn’t care how innocent or sweet you were—it tore people apart.

And she was so damn trusting, so clueless about the danger that lurked everywhere.

Joel zipped the bag back up and stood, a plan already forming in his mind.

She couldn’t go out there alone, not without the proper gear. Not without protection.

He’d make sure she had what she needed.

He’d leave it for her—quietly, subtly.

She didn’t need to know he was the one watching over her.

She didn’t need to know just how deep his involvement went.

His feet led him down the hall, toward the room at the end—the door slightly ajar, a soft, warm glow spilling from inside.

Joel’s breath hitched as he stepped further inside, his boots nearly silent on the hardwood floor.

It was small, simple, but unmistakably hers.

A bed with a soft quilted cover, a small nightstand with a book left open, and clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat dry as his eyes roamed over the space.

He moved slowly, carefully, his eyes scanning the room like he was surveying a battlefield.

Everything was neat, untouched, just as he’d expected.

But as he stood there, something twisted in his chest. He wasn’t just here to check on her safety.

Something else caught his attention.

Her underwear.

At first, it was an accident. He wasn’t looking for it, but when he stumbled upon it—soft, lacy, and used—he couldn’t stop himself.

His hands reached for it before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric.

His breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that.

But the scent—her scent—was intoxicating, wrapping around him like a drug. His mind flashed with images of her wearing it, of her undressing, her skin soft and bare beneath his touch.

Joel’s grip tightened on the fabric, his body reacting in ways he hadn’t felt in years. His jeans grew uncomfortably tight, the throbbing between his legs impossible to ignore. He was so hard.

This wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore. It was about something deeper, something darker.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of her wash over him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind filling with thoughts he had no right to think.

He hadn’t let himself feel something like this —this raw, uncontrollable hunger—but now, standing in her bedroom, holding something so private, so close to her, it hit him like a wave.

Joel inhaled deeply, the scent wrapping around him like a haze, flooding his senses. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.

His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing deepened, and the scent clung to him, almost suffocating him in the best way possible.

The sweetness, mixed with something so personal, made his heart pound harder in his chest, heat rising in his body.

She had no idea.

No idea what she did to him.

How that softness, that scent, chipped away at the walls he build.

His fingers tightened around the fabric as he held it closer, the warmth of her scent flooding his senses.

His mind was clouded with images—images of her.

She shouldn’t be this trusting.

He imagined her standing there, blushing, lips parting slightly, her soft voice spilling from them, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind.

She was just too easy to picture—too easy to want.

too sweet.

Too soft. Too innocent for someone like him.

Joel’s grip tightened as he let his mind spiral deeper into the images of her—blushing, trembling, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes that would soon be filled with something else.

His fingers tightened around the fabric, his body responding in ways he couldn’t deny any longer.

He fought to steady his breathing, to push the dark thoughts from his mind, but they were there, lurking just beneath the surface, no matter how hard he tried.

He shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her. 

He wasn’t just imagining her anymore—he was feeling her, smelling her, letting her invade his mind and body in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his breathing rough as he tried to regain control.

But the more he let the fabric linger in his hands, the more he realized—he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to let go.

Joel stayed like that, frozen in the moment, inhaling deeply, the used fabric of her underwear still clutched in his hands as he lost himself in the dark, possessive thoughts swirling in his mind.

He knew it wouldn’t be the last time. He couldn’t stop now.

The pull was too strong, too overwhelming.

Without even thinking, he raised the fabric closer, his lips hovering just above it.

His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, aching rhythm, the temptation crawling under his skin.

He hesitated for just a moment, knowing how wrong this was, how far he was crossing a line.

But it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Nothing could stop him now.

Joel’s breath hitched, and his lips brushed against the soft material, barely making contact at first.

He could feel the warmth, the faint trace of her cunt, lingering on the fabric, and it sent a wave of heat rushing through him.

His grip tightened.

The softness pressed against his mouth, and for a split second, he let his tongue flicker out, tasting her sweet pussy, just barely.

It was subtle, a hint of something forbidden, but it sent a jolt straight through him.

He felt himself tense, his body reacting in ways he could no longer control, the line between protection and obsession blurring even more.

He wanted more.

Before he could let his tongue get another lick, Joel heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.

That did certainly stop him.

His body stiffened, and in a heartbeat, all the dark, twisted satisfaction evaporated, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

His mind raced, his fingers trembling as he fumbled to put everything back exactly where it had been.

Not now. Not like this.

He moved swiftly but silently, making sure every trace of him disappeared. Every drawer closed, every fabric in place. He couldn’t leave any sign that he had been there.

His heart pounded against his ribcage as he slipped out of the bedroom, his movements precise, calculated.

Years of training kept his body moving even when his mind teetered on panic.

The soft sound of her footsteps reached his ears as she moved further into the house.

She was talking to herself again, that light, carefree tune that only made him more desperate to get out unnoticed.

She had no idea.

No idea that he had been so close, no idea of the thoughts that ran through his head while he held her soaked panties in his hands.

Joel paused at the back door, his body pressed against the frame as he caught a glimpse of her through the crack in the doorway.

She was still oblivious, setting her bag down, humming softly to herself. She hadn’t noticed anything. Not the disturbance in the air, not the faint scent of him that still lingered in the room.

So innocent. So trusting.

Must be nice.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes darkening as he observed her, standing there in the home she thought was safe.

He could still smell her on him, the faint scent clinging to his mustache, the lingering effect making his pulse quicken once more.

But he couldn’t stay.

Not now.

With one last glance, Joel slipped out of the house, his movements quick and silent.

He disappeared into the shadows just as she turned toward the hallway, completely unaware of how close he had been—how close he still was.

· · ────

Joel slipped into his truck with the stealth of a man used to evading detection, his heart still hammering in his chest as he turned the key in the ignition.

The engine rumbled to life, but his mind was elsewhere. 

The drive home felt longer than usual, each passing second a blur of adrenaline and frustration.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white, his breathing uneven.

He could still smell her, the faint scent lingering on his clothes, on his skin. It was maddening.

He tried to shake it off, tried to ignore the throbbing ache that had been building since he smelled her sweet little cunt, but it wouldn’t go away.

When he finally pulled up to his house, Joel barely remembered the drive at all.

He parked the truck haphazardly, the door slamming shut behind him as he made his way inside.

His boots hit the wooden floor with heavy thuds, and before he knew it, he was leaning back against the wall in his living room, his breath still coming in shallow bursts.

His breath was ragged, the ache in his body refusing to subside.

The scent of her cunt—still clinging to his beard, his hands—seeped into his skin, a constant reminder of what she had stirred deep inside him.

He hadn’t felt like this in years, hadn’t allowed himself to. But now, there was no going back.

His cock throbbed painfully, straining against his jeans, and for the first time in so long, he couldn’t ignore it.

The need was unbearable, clawing at him, demanding release. He leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, every breath filled with the sweetness of her scent.

It was still there, on him, as if she hadn’t left.

His hand hovered over the bulge in his jeans, fingers twitching, as if fighting the urge to touch.

But the memory of her—the feel of her, the scent of her—was overwhelming.

He couldn’t stop now. He didn’t want to.

With a low growl, he gave in, his hand pressing against his cock, the pressure sending a shiver up his spine.

His jaw clenched as he slowly dragged his palm over the length, the throbbing only growing more intense. The sensation was too much, too sharp after years of nothing.

He hadn’t touched himself like this in so long, and the intensity of it almost knocked the breath out of him.

His cock twitched, hard and aching in his hand, the weight of it heavy as he gripped it tighter.

His breath hitched as he finally pulled it free, the cool air hitting his skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was coursing through his veins. fuck.

He stroked himself slowly at first, his rough palm sliding over the swollen, leaking head, the friction making him groan.

He thought he’d never feel this was again.

His mind was a haze of her—her softness, her innocence, the way she had smiled at him, so trusting, so sweet.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him. She couldn’t know.

But he did.

His pace quickened, each stroke more desperate, more insistent. The scent of her was driving him insane.

Sweet like her.

He licked his lips, trying to get some of that sweet, sweet taste back he had earlier.

His cock throbbed in his hand, hard and slick as he pumped it, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

Her face flashed in his mind again—those wide, innocent eyes, the way she had blushed when she looked at him.

She had no idea.

No idea how badly he wanted her, how much he needed her.

Joel’s grip tightened, his strokes rougher now, his hips jerking up into his hand as he chased that release, the pressure building fast.

His cock was pulsing in his hand, slick and hard, aching with the need for something he couldn’t name.

Something only she could give him.

His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as he pumped his cock faster, harder.

The tension coiled tight in his gut, every muscle in his body straining as the need for release consumed him.

He could almost taste her, the memory of her scent still filling his lungs, making his head swim.

With a rough, guttural growl, Joel’s body tensed, his vision going white as the tension finally snapped.

His cock jerked in his hand, the release hitting him like a storm, fierce and unforgiving.

He groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking as he spilled over his hand, the warmth spreading through him like fire. He hadn’t cum that much in years.

It wouldn’t stop coming out of him.

…well, this was new.

For a long moment, he stayed there, his breath coming in ragged, heavy gasps, his hand still wrapped around his now-softening cock.

The pleasure ebbed slowly, leaving behind a dark satisfaction that settled deep in his bones.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Because her scent was still there.

Her softness still lingered in his mind, wrapped around him like a shroud, and Joel knew—this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Joel’s mind flickered back to the map, to the spot he’d given her—the spot on his land.

He could see it clear as day, tucked away, isolated, surrounded by woods.

Tomorrow, she’d be out there, alone, completely unaware of what could happen.

His jaw clenched at the thought.

The world was dangerous, filled with things she couldn’t even begin to understand.

But he did.

His pulse quickened, that dark, familiar feeling tightening around his chest.

He’d keep her safe. He’d make sure nothing happened to her—not on his watch.

No one else knew the dangers lurking in the shadows like he did. She had no idea, no clue what she was walking into.

But he’d be there.

Watching.

And if anything—or anyone—tried to hurt her, they’d have to go through him first.

Joel swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He’d seen too much, lost too much.

But not her. Not this time.

Tomorrow, he’d make sure she was safe… even if she didn’t know it.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

well… somebody needs therapy (me and him both)

I have no tag list for this (I’m old and will probably fail starting one) but if you comment on here I’ll remind you if there’s a new chapter!!

Deal?

xoxo

[barefoot-joker]

Destined for Heaven, Stolen by the Devil~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys and welcome to another Lucifer story. I'm sorry I write for him a lot. I just find to him be a very relatable character and I love him so much! Anyway, this fic deals with heavy Christianity themes, so I did my best to research. If something is wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it. I was very inspired by the song 'The Plagues' from "The Prince of Egypt". As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2899

Warnings: Heavy Christianity Themes/Beliefs, Swearing, Christianity Mocking, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Reader's Aunt likes crystals, Reader Dies, Kidnapping?

I sighed as my mother pulled a light blue cardigan over my shoulders. She dusted off my dress and fixed my hair so that I looked presentable. Today was Sunday so that meant we had to go to church. I wasn’t too fond of going and I would have rather been playing in the backyard as a twelve year old does. However, my mom made it her duty to take me and make me a good Christian girl. “Why do we have to go, mom? It’s soooo boring!”

I stuck out my tongue at her. She gently pushed it back in. “You know I want our family to have a good relationship with the Lord. It’s our Christian duty. Besides, going to church is in your blood. After all-”

“Yeah, yeah. God told you that I was destined to be a wife for Adam. How can you believe that? It came to you in a dream.”

“Y/n M/n L/n! You do not question God’s ways! You know better! Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Dragging me by the hand, she ushered me into the family Cadillac and sped off. I sighed heavily. There were so many things I’d rather be doing than go to church. I could be with my friends, heck I could be at my cool Aunt’s house. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When are we going to visit Aunt Hailey? When she called you said we’d be seeing her soon.”

“I only said that to get her off my back. You know how I feel about her.”

I grunted and crossed my arms. Aunt Hailey was seen as the black sheep in the family all because she was wealthy. A lot of our relatives (my mother included) thought she sold her soul to the Devil in order to be immensely rich and refused to interact with her. I, however, thought she was so cool. When she used to come over she’d regale to me hundreds of stories about her travels around the world. She even showed me her cool crystal collection when we went over to her house a few times. “Now don’t be like that. It’s not ladylike.”

I grunted again and slid down in the tan leather seat. A few minutes later the car was parked in the church parking lot and I was being dragged inside. Sometimes I wish I had siblings so I wasn’t the only one to feel mom’s wrath. She seated us near the front and handed me the heavy white Bible from the pew. I robotically turned to the page with the Lord’s prayer and stood when Pastor Bob entered. We began reciting the Lord’s prayer and sang a hymn before we sat. I didn’t pay much attention as our Priest told us his sermon for the day but I didn’t dare to look around the room. I had to look the part after all. Fidgety, I played with my ring finger. Glancing down, I took in the birthmark that oddly looked like an apple. I remember it showing up after I stayed at Aunt Hailey’s house one day. I never told my mother about it though. I was often reminded of the tale of Eve and the apple and I don’t know what she would do if ever saw the fruit insignia. After the sermon and another hymn, it was time for communion. We all stood in line and when it was my turn I took the small Ritz cracker and ate it. I coughed lightly and then took a sip from the golden chalice. My mom and I returned to our seats and when everyone was done, we recited the Lord’s prayer one final time. Thank goodness it was over. 

As we walked out, I was forced to shake hands with our elderly Pastor. “How is my favorite little disciple doing today?”

I cringed at that. Ever since my mother told the church of her insane dream I was treated like some goddess. “Good.”

“That’s great to hear. I look forward to our weekly blessing.”

“Of course, Pastor Bob,” my mom butted in, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled and bid us both ado. We walked back to the car and drove home. As we passed by houses in our neighborhood, I looked longingly at the kids playing. Besides church, Sunday was dedicated to my education of becoming a housewife so when I did die and go to Heaven I was prepared. Parking the car, we went inside. I slipped off my Mary Janes and put them by the door. The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing embroidery work and cooking. Just as I was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I went into the kitchen and picked up the landline. “Hello?”

“Is my dear Y/n there?”

“This is her.”

“It’s your Aunt Hailey.”

“Auntie! Hi! How are you?”

She chuckled. “I am good, my darling. And you? Surviving another day in that stuffy house?”

I giggled at her commentary. “I’ve been okay. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering when you can come over. I was talking with a friend the other day and he would like to meet you properly. I believe he saw you at my house when you were five.”

“I’d love to come over! Let me ask mom real quick.”

I walked into the living room and pressed the phone to my chest. “Hey, mom. Aunt Hailey’s on the phone. She wants to know when I can come over.”

She looked up from her book and glared at the phone. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, mom! It’ll just be for a day!”

“I don’t know.”

“Please! I promise when I get back I’ll focus on my wifely duties! Please!”

I gave her puppy dog eyes and slightly whimpered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright. You can go tomorrow, but I expect you to stay true to your promise. You know how God would feel if you went back on your word.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I lifted the phone up to my ear and quickly ran into the kitchen. “She said I can come tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then, my dear.”

“Bye, Auntie!”

“Goodbye for now, darling.”

I ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. I returned to the living room where mom and I did our nightly prayer. When we finished, she gave my forehead a kiss and sent me to bed. 

The next morning I dressed in a plaid dress shirt, brown capri pants and black oxfords. I bounced in the passenger seat giddily as my mother parked the car in my Aunt’s gravel driveway. “Now remember to behave. I don’t need any calls about your disobedience.”

“I’ll be good, I will.”

“That’s my girl. And you have your cross necklace?”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?”

She kissed my forehead and I got out of the car. “Be safe! Call me if something happens and I’ll be back around dinner to pick you up!”

“Okay mom, bye!”

I waved and she drove off. I turned towards my relative’s mansion and walked up the stone steps. I grabbed the handle from the golden lion’s head and gave three loud knocks on the large oak door. The door opened to reveal Timothy, my Hailey’s middle aged butler. “Ah Miss Y/n, we were expecting you. Please come in.”

He stood to the side and allowed me inside. Closing the door, he led me across the marble floor to one of the drawing rooms near the back. I could hear muffled voices talking as we entered, Timothy clearing his throat. “Your niece is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Timothy. That will be all.”

He bowed and exited the room. My Auntie smiled and gestured for me to come over. I ran to her and gave her a big hug. Her navy silk and lace dress clung to me. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

I pulled away and she motioned to the gold and floral print armchair next to her. I sat and looked at her guest on the chaise lounge. He seemed quite the esteemed gentleman. He had slicked back blonde hair, pale skin and red eyes. I found them quite odd but didn’t judge. Mother said it was bad to judge based upon appearances. He wore a white suit with a red dress shirt, a black tie with black flower detailing, black leather gloves and shiny black dress shoes. He was on the shorter side as well. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my friend Luci. He’s the one to thank for my wealth.”

The man stood and bowed to me. He took my hand and kissed my apple birthmark. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my little apple. Your Aunt has told me so much about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, sir.”

“So polite. Your mother is raising you right.”

“Except for the amount of gospel she puts in my poor baby’s head. I swear all because of her fucking dream, she’s gone total Bible thumper.”

Luci titled his head to the side. “Oh you’ll have to tell me over tea. Speaking of which, I think Timothy has finished setting up the garden for us.”

“Splendid!”

We all stood and the blonde offered me his arm. I gladly took it and we walked outside to Hailey’s marble floored porch. A metal table sat in the middle overlooking her large flower garden, a lacy white tablecloth set on top. Luci pulled out my chair and after I sat, pushed it in. He sat next to me and began pouring tea for all of us. Today Timothy had picked out the clear glass kettle so we could see the yellow liquid inside and the pastel teacups. I thanked Auntie’s friend when he poured into my cup and marveled at the small pink flower floating. “I see we’re having chrysanthemum tea. You know it’s your Auntie’s favorite.”

I giggled and picked up my cup. Blowing a little, I took a sip and smiled at the sweet taste. “So you were talking about Y/n’s mother?”

“Ah yes. She’s always been a Christian woman, believing in the power above. Then one night she had a dream, a vision she calls it, that Y/n is to be the third wife of the first man Adam. Ever since then she’s been obsessively devoted and is dragging my poor niece with her.”

“I see.”

Luci seemed to become stiff at the mention of Heaven and God. Perhaps it was a touchy subject?

“So God came to her and said this, hm?”

“Sure as shit supposedly.”

The three of us sipped our tea in silence. “So has school been going, my dear?”

“Good, Auntie. We learned how to do cursive in English the other day so now I can write my name all fancy!”

“That’s great, darling. Anything else?”

“I’ve been feeling kind of left out lately.”

Both adults turned to me in curiosity. “How so?”

“Well none of the other kids my age are really learning wifely duties, at least not as much as me. When I want to go outside and play mom forces me to do my skills.”

“Wifely duties? Pray do tell,” Luci cocked an eyebrow.

“I learned how to clean the house from top to bottom, cook all three meals, sew, embroider, and do laundry. Basically anything my mom deems necessary to please this angelic husband of mine.”

“I can assure you it will come in handy. Especially with how much of pigish brute he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just got that impression when I’ve read his passages in the Bible, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

“If you had a real man I can be sure you wouldn’t need those skills, darling,” Auntie piped up, sipping her tea.

“A real man? Like who?”

“Like Luci for example!”

I turned to the blonde and he smiled. His eyes glinted with what looked like adoration. He gently grabbed my hand and held it, his hands quite warm through his gloves. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. “It’s true. If you were my wife you wouldn’t want for nothing. Every day would be spent in marital bliss.”

“Sounds gross!”

He chuckled and kissed my hand again. “When you’re older you’ll come to love it.”

‘If you say so.”

“I know so.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Luci’s tales from his travels while drinking our tea. They were quite intriguing and full of adventure. The people he met, the places he went were all so fascinating. It soon became dinner time and true to her word my mom sat in the driveway. Luci walked me to the door and gave a little bow. “It was a pleasure to chat with you, Y/n. I have a feeling we will see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so. You’re so cool, Luci!”

He smirked and patted my head. “Farewell, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Luci!”

I gave him a quick hug before running to the car.

Sure enough as I grew up I ran into the short blonde more often than not. From trips to the grocery store to when I was allowed at Aunt Hailey’s house, we would bump into each other. We’d always exchange a few words and always those red eyes sparkled bright around me. 

That was eleven years ago. Now I lay in a hospital bed, feeling like I was on the brink of death. A few years after meeting Luci I had gotten terribly ill. I was feverish, pale and felt nauseous. My mother was worried and took me to the clinic. I was just diagnosed with the flu. I took my medicine and stayed in bed as best as possible but the final straw was when I fainted in the backyard while gardening. Since then, I had been in and out of hospital with different doctors viewing me like prize cattle. I was poked, prodded and dug at only to be told no one had a clue as to why I was sick. It was like it had just fallen upon me. My mother became even more obsessive in her Christian ways. I was blessed every weekend and prayed upon every day to try and heal my mysterious illness. I was forced to drink holy water at every opportunity and had to wear my cross necklace with two rosaries. 

Currently, I was coughing so hard I felt like I dislocated my lungs. My mother sat next to me holding my hand, a rosary wrapping around us. As I continued to cough she pushed some hair out of my face. “You’re going to be alright, honey. Just stay strong.”

After my coughing fit, I laid back and tried to catch my breath. “I feel like I’m dying.”

Her hand tightened around mine and I could feel her body shake with sobs. “Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know Adam needs you. As much as I’d hate to see my baby go, you’d finally fulfill your purpose.”

“Mom, please. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door made us both look over. There in the entryway stood Luci, his white hat with the dark red band hanging tightly in his hands. “Come in.”

He stepped forward and gave a small smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Y/n! Language!”

“Sorry.”

He chuckled and came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a moment alone, please?”

My mom looked at me and I gave a curt nod. She sighed and stood. “I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll be back later, honey.”

She gave my forehead a kiss and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Luci took her place in the chair next to my bed. “What can I do for you, handsome?”

“I wanted to come see you. Hailey told me how you were faring and I knew I needed to come immediately.”

“I appreciate that. Especially since I feel like this may be the last time you see me.”

“Nonsense. We will always find each other, even in death.”

He brought his hand up and caressed my cheek. I smiled and then began coughing. I turned away and hacked into my arm, only turning back when I was done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand wrapped around mine and squoze tightly. “You know, I could end your suffering right now.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not lying to you, my dear. One small kiss and you’d go peacefully.”

“Luci-”

“And then we can be together forever. Adam, not even Heaven will keep you from me.”

“What are you talking about?” “Just kiss me.”

What could go wrong? I was already suffering so much.

“...Alright.”

He leaned forward and connected our lips. He tasted sweet like caramel apples and I just melted. My soul felt like it was being sucked out of my body and when he pulled away I couldn’t breathe. “You’re mine, little apple. Forever and always.”

He caressed my hand and my eyes closed.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then faded to silence all together.

[starbylers]

After spending some time listening and re-listening and thinking a lot, I think I finally have my head wrapped around all these songs. This post is an exploration of what they could tell us about Mike’s story, and also a sort of theory I noticed once I saw the full picture. This playlist is—in my opinion—the story we’ve been theorising for the past two years reflected in 12 songs. That might sound hyperbolic but it’s simply what I heard and interpreted, and wanted to share because I enjoyed writing it. I hope this is an interesting read!

If you didn’t see my last post about why I do believe this is Finn’s Mike/ST playlist despite the somewhat ambiguous title you can read that here. It’s totally okay if you disagree but I’m not interested in debating it, and this analysis is coming from a perspective of assuming we've guessed correctly that the playlist relates to ST (obviously we can't 1000% verify that, but for the purposes of this post that’s my stance).

I’m going to focus on themes and overall meanings in the songs because in my opinion that’s where any connections are going to lie, rather than specific lines holding anything important (aside from a few which I’ll highlight) because I feel like that’s closest to how Finn would’ve thought while making it. Basically a macro level representation of Mike and what he goes through next season, something that would help a person get into the headspace of a character. Oh and my larger point is about the playlist as a whole, which will come together at the end :)

➠ Track 1 | Ballad of the Texas King

The first song is an anomaly in that I think it’s meant to set the tone more than anything else. These explain better than I could hope to:

"Itʼs a murder ballad, and as is common in murder ballads, deals with promise and innocence being snuffed out.” [link]

"Clarke sings of a chance encounter with an ominous figure that feels akin to selling your soul at the crossroads" [link]

Hey kid come along, something is wrong, I believe you now / All this to say only one way that this can go / Come with us for a ride / Don’t it feel like hell? Boy let me tell you, that’s where you are

• • •

A nice little coincidence, Finn himself is quoted as saying season 5 is a “crossroads”. I can see this song being an allusion to inevitable big choices with life-altering consequences next season, and also more mature themes being tackled within Mike’s story. I mean he’s stepping back into his role as leader, and now they’re older that will come with a lot more weight and responsibility in situations where the fate of the world is likely hanging in the balance. Not to mention how his personal struggles will be tied up in that, it’s probable that a slightly darker, more self-reflective—and transformative—tone is waiting for us in regards to season 5 Mike.

➠ Track 2 | What You're Doing

A simple song about a turbulent relationship where one person is unhappy because their partner is messing them around, and they're pleading with them to stop.

Look what you’re doing, I'm feeling blue and lonely / You got me running and there's no fun in it / Please stop your lying, you've got me crying, girl

The partner is the one holding control in the situation, while they feel at the mercy of their partner’s careless choices. The mood here is one of helplessness and desperation while still remaining open-hearted, hoping they’ll change.

I've been waiting here for you wondering what you're gonna do / If you should need a love that's true it’s me / Why should it be so much to ask of you what you're doing to me?

• • •

This is heavily M!Ieven coded. What do we know about their dynamic? Mike is always the one chasing El (trying to “win her back” in s3, terrified of her not needing him in s4, stressing about her being in danger all the time). El is consistently seeking autonomy (choosing to learn about her identity over pursuing romance with him in s2, choosing to break up with him in s3, choosing to leave him behind in s4, and I’m willing to bet she’s the one who removes herself from his storyline in s5). We know their separation will happen early season, and naturally things between them must be unstable leading up to this. El being the one to pull away while Mike stresses over it checks out considering these past patterns, and also the end of s4 with her already closing herself off while Mike appears at a loss.

➠ Track 3 | After The Earthquake

A song reminiscing on a relationship and the failure and death of it, with a sense of lingering nostalgia and unwillingness to let it go. It’s set to the backdrop of a metaphorical car crash.

It wasn't built to last / If you wake up you’ll remember the awful things I said / Looking back to the vibrant days / Those days I'd never let you fall apart but things fade / Why would I ever fall in love again when every detail’s over the guard rail? / Velvet curtains drawn, flowers at your feet / Say you’ll climb your way out of your wake now / Are you awake now?

• • •

In simpler terms…this is a break up song. The longing tone makes sense to me for M!Ieven because I’ve long suspected the initial split between them is not going to be super clean cut (this should make more sense later). Mike and El were together for a long time for their age, and have a lot of intense shared memories. El was also his first and only experience of relationships; it’s going to be difficult to detach. It being the right decision to end something doesn’t mean it’s easy or simple. Even if Mike is gay and didn’t truly like her romantically, he still loved her and in my opinion that distinction isn’t something he’s going to have figured out and made peace with the second it ends.

➠ Track 4 | Promises I've Made

Very straightforward and repetitive, and follows on seamlessly from the last song: this is about having trouble moving on from someone who’s left your life.

Ever since you have gone the days don't seem so bright and I wish I could forget you but I can’t / I have promised myself I wouldn't dream of you but I find that awful hard sometimes to do

• • •

Based on what I’ve seen people might fight me on this, but to me it’s M!Ieven coded mainly because of its positioning in the playlist (directly after a struggling relationship song + break up song) but also because it is technically about an ex love. Could we say it doesn’t need to be interpreted that specifically? Yes. I suppose it could be Byler coded too but personally...the way I would interpret it is as Mike moping over whatever happened with El. There’s not any intense emotional pining going on; if you listen it has a very laid back, chill sort of mood and is honestly very upbeat. There’s no deep heartbreak. It’s just about missing someone. Plus it sort of perfectly closes out the process we see over the last two songs of being unhappy with someone, to breaking up and grieving, to the typical post-break up struggle of navigating this hole in your life and naturally missing what once filled it. This is a whole sub-arc for Mike.

➠ Track 5 | Angst In My Pants

We’ve reached the gay section! This song is about trying to fit yourself into an acceptable—aspirational, even—life but never feeling content, and continuously trying to squash this troubling Feeling, the titular phrase: angst in (your) pants. Some people think it’s a reference to literal physical arousal but others including me think that in context it’s intended more as a metaphor for sexual frustration/dissatisfaction.

I hope it doesn't show, it'll go away / It's just a passing phase / When you’re all alone, you and your head / When you think you’ve made it disappear it comes again, hello, I’m here and I’ve got angst in my pants

The queer subtext here is very clear, I don’t think I even have to explain (check out the cover art too lol). The song closes with a realisation/acceptance that no, this “phase” won't ever go away i.e. it’s just who you are.

Give it a hundred years, it won't go away

I also thought one of the opening verse lines was an interesting segue from the last few songs:

But when you’re all alone and nothing bites you’d wish you stayed at home with someone nice

• • •

Angst In My Pants may aswell be titled Forced Conformity the thematic parallels to ST are that blatant. Another point for team Mike Wheeler actually is connected to the main themes of the show like all his other friends, and no it’s not because he’s somehow oppressed for being a nerd. Also rather than being about feelings for another person the song is about personal struggle with sexuality which excites me to think about in relation to Mike because we’ve been saying he needs to explore his own identity outside of being a love interest.

➠ Track 6 | The Better Side

A very sweet, slow, slightly melancholy song. I’ll be honest I cannot decipher more than 2/3 of the lyrics but here are the most meaningful ones of those I could:

I know you cry and I’m trying to keep you by my warmth

You’re never gonna see my eyes, you’re coloring all the skies you want to / I tried staying alive, keep my head on the better side when you’re far away

You’re on the better side you’re always the better one for me

You’re all that I need, I’m not gonna miss you anymore

My understanding is it’s about pining over someone who is a “better” choice, whatever that means in this context. Deciding you want someone, someone who you don’t currently have, someone who is maybe distracted, distant or physically absent? But vowing to change that because you recognise that you need them.

• • •

This directly follows the Gay Thoughts song, and precedes the Gay Thoughts song 2.0 so I feel safe interpreting it as Byler coded and about how it’s Mike’s turn to pine. (Also because “better” implies that there’s a “worse” i.e. this is a situation where you’re differentiating between two things i.e. in Mike’s case, Will vs El). I can envision Mike and Will getting moments together away from whatever chaos is surely going on, having the space to connect more where Mike starts becoming conscious of his feelings, realising slowly that Will is the “better” one for him. And as the song also suggests, perhaps Will has pulled away from him in the beginning. I think this is possible because the torment Will's likely going to endure from Vecna could understandably cause him to push Mike away, fearing his safety or him finding out how Will feels, and also I just don’t think he’ll be able to stand the pain of being M!Ieven’s couple’s counsellor for much longer without cracking. But I think Mike “it’ll be easier if we’re a team” Wheeler would make it his mission to fix any rift between them, the final line literally being I’m not gonna miss you anymore.

➠ Track 7 | Don't Ask Me To Explain

As far as I can tell, this song is about being afraid to face queer feelings for another person who is also hiding this about themselves, and being conflicted about whether to confess because you're not sure how they feel.

How will I ever know you enough to love you if you're hiding who you are? / How am I supposed to let it show when I don't even know? / Don’t move on without me, who will be watching my body when I sleep? / I don't want to be the one who's coming out first, I'd really like to but I'm just too shy

The end is an admission of…something. I’m not sure whether to interpret it as wishful thinking over this queer relationship you believe you can’t have, or as an offhand comment about forcing yourself to love someone you can’t because of your sexuality. Interesting either way:

It’s so easy to lie to myself and pretend that I could love you but I can't

I did do some research and the alleged true explanation of this song is it’s from one queer friend to another (man to woman, I assume both closeted, maybe a failed romance?) but I could only find one uncited source for that and everywhere else seems to agree with my interpretation so it seems when listening to the song that’s the story people hear. (Plus either way the song is about being queer. Undeniably so).

• • •

It’s not Byler coded we’re way past that, it literally just…is them. It does seem to suggest a level of internal conflict in Mike regarding coming out that I can’t say I expected (yes I have no doubts about canon Byler but I’m also a pessimist by nature—that should tell you how obvious their endgame is though lmao—so I assumed the Duffers would go wrong somewhere). I always thought he would be almost consciously clueless about himself until he finds out Will loves him, and the focus be more on him liking Will back rather than him liking boys (and obviously wasn’t a fan of that), but the prospect of Mike actually being aware and grappling with his sexuality is what we’ve been praying for and builds on the more low-level thrum of sexual confusion in Angst In My Pants. Oh and the song also could suggest Mike suspecting that Will likes him/is queer too before anyone confesses.

➠ Track 8 | What Do You Want Me To Do?

Another straightforward one. It’s quite angsty, a big contrast to the more sad feelings about a relationship from the earlier songs. This is about someone who left you for someone else/someone who walked out on you, who decides they want you back.

You walked out took your chance, turned your back on our romance / You said the change would do you good / But then the bubble burst your dream, turned into a nightmare scream / You came crawling to me your knees, and you were asking me to love you please

The main message of the repetitive chorus is basically: you want me to need you, but that’s not real love. You’re just using me to feel better about yourself.

What do you want me to do? Say that I need you more? Is that what real lovers do? Or only what you use me for?

• • •

I mean isn’t that last part how we’ve always described M!Ieven’s dynamic—all about aligning with the other’s needs whether for safety, validation or feeling ‘normal’, rather than genuine romance? I don’t think there’s any chance at all of El leaving Mike for someone else lol, as I said I don’t think we need to interpret these songs super specifically. But it does make me wonder: could we possibly see a moment of regression for El at some point in the season, after they separate? The focus here in my opinion is frustration at someone trying to re-enter your life when you know they don’t truly love you. Reflecting on their dynamic I talked about with earlier songs and their history in the show (El walking away, Mike scared to lose her), is it possible the break up could leave Mike struggling initially then he progressively understands why it was the right choice (especially after spending time with Will), meanwhile for El it’s the opposite—she’s more sure about breaking up but something happens later on that shakes her belief in herself. Her having one last hurdle to overcome in her dependency on Mike to finally break that pattern of hindering her growth by retreating to him could make sense. And based on this song…Mike would not be receptive to being El’s safety net. Growth for both of them.

➠ Track 9 | Substitute

Again, very angsty compared to earlier. It’s about a relationship characterised by false perceptions (focused on class), and those being what is holding it together. One partner is pretending to be something they’re not, cosplaying as someone else, and the other is also being dishonest/fake.

You think we look really good together / My fine looking suit is really made out of sack / The simple things you see are all complicated / Substitute your lies for fact / I see right through your plastic mac

The relationship breaks down because of this and their partner doesn’t truly want to fix things, and ultimately trades up.

Those crocodile tears are what you cry / It’s a genuine problem, you won’t try to work it out at all, you just pass it by / Substitute me for him / Substitute my coke for gin

Essentially: your partner not knowing the real you because you’re putting on a facade—the facade being the version of you they really like, the thing that was making you compatible—leads the relationship to fail. The literal title suggests neither of them as they are are what the other truly wants or needs.

• • •

Obviously this does not directly parallel M!leven in terms of the topic of the lying but in terms of the themes and core relationship issues…yeah. To me this could be about point Mike has reached after gradually coming to realisations about the nature of their relationship after it’s over, like I mentioned before. I can envision a mid-late season confrontation (or something less aggressive sounding lol) between them, pairing perfectly with the topic of the previous song. El scared trying to fall back on Mike and he’s like…no, we don’t work, I can’t be that for you anymore and this is why: betraying who he is (nerd) to impress her, trying so hard to play the “boyfriend” role (yet they never successfully emotionally connect), if he’s gay then there’s also the facade of straightness, etc. I think it would show a lot of emotional maturity from him honestly, and I really need him to have a strong grasp on what went wrong with El for them to have a shot at forming a healthy friendship, and also to psychologically process all that stuff before getting involved with Will.

➠ Track 10 | The Rebel Kind

A short song about life being tough when you don’t have much (this one is class-focused too), but still craving the freedom that comes from not following societal rules and pressures for how to do life “right”, and instead living on your own terms. Basically the struggle is worth not having to conform. The first verse sums it up pretty well:

They call us the rebel kind but they don’t understand the things a man must do to prove that he’s a man / It’s not easy but I don’t mind, I just wanna run with the rebel kind

• • •

Again, obviously the specific topic is not relevant to ST but the thematic parallels blew my mind, I mean the entire show is about people being outcasts and learning to find strength in that, and the final season is going to majorly drive that point. We know this from the fact that Will “being different” Byers is the one who’s arc is said to tie up the whole show. Now in regards to Mike…if this doesn’t scream forced conformity and deciding to reject it for your own happiness I don’t know what does. It perfectly captures the thematic end point of his arc next season (and not just his but probably the entire party’s in one way or another). Also the toxic masculinity reference in that one line applies heavily to Mike with his history of trying so hard to do what he thinks he supposed to do in going from boy to man i.e. We’re not kids anymore. Did you think we were never gonna get girlfriends?

➠ Track 11 | Block Rockin’ Beats

Another one I think is mainly to set a tone; no real lyrics just beats. In my opinion it comes after The Rebel Kind for a reason. Somehow it just makes sense, it’s got this really loud, frenzied, unrestrained energy to it.

➠ Track 12 | Just What I Needed

We end off with a love (or desire?) song. It’s interesting because it’s quite aggressive sonically but at the same time it talks about being with someone in a simple uncomplicated way:

I don’t mind you coming here and wasting all my time / I don’t mind you hanging out and talking in your sleep

…but it’s also very intense how you feel with them.

Cause when you’re standing oh so near I kinda lose my mind

There’s a repeated line that stuck in my head. It’s obviously written about a female subject, but there is such a rejection of the feminine going on:

It’s not the perfume that you wear, it’s not the ribbons in your hair

It’s saying those feminine attributes are not why this person is attractive—and yeah logically that means the subject must have those things, but as I’ve said I don’t think these songs need to be interpreted on such a specific level. The point being made is about a deeper connection. The line is just intriguing to me from the perspective of Mike being into boys, I mean he could’ve picked literally any other romance song.

I needed someone to feed / I needed someone to bleed / I guess you’re just what I needed

The message here is basically: I was craving the rawest form of connection/intimacy with another human being (that doesn’t have to necessarily mean sexual it’s just those visceral words feed, bleed in comparison to perfume and ribbons which sound very fluffy lol)…and now I’ve found you and it’s exactly what I was looking for.

• • •

With all the themes through the songs of rejecting fake relationships and conformity, and accepting and exploring queerness…Will Byers is obviously going to be the thing Mike needed. I’ve been saying (and so have many) but Byler isn’t happening till the end. Also the playlist finishing with this song is telling in my opinion. Aside from the Castle Byers Classics link, the title itself implies searching for something which is now found, a journey being over. I say this for the purposes of pushing my agenda about this playlist painting a narrative. Hear me out:

Personally……that’s not accidental. It just isn’t. Even if my more specific interpretations aren’t correct, I just cannot believe that this wasn’t curated to draw a particular picture. I believe in coincidences and if the playlist had been titled as it was with a bunch of random unconnected irrelevant songs I’d be the first person to file it under that. But the title and the inclusion of a song from Will’s official playlist and these specific songs in this specific order? Yeah it’s about s5 Mike and I cannot wait to see him! If you made it this far thanks for reading <3

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirteen

authors note: welp. the gala is finally here, friends! i hope you enjoy. well, the enjoyable parts.

ya'll remember that promo where kevin and sami tried to jump roman and he was furious, throwing shit out the ring, yelling at solo to position sami for the spear? that's how angry our collective favorite grump gets in this one...

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

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of torture, fighting violence, language, angst, fluff, livid roman, and discussion regarding family loss.

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

masterlist

words: 11k

“Guys, is this really necessary?”

Truth be told, Solana already knows how both of her friends are going to respond. Bayley, however, is the one who briefly rips her focus from finding an x-large size in the top to the matching bottoms she’s picked out for Solana.

“It absolutely is necessary.” She takes a second to gesture to Solana’s outfit for the day. “You’ve come so far in so many ways, including not hiding your body as much, so we have to keep that going.”

“Exactly,” Naomi chimes as she reaches yet another dress to Solana, adding it to the pile of clothes she already has stacked on her arm. “Besides, who doesn’t love shopping with other people’s money?”

Other people would be Roman. Despite her horror at the totals every time Bayley and Naomi sucker her into these outrageous shopping trips, her husband never seems to bat an eye. It’s not unsurprising. She knows he’s filthy rich. But still, just the thought of spending so much money on clothes is a struggle.

And as Bayley adds the two piece suit to her arm, Solana starts to notice there’s a theme in the items they’re picking for her. A lot of bathing suits. Sun dresses. Shorts and thin sleeved tops. All appropriate for summer, of course. But, something else. 

Like a trip.

Curious, Solana suddenly asks, “why are we getting so many vacation type outfits?”

Naomi looks at her with the perfect confused expression. “What?” She laughs, picking up a bright orange top with a low neckline. “Girl, it’s summer. These are summer clothes.”

“But all these bathing suits—”

“Because we finally got you to embrace a two-piece, so now we need to make sure you have plenty of em’ whenever you and Roman decide to go for a swim.” Her wink makes Solana look away to hide her blush. She doesn’t regret opening up about trying to eventually consummate her marriage, but the way Naomi and Bayley never waste a chance to crack an innuendo can be….a lot at times.

“I’m gonna go bring these up front.” Solana gestures to the heavy stack of clothes that she’s holding. The second, or maybe third, stack they’ve accumulated for her. There’s always a check-in regarding if Solana likes it or not, which she appreciates. Even if they’ve become exceptionally good at distinguishing whether she doesn’t like something because it’s just not her style or whether she doesn’t like it because of insecurity. And when it’s the second one, they never hesitate to invoke their veto powers, instructing the cashier to ring it up.

Solana finds the sales girl from earlier up at the register, messing around on her phone as the line is non-existent. Her emerald green eyes dart up from the screen and an almost crooked smile falls on her young looking face. Solana would guess she’s either in her late teens or early twenties. 

“Got more for me?”

Solana giggles. “Just a little.” 

The girl also laughs, accepting the new pile and adding it with the others. She turns back around with a bit of skeptical look. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

Curious, Solana nods. “Sure.”

She leans over the counter, red hair sprinkling past her freckled shoulders. “How did you meet your husband?” Eyes widening a bit, Solana’s surprise at the question must show. “I’ve seen you come in here a couple times now over the past few months, and every time you spend more than what my parents probably make in a month combined. And your ring is so beautiful. I guess I’m just kind of wondering how I can get lucky too. Cause your husband clearly loves you a lot to spoil you so much.”

Love…..

Not until this very moment has Solana ever thought about Roman and the word love in the same sentence. Hell, in the same universe. 

He’s….he’s done so much for her. Changed her life, for the better, in almost every way. And she’s gathered that he must care for her to some extent. Why else would he do the things he’s done? But love….that’s such a strong word.

Too strong.

Not to mention, he’d made clear to her the first time he came to visit her at her job that he could never love her. He was very honest about that, and in a weird way, she appreciated it.

But…..but he also said that she was a business arrangement, and nothing about the way he treats her feels like a business obligation.

So…..

It’s such a big thing, a big thing she’s not sure she wants to tackle in public, let alone while standing in front of a complete stranger. 

“He’s really great.” That’s the answer nonanswer that she settles on. “I just….I got really lucky with him.” Because she did. God knows she did.

“Fair,” the girl laughs. “Well, if he has any younger brothers who are kind and generous like him, I’m single.”

Solana smiles a bit when her attention lands on the word brothers. Siblings. Family. 

It takes her back to a few months earlier, the night he rushed off because of conflict with this Cody Rhodes person. The night he shared with her he also lost his mother at the age of ten.

But…..but there was more.

Brief glimpses, flashbacks almost of a different night. Her body pressed against his. His strong arms around her. Comforting her almost.

“....all of my siblings….”

“.....only one…..”

“....alone….”

And though she can’t make out everything, can’t remember verbatim what he’d shared with her that evening. there’s enough bits and pieces that she’s able to string together a coherent, heartbreaking realization. 

It wasn’t just Roman’s mom he lost that night.

He lost his entire family.

He was the only one who made it out alive. 

There’s a crushing, cumbersome weight Solana feels in the back of her throat as well as the pit of her stomach. She knows better than most how devastating the loss of family can be, but to lose your entire immediate family in one night. As a child?

That’s a pain she can’t even imagine.

Roman makes a lot more sense now, his coldness, the constant aloof disposition. The way he always has his guard up. Beyond just his title as Tribal Chief. How can one not lose trust in most and all things with a loss like that?

How can one love after a loss like that?

Realizing her epiphany is unfolding behind the sales girl, Solana manages to murmur out a, “I’ll keep that in mind” before excusing herself. She just needs some space. Needs some—

“Solana?”

The woman in question is close to the entrance of the story when a voice, both new and familiar, calls her name, forcing her to turn around. And it’s when she does so that Solana realizes why it’s familiar.

“Dom?”

It’s been years since she’s seen him, and he looks both the same yet different. Facial hair that seems uneven and unconnected with a hairstyle to match, bangs almost entirely obscuring his bushy eyebrows. He’s dressed in all black, clothes draped over his still slim build. Once upon a time, she would grow nervous around him, insecure of herself in comparison to someone she thought was so much more attractive than he actually was. Now though, she just wants to pretend this unexpected encounter never happened.

“What are you—”

“Did you get bigger?”

And there it goes. One simple question asked with almost a hint of a mocking smile, Solana is briefly reverted back to those days of deep rooted insecurity. Where she’d hold her stomach in around him and always only order salad the few times he took her out.

For a second, she’s tempted to cross her arms, suddenly regretting the top that doesn’t entirely connect with her high waisted shorts, exposing a strip of skin. 

“Damn. I really thought you would have gotten yourself together by now.” He scoffs, crossing his arms as he tilts his head. “You still not putting out? Cause your tits are actually not that—”

“Shut up.”

Solana isn’t sure who’s more surprised by her interruption. Him or her. Perhaps him, because his smile is dropped, replaced with an almost scowl.

“What the hell did you say to me, mami?”

But instead of cowering, instead of her anxiety growing at him, a man, moving closer to her. Trying to intimidate her. Solana doesn’t back down.

She doesn’t back down because she’s not scared. 

Chin lifted, she keeps her voice firm and unwavering. “You don’t get to talk about me anymore. Not my weight. Not my body. None of it.” Seeing the shock in his eyes at her actually standing up for herself, not allowing him to talk down on her like he always would, makes Solana’s assertiveness that much more fulfilling. “Now leave me alone.”

She turns to walk away when she hears footsteps behind her. “Where do you think—”

Call it the result of her training or the fact that she’s still very much in her feelings and head about her heartbreaking realization regarding Roman, Solana hasn’t a clue just what leads her to spin around and connect her fist directly with Dom’s nose. However, as soon as she does it, sees him stumbling back into a rack, she slaps her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my….” But instead of apologizing, instead of feeling terrible for hitting another human being, she finds herself almost laughing. A shocked, amused smile hidden underneath her palms. Her first is hurting a bit, but that sting is dulled by the satisfaction of his dumbfounded facial expression.

It’s a bit short lived though as he straightens up and starts to stalk toward her. “What the hell? You crazy puta—”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

Solana turns to see Bayley and Naomi. It’s hard to distinguish who looks more pissed. Who looks more ready to commit murder.

Naomi steps forward. “I know you did not just call her a bitch.” She turns to Bayley. “That’s what puta means in Spanish, right?”

“It sure does.” Bayley answers, coming to stand beside Solana. Protectively. “He called her a crazy bitch at that.” She scoffs, dressing him up and down. “Everyone knows you’re an idiot, Dom, but I didn’t think you were that stupid. Who the hell do you think you are talking to her like that?”

“He’s my ex.” Solana answers, partially unsure why she would let slip a piece of information that could only make the situation worse.

Naomi’s mouth drops open, one thumb gesturing to him. “Dirty Dumbass Dom is your ex?” Her eyes widen even more. “The one who said—oh hell no, Solana. We’re kicking his ass.”

Bayley lifts her hand, effectively stopping Naomi as she moves forward, no doubt ready to lay into him. Head tilted to the side, she smiles. “No….I have a much better idea.” Solana is understandably confused as Bayley tells Naomi, “I still have my stuff in my trunk.” 

Naomi’s eyes light up. “Oh, this just got so much better.” She turns towards the sales associate who’s been watching everything unfold from a distance like it was a TikTok storytime. “Hold the items, please. We’ll be back in a little bit.” 

Solana turns around to see the girl just give a thumbs up and shrug. “Do what you gotta do.”

Dom groaning in pain is what makes Solana turn her attention back to him, only to see him doubled over, holding his crotch as Naomi hits him in his back and starts guiding him out the store. “Get walking. Now.”

“I’m not going any—-” He cries out once again when Bayley kicks him in his face. 

“Shut your bitch ass up!” She curses in Spanish, motioning for Solana to follow them. “Come on, girl.”

Confused but following suit, Solana asks, “what are we doing?”

Naomi answers with intentional vagueness. “Having a lil’ fun.”

Something tells Solana they have different definitions of fun. 

But she remains silent as her two friends quite literally drag Dom out of the store, through the rest of the stores until they reach the parking lot. She’s again surprised when they take him over to Bayley’s car. She unlocks it and opens the trunk, pulling out a black bag that she hands to Solana. Solana starts to peek inside when something else catches her attention. 

Bats. 

Metal bats. 

She has two. One of which she reaches to Solana.

“I—just what are we doing?”

Bayley’s smile is nothing but mischievous. “Having some fun.”

Naomi suddenly pulls out a knife and presses it to his throat. “Take us to your car. Now.” 

Dom is quieter than she’s ever known him to be as he follows Naomi’s directive, leading them to his fancy pickup truck that Solana, even with her limited knowledge about cars, can tell is worth a pretty penny. 

They make him unlock it to ensure it's actually his truck before Bayley starts to circle it. She nods, as if impressed. “Nice. Can tell you’ve put a bunch of upgrades in.” Solana’s mouth drops open as Bayley takes her key and slides it along the truck as she walks. “Might need a paint job though.”

“What the hell! You—” He’s silenced by Naomi kicking him in his back, forcing him to the ground, knife still pressed against his throat. “You’re all fucking crazy!”

That only makes Bayley smile as she directs Solana to lay the bag on the ground, bending over and pulling out a portable bluetooth speaker. It’s only when seeing the glitter, paint, and glue that Solana starts to put two and two together.

“Are we—”

“Uh huh.”

She gasps. “But, we can’t—-we…..” And suddenly, she’s trailing off, thoughts of all of the cruel, unkind things Dom would say to her, the way he would put her down, fat shame her, bringing her to tears. The memories help her tune to change a bit. “C—can we?” 

Bayley stands up and places a hand on her shoulder. “Solana…..you are Solana fucking Reigns. Wife of Roman Reigns, the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table.” Out of the corner of her eye, Solana can see Dom’s eyes go wide as saucers. He clearly wasn’t aware of this. Of her marriage. Of just who she calls husband these days. “You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Bayley’s hype is effective as she pulls out her phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. A small smile falls on Solana’s face as she hears the familiar and oh-so fitting song. 

Right now,

He's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp

And she's probably getting frisky

Right now,

He's probably buying her some fruity little drink

'Cause she can't shoot whiskey

Bayley gestures for Solana to move closer to the truck. “Your ex. First hit is yours.”

“Solana, wait, please. I—I didn’t know you were with him.” Dom’s pleading and begging is desperate and embarrassing. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

For some reason, that word has never made her feel so irritated. 

“No, you’re not.” And without a second of hesitation, she takes the bat and swings it against his passenger window, effectively shattering it. On the side, Bayley and Naomi cheer her on, Solana not even needing encouragement as she moves around to the other side, doing the same to the driver’s window.

Bayley howls out, “let’s fuckin’go!” She takes the bat and brings it against the rest of the truck, creating dents, scratches, and anything else that can desecrate what she’s sure makes up for other deficits. 

Solana just took out the mirror on the passenger side when she hears Naomi aggressively yell at him not to ‘fucking move.” And Dom doesn’t, just watches helplessly as she moves over to the bag, pulling out the glue and glitter. She smirks in his direction, lifting the materials of destruction. “Time to glow, bitch.”

Solana laughs as Naomi rips open the door and starts pouring the deadly combination of glue and glitter all over the interior. 

I dug my key into the side of his pretty

little suped up four wheel drive

Carved my name into his leather seats

Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

Slashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

The ironic and iconic lyrics serve as a manual and guiding force for Solana as she catches the tossed keys from Bayley who’s on the hood of the truck going HAM on the roof with the metal bat. Solana finds herself feeling almost giddy as she effectively slashes all four of his tires.

This is the last thing she ever saw herself doing: completely destroying her ex’s car without a care in the world, but it’s also exactly what’s happening.

And she can’t even say that she feels any regret about it.

Doesn’t feel bad about it.

Why should she? He never felt bad about any of the shit he did to her. 

And she especially doesn’t feel bad as she finds herself carving her name not only in his leather seats but the outside of the truck as well.

Naomi looks over at Dom who is now actually crying and laughs. “Look at it this way, Dom. We’re only doing this to your truck. Imagine what he’s going to do to you once he finds out what you did to his wife.” It brings her a great sense of satisfaction to see the terror in his eyes. 

It also makes her send out the brief video she recorded of Bayley and Solana beating the shit out of the truck with bats to her group chat with the men.

Naomi: Just doing hot girl shit. 💅🏿

Their replies start coming in only minutes later. 

Jimmy: Idk what’s going on, but I’m turned tf on. 

Jey: Why ya’ll females always go after our cars and shit? 

Roman: Why the fuck is it everytime you two take my wife out, it’s always some shit?

Roman: What the fuck is going on?

Naomi: Because you all asked so nicely 😐, turns out Solana used to date Dom back in the day.

Jimmy: Rey’s boy? The fuck? She too damn fine for that weasel. He could never handle all that ass.

Roman: One more time, Jimmy. Just one more time.

Jey: Naomi, please give us the rest of the story before Roman make your ass a widow.

Naomi: 🥴 Anyway, she told us some of the stuff he used to say to and about her, and honestly….even more trash than we thought.

Roman: Like?

Naomi: We promised Solana we wouldn’t say anything. Just know he was mean to her. So I guess she ran into him and he said some out of pocket shit, she got upset and PUNCHED him!!!!!!!

Jimmy: Soso HIT someone?!? 

Naomi: Sure did!

Jey: Damn! Our Soso growing up on us!

Roman: I wanna know what the fuck he said to her.

Naomi: Ask her when you get home. 🙄

Naomi: So we’re fucking up his truck while he watches helplessly. 😊

Roman: The dead don’t need cars anyway.

Roman’s chilly response is both given and, in her opinion, well overdue. She’s never heard anything nice or good about Mysterio’s boy, so she can only imagine the full extent of what he put Solana through. 

It’s why she’s mostly pleased by how Solana allows herself to let loose, to get her receipt. She deserves it.

As Solana and Bayley pour glitter in his gas tank, Naomi casually calls out, “what should we get to eat after this?”

________

“I committed assault and vandalism in one day. One.”

Roman smiles as he adjusts his tie, partially thankful his clearly distressed wife is unable to see his humored response to her frantic worrying. 

“That bitch got what he deserved, Solana.” Part of it. But, Solana doesn’t need to know Roman absolutely plans on making sure she never has to run into that alelo ever again. No one will. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”

She really shouldn’t, because he can only imagine what was said to her, the treatment she received from that piece of shit. None of which she deserved. All of which makes him want to say fuck the gala and get straight to torturing the fucker.

Through the mirror attached to his dresser, he watches the bathroom door open, Solana stepping out, a robe only partially covering the length of her red dress. Leaning against the door, she crosses her arms, clearly in her head over what he partially wishes he could have been present for.

He would have taken the metal bats to Dom himself versus the truck.

But, he’s also him, and she is her. 

Two very different people. 

Roman moves across the room, pulling her against him as her hands lay on his chest. “You really mean to tell me you didn’t feel the least bit good at fucking his shit up?”

And he sees it, the way she’s fighting back the agreement. He reminds, hands moving to undo her robe. “You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.” She seems to be mulling over his words as he pushes her robe off her shoulders, watching it fall to the floor. “Fuck….” She always looks good, but there’s something about seeing her in the red, the way the dress hugs her curves, taunting him, testing his resolve, that has them wanting to ditch the gala for an entirely different reason. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her smile is bashful, but he’s pleased to see her not look away, to maintain eye contact as she murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’. She gasps a bit, informing, “Oh, I noticed earlier you were running low on your medicine, so I called it in and picked it up for you.”

That takes him off guard. It was on his to-do list. Somewhere on there, he’s certain. But for her to go out of her way to take care of it for him, it makes him feel something he can’t really explain. 

Solana’s smile dims a bit as she gently reminds, “you’ve gotta stay on top of that. It’s—it’s important, Roman.”

“Yeah…” It’s a response to her, but he’s still very much in his head over whatever this strange ass, yet somehow comforting feeling is. Fucking confusing ass shit. Clearing his throat, Roman forces himself to get his head back in the game. “Solana….” His tone is something different, something that makes her a bit nervous, that weighs down her previous smile even more.

She does her best not to reveal the alteration in her happiness level. But, she can just tell the mood is about to shift a bit. “Yes?”

To his credit, his hand moving in circles on the small of her back gives her a bit of comfort. Eases the weight of whatever he’s about to share. “Tonight..tonight I need to be on. Focused. The fucking annoying part about these things is that everyone’s there to see if they can seek out some type of soft point. Some kind of weakness.” 

This confuses her. Soft point? That’s not an issue for Roman, and she points out as such. “But, but you have no weaknesses.” 

Something flashes in his eyes and before she can say anything, not that she necessarily would, he’s back to explaining himself. “I don’t want you to think that I’m being cold with you. I’m not upset or avoiding you. I just—”

“You need to show them why you’re the Head of the Table.” His latter explanation provides the previously missing clarification. Reaching for his hand, she offers a gentle smile. “I understand.” 

“Do you?” For a second, it almost sounds like there’s a sense of urgency to his tone. Like he needs to know that she knows it’s nothing personal against her.

And it’s not really until this moment that Solana realizes there are two sides to Roman Reigns. The side that she sees, the almost gentle, caring side. The man who always goes out of his way to ensure her comfort and safety at all times. The man who’s changed her life in ways he’ll probably never be able to fully understand.

Then there’s the other side. The side that makes his name alone strikes fear in even the strongest of men. The most violent. The most diabolical. A god among men. 

Two completely different sides of the coin, but still a single coin.

This other side though, the side only she gets to see because it’s reserved for her. The side that might even be considered a form of vulnerability…..he only shows that with her, only shows it to her.

A….safe space, of sorts.

She is his safe space. 

This second, or maybe third, major realization of the day only makes that love aspect so much more confusing. Though it makes her heart swell to know she can provide that for him. That she can be that for him.

Pulling from floating thoughts, Solana brings herself back to the conversation at hand. “I do.” She offers an explanation of her own. “I know I asked if you’ll stay with me the whole night, but—but, I don’t think I need that.” And before he can protest, she gives the valid reasons why. “I didn’t know Bayley and Naomi would be there. I’m fine with them. I just—I didn’t want to be alone in a room full of people I don’t know.”

“I would never leave you alone.” He brings his hand to the back of her neck, informing in a low voice. “I might not interact with you much, but that doesn’t mean I’m not watching. 

“I know.” She cuts him off, again working to reassure him that he doesn’t need to be so focused on her. It’s clear there’s a task for the evening, a box that needs to be checked. And she doesn’t want to interfere in any sort of way. “I’ll be fine.” With a half smile, she reminds, “especially if there’s a bat nearby.”

A genuine smile grows on Roman’s face as he pulls her into him, Solana resting in his safe embrace. Being in his arms is starting to become one of her favorite things. “My fine ass, bat swinging wife.” She giggles against him as Roman drops his hand to her ass, giving a slap. 

“Let’s go.”

________

The minute the SUV door opens and Roman climbs out first only to offer his hand as Solana steps out behind him, her gaze taking in the beautiful mansion that looks like something out of a movie premiere, her anxiety starts to rise. Taking in the scene around her, she’s met with an actual red carpet leading up the steps to the mansion that has large, glass, double doors with swirled marble intricate designs that match the stone of the building. There’s a line of cars both behind and in front of their SUV, indicating guests are still arriving.

That makes her feel at least a little bit better.

She didn’t want to make Roman late. Even if something tells her he wouldn’t care one way or the other.

It’s not missed upon her how he gives her hand an almost gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over her knuckles all the while keeping his gaze up and focused. She sees how his light eyes subtly survey the perimeter as he leads them up the steps. She stills when two large men dressed in black suits wearing earpieces, guards clearly, stop them with a raised hand.

“Please walk through—-”

“Do I look fucking stupid?” Roman’s question needs no answer as he motions for Solana to walk ahead of him through the metal detectors that separate attendees from entering. Slowly, with a bit of anxiety at somehow setting them off even though there’s no way for her to, she does so without incident. Roman does the same looking every bit annoyed as he feels, but it makes her feel a bit better when he takes hand in his again.

“No weapons allowed.” Is all he says. Calmly. Simply. Without anything else. She nods, figuring as such, but a brief sideways glance at her husband, and she wonders how beneficial that actually is when he, himself, is a walking weapon.

She’s more than certain he’s killed before with his bare hands. Not a weapon needed.

Solana takes in the setting before her. Circular tables litter the first and second levels of the beautiful building, intricate, opulent centerpieces decorating each table. A live band plays some unfamiliar song as guests mingle about, many of which are admiring the various art pieces that occupy almost all of the walls. The lights are dimmed and the smell of lavender and honey penetrates, creating an almost calming atmosphere that starkly contrasts the fact that almost everyone in eyesight is a part of the crime underworld. Trained, brutal killers. 

Including the man who continues to soothe his thumb across her knuckles. 

“Come on.”

Solana stays close besides Roman as he leads them through the sea of people. Many of which, men primarily, seem to settle their gaze on her, her chest, only to travel up to see the man beside her and smartly redirect their attention literally anywhere else.

In some sort of strange way, that brings a sense of comfort to her. To know that just his presence wards off any and all unwanted attention. Makes her feel safer.

Then again, she’s not sure if any environment exists where Roman doesn’t make her feel safe. 

She feels even better when she realizes where he’s led them. A table full of familiar, equally welcomed faces. 

Bayley is the first to greet her. She stands up from the table, and Solana is in awe of her teal dress that hugs every curve beautifully. “You look fuckin amazing.” She reaches over, pulling Solana away from Roman and into a hug. “Aren’t you glad you went with this one?” She gestures down to the dress.

Solana laughs and nods. “Yes. I am.”

Naomi and Jimmy are also standing now, forming an almost line to hug Solana. Naomi pulls her in even tighter. “How's the fist?”

Solana gasps as Naomi laughs only for Jimmy to crack his little joke. “I made sure ain’t no bats around just in case you get upset again, sis.” 

Allowing him to hug her, Solana rolls her eyes and murmurs, “that’s not happening ever again.”

“You might wanna watch your shit, Big Dog. Soso believe in breaking shit when she gets angry.”

Feeling a bit defenseless, she grasps at straws. “It was—it wasn’t like that.”

Jey scoffs, pointing out after downing some of his wine, “girl, we saw you on that video. You was swangin the hell out of that thing.”

Cheeks flushed, Solana sits down in the seat Roman has pulled out for her. Right next to him. Bayley on her other side. She looks over at Naomi. “I can’t believe you sent it to them.”

“Are you kidding? Our sweet little Solana beating the shit out of her ex’s car with a bat? That’s Kodak worthy.”

She rolls her eyes, eager to take the attention off herself as she notices Jey’s seat beside him is empty. “Is Nicki not coming?”

Naomi answers with a chuckle. “Girl, Nicki got banned years ago after she—”

Jey quickly jumps in, depriving Solana of a story she’s certain involved some type of altercation between him and his wife. Their marriage truly does not make any sense to her whatsoever. “Aye, we don’t need to rehash the past.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Naomi leans over and whispers, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Solana hopes she follows through on that. Roman asks the twins something in Samona, the three of them starting a dialogue in a language only they can understand. And judging by the serious expressions on all of their faces, she surmises that it’s business related. 

Especially when Solo and Paul join the table. It’s almost like the ladies don’t exist after that, but it doesn’t bother Solana. It can’t when Roman already made it clear what tonight would be like.

It’s nothing personal. 

Just business. 

Bored and kind of eager to explore what seems like one of a kind masterpieces, she turns to Bayley and asks, “can we go look at the art?”

Bayley scoffs. “Hell yeah.” Standing up and adjusting her dress, she remarks, “it’s better than sitting here doing nothing.” Glancing at Naomi, she asks, “you wanna come with us?”

Naomi sucks her teeth. “Girl, you don’t even have to ask.” 

Solana smiles, grateful for their attendance and companionship. 

Roman’s deep voice cuts through with a simple two word command. “Watch her.”

She looks back at him, offering a small smile she hopes will settle any concern he may have about her. He doesn’t need to worry about that. Just needs to focus on himself. 

Linking arms with the other ladies, they move through the crowd, starting with the art near the entrance and making their way around. Solana seems to be the most intrigued by the pieces selected, trying to detect a theme in each one. Naomi and Bayley, however, seem to settle for a combination of roasting and admiring. More of the first than the latter. 

“Oh fuck, I was hoping they didn’t show up.” Solana is in the midst of deciphering a piece of abstract art when Bayley’s almost steel exclamation pulls her from her focus. 

Confused, she asks, “who?”

Naomi answers, subtly gesturing across the room. “Don’t stare. It’ll draw attention to us.”

Solana does her best, but it’s hard not to when she sees a set of new arrivals, most of which are absolute strangers, faces unseen prior to this very moment.

But one is not.

One is a face she saw, a person she spoke to, just days prior.

Brandi. 

She’s holding hands with a tall man, striking blue eyes Solana can see from nearly across the room, bleached blonde hair that somehow compliments his tanned skin. There’s a boyish look about him that Solana would guess is a facade, something that deceives people, cleverly hiding the fact that he’s just as much a killer as the guests around them. 

Before she can ask who he is though, Bayley offers introductions. “That is Cody Rhodes. And the pretty lady on his arm is his wife, Brandi.”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops. Her mouth feels dry. “Wife?” Solana looks back and forth between the couple. “Brandi is Cody’s wife?”

This just got a lot more confusing and complicated. The kind woman whose young daughter Solana ‘rescued’ is married to Roman’s greatest enemy? The man he hates most?

And suddenly Solana is thinking about her interaction with Solo after she mentioned Brandi’s name. 

He knew.

So, why didn’t he say anything to her?

Why didn’t he say anything to Roman?

________

Roman ignoring Solana for the majority of the night ends up being a lot easier than she anticipated. 

It’s quelled by the fact that she’s had one hell of a day, several major revelations clogging up her mental space. 

Remembering what Roman told her about his family.

Trying to figure out if she’s in love with Roman.

Trying to figure out if Roman could ever love her.

Accidentally helping out his sworn enemy’s wife.

Her personal guard being aware of this last piece of information yet saying nothing to her or her husband. 

Even though she’s sworn off alcohol after the last drunken disaster, there’s a burning temptation to walk over to the open bar and request something that can at least take the edge off. 

Something to help her clear her head.

It’s after dinner, and Roman, Paul, and the twins are moving around, briefly speaking with various guests. Roman and Paul, in particular, seem to keep the conversations perfunctory before moving onto the next one. Clearly checking off certain, necessary boxes.

Solana again is viewing artwork, doing whatever she can to distract herself when someone unexpected comes up to her.

“Hey.” She looks to her side to see no one other than Solo. He looks almost….nervous. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Does she want to talk to him at this current moment in time? Not really. But, something tells her she needs to. 

“Yes.”

Solo guides them to a corner that’s as close to secluded as they’re gonna get at the crowded event.

“Listen, I…..I wanted to apologize to you.”

Solana’s eyes widen. The surprises just keep coming. “Wh–what?”

“I know….I know I’ve been ass.” She wouldn’t necessarily use that word to describe his behavior and disposition, but it’s not exactly an inaccurate usage either. “It’s just….before you came around, I was just getting my chance to show Roman I deserve a seat at the table with him and my brothers. Then he assigns me to you, and I just feel like I’m not proving myself no more.”

Solana started to figure as such. Guessed that maybe he resented her to a certain extent because he’d essentially been assigned as her adult babysitter. That would probably annoy anyone.

“But, at the end of the day, Roman is the Tribal Chief. His word is final. I have to respect that.” He sighs, shrugging. “And as his wife, I gotta respect you too, which I ain’t been doing, so I apologize.”

Solana has never really been one to be on the receiving end of apologies from people. It’s still an uncomfortable experience as she murmurs an ‘it’s okay’ followed up with her question about his omission. “Why didn’t you tell me who Brandi was? Or tell Roman?”

He sighs loudly, voice lowering a bit as he explains his actions. “You’re new to the family, so you don’t know the history between Cody and Roman. Telling him would only kick off some shit. I figured if she came around again, then that I would tell you.” His explanation makes sense, Solana nodding slowly. He too doesn’t seem to want to upset Roman if possible. “I’m sorry for that too.”

She shakes her head. “No. I—I get it, and—I’m sorry, too, that you got stuck with me.” 

Solo smiles a bit. The first time she’s ever seen him do so. It feels…..odd. “You ain’t so bad.” He then asks, brow lifted a bit. “So, we cool?”

Solana swallows. What reason does she have for them not to be at this point? Everything he’s said makes perfect sense. “Of course.” Offering a small smile, she says sincerely, “thank you, Solo.” 

He nods, not saying anything else as he walks off.

Left alone, blowing out a big breath, she looks around. Solana spots the hall that leads to the ladies room. Making her way through the crowd, she walks in and goes into the first open stall. Relieving her bladder is an unexpected, small but significant enough type of relief. It feels similar to the peace she now has with the whole Solo situation. 

Solana walks over to the sink, pumping some soap into her hands, activating the motion sensor to shut on the water as she rinses, watching the suds empty down the drain. 

“Hey, sis.” 

Solana’s head snaps up the second she’s met with the voice she hasn’t heard in months. Her brown eyes, through the mirror, locking with an almost identical set of brown. The only difference being the glimpse of emotion that’s always been unfamiliar to her but a resident friend of his.

Hate.

Solana moves as quickly as she can, but it’s not fast enough, because he’s got a fist full of her hair. Wes yanks her head back and shoves her away, providing him the access he needs to bring his hand across her face, backhanding her so hard that it makes her double over in pain. 

Feeling an unfamiliar wetness, she feels her cheek, only to see blood on her fingertips. A glance at Wes' hand shows that the rings on his fingers must have cut her. 

But she can’t focus on that too long because his hand is wrapped around her neck as he thrusts her against the adjacent wall, searing pain shooting across her back at the violent impact.

She claws at his iron grip, his dark eyes narrowing against her. So much hate. “You dumb slut, did you really think you could hide forever?” Her eyes shut, her mind screaming Roman’s name in a way her mouth cannot. “Were you stupid enough to believe he could protect you from me?” Solana winces as he tightens his grip. “You’re a weak, stupid bitch and you always will be.”

Weak

Slut

Stupid

Dumb

Bitch

All words that she’s heard before. Cruel names she’s been called over the years in conjunction with beatings. Beatings like this that have left her bloody and broken. Feeling empty. Feeling like every hurtful thing she’s ever been called. Feeling that weak adjective that he’s always made her defining trait.

Solana closes her eyes and starts to retreat to that mental place of superficial security, bracing for what’s sure to be a beating like no other. She tries to return to that spot in her brain that’s accepted that this is her reality, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

The only problem is that that place doesn’t exist anymore.

She can’t find it.

She doesn’t feel weak or dumb or stupid. Doesn’t feel helpless and victim to his sadism.

Not even in this moment with his hand wrapped tightly around her throat. 

No….

She feels something else. 

Something much stronger, powerful, fueling.

Anger.

She’s pissed the fuck off.

It’s when she sees his other hand pull out a knife, that for a second, a brief moment, she hesitates. She hesitates, momentarily paralyzed by the fear and trauma that single item has brought her over the past twenty years. But, she closes her eyes and centers herself, tapping back into months of training, of sparring, of fighting.

Snarling almost, her rage and determination growing synchronously, Solana lifts up her leg with all the force she can muster, her knee coming into direct impact with Wes’s crotch area. Instantly, he releases her, dubbed over, groaning and cursing. Solana’s a bit lightheaded, but she powers through it, quickly grabbing the vase of flowers on the counter and swinging it with all her might over his head.

“Fuck!” He grunts, falling to the ground, his knife tumbling across the intricately designed tile flooring. 

Rushing to grab it, he does the same, but she manages to outpace him. Her speed gives her the upperhand. And with a cry of her own, she slams it down directly into the palm of his outreaching hand.

Wes howls in pain as she rips it out and kicks him in his side, watching as he tumbles onto his back. Solana slams her heel down on his other arm, pinning it and forcing the knife through his right hand this time. 

He cries out again and she backs away for a second, tempted to drive it through another part of him when he growls with all the rage and pain, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you bitch!”

His threat, unlike countless times before, doesn’t frighten her, doesn’t make her tremble and cower in fear. 

It just pisses her off even more.

“Come on.” Solana motions for him to come at her, for him to climb off the ground and fight her. “Come on!” Using the bloody knife, she takes and slices it across her dress, allowing her more freedom and fluidity with her movements. Kicking the material to the side, she crouches down, egging him on. “Hit me, you son of a bitch!”

Finally to his feet, Solana sees him ready to charge at her. Her eyes never leave him, studying every single movement of his bleeding body. And just when he’s about to slam into her, she jumps to the side, watching him slam into the wall. Solana doesn’t waste a single second as she rushes behind him, lifts her leg and kicks him in the head, intentionally trying to drive her heel into his neck. His shouts of pain further her drive as she drops her leg, snatches him by his hair and slams the knife down into his shoulder. 

She jumps back as his body plops to the ground again, Wes rolling over and writhing in pain, profusely bleeding from several parts of his body, black suit staining dark, bloody red. Solana moves toward him, utilizing every bit of strength coursing through her body as she lands brutal kick after kick into his side, intentionally aiming for his chest. A kick for every broken bone, every bruise, every cut, every burn, every time he waterboarded her to the point where she was unconscious. Every fucking thing. She only stops when she hears the satisfying crack of one or several of his ribs. 

But, it’s not enough. It’s not enough because all she can think about now is all the times he made her bleed, made her scream, made her flail with fear and terror. It’s his turn now. 

Kicking off her heels, she grabs him by the collar of his suit jacket. “Come here, you bastard.” He’s heavy, and it’s a strain to drag him, but she does just that, pulling him into one of the stalls. Solana shoves the back of his head into the toilet and holds him down face first into the water.

Wes flails against her, but her grip is just like her spirit. Strong and unrelenting.

“How does that feel?” She taunts, tears streaming down her face because as vindicating as this moment is, it still doesn’t strip away the pain of years of abuse and torture. Yanking his head back, pleased by the way he coughs violently, gasping for air, she continues to mock him with the same taunts he always threw her way. “Say something, bitch!” Solana slams his head back down into the water. Repeating the same act of torture he utilized on her for years. 

She does it until she feels her strength starting to wane, eventually releasing his clumped body down as she backs away, leaning against the counter. 

Chest moving up and down from her heavy breathing, exhaust settling in as adrenaline fades out, it’s only then she turns to look at her reflection in the mirror. Face reddened, hair disheveled, red dress stained with his blood splatter, a mixture of her blood from the cut that probably wont need anything more than a liquid bandaid, and tears running down her cheek, yet she’s never felt fucking better.

This….this is liberation.

It’s freedom from shackles of fear. 

Fear of the one person she never thought she wouldn’t be terrified of. And yet, that same source of so much heartache lies before her: bloody, bruised, broken. 

All because of her.

Commotion outside the door and banging against it alerts her to the fact that somebody has clearly caught onto her absence. Roman, most likely. 

Body suddenly very heavy, she moves over to the door, leaning back against it, eyes landing on Wes who’s coughing up blood. For a brief second, she feels a sliver of sadness, if guilt. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s knocked out the way, replaced with pride. Roman’s words from earlier in the night returning and cementing her satisfaction.

“You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.”

And fewer have been crueler than the man before her.

Voice and body trembling from the weight of it all, Solana affirms with all the emotion and sincerity through her body. “I am not scared of you anymore.” She turns the lock, stepping out of the way to avoid the avalanche of bodies about to enter. “And I never will be again.”

Sure enough, it sounds like a stampede. Solana closes her eyes, stealing a moment to rest and relish in her inner peace.

“Solana.”

His voice is urgent and pressured, and seconds later, he has her in his arms, holding her against him. She breathes in his scent, comforted by his arms around her.

“I’m fine.” She knows he needs to hear it, needs to hear the words come from her mouth. Even if she knows she probably looks anything but, clothes and body splashed with her brother’s blood. 

“Solo!” Roman’s voice is filled with unbridled rage that, any other time, she’d probably tremble at. But, in this moment, it’s valid as hell. And beyond that, she knows without a doubt now that he would never make her the object of his anger. “Pick him up!”

Solana sets her gaze on a barely conscious Wes as Solo drags him out of the stall. 

Jimmy and Jey being present, Roman’s fury, and Solo holding him in position are all the things that  alert her to what’s about to happen. 

Jimmy whistles, taking in Wes' battered appearance. “Damn, she beat the hell out of you!”

“No.” Solana says it too quietly, too softly. She has to place her hand on Roman’s chest to get his eyes back on her. “No.”

“I don’t want you to kill him.” And before Roman can protest, ask her if she’s lost her fucking mind, she steps toward Wes, explaining to all parties but directing her wishes to him. “I want him to live in fear….to know what that’s like.” Eyes burning with a fresh set of tears, she emphasizes. “It’s his turn to be scared.” Head tilted, scoffing a bit at how pathetic he looks, she mocks him one last time, “who’s the bitch now?”

Without even thinking about it, Solana lifts her hand and connects her fist directly with the side of his jaw, knocking him out cold. 

“Goddamn!” Jey shouts with all the amusement in the world as Roman pulls her back into him, lips pressed against her temple.

“I’m okay,” she reiterates, holding onto his sleeve. “I promise.” She is. Maybe better than she’s been in some time. 

Better than she’s ever been.

Roman steps back for a second and slides his jacket off, placing it around her. 

Solana reaches for his hand and gestures for the door. “Let’s go.” He still looks so angry, so furious, but she knows it’s not toward her. Nevertheless, he doesn’t need to stay in this headspace. Not with his high blood pressure. Not with his health at stake.

Roman says something to Solo in Samoan and begins to guide her out of the bathroom that’s been completely destroyed in the fight. A crowd of most of the guests has gathered around, clearly curious and wanting to know just what the hell happened. It’s fair and almost expected. 

But, despite looking like everything she’s just been through, Solana doesn’t shy away from the stares and whispers. Doesn’t necessarily care. Because as ironic as it is, this might be the most confident she’s ever felt in her life. 

But, it’s when she sees Cody and Brandi that Solana just knows something is about to go wrong.

Cody smirks, calling out loud enough for all to hear, Roman especially. “I guess women and children aren’t off limits after all.” 

There’s more to it. There has to be more to it, because the second Roman rips his hand away from Solana and charges at Rhodes seems to take even the instigator off guard. Instantly, Jimmy and Jey are rushing toward their cousin as he lands a blow against Rhodes that sends him flat on his ass. 

“Roman!” She calls out after him, moving in his direction, only to feel herself being restrained. She looks back and catches Bayley and Naomi looking with worried expressions. 

“We need to get out of here!” Naomi urges, but Solana can’t seem to look away from what’s turned into an all out brawl. Jimmy and Jey struggle to hold back their irate cousin as he spits venom against Rhodes who looks just as pissed off now, blood running from his nose.

“I’m the head of the table!” 

“I’ll whoop everybody’s ass around here!”

“This is my kingdom, you little bitch!”

“I can’t just leave him!” Solana pleads, trying to pull away from Bayley who clearly has no intentions on letting her go.

“He’ll be fine, Solana. But, he’s pissed the fuck off, and now Rhodes is pissed, and it’s about to be a shitshow that if he was thinking straight, he would never want you around.” Naomi explains and adds on, “the twins won’t let anything happen. I promise you that. Now let’s go.”

And despite everything in her screaming not to, to stay with him, to somehow find a way to help him calm down, there’s a logical part of her that knows the girls are right.

Even with him clearfly only seeing red as she continues to shout at Cody, the other man also being held back, barely, by his men. 

“There ain’t a man alive who can touch my button. If I had one, you wouldn’t be able to locate it. Can’t no man knock me out! I’m tired of being humble! I’m tired of letting people think they got a chance! The Tribal Chief is heads and shoulders above everybody! I run this all!”

Roman is almost a different person, so consumed by his rage, no doubt most of it because of Wes, Cody just being on the receiving end but not just taking it without responding with threats of his own.

“Time and place, you narcissistic son of a bitch!”

“Not everyone is fucking scared of you, Reigns!”

“I’ll fight you any fucking day!”

Solana’s eyes briefly lock with Brandi who’s also being rushed away, and she swears, she sees what looks like an almost sympathetic expression. Like if she could, she’d apologize.

It makes Solana frown.

Naomi pulls on her again. “Let’s go, Solana.” 

Security for the gala is now rushing over as some of Roman and Cody’s men are now throwing fists as well. Solana hates this. Hates how this has all played out. But, she also knows that she does nothing to help the situation by hanging around and risking getting hurt.

That’ll only upset Roman more. 

So even with a tremendous amount of apprehension, she allows them to guide her out, never once not thinking about the man she’s almost certain she more than cares about at this point. 

________

Solana is up and alert the minute she hears him enter their front door. In the living room, lying on the sofa, her go-to spot when waiting for his arrival, she partially expects him to walk in and meet her. The way he has several times before now, but this time is different.

Heavy footsteps don’t bring him to meet her. They instead carry him past the living room, through the kitchen, and outside the backdoor. 

Instantly, she’s sitting up. 

She goes to follow him when Jimmy and Jey enter the house looking every bit the night that they’ve all had. 

It’s a stupid question, and she knows as such, but she can’t help but ask. “How is he?”

Jimmy is the one to answer, blowing out a breath. “Honestly? Still pretty pissed but calm enough to come back home.” He then shares, “I tried to get him to sleep it off at my place, but he wanted to come back here.

Good. Solana doesn’t say it, but she sure is thinking it. Not even from the perspective of her being uncomfortable being in this big house all by herself with just Dulce. That’s maybe a part of it, sure. But, the biggest thing is that this is their home. And if he needs something, she wants to be there to help him with whatever that is.

“It’s okay. I can watch him.”

“Solana….” Jey cuts in, stuffing his hands in his suit pocket. “You know he would never hurt you, right? I know he was definitely on one tonight, but—”

Seeing where this is going, she cuts in, calm but firm. “I’m not scared of him. I—I know he would never hurt me.”

They seem to be pleased by her answer but still a bit hesitant, Jimmy offering, “if you want, I can stay over tonight. Make sure—”

“He’s my husband.” She swallows, nothing unwavering about her reiteration. “I’ve got him.”

Jimmy and Jey still look unsure but follow her wishes. Each giving her a hug before reiterating to call them if she needs anything. She’s thankful for their support but mostly their making sure Roman made it back home safely. 

Solana carries Dulce up to her shared room with Roman and closes the door to avoid any unnecessary interruptions. It’s only then she finally makes her way back downstairs, venturing through the living room and kitchen to the backdoor. Hand on the knob, Solana doesn’t hesitate to turn it, bringing her to the man she’s had on her mind nonstop the past few hours.

Roman’s hulking figure is plopped down on the edge of the patio chaise lounge. His button down shirt is discarded, his muscles stretching against the cotton of his white undershirt. Playing with the sides of one of his shirts she threw on after her shower, Solana sees there’s no need to announce her presence.

He’s already aware. 

With calmness that contrasts his demeanor just hours earlier, he advises, “you should be asleep.”

His voice is hoarse, heavy, weighed down with something he seems keen on internalizing. No matter how much it wrecks him on the inside. It brings a frown to her face and a pain to her chest. 

Swallowing, Solana moves closer to him, calmly countering, “you know I won’t sleep until I know you’re okay.”

“Okay….” Roman chuckles, and it’s almost bitter. An almost ironic tone as he repeats her chosen word. “Solana, nothing about tonight was okay.”

Her heart grows even heavier than it’s been following tonight’s events.

It tears Solana up to see him in this state. To see and almost feel his turmoil and not be able to do anything about it. Because he doesn’t want help. Because he’s so used to handling everything on his own, as he’s stated to her multiple times before.

But, that’s the thing. He’s not alone.

She just needs to get him to see and understand that. 

Setting aside any reservations and trepidation about her next steps, she closes the distance between them, kneeling down on the patio stone directly in front of him. Naturally, his eyes lock with hers, and for a second, she sees a tremble of his nearly impenetrable wall. “Roman….” One hand on his knee, the other reaching to grab his hand. “Please….please talk to me.” His eyes briefly dart away, a sign of her words doing something to his resolve. “Whatever….whatever happened tonight, let me help you work through it.”

He sets his focus back on her, the hand under hers lifting to cup her face, thumb ghosting over the cut she cleaned, tended, and sealed with a liquid band-aid. “You got hurt tonight….”

“I don’t care about that.” Her dismissal is aggressive but slides into something soothing almost as she reiterates. “I—I care about you.”

His jaw clenches. “I lost my temper tonight.”

“I don’t care about that either.” Again, she’s dismissive, pushing aside anything that could prevent him from hearing her right now. Really hearing her. “I wasn’t scared of you. I’m—I’m never scared of you, Roman.” Swallowing, she stands up and moves herself on his lap, relieved when he wraps his arms around her. “But…I was scared for you.” She pushes back some of his hair that came out of his always neat bun during the brawl. “I just….I wish you would talk to me.”

But, she also knows that she can’t force it. Can’t make him. Even though it physically aches her to know he’s dealing with so much and won’t let her help.

Won’t let her be there for him the same way he’s been there for her.

“Cody and I grew up together. We were….good friends.” Solana isn’t sure she’s still breathing as Roman begins to explain in a low voice, his hand moving soft circles against her side. She says and does nothing, not wanting to do anything to risk deterring him from this rare occurrence of vulnerability. “We…we bonded over being groomed to take over our families legacies. His…his father was good friends with mine.” 

Friends….

It feels almost impossible to imagine Roman and Cody as ever being anything more than sworn enemies. She’s not sure she’s even seen a deeper level of hatred than what she saw in their eyes tonight.

“It was my 10th birthday. We were gathered at the house to celebrate, and it was fine, until it wasn’t.” Roman grows quiet, as he clearly hesitates. She starts to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that she doesn’t want to trigger him. But, he continues. “I don’t remember everything. Just the sound of bullets, screams, and then heat from the fire that someone set.” Fire… Solana’s eyes naturally drop to his tatted arm, tribal ink covering burns he clearly received that night of pure hell. Eyes watering, she continues to listen to him relive what sounds like a night of horror. “I was the only one who survived. My parents, my aunt, uncle, and my seven brothers and sisters were all killed.”

 “Oh my god….” Her heart literally breaks in that moment, hearing him confirm what she’d remembered just earlier in the day but didn’t want to actually believe. It’s just too devastating. To lose his entire family in that manner, all while celebrating his birthday of all days….it seems inconceivable.

Solana isn’t sure she’s ever felt this much sympathy towards another human being. 

Roman’s voice, however, never wavers. She can see he’s doing his best to simply recall and not feel. “And it wasn’t until I was 14 that a mutual friend of ours at the time, Seth, let it slip while he was in one of his manic states, that I should talk to Cody about what really happened that night.” His voice takes on a darker, angrier tone, and she can feel him shift underneath her. “So, I did, and I found out….that his father was responsible for the hit. That he betrayed my father. And that Cody knew the whole fucking time.”

There’s understandable anger in his words. Anger at such cruel betrayal. “For four fucking years, he pretended to be my friend. Pretended like he didn’t fucking know that his father was the reason my family was all dead.” His voice dips into something low, something much darker. “I can’t tell you…much after that, because I was so angry that all I saw was my rage.”

Solana brings her hand to his chest, a comforting placement, though she’s not certain anything could comfort this level of trauma. 

His expression is blank as he shares coldly. “I killed them all. His parents. His siblings. Everyone. I left him the same way his father left me: alone.” He swallows thickly, still not looking at her. “I told you before, Solana. I’m not a good man.”

“That’s not true.” She finally speaks, voice hoarse,  eyes watering at the truth of it all. She had no idea he’d been through so much. Lost so much more. “I don’t think I’ve met a man better than you, Roman.”

She’s never met any man like Roman.

Moving her hands to cup his face, it settles her a bit that he’s finally looking at her again. Closed off and back to being unreadable, it’s still eye contact. And she’ll take it. She’ll take whatever she can get from him. “No one….no one can know what it’s like to lose like we’ve lost. I….I get you. And….and I think you get me too.” Sniffling, she shakes her head, never wanting to invalidate his experience. “And no, I know….I know it’s not the same, but what I do know is that I haven’t felt alone since…since being with you.” She hasn’t felt a lot of things since being with him. Hasn’t felt the same amount of depression and emptiness. Just happiness and joy. “And I don’t want you to feel alone either, because….because you have me, and….and I’m not going anywhere.” Her tone drops into a soft whisper. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Because I love you.

But, that can’t be stated. Not aloud. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s not what he needs. Because it’s for selfish reasons. Because it would make her feel better to verbalize what she’s finally realized what she’s been feeling towards him. What she feels for him.

Love

“Besides….” She offers a small smile, messing with his beard, knowing the weight of this conversation might be too much for him, offering him a bit of a detour. “Who else is gonna bail me out the next time I fuck up someone’s truck?”

He cracks a small smile, and it makes her heart swell. It’s the best thing she’s seen all day. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

Relieved to hear a growing lightness in his voice, she buries her head in the crook of his neck, murmuring, “guess you’re rubbing off on me….”

Roman brings his hand to her hip, tugging her closer, kissing her temple. Lips pressed against her forehead, he murmurs. “I’m proud of you.” That means so much to her. His approval. “Cause while I hate to agree with my dumbass cousin, Jimmy was right. You whooped his ass.”

Solana can’t help it. She laughs into his chest, looking up while biting down on her bottom lip. Voice quiet, she expresses both a question and agreement. “I did, didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, bringing his hand to her cheek, thumb and index finger lightly cupping her chin. “Sure did, baby…“ He doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t need to. Neither does she. She just nestles closer to him as he stands up, still holding her, grip protective and firm. 

Like he has no intentions of letting go.

Solana prays he never does. 

Because while Roman Reigns is the last person she ever expected to end up with, to care for, to love…..that’s exactly what’s happened.  

That’s exactly who she’s with.

Exactly who she cares for.

And exactly who she loves.

________

Xavier stands in front of the hospital bed, a hospital bed he was still in days prior, where his son stood before him as they schemed together to create what he thought was a foolproof plan. It’s a plan, however, that didn’t go the way he intended.

Far from it.

Wesley was always supposed to attack Solana in the bathroom, was supposed to rough her up a bit to see if Reigns would come to her rescue, the prediction being he’d move to kill Wes but Solana would interfere, would stop him.

Because his stupid second born has always been a victim to her love mentality. Would be blinded by whatever fruitless hope she still has that some part of him or his son loves her. Because they’re family.

But, that didn’t happen.

His son attacked her, yes, but the bitch fought back.

And now he watches helplessly as a brutally beaten, stabbed Wesley is laid up in the ICU yet again, but this time in a coma. Limited brain activity. 

Prognosis….not well.

And it’s all because of her.

Xavier is a prideful man, but even he can admit he never saw this coming. Never anticipated Reigns would have the girl trained, never thought his weak ass daughter could be capable of something like this.

Capable of almost taking away his son. His heir. 

Xavier is seething and would shoot her dead right now if he could, but he has to be smart. Especially after tonight, which wasn’t an entire loss.

He snatches his phone, sending out a text. 

Xavier: I want that bitch DEAD.

Xavier: We’ll proceed with the plan.

Because while most will see Roman’s outburst as expected given Cody Rhodes was present and almost everyone knows the history there, Xavier knows better.

Xavier knows that Roman’s rage was primarily at the fact that Solana had been attacked, confirming what he suspected.

And he’ll give the bastard credit. From what he heard, Reigns did a great job masking his feelings for her, practically ignoring Solana the entire night. 

Never showing his hand.

But, he did.

He does care for her.

And just that thought brings a wicked smile to Xavier’s aged face. 

After all these years, the impossible has happened. 

Roman Reigns finally has a weakness.

________

translation: "i'd do anything for you."

[project-sekai-facts]

Hey I've been wondering, could you explain Akito and his death symbolism? It's been constantly mentioned or implied in his recent focus songs and VBS covers (getting lines about "death" or "dying" and the likes)

It's just because the fandom is using that to mischaracterize him as an overly depressed and suicidal guy (another Mafuyu copy; pls save him and Tsukasa) and I just don't think that's what the writers mean to say and the point of his whole character!!!

(prefacing this: I'm aware there was a thread about this going round twitter a while ago, I haven't read it specifically because of this ask and if anything is the same that wasn't intentional and I apologise)

A large part of Akito's character arc is his difficulty with improvement and his sheer determination and passion that goes alongside it. He had always viewed his lack of natural talent and unrefined skills as something that made him inferior, which only led to him pushing himself to his extremes, and trying to face things independently and head-on. This is something that's touched on heavily in the STRAY BAD DOG event, where we get to see him learn to rely on his teammates more and realise that he isn't alone. Find A Way Out continues his arc of personal development, with him realising he's actually not so different to the people he looks up to, and finally learning to accept and feel confident with his improvement instead of just pushing forward almost desperately. It's that idea of him finally realising that he won't always be a step behind everyone else and good things are actually coming with his hard work.

Building off that idea, it's like a sort of rebirth. And that's where the links to Kashika come in. Kashika is a song about death and longing which gets horribly misinterpreted and has led people to believe Akito is suicidal which is simply untrue. The thing that's dying in this context is Akito's old self. The child who had no talent and was falling so far behind everyone. The child who worked so, so, so hard to be perfect is dying. And that sounds like a negative thing but it's really not. It's a metaphor for Akito reflecting on himself and moving on from the past and breaking new ground.

The 2DMV adds another layer to this with its marigolds, which not only symbolise death, but also can symbolise a renewal. And in this case, renewal refers to Akito's growth following the events of FAWO. He finally faced up to his past mistakes and overcame them, but even then he won't let himself feel relief. It's only with the help of Taiga's story about Ken that he's finally able to be more satisfied with himself and how far he's managed to come. He's finally able to break out from that belief that he's forever going to be stuck behind, and he's able to have faith in himself. Realising that Ken was just like him and managed to get to such a high level of skill and be so respected by those around him finally lets Akito believe that he too can reach that same light.

The butterflies in the background again symbolise renewal or transformation. It's not about death as per se, it's about change. Change and growth and transformation are recurring themes in prsk's character writing, and Akito is no exception. While on a surface level, Kashika is about death, if you put it next to the story, it's about regeneration. Akito is moving forward and leaving the old him behind, he says as much in the FAWO story.

If you actually read the lyrics to Kashika, it's genuinely kinda shocking to me how much people misinterpret its connection to Akito as a character. Like I get the song talks about death a lot and wanting to die, but particularly in these extracts you can see some of the key points of the FAWO event - Akito's determination, passion and self-acceptance. It's a song about Akito growing up, physically and emotionally, and saying goodbye to his past self.

Now as anon pointed out, the marigolds previously appeared in his card from Light Up The Fire. And while in the case of this event, it was most likely drawn to connect with the story surrounding Nagi's death, but it's worth mentioning that every character had their own flower, so the marigolds are specific to him.

As I mentioned in today's fact, aside from being associated with death, grief, and mourning, marigolds can also have positive connotations of optimism and passion based on their warm and vibrant colors. One of the key elements of LUTF was despair and grief, shown through more ways than one. Whilst the truth of Nagi's death came as a shock to the VBS and the others, the following battle with Taiga crushed their hope to the point that everyone except VBS gave up. VBS decides to keep trying for Nagi, and again there's that idea of a renewal. They know the truth now, and are going to come back and get better. Now while this is more general about VBS, the marigolds are still specific to Akito, considering how he's always been the most determined one who has taught himself that the only way he can succeed is through sheer perseverance. Whilst it applies to all of VBS in this instance, it applies even moreso to him.

Also it leads very nicely into his fes card story, which follows after the events of LUTF from his point of view. Something notable about his fragment sekai is that it's a completely barren wasteland. It's dead. And to top it all off, he gets amnesia. However the whole point of his sekai is to remind him of his determination, remind him that he has never once given up on this dream, how he's fought and fought to hold onto it and shouldn't let what happened with Taiga and the truth behind RW strike him down. Despite the area being dead and barren, and despite the fact he can't even remember who he is at all, he still pushes forwards and keeps walking through the dangerous environment because he knows he can't just sit around, he knows he has to do something. He knows it's not a choice, it's a necessity for him to persevere, even if he can't remember why. In the end he does remember, and finds a single flower that is managing to flourish despite the harsh conditions, and he even compares himself to it because truthfully they're one in the same. Even in a hopeless situation, Akito manages to pull through. In a metaphorical sense, he can't truly die, he still finds a way to thrive even if the world is against him. His determination truly is the core of his character.

And that leads us nicely to BURN MY SOUL, which I would consider to be the end of his first character arc. Despite having learnt a lesson about his true strength and potential in FAWO, he still hasn't reached that full potential, and he still believes that he needs to keep pushing and keep working. Through Ken's advice, he's able to realise that he's been so focused on perfection that he's bottling up all the passion inside of him. Because he's so passionate about music and it's this passion that fuels his resolve that is ultimately his core, his soul. And especially after everything that's happened, the fact that there's still a lingering sense of despair after the incident with Taiga, he needs to truly let that passion burn and realise that his true potential has been inside of him all along. His role as assigned by Ken is to light up a fire amongst the people again, so he let's the fire within him burn freely for the first time, and it works exactly as needed and is able to rekindle hope throughout the town and in one of his teammates.

Back to that idea about how metaphorically Akito cannot die, I really like the symbolism of fire within VBS and Akito in particular because it's framed in such a way that the fire lit by RW is a flame that can't burn out. Even with things such as CRaZY's "I'm so ready to die" and the "I'm going to pry it open like I'm going to die" voiceline that plays when you pull his WL card, it's not meant in such a way that he wants to die, but in a way that he's going to put his all into it as if it is the last thing he'll ever do. Akito doesn't want to die, he wants to live to see things through to the end. He's too determined to let anything snuff out his flame, and even then that makes me think of the original usage of snuffing out a flame, which was actually to trim the wick so the flame could burn brighter. If you care enough about that dumb candle analogy, you could say that Taiga/the events of LUTF tried to extinguish Akito's flame, only for him to come back from the dead (and quite literally considering the wasteland in his fes card), and now he's only burning brighter and stronger.

Akito's death symbolism isn't a negative thing. Akito isn't someone who wants to die, he's too determined to die. No matter how much the universe tells him to give up he'll never stop pushing and never stop breaking down the walls around him until he sees his dreams through. All his death symbolism is equally tied to the idea of rebirth or even just living. Kashika is about him leaving his past behind and moving forward, his fes card is about his passion counteracting despair, and Burn my soul/CRaZY/Break down the wall are all about him being so fired up that he's going to act as if it's his final day. He's learning to be satisfied with his life and where he is. He's ready to live and to say he wants to die is a great injustice to his character arc.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 005 (PART 2)

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [8.5k] A newfound diary, an emotional blast from the past, and a chaotic bonfire.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, fist fight/mild violence, jarah drama, sexual innuendoes,

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

for the house scene^

for the bonfire scene^

A/N‧₊˚ i'm sooo hyped, ik this song strays from the theme a bit but i really wanted a sexy lil tune for the bonfire scene AND this chapter has TWO SONGS because it's two diff vibes at once

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“JJ, GET UP.” You groaned for the last time, shoving your sock-clad feet into your shoes, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. 

“Mmmm…I am up.” He whined into the pillow, very much still sleep. You scoffed, walking over and snatching the blanket off of the blonde — a wave of cool air hitting his shirtless body. He whined, flipping over onto his back as his eyes blinked open. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, for one, it’s eight fifty-five. School starts at nine and we have a fifteen minute drive to get there. And, two, John B and Pope already left without us because they didn’t want to wait for you which means I am now responsible for driving you, which makes us both late.” You explained, tossing the boy one of his shirts and a pair of socks. 

“Mmph…fine.” He grumbled, sitting up and slipping the item over his head as he yawned. You kicked his shoes towards him as he slipped on his socks, walking out of the bedroom to find Marley on the couch. The dog perked up as her two favorite people exited the guest room. 

“Hi, girl.” You cooed, crouching down as the animal threw herself off the couch and into your arms. “How you feelin’?” You asked, scratching behind her ears before looking up to find Kie in the kitchen, lingering silently. She paced, fiddling with her fingers while struggling to hesitantly meet your eyes.

“Hey.” She said simply, eyes on you and JJ. You both sent the girl half-smiles, lips pulled into thin, tight lines. “I thought everyone had left, I didn't know you two were...I, um, I fed her so, you shouldn’t have to worry about that.” She told you, shoving her hands in her back pockets nervously. “How are you? Or is that a…bad question to ask?”

You just shrugged one shoulder, swallowing awkwardly. “A lot better. Thanks for asking…” You replied genuinely. The room was filled with such a strong tension. By this point, everyone knew about the kiss between JJ and Kie. And everyone knew that everyone knew. The three of you stood around avoiding each other’s gazes, the only sound being the birds outside and Marley’s heavy panting. It didn’t feel right to be so hostile with Kie after everything that happened yesterday. And plus, you guessed you never got her side of everything. But even if the tension was no longer volatile, it was still awkward and suffocating. 

“Well, we should get goin’...” JJ piped up.

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” Kiara waved off, tucking her hair behind her ear and grabbing her tote bag from the dining chair. “I’ll...see you guys later.”

“You aren’t going to school?” You asked, Kiara stopping with her hand on the door. 

“No, I have some stuff to do. But I’ll catch up later.” She said, holding her hand up as a goodbye. “See ya.”

You both watched as she left — hearing her sneakers crunch oddly fast through the gravel before the sound faded out. You looked to JJ as his voice rang out. “Is it my place to say that you two need to talk it out?”

You grimaced before walking forward, out of the front door and towards your parked car as JJ followed. “I don’t know…” You dragged on, opening the driver’s side door as JJ got into the passenger seat. “It’s weird now. We’re together and she likes you…”

“Eh, I don’t think so.” JJ shrugged as you started the car, shooting him a confused look as you pulled out. 

“What do you mean?” You asked. “She kissed you.”

“I mean, yeah, but it was like she didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to say anything last night because it didn’t feel right to bring it up.” He said, looking at you as you drove, admiring the way the morning sun illuminated your eyelashes. “She came to me last night in the Surf Shack and apologized, said she had her feelings mixed up. I guess she meant between me and Pope, maybe? I don’t know. But she made it clear that she doesn’t like me like that, at the very least. But apparently, she also broke things off with Pope so, I’m confused on what she meant. Either way, maybe you’re the person she needs to talk to.” He suggested cooly. “Just sayin’.”

“Hm.” You hummed in thought, eyes trained on the road as your eyebrows pinched. Maybe JJ had a point. But when Kie was ready to talk, she would.

YOU AND JJ ENTERED THE CLASSROOM JUST AS THE LATE BELL RANG, the teacher shooting you both a look of warning and motioning for you to take your seats. JJ sat in front of John B and you sat behind Pope — the four of you forming a perfect square. JJ shot the two boys looks of annoyance, the both of them holding up their hands in surrender.

You watched as Mrs.Ortiz, the geometry teacher, began passing out papers. Kids around you sighed and groaned, causing you and JJ to share a confused look. It wasn’t long before the teacher made her way to you all, setting a paper on John B’s desk. “Nice of you to join us.” She smiled sweetly at him. 

“Good to be back.” He smiled back at her, the expression quickly fading when he read the paper in front of him. His eyes went wide just as the woman placed a paper on your own desk — two pieces of paper stapled together, the first page of equations already giving you a migraine.

“A test?” John B asked Pope, appalled. The boy turned in his seat, pointing an accusatory finger at John B.

“I told you we had a test.” He reprimanded under his breath.

“No, you didn’t.”

“The first thing I said to you-”

“Was to wake up.”

“Because we had a test.”

“A test was never mentioned-”

“Psst. John B.” A random girl interrupted. John B turned to her curiously, quirking a brow as she passed him a piece of paper, the three of you looking weirdly at one another as he unfolded the note.

Bonfire C U There?

John B eyed the note with an unreadable expression, the three of you turning away from him slowly once Mrs.Ortiz began talking. “You all will have until the end of this period to turn in the quiz. No phones, no notes, and no calculators. Once you are done, you may-” She was cut off when the landline on her desk rang. “Excuse me a moment.” She dismissed herself, picking up the phone before exchanging a few words and hanging up, peering over the classroom full of students before her eyes landed on you. “Ms.Carter.” She called, your eyebrows raising in question.

“Yes?”

“They need you in the main office.” She said, looking sad and pitiful. She looked sorry for you. You didn’t know why. 

Your face twisted in confusion as you looked at your three friends and got up, not even taking a full step forward before she spoke again. “You may want to take your things with you.” She grimaced, clasping her hands together. “And no need to worry about the quiz. I’ll exempt you for today.”

Her mercy had you questioning what exactly they needed you in the main office for…

Scooping up your backpack, you shot JJ a look before walking out of the classroom.

WALKING INTO THE MAIN OFFICE, you spotted a familiar face. 

“Shoupe?” You asked, face twisting as the man turned to you — a nervous look plastered on his face as his hands clutched his utility belt. There was no one else in the office aside from the secretary and a teacher or two printing papers — the sounds of typing and phones ringing filling the atmosphere.

“What’s going on?” You asked the officer, eyes darting around the room as you hiked your bag up higher on your shoulder, subconsciously holding it tighter against you. The older man took in his surroundings, taking note of the peering eyes of the secretary. He motioned towards the door you had just walked through before speaking.

“Let’s talk outside…”

You unknowingly clenched your jaw, nodding and following the man out the door. He waited for it to close, looking up and down the empty school halls before speaking. “I don’t mean to pop up on you like this. I’m just…tryna make this whole thing a little easier on ya.” He claimed, licking his lips before continuing. “I don’t know if you or your friends watch the news but…we have your mom in custody.”

You nodded, drawing your lips into a thin line but allowing the man to continue talking. “She had her bail hearin’ this mornin’. Since she attempted to flee from police upon arrest, the judge didn't grant her bail so, she won’t be out any time soon. Just wanted to let you know that.” He explained, his eyes full of pity and regret. "...She's been askin' to see you."

You couldn't control your facial contorting out of disgust. Or anger, you didn't know. "No." You said bluntly and firmly. "I don't want to see her."

Shoupe just nodded, raising his eyebrows briefly. "Yeah...I figured as much." He informed. "No one's forcin' you, kid. Just relayin' the message." He said. “...Also, the department will be closing off your house as a crime scene early tomorrow mornin’. I’m not supposed to be doing this but…if ya have anythin’ that you’d like to take with you — clothes, jewelry — I’d suggest you gon’ and get it today before it ends up in an evidence locker.”

“...Thank you, Shoupe.” You expressed your gratitude, surprised at his change of heart. Maybe he felt bad for everything — knowing now just how much could've been avoided had he just listened to you and your friends to begin with.

“...’s the least I could do.” He mumbled, looking down at his shoes for a brief moment. “But there is one more thing, kid.”

“What is it?” You asked, a moment of silence passing as a janitor walked by whistling with his earbuds in — the pair of you allowing him to pass anyway before continuing the conversation.

“...Since you are still a minor and have no current legal guardian that's not...imprisoned or deceased, you are now considered a Ward of the State. And unless you find someone to claim legal guardianship over you, there’s nothin’ I can do to stop DCS from payin’ you a visit.”

“Oh.” You said simply, lips stuck in a pursed position. You didn't think about that part...

“Yeah…” The man sighed.

“...Should I warn John B, too? Since Ward was his legal guardian?”

“No, no, that’s not necessary.” Shoupe dismissed, waving you off. “With Ward’s…passing, guardianship had been transferred to Rose as she was Ward’s spouse. But we both know that Routledge has been on his own for a long time.”

“So…what should I do?” You asked.

“That’s up to you, kid.” Shoupe shrugged helplessly. “Just find someone to take ya in. And soon.”

“HEY! WAIT UP!” YOU CALLED OUT AS YOU SPOTTED YOUR THREE MALE FRIENDS OUTSIDE IN THE COURTYARD. First period had ended by the time you’d gotten done talking with Shoupe, kids gathered outside before the bell rang for second.

You caught up to your friends in seconds, Pope and JJ separating to make space for you to walk with them.

“Glad to see you’re back.” John B threw out. “What’d you do? Steal test answers?”

“You’re hilarious but I don’t cheat.” You sassed, squinting at him. “I can do a simple math problem, I know that’s a foreign thing to you-”

“I was just askin’ because us three who didn’t receive a ‘get out of geometry free pass’ were kind of dying in there.”

“Speak for yourself.” Pope threw out, smiling smugly. “Finished that quiz in ten minutes. That’s gotta be a world record.”

“Yeah,” JJ added sarcastically. “For geeks, maybe.”

Popee flipped off the blonde as you and John B laughed, walking up the concrete steps. “But seriously, what’d they need you for?” JJ asked, looking down at you and throwing an arm over your shoulder.

You didn't miss the way John B and Pope shot each other smirks and low high-fived.

You sighed but smiled smally at the contact and slight PDA. “Long story short — my mom was denied bail so she's in jail for good, they’re taping my house off as a crime scene tomorrow and I have until tonight to get my stuff, and I am now a state-certified orphan and will be snatched up by DCS soon unless someone comes to claim me.”

“Sounds like someone needs a Routledge-level crash course in ‘Dodging DCS 101’.” John B smiled, holding the straps of his backpack.

“Or I just need someone to sign some papers and say they’re willing to take care of me.” Suddenly, all eyes glued themselves to Pope, the boy immediately shaking his head.

“Nuh-uh.” He declined. “You know I would if I could and my parents would love to help you. But that’s a lot of paperwork and they need other things, like proof of income showing that they can support another child. And Heyward’s has been a little slow since the whole boat thing with Topper…”

You all hummed in agreement, understanding his point. “Don’t sweat it, Pope.” You assured, nudging his shoulder. “I’ll figure it out. Hey," You switched your attention to JJ, voice lowering as the other two guys now held their own conversation. "I'm probably gonna leave school a bit early to go my house. Just so I have enough time."

"You want me to come with?" The blonde asked.

"If you don't mind..." You said, nervously — not wanting to be a burden. "You don't have to. I just don't think going alone-"

"I want to." He reassured, pecking your cheek.

“Ahh....” A chipper voice chimed in, the four of you facing forward to find Mr.Sunn standing against the school exit door that was wide open. “Mr.Routledge, Mr.Maybank, Mr.Heyward, and Ms.Carter — just the students I wanted to see.” He smiled, guiding you each one by one into the school building.

“Wish I could say the same.” JJ replied as Mr.Sunn walked in behind you four — guiding you to his classroom and ignoring your boyfriend’s sassiness.

“I have a question of historical nature for you…” The teacher explained, walking into a storage closet within his classroom. “I digitize documents for the Maritime Museum, and in return, I have been given access to the archives.” He went on, searching up and down the shelves before pulling out a box. “And I found…this.”

“A box.” Pope deadpanned.

“More than a box.” Mr.Sunn smiled, placing the container down on his desk, the four of you crowding around as he opened it, revealing what looked like a worn, brown journal wrapped in plastic. “Go ahead, Mr. Heyward.” The instructor encouraged as Pope picked up the item. “Careful with that.”

You all watched as Pope unwrapped the item from its packaging, fiddling with the fabric knot that held the book closed.

“It’s a diary.” Mr. Sunn explained. “The author’s unknown.” You all watched as Pope undid the knot, pages and pages of writing revealing themselves. It was written in cursive, some pages partially or completely torn out. But you felt the tension in the room rise when Pope let the pages fall to the very first one — a wheat symbol sketched onto it.

The four of you shot each other looks as Mr.Sunn placed a paper on the desk. “This…is a sample of the Denmark Tanny letter.” He smirked, looking up at the group of you. “Compare the handwriting.” John B was quick to pick up the paper, holding it up next to Pope’s hand that held the diary open.

Peering over the two boys shoulders, you could see the two artifacts side by side — the handwriting was distinct. But the similarity was undeniable. It was obvious that the two documents were written by the same person, down to the curves and flicks of the pen.

“No way…”

“It’s nearly identical.”

“...This is Denmark Tanny’s diary.” Pope said in a hushed tone, eyes never leaving the papers. His fingers trailed the worn pages of the journal, flipping the page to find a drawing — a captain standing by as the figures in the background pushed ships into the water, a larger ship looming in the back. “Guys, this is Captain Limbrey.” Pope pointed out, tip of his index finger on the man with the hat atop his head, standing proudly. “...August sixth, eighteen twenty-nine.” He read aloud, sitting down on the nearest desk top.

“That’s the year the Royal Merchant went down.” John B informed, eyebrows downturned in pity.

“I thought you all might find it interesting.” The teacher spoke up.

“Thank you so much for this.” Pope whispered, still looking through the journal.

Mr.Sunn sat on the desk beside your friend, leaning in to speak. “It’s important to know your own history.” He told him, you all looking at him with wide eyes before he got up and walked to the back of the classroom once more, leaving the four of you to your thoughts.

“...Oh my God.” Pope sighed, his eyebrows pinching together. “This is the Cross of Santo Domingo.” He said, the three of  you sharing a look and walking over, crowding around behind him. It was a picture of some of the crew members carrying a large cross. “It was on The Royal Merchant.”

THE ENGINE OF YOUR FORD BRONCO DIED AS YOU TURNED THE VEHICLE OFF, looking up at the house you hadn't seen in over a month. To anyone else, it probably looked like a nice, normal home.

To you it looked haunted, forever shrouded in a cloud of darkness and gloom that would never go away.

"You want me to come in?" JJ asked, you only just now noticing him looking at you. You lowered your gaze to him, nodding as a response. He gave you a small smile before exiting the passenger seat and rounding the vehicle as you unbuckled your seatbelt to open your door and offer you a hand out of the car.

He shut your door after you climbed out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as you walked the path up to the front door. To your surprise, it was already cracked ajar, only having to give the wood a push for it to creak open.

The lights were off, the only light coming from the open windows. The wood screeched beneath you and JJ's feet as you walked further inside, the blonde allowing your hand to slip slowly from his own as your eyes scanned everything.

You spotted a suitcase at the bottom of the steps — laid out in the floor, flipped open. Clothes, shoes, and stray dollar bills scattered around the abandoned trunk.

Was that what Shoupe meant when he said she attempted to run?

It looked like the caught her before she even made it out of the front door...

It was as if the place had been raided. The coffee table in the living room was lopsided and off center, the couch cushions looked like they'd been thrown back into place.

The patio door was open, and the kitchen told a different story —alcohol bottles scattered on the counter like centerpieces. The smell of liquor even lingered mildly in the air.

You didn't say a word as you edged towards the staircase, stepping over the fallen luggage and making your way up the stairs. Photo frames decorating the companionway upon the walls swung, hanging from a single screw.

You'd seen how many officers came the day Ward died. Just how many ran through your house? Or what remained of it...

Reaching the top of the stairs, even more clothes littered the floor. There was even a sizeable hole in the wall...

You took a deep breath, shaking off your nerves before walking further down the hall and pushing open the door to your room.

Surprisingly, it looked untouched —almost exactly how you remember leaving it.

Your bed was unmade, the blinds were open, even your midsummer's dress was still hung on the back of your closet door. Remembering that night put a smile on your face.

Everything was messed up...but not this messed up. John B didn't know that his girlfriend's dad had killed his and yours. Pope didn't have any personal connection to the gold that made him a target. Kiara was still living with her parents and you were still friends. You and JJ had just gotten out of jail and seen each other for the first time all day.

Looking back, maybe your friends were right. How could you not see it all this time? Remembering the way he froze seeing you in your dress, you paid no mind to it then. But now, it was like reliving the moment in your mind. He looked in awe. He looked in love. He looked like he had never seen you a day in his life. And when he smiled at you...

You would never forget that night.

Walking over to the item, your fingers brushed against the smooth material — a small, sad smile spreading across your cheeks.

"You should take it." JJ startled you, turning around to see him in the doorframe. You hadn't heard him come up the stairs.

"I don't have any use for it, now." You said mournfully. "It's not like I'll be going to another one..." You reflected, opening your closet all the way and grabbing the biggest duffel bag you owned, pulling tops and jackets off the hangers and throwing them in.

In your peripheral, you could see your boyfriend remove the dress from it's hanger — folding it and placing it in the duffel bag. "That may be true but you'll need a dress for all the five-star restaurants we visit when we go full Kook." He joked lightly, winking at you, the action putting a loving smile on your face. "Here, let me help." He offered, stepping next to you and grabbing your bottoms and shoes, putting them in the duffel bag as well.

To your surprise, the bag fit almost everything you planned on taking. You'd probably need another backpack but the closet was almost entirely empty when you spotted a box in the corner. You scrunched your eyebrows, crouching and reaching for the cardboard box in the corner, dragging it out.

There was something written in sharpie on the side — Dad's Stuff.

Your hand hovered over the box, forgetting you had it back there all this time. You didn't even remember what was inside. Looking up at JJ who was already staring down at you, the blonde gave you a silent supportive nod, encouraging you to open it.

Turning back, you carefully opened the top flaps — your eyes immediately spotting your dad's tattered and worn 'OBX' hoodie that you'd taken from his closet after he died. You wore it for weeks after his death — so much so that your perfume still lingered on it, mixed in with fading smell of his cologne that you somehow still remembered the distinct smell of.

You carefully lifted the item of clothing, brushing your thumbs against the rough fabric. The letters were fading and there were small lint-beads around the sleeves but that didn't diminish it's value. You handed the object to JJ, silently asking him to put it in the bag. The boy understood quickly, taking the hoodie from your hands as you fished around deeper in the box.

There wasn't much. What took up the most space was the hoodie considering it's thickness. All that remained was a scrapbook and an old family camera.

You picked up the book first — it was a father's day gift that you'd made him some years ago. 'To The BEST Dad in The World' scribbled in your third grade handwriting on the front. The book was thin, made from construction paper and glitter.

Flipping it open, it was filled with pictures of you and your dad — on several of your birthday's, pictures of you both blowing out the candles because you refused to do it without him. One of his guitar picks was glued to a page, surrounded by a heart of glitter with a small sentence at the bottom — 'I stole this from you because it's my favorite and I don't want to lose it.'

You let the pads of your fingers trace the pages, eyes scanning over the small art project once more before closing it and setting it to the side with one hand, using the other to pick up the camera.

You fiddled with the object in your palms, eyes widening when, to your surprise, it came on as you held the power button. You vividly remembering your dad taking the camera almost everywhere you went — on family picnics, small road trips, birthday parties. He didn't use it as much when you got older.

You pressed the playback button, the last video he ever recorded popping up with the play button. You didn't hesitate, pressing play on the video as the terrible audio quality filled the silence of your room.

"Well, it's doomsday, people. Y/N has her very first pimple." His voice made your heart skip a beat. You hadn't realized until now that you hadn't heard it almost year.

"Dad, stop!" A fourteen-year old you whined, palming the lens of the camera. "It's ugly and huge..."

"You should let your old man pop it-"

"Ew, gross! No way..." You chuckled. Your voice was so much higher, you didn't even recognize it. "And please, stop recording. This is not funny."

"Okay, okay…" he said, turning the camera around to face himself. "Well, bossy pants says no more recording, so we're cutting it short today." He faked a frown before smiling mischievously and turning the camera back around to you for a quick second. You were hunched over the sink looking in the mirror when you saw the camera and ducked out of the way.

"Dad!" You whined. "Seriously!"

"Okay! Okay..." He laughed, the video ending abruptly. You immediately pressed the back arrow, skimming through photo after photo before coming across another video — a much older one.

"Alright, I think it's on. So, to whoever is watching this, my baby girl just learned her first guitar chord and beat her own record, all in one day. Tell them how deep you dove today, sweetheart." He prompted, spinning the camera to what looked like a ten-year old you sitting on your front porch — hair still slightly damp and wild.

"Thirty feet!" You cheered, voice even higher in this recording. You had his guitar in your lap.

"That's right!" Your father applauded from behind the camera, walking around to stand in front of you and get a good view. "She's a little natural. But now we're on to our lessons before she leaves me for her friends. Tell the people what chords you learned."

Your small frame was perched on the front steps, sun beaming on you. "E-minor, A-minor, and...uh...E."

"Good job!" He smiled, voice dropping to a whisper only the camera could hear. "She picked out the chords herself, I had no say." The statement made you laugh a bit, wiping away a stray tear as you continued to watch the video. "Whenever you're ready, sweetheart."

You watched as little you positioned the instrument under your arms and your fingers in between the frets before strumming. It was gappy and you hesitated in between switching chords but the video made you smile nonetheless.

Once you were done, you looked up at the camera with a smile. "How was that?"

"That was beautiful, angel." Your dad said softly behind the device, walking closer to you and turning it around so it now recorded the both of you. "This is me and my little pufferfish-slash-popstar and we're signing off. Wave goodbye, Y/N."

"Byeee!" You cheesed and waved wildly, your dad doing this same as the video cut — stuck on the last frame showcasing both of your bright smiles.

You stared at it, silently crying. You let your tears fall, sniffing periodically when you felt a hand ease it's way onto your back. Turning swiftly and dropping the camera into your duffel bag, you turned and pushed your face into JJ's chest, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly.

You could feel his body tense and his hands freeze — he didn't know what to say or how to properly comfort you. Or if was he meant to comfort you as a friend or a lover.

He pondered for a moment before returning the tight embrace, kissing the top of your head before laying his on top of your own. He swayed lightly with you in his arms, allowing you to cry quietly into his shirt.

"Why did all of this have to happen?" You mumbled into his shirt. "Why are our lives the ones that had to fall apart?"

The blonde didn't have an answer for you, so he just chose to hold you instead — comforting you until you were ready and didn't need the need the comfort anymore.

He wasn't sure if he was meant to comfort you as a friend or as a lover — so he settled on comforting you as a person.

And he held you as long as you needed until you were all cried out, the two of you taking your bags of clothes, the scrapbook, the camera, the hoodie, and most importantly — your dad's guitar out of the house you hoped to never see again.

“GUYS,  THIS IS FROM DENMARK’S DIARY.” Pope said. You were back at The Chateau, feeling a lot better now, and he hadn’t put the book down since he got it. You were surprised he hadn’t finished it by now. You’d seen the boy finish larger books in a matter of hours. “...‘August fifteenth, set sail from Port-au-Prince on calm seas.’” He read aloud, the sun beaming behind him. “...’Came up on the Spanish ship San Jose on fire. The entire deck was aflame. We could hear the screams of men trapped below.’” You cringed at the words, not being able to imagine the agony.

“‘The Spanish Captain cared about only one thing, his valuable cargo — The Cross of Santo Domingo and countless bars of gold. Once the cargo was on board, went to help the crew, but Captain Limbrey ordered us to pull bayonets and not to let any of the Spanish crew on board.” He paused, eyes softening before continuing to read. “...’He robbed them and left them to die.’”

Pope concluded, closing the journal and letting it fall on the table before taking a seat in the empty chair next to John B.

“So, it didn’t go down off Bermuda.” JJ offered, fiddling with a lighter as he laid outstretched between your legs, his head against your thighs as you laid against the arm of the patio sofa.

“And it was a Limbrey stealing shit again.” Kiara added.

“This diary proves that both the gold and the cross of Santo Domingo were on the Royal Merchant.” Pope put together, leaning his arms on his thighs. 

“Why didn’t we find the cross in the well, then?” JJ asked, his blonde hair getting blown into his face by the wind, you brushing it gently out of his vision as he continued explaining his thought process. “I mean, if Denmark was able to get this, like, bedazzled cross off of the Merchant to the shore, why didn’t he just hide it with the gold?”

“...Because it was too big.” John B realized. 

“You’re right.” Pope nodded, eyeing his two friends and nodding as his brained pieced the puzzle together. “He had to hide it someplace else…”

“But where?” You thought aloud.

“...Right before he was hung, Denmark said he buried the treasure at the foot of the angel.” Pope said.

“Wait,” JJ paused. “I thought this was about the key?” He pondered. “What’s the connection here?”

Pope sighed, pulling the aforementioned key from his pocket — the one he found in his grandma’s parlor. “The path to the tomb begins in the island room…” He said, reading the secret message revealed by the key, trying to mentally search for clues.

“But what is the island room?” Kiara groaned, throwing her head back.

“Y’know what helps me figure shit out?” JJ threw out, tossing the lighter onto the outdoor table, eyes focused on Pope. “Smokin’ beers and drinkin’ weed.” He said proudly, your face twisting in confusion. “The ideas just start to pour out of me. If we just sit here and try to figure this out, we’re gonna get nowhere.” He said seriously, sitting up to look at his friends more directly. “But if we get creative and go to this bonfire tonight? Maybe we get somewhere.”

“I think you just want an excuse to go to a bonfire.” You added, a smug look on your face as he turned to look at you, his hair messed up from laying in your lap.

“Shh…” He quieted with a finger to your lips, your eyes fleeting between the digit and his eyes. “You just haven’t mastered the technique to greatness yet. This is a plan of master intelligence. Drunk minds lead to sober finds, baby.”

You scoffed, lightly brushing his fingers from your lips as Kie spoke.

“Well, I just got disowned by my parents…and I’m an official member of the I-have-nothing-to-lose club.” She smiled, throwing her hands out.

“Pope?” JJ turned to the boy, a question on his lips. You all could see the denial brewing in his eyes, JJ catching it before any words left Pope’s lips. “Look — think about how much you could think if you just gave your brain a rest.”

He seemed to sit on the thought, looking at each of you individually before caving in. “...Okay, fine.”

“That’s a yes, folks. We’re headed out!” JJ exclaimed, jumping up from his place as the other three did the same, heading towards the van. You were getting up on your own before the blonde’s hand went under your arms, lifting you into his embrace. Your arms wound around his neck as he carried you happily. “First couple bonfire, baby!” He smiled, looking into your eyes. “You gotta do keg stand with me.”

THE BONFIRE — AN OUTER BANKS TRADITION. It’s the same weekend every year. Everyone goes. Literally everyone. After finding a fortune, and losing it, a little fun around a fire couldn’t hurt, right?

The party was in full swing by the time you’d all arrived, the entire party recognizing your small group by the sight of The Twinkie. JJ helped you out of the van, your ears immediately attacked by the loud cheering, endless chatter, and raging music. 

The only real light was the huge bonfire in the center of the party — the flames lit in a small pit of the abandoned skatepark that happened to be this years secret location. Kiara and Pope went off on their own almost as soon as they left the van — the two getting into a small dispute on the way over. Pope believed that if Kie listened to her parents instead of arguing, she could go back home. Kiara disagreed and told Pope that he sounded like her dad.

You, JJ, and John B were already grabbing beers from a cooler — the two boys swallowing theirs down within seconds. John B did his own complaining on the way over — not a single sentence spoken without the mention of Sarah Cameron.

“And she was like ‘that’s it’. She done with me.” He whined, even after downing a beer.

“I know, but dude? Her father blew up in front of her.” JJ reminded, clapping a hand on the boys shoulder. 

“J’s right, John B.” You said, sipping your own beer as you looked around at the party goers. “ Just give her a minute-” You were cut off when a beer can clattered at all three of your feet, looking up to find the girl who’d passed John B that note in class with a lazy smile on her face.

“Hey, derelicts!” She shouted, giggling drunkenly.

“Hey!” JJ exclaimed, kicking the beer droplets from his shoes. “There she is…” He mumbled, side-eyeing JB. “That’s all you, my friend.” He said, throwing an arm over your shoulder and walking away from John B. “I’m outta here.” He said, throwing a peace sign over his shoulder.

The two of you walked away with bright smiles on your faces, laughing.

“Was I good wingman back there? One through ten...” JJ asked, a light smile on his face. 

“Eh. I’ll give you an eight.” You shrugged lightheartedly.

“An eight?” He asked, his arm slipping from your shoulder to hold your hand as he turned to talk to you, face to face. “Where’d my other two points go?”

“You lost them because for one, that’s the same girl he made out with last year and never texted back because he said she was trashy and desperate. But neither of you remember that.” You reprimanded jokingly. “And two, I do feel kind of bad. Sarah’s probably somewhere crying and John B’s out here flirting with some girl…” 

JJ groaned, stepping closer to you. “Trust me — Sarah is not moping around. I’ll bet you a million dollars that she’s with her knight in shining armor right now.”

“JJ, that’s not fair-”

“But it’s the truth. I know you two are sort of friends again but you can’t seriously tell me that you don’t think she ran to Topper.” You chewed the inside of you cheek, squinting your eyes.

“...I say have some faith in her.” You challenged, shifting your weight and crossing your arms, a mischievous smile on your face.

JJ chuckled, downing the remaining portion of his beer before taking your face in his hand gently, rubbing a thumb over your cheek as he looked down at you — the fire illuminating the side of your face beautifully. “You’re cute.” He cooed. “Twenty bucks says Sarah ran back to Topper and they’ll show up tonight.”

“And if I’m right?” You contested, cocking an eyebrow. “If they don't?” You asked, eyes on the blonde’s lips.

“Well, that’s up to you.” He said, fighting a smile as his eyes bored into yours. “What do you want?...” He asked, voice just above a whisper.

Your tongue traced the inside of your mouth as your eyes scanned his face. The two of you had been dating for less than twenty-four hours and the tension was already suffocating. And you were in public, for that matter. But for some reason, that fact didn’t affect you all that much.

“Yo, Maybank!” A deep, brassy voice rang out — JJ turning around as you peered over his shoulder to find one of the football players with his hands up. “Beer pong?” He offered, holding a ping pong ball between his fingers. 

JJ turned back to you, a raised eyebrow. You just shrugged as the boy took your hand, walking you over. “Yeah, me and my girl are playin’!”

“AND THAT’S THREE TO ZEROOO!” JJ TAUNTED AS HIS PING PONG BALL LANDED IN THE OTHER TEAMS LAST CUP, beer sloshing as the round object hit the liquid. The people surrounding you cheered as the other team, the football player and his girlfriend, groaned and downed the cup of beer.

You’d been playing for at least half an hour, you and JJ consuming more beer than a dad of three on a football Sunday. JJ was no lightweight. You, on the other hand, have never been too good at controlling yourself after your third or fourth drink. There were different types of drunks — the loud one, the whiny one, the vomiter...

You were the touchy drunk. The flirtatious drunk. And the countless cups of beer were just starting to kick in — your body feeling warm and tingly as the night went on.

A chill traveled up the length of your spine when JJ pulled you into a celebratory hug, lifting you off your feet and planting a quick kiss on your lips. It was such an odd thing — all these feelings you had for him just seemed to amplify.

You did mean it when you said you saw him as a friend. Most of the time. Before you were together or expressed feeling for each other, you had moments here and there where you saw JJ from a not-so friendly perspective. You may have a had a little crush on him but who didn’t? He was hot.

So, yeah, maybe you’d stare a little longer than appropriate when he’d take his shirt off at the beach and maybe, just maybe, him calling you princess would make your heart beat a little faster and maybe that’s why you would tell him stop.

But now, you were his girlfriend. And he was your boyfriend. And even a day into dating, he had no problem showing it. His hands never hesitated when he wanted them on you and if your lips were there, trust and believe he’d kiss them. He’d take the time to help you out of and into the van and he seemed to love throwing his arm around your shoulder.

The little touches and looks ignited a new fire in you and with the liquor running through you, the small flame inside was more like a wildfire. Ever since everything that happened with Rafe, you hadn’t really felt comfortable when it came to intimacy. But something about JJ made it feel like you weren’t treading in such deep water without knowing how to swim. You felt safe.

“Alright, we’re done. Go find someone else to kick your ass.” JJ joked as he set you down, taking a few steps to give his friend a bro-hug, clapping each other on the shoulder. JJ held out his hand when he turned back to you. You eagerly put your hand in his, the two of you walking away and towards the center of the pit where people were sitting and dancing around the fire.

The blonde sat down and motioned for you to do the same, his hand never unlinking from yours until you were completely sat and comfortable. “...You done already?” You asked, watching as JJ perked up at the sound of your voice.

“What do you mean?” He asked, eyebrows cinching curiously.

“This is your, like, natural habitat.” You laughed, motioning to the party around you. “Normally, you go from shotgunning beers to the keg stand within fifteen minutes.”

He laughed lightly at your observation, his head dipping down for a moment. “Yeah, I guess…”

“Soooo?...” You questioned, a tipsy smile on your face. 

“...I don’t know.” He sighed, looking at you. The bonfire illuminated his hair, making it look borderline golden. “I don’t wanna tire you out. I know you’re still recovering from...you know-”

“Pfft-” You cut him off. “Don’t worry about meee…” You groaned, shaking the boys shoulders. “I’m fine. I don’t even know what Barry gave me-”

“Yeah, I know.” JJ said seriously. “That’s the problem. I probably shouldn’t have even let you down that many beers…”

“JJ.” You deadpanned, a semi-drunken pout on your lips. “I’m fine.”

“...No one is really fine after something like that.” He said sadly, looking you in the eyes.

In truth, he was right. The events of yesterday had been playing in your mind since you woke up. Little flashes, here and there. It made it so hard to sleep — and you prayed you wouldn’t have a repeat of last summer all over again. You may not remember every single event but you couldn’t seem to forget how the entire ordeal made you feel. Helpless, disgusting…alone. But you figured, you got through it all once, right? What was one more time?

You didn’t want to bring down the mood and it was clear that’s where this was headed. So when your ears cued in on the song playing over the speakers, a bright smile planted itself on your face as you stood up, holding a hand out for JJ that he took without hesitation. But not without question.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“Dance with me.”

“Ah, I don’t think this is really a slow dancing song, princess.” He protested, a sheepish smile on his face. “And I don’t know how to do that, anyway.”

“Who said anything about slow dancing?” You asked as if he asked a ridiculous question. “We’re at a bonfire, not a debutante ball.” You joked.

“A what?”

“Oh my God.” You sighed with a smile. “Just dance with me, you loser.” You urged, spinning in his arms so that you were facing away from him and pressing yourself against him, putting both of his hands on your waist as you swayed against him.

“Oh-” JJ said, your quick movements catching him off guard before he seemed to find himself. “This kind of dancing.” He said — his fingers pressing into the exposed skin of your waist as he matched your movements. Your own hands trailed up his arms — one steady feeling up his bicep as the other traveled up to the nape of his neck.

Normally, you’d be a little nervous in a situation like this. But with the alcohol, the fact that most of the people around were too drunk to notice, and the consideration of the other ten couples that were nearly tongue-fucking one another scattered around the skate park — a little grinding was the least of anyone’s concerns.

You were surprised when you felt the skin of JJ’s lips brush against the skin of your neck, the hairs standing up at the contact. You could faintly hear him humming the lyrics of the song — the combination of his featherlight touch and the sound of his voice making one dangerous duo.

You didn’t realize you were subconsciously pushing yourself further into him until you felt the familiar feeling of something pressing into your backside, the same feeling you felt in Charleston. You were starting to take it as a compliment. And he didn't seem as apologetic this time around.

At the feeling of him pressed against you, you craned your neck to look at him when the boy wasted no time in encapsulating your lips with his — a sloppy, passionate kiss as you both swayed against each other. You swore you heard a wolf-whistle somewhere but you paid no mind, turning in JJ’s hold to wrap both arms around his neck as he pulled you even closer into him.

One of his hands started to trace your spine all the way down to your ass when shouting distracted you both.

“Relax!” You both broke your exchange, turning around to see Sarah, John B, Topper, and the girl you’d left John B with all in each other’s faces.

“Why don’t you just leave, Sarah?” The girl sassed, the entire party quieting down aside from the people egging on the altercation, flashlights coming on as people started to record. “You aren’t even together anymore-”

“Why are you still talking?!” Sarah exclaimed, hands in the girls face.

“Have a little respect. Her dad just died!” Topper jumped in, reprimanding the girl.

“Shut up, Kook!” She spat, chin up. “Back off!” She warned, pushing Topper back with one arm.

“What’s going on?” Pope asked from beside you and JJ — him and Kiara seeming to have made their way through the crowd.

“The confrontation of the century.” JJ laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “You owe me twenty dollars, princess.” He whispered, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. You didn’t miss the way Pope’s eyes squinted, you turning to look at him. The curly-haired boy pointed back and forth between you and JJ, raising an eyebrow and crossing his fingers — a silent question.

You nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. Pope smiled and held out his fist, waiting for you to bump yours with his. You scoffed, giving him a fist bump. You couldn’t turn back to face the argument without meeting Kie’s eyes that no doubt saw the interaction between you and Pope. She looked sad. Disappointed, almost.

“She’s a real gem.” Sarah said sarcastically to John B.

“What am I to you, huh?” He challenged, stepping closer to Sarah as Topper and the girl argued in the background. “Am I just another one? Like him?” He questioned, motioning towards Topper.

“She just another groupie to add to your collection?” Sarah retorted, standing toe to toe with the boy.

“Sarah, it doesn’t matter-” Topper tried but he went ignored.

“Did I mean anything to you?!” Sarah’s voice rose, her fists balling at her sides as Topper tugged on her arms.

“You’re questioning me when you’re here with your ex?!” John B shouted back.

“Did you tell her?!”

“Are you serious?!”

“Hey, back off!” Topper stepped in eventually, eye to eye with John B. “You wanna start some shit right now?!”

“Do I wanna start some shit?...” John B asked menacingly, head held high.

“Come on, John B! Kick his ass!” Some random bystander yelled, phone in hand. The four of you looked at one another nervously.

“Should we…?” Kiara dragged out.

“Yeah.” Pope answered the half-asked question, the four of you wrestling your way through the mob of people to reach your friends. Too preoccupied with pushing your way through, you couldn’t see what was happening. But you could hear.

“They all know what happened last time!” That was Topper.

“Just get out! Go!” Sarah. Who was she talking to?

“I’ll beat your ass!” Topper. Again.

“Get out of here, Topper!” John B said.

“Hey!” A new voice. “She don’t want you anymore, bro!” Was that Kelce? 

“Shut the hell up...” John B warned, pushing the boy out of his face. You were able to see this happen just as the four of you made it to the center where they stood.

“What’re you gonna do, John B?” He pressed. “Kill me like you killed Sheriff Peterkin? Huh?” Wrong move, Kelce. Wrong. Move. “Do something!-” And something was indeed done as John B doubled back to punch the boy in his jaw, sending him stumbling back into the crowd.

Topper took the opportunity to charge at JB, grabbing him up by his shirt and tossing him to the ground. This urged you and your friends to jump in, the crowd closing in.

“Hey!” The four of you yelled angrily, pushing people out of the way.

“Move!” You shouted, forcefully shoving bodies out of you way. “Get the f- move!” You broke through just in time to see the girl John B was chatting up push Sarah to the concrete, JB calling the blonde’s name. You shoved the girl away, seeing her tumble on her ass. “Move, bitch!”

“What’s your problem?!” Kiara shouted at the girl as well, emerging next to you after witnessing the assault herself. “You all right?” Kie asked Sarah as the girl pushed herself up.

“What the hell?!” The girl that pushed her screamed. “Whose side are you on?!”

“She’s our friend!” You retorted. “Guys!” You shouted, looking around for your three male friends — spotting them to your right. John B was being pinned down by Topper, Pope had bum rushed half a dozen people to get to him, and JJ had leaped over one of the short walls to help his friend.

Pope went straight for Kelce who was helping Topper jump JB — taking a few nasty hits to his torso before managing to subdue the boy.

JJ had his sights on Topper — snatching the boy off of his best friend and into a chokehold.

“JJ!” You shouted, you and Kie rushing over. “We have to leave!” You warned, not getting too close.

“It’s not worth it, guys, come on!” Kiara bellowed.

Pope was the first one to ground himself, pushing Kelce off of him and to the concrete before gathering JJ and John B. “C’mon, we’re done!” He rushed, pushing the two boys ahead of him.

“We good?” JJ asked John B, full of adrenaline. He was on a streak, huh? 

“We’re good.” John B exasperated, adjusting his shirt.

The five of you walked away from the party, JJ grabbing your hand so he didn’t lose you in the crowd. Piling into the van, the five of you sped off watching the chaos continue through the vehicle windows.

“WELL, THAT WAS A LITTLE UNEXPECTED.” JJ pointed out the obvious, crushing an empty beer can in his hand and leaning against the van. You’d stopped at a convenience store, The Twinkie parked outside. You and JJ had gone inside to get drinks as John B sat inside, legs outstretched in front of him with a cold beer pressed to his head, Kiara and Pope sitting up front with Kie in the driver’s seat. 

“Was it?” She protested, pulling her face together.

“Couldn’t just have one night without some shit going on.” Pope sighed angrily, throwing his head back.

“Hey, maybe she’ll come around.” JJ tried the optimistic approach, eyes on John B who looked like he couldn’t be more over it if he tried.

“...It’s like everything that happened to us didn’t matter.” John B said sadly, looking at his shoes. “And maybe it doesn’t.”

“I’VE HAD MORE BLACK EYES IN THE LAST MONTH THAN I’VE EVER HAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.” Pope said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t as gloomy as it was in the van on the way back, but the gray cloud was still there.

You were all back at The Chateau now, crowded around your own bonfire. You and JJ sat on one bench, Marley curled up at your feet while John B and Kie sat on another, Pope having a lawn chair all to himself as him, you, and JB roasted marshmallows.

“That was building up for years.” JJ said, taking a bite out of his fresh hot pocket as you laid your head on his shoulder, roasting your marshmallow. “Rumble in the jungle.” He joked through a mouth full of food.

“Hey,” John B spoke up, eyes running between you and Kie. “Did you guys really stick up for Sarah?”

You simply shrugged. “Yeah, look like she needed it.” You said bluntly, not in a mean way. Just matter of factly. “Pogues and Kooks fight different. Sarah isn’t the fighting type, not the pogue fighting type anyway.”

“Of course I did.” Kie replied after. “She’s not a real Kook.”

“Yeah, tell that to Topper.” Pope threw out. It went silent for a few moments, the only sounds being the crickets and the crackling of the fire. And the chickens in the coop. They were oddly active tonight.

At the sound of their incessant clucking, John B’s eyes furrowed — turning around and staring off into the distance. You paid no mind to it as JJ plucked your freshly roasted marshmallow of the stick and ate it just as you’d brought it to your lips.

“Ah- hey!” You removed your head from his shoulder, pushing him playfully.

“Sorry, got a little hungry.”

“You have an entire hot pocket in your hand.”

“Yeah, but-” He was cut off when you dipped your head down taking a huge bite out of his hot pocket — the steaming food causing you to breathe wildly while chewing. “That’s what your ass gets.” He laughed, his amusement dying when Marley took the opportunity to snatch the remaining portion of the item from his hand, gulping in down in few bites. “What the hell?!”

Your own laughter erupted, almost causing you to choke on the bite of food – JJ patting your back to help out when John B shushed you. The four of you looked at him.

“What?” Pope asked.

“...Someone’s here.” He said, standing up from his seat and taking slow steps towards the chicken coop.

“You don’t think Topper would…?” Kiara threw out the possibility. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” JJ said, trying to find whatever it was John B was looking at. The four of you stood up, trailing behind John B.

“Hey, who’s out there?!” John B called, the five of you creeping around the bushes and trees.

“You Kooks better not try anything!” Kie warned aloud.

Suddenly, a figure emerged. “How y’all doing?” You couldn’t help but loudly smack your teeth and roll your eyes — it was no one other than the creepy guy that ran with Limbrey. 

“Not this motherfucker…” You sighed. "Don't you have a job?"

“You gotta be kidding me.” JJ complained beside you.

“Lovely evenin’ we’re havin’.” He smiled, walking towards you all and out of the woods with his hands up in surrender.

“Lovely evening we were having.” You corrected, a grimace on your face. “Go away.” You dead panned. “Creeping in the woods and peeping on minors is odd. And a felony-”

“You know, out of all of you, I think I like you the least.” He said.

“Is this where I’m supposed to fall to my knees in tears?” You sassed. “For someone dressed like a low budget G.I. Joe, I don’t think you should be too worried about me.”

“Look, I didn't come here to fuss ‘n fight.” He said. “I don’t hold a grudge with any of y’all, all right?” He reassured, slapping his hands against his thighs. “But this can go hard,” He said, patting himself down and holding his jacket open as he spun around to show that he was unarmed. “Or this can go easy.” He said plainly, throwing his arms out.

He was in front of you all now, surveying you each one by one. “You know what I’m here for.” He smiled. “Lemme give you a little demonstration, you see that swing?” He asked, pointing to the tire swing in hanging from the large tree in the backyard. “I got the best bow hunters in the Army Rangers with me.”

“Yeah?” JJ challenged.

“Mhm.” The man hummed, whistling two times before an arrow went whizzing through the air, embedding itself into the oak of the Magnolia Tree. The object startled some of your friends, you and JJ’s eyes glued to the man as he walked circles around you five. “They’ll stick you just as soon as I say so.” He threatened, stepping into Pope’s space.

JJ walked up behind him when an arrow flew right beside your ear, landing right at the blonde’s feet. You’d forgotten all about Marley until you heard her growl from beside you, looking down to see her eyes glued to the man as she bared her teeth.

You’d never heard her growl so lowly before. And maybe it was time to start teaching her some new tricks if she was going to be by your side through all this. Maybe you were both changing...

“Nuh-uh.” He warned, eyeing JJ before turning his smug grin back to Pope. “Now, I’m not gonna give you a countdown or any bullshit like that. I’m just gonna whistle.” He said bluntly, eyes boring into Pope’s who was breathing heavily, nostrils flared.

It was a tense few moments — It was Pope’s choice. But was it really? Were there really any choices at all? The air grew stiff and suffocating as you watched your friend dig into his pocket, his hand emerging with the real key this time.

He was about to hand it over when he clutched it, holding it to his chest. “No.” He muttered, shaking his head as he pressed his lips together. “This key belongs to my family.” He hissed.

The man laughed, pacing shortly on his feet. “I am losin’ my patience with you, Pope.” He informed, eyes void yet full of evil all at once. He turned back to Pope, putting two fingers to his lips, preparing himself to give the signal to his men in the woods when Pope handed over the key.

He smiled, taking the item with no urgency. “You did the right thing, kid.” He commended. “Knowing when you don’t have a choice is an underappreciated talent. You be safe, now.” He waved off, turning and walking through the remaining four of you. “Y’all have a good night.” He bid farewell as he disappeared into the trees again, multiple footsteps shuffling in the greenery to follow him out.

Pope stood there, panting like an angry bull. You’d never seen him so furious. Pope was the voice of reason. He was the level-headed one. The rational one.

Not whatever this was.

“...I am so sick, of this shit.” He rasped, his anger not allowing him to move his voice above an infuriated whisper. He shook his head, fists balled tightly as he walked off.

And you stood wondering just how much more personal was this going to get.

next chapter>

[creativewritersposts]

concert ticket - Lando Norris

summary; Lando Norris x reader

You're hyped to get concert tickets for Taylor Swift - the Eras tour until everything is sold out and you're very upset about it. Lando gets very creative to cheer you up!

warning(s); none, little bit angst, fluff, maybe grammar errors

author's note; hi ✨ hope you enjoy this one!

Quickly reminder my request box is always open 💞

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

"hey babe, Taylor Swift is going on tour!", a squeak escapes your mouth, too excited since you heard the news. Lando huffs, rolling his eyes, "I'll not go with you!". It's not like he hates the singer, he likes her songs but for two or three hours nonstop?

You blink twice, "why not?". You put on your begging face which lando never could resist. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, "I'm not a fan of songs like "Stopp you're losing meee", he imitates the lyrics with dramatic body gestures. "You cry over her songs like you're lovesick and you're in a happy relationship with me!", he argues.

You can feel how your mouth changes into a small, thin line. "don't you dare to talk about this masterpiece like that, Lando Norris!". When it comes to Taylor, you're ready to fight. He bites on his nails, if it makes you happy, he would go with you.

"One deal, you have to organize these tickets and I'll go with you", he smiles apologizing. Here you are, one month later in front of your laptop since thee hours.

It's frustrating. You're not the only one with the plan to buy tickets and you need to wait. "argh!", you smash your hand on the keyboard, it could be such a happy day.

When you click to the main page, the worst nightmare came true; no tickets available. Sold out.

Of course you didn't call Lando - he would throw a party just not going to this. But for you it meant the world.

After three days Lando is worried, he was away for promotion and you were awkwardly quiet. Too quiet.

He knows the ticket sale started, you talked nonstop about it for one month straight. He's sure you got tickets, that's why he didn't bought any.

He was sure you'll get some.

Unlocking the door he steps in, ready to say hello to you with a big hug, kisses and good food.

"Hey darling", Lando steps in the kitchen and kisses your neck from behind, because you're cooking. "Hm", you mumble under anger about the world.

"Someone is in a bad mood, huh?", jokes Lando in love. You look so cute when you're grumpy.

"Shut up", you hiss in his direction under tears, bad mood is no explanation for your feelings. All hopes are gone.

"What happened?!", Lando got big eyes, shocked about your reaction. It's atypical for you. "We're not going to the Eras tour", you sob whilst holding the pan. Cooking his favorite meal. With his favorite tv show. And you're not even allowed to see your favorite artist, your biggest idol.

"I'm so sorry ", Lando steps closer and hugs you tight, "you're not!", you sob even more in his chest.

"I am", he lays his chin on your head, thinking about what he can do. He can't help with concert tickets but he can help you.

He kisses your hair, asking you randomly, "you're free thursday night?", you just nod. After this you sit down and eat the dinner without more conversations about this. But he has ideas.

Four days to get the ideas to your best night ever. He goes to shops, asks his friend to help him and learns Taylor Swift song lyrics. He ordered fan merch. It's not hard to hide from you because you have a busy time schedule at work so you're not coming home until 8pm.

"Lan-oooh!", you see glitter on the floor inside his apartment. "Lando?", you look through the open door, where you can see ballons, more glitter, different colors, colored snacks and letters on the ceiling, 'eras tour' on it. "aww how cute!", you can't believe he did it for you. A Taylor Swift themed night.

"Change into your fanciest, most glamorous dress because we're having the best night ever with Taylor", he dances like a goofball in the living room. Before you walk into your wardrobe, you walk back to Lando and kiss his lips, "i love you", thankful to have this man in your life.

He wouldn't say it loud but maybe he got two tickets. But that's a surprise for later.

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

Summary:

After a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

So you pack your bags and move to Japan, only to find the students at U.A. High School traumatized by the Hero War. Aizawa is struggling to help them, and Nezu is overwhelmed trying to find therapists while managing international scrutiny over the students' involvement in the war. Aizawa panics when Nezu informs him of your arrival, as your hero profile is so blank he can't find decent information about you, despite your international headlines.

Your start is rocky, worsened by your initial deception of pretending to be his new student. The students are unsure what to make of you, but they’re drawn to their new pretty art teacher and soon so is their handsome grump of a teacher.

With the media down his neck, Nezu offers you a deal: Get the kids to seek therapy, you to graduate with your psychology doctorate. Aizawa’s catch: If you fail or harm them, you walk away from being a therapist and hero altogether.

All while facing your own trauma, and the affections of those strange cats...

Tw: PTSD and mentions of violence and mental distress.

Song: SZA - Good Days

----------------------Chapter 1: Who are you?------------------------

The day had been a rare opportunity for the new Class 2-A to unwind and explore the vibrant shopping district surrounding U.A. Academy. With a Saturday all to themselves, students scattered across the mall, relishing the chance to indulge in personal interests and bond outside the confines of their classrooms.

In the heart of the bustling mall, the comic store beckoned with its colorful displays and eager customers. The windows were adorned with colorful posters of heroes in dynamic poses, and the entrance was flanked by life-sized statues of popular heroes. The air inside was thick with the scent of new books and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

Izuku Midoriya, his face lit up with joy, led a group consisting of Ochaco Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki, and himself towards the store's entrance. They were drawn by the promise of hero memorabilia and the back to school discounted prices plastered all over the building.

Hey, kids gotta ball on a budget!

As they entered, the store buzzed with energy. Fans of all ages flipped through graphic novels, their fingers brushing the glossy pages, while others scrutinized shelves stocked with hero-themed merchandise—action figures, posters, and keychains, all meticulously arranged to catch the eye. The walls were lined with shelves, each packed to the brim with comics, some new, others worn and well-loved. A few children darted between the aisles, their laughter mingling with the murmur of conversations.

Izuku gravitated towards the section dedicated toToshinori, his eyes wide and scanning for any rare collectibles he might have missed. The rows of action figures stood proudly, their detailed designs catching the overhead light. Posters of All Might in his prime covered the walls, Izuku's gaze lingered on each one, and his eyes softened.

"Hey, Izuku, check this out!" Ochaco's voice rang out, pulling him from his reverie. She held up a keychain featuring a miniature All Might in his signature hero pose, the small figure almost glowing in her hand. "Isn't this adorable?" She smiled brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy.

Izuku's face brightened, his eyes widening as he stepped closer to examine the keychain. "That's awesome, Ochaco! I wonder if they have any figurines or posters I haven't seen before." He began to peruse the shelves again, his fingers trailing lightly over the edges of the boxes as he searched for something new. His gaze darted from one item to another, his excitement slowly giving way to disappointment as he realized there were no new All Might items to add to his collection.

Izuku sighed softly, the sound almost lost in the ambient noise of the store. His rewards points burned a hole in his pocket, the card resting in his hand as he glanced around the store, hoping for a hidden gem.

The sweet old lady store clerk noticed his dilemma and smiled warmly at him. "Can't find what you're looking for, young man?" She had allowed the Izu-crew to browse before offering her assistance. 

Izuku shook his head, feeling a bit crestfallen. "Not this time, Mrs. Sakamaki. All Might stuff tends to sell out quickly." He shuffled slightly, one hand slipping into his pocket as he spoke, the other still clutching the rewards card.

Mrs. Sakamaki, was a sweet old lady store clerk with a kind smile and gentle demeanor. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, and she wore a cozy cardigan that seemed to match the warmth in her eyes. 

Mrs. Sakamaki's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Well, how about considering something new? Have you heard about Charge Bomb? She's quite the rising star, you know." She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, her voice full of enthusiasm.

Izuku's head tilted slightly, curiosity evident in his tone, and interest piqued, " Charge Bomb? "

Mrs. Sakamaki nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening as she reached behind the counter. With a practiced hand, she retrieved a medium-sized figurine of Charge Bomb, complete with her signature explosive star emblem and perching pose. 

The figure was expertly crafted, capturing the details of the hero’s ebony mask and cloak. "She's gaining quite a fanbase lately. People say she's as electrifying as her powers!"

Izuku hesitated for a moment, his eyes tracing the details of the figurine in his hand. The weight of it was reassuring, and he could feel the craftsmanship in every groove. "I've heard a bit about her. She seems really strong." He turned the figure over, examining it closely, the gears in his mind turning as he considered adding it to his collection.

Ochaco teased him lightly, nudging Izuku with a playful grin. "Come on, Izuku. Even if All Might isn't here, you can expand your horizons a bit!"

Tsuyu ribbited in agreement, her lips quirking up in a small smile. "Ribbit. Midoriya, you might discover a new hero to admire." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she watched Izuku's inner debate unfold.

Izuku chuckled sheepishly, feeling the support of his friends. "Alright, alright. Charge Bomb it is. Thank you, ma'am." He offered Mrs. Sakamaki a grateful smile as he handed over his rewards card, the anticipation building within him as he added the figurine to his growing collection.

"This Charge Bomb figure is incredible," Izuku exclaimed, his eyes wide as he examined the action figure in his hands. He was doing that mumbling thing and they were happy to see him geek over something other than All Might. It was good to see him like this. 

He needed this. 

"Yeah, but she seems so distant, like she's always avoiding questions in her interviews," Ochaco remarked, her gaze shifting to a nearby display of hero-themed posters. She reached out to adjust one that had slipped slightly out of place, her fingers brushing the paper lightly.

"She's probably just focused on hero work," Shoto chimed in quietly, his eyes scanning the shelves with detached interest. He reached out to pick up a comic, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "I've seen her in action in some civilian videos. She doesn't waste time or energy." He placed the comic back, his expression thoughtful.

Tsuyu, standing beside Shoto, nodded in agreement. "Ribbit. Maybe she prefers a direct approach, focusing on getting the job done without unnecessary risks." She leaned over to pick up a comic featuring a leapfrog character, holding it up with a teasing smile before lightly punching Shoto in the arm for showing it to her.

Iida, who had been diligently scanning through hero strategy books, joined the conversation with his trademark earnestness. "Indeed. Charge Bomb's reputation stems from her precise tactics and adherence to hero regulations. She's a model of efficiency." His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was a spark of admiration in his eyes.

Ochaco nodded knowingly, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's part of her appeal. Charge Bomb is known for her no-nonsense attitude and her skill in taking down villains efficiently. But when it comes to interviews, she's a bit elusive. Always dodging personal questions with a touch of humor. I would love to get away with that! Those interview questions always make me so nervous." She glanced over at Izuku, her expression softening as she saw the thoughtful look on his face.

Izuku's brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of disappointment and fascination crossing his features. "It's amazing how she manages to stay mysterious even with all the attention she's getting." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still holding the Charge Bomb figurine as he contemplated the enigma that was this new hero.

Tsuyu, always the voice of reason, chimed in to lighten the mood. "Maybe she just wants to keep her private life private. It adds to her mystique, kero. Don't you think?" She tilted her head slightly, her wide eyes filled with understanding.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Izuku agreed with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing as he let go of his earlier disappointment. ‘ She's definitely someone I want to learn more about.’ He glanced around at his friends, grateful for their perspectives.

Their conversation was interrupted by Iida, who had found a stack of hero biographies nearby. He straightened up, holding one out to Izuku with a determined look. "Have any of you seen this? It's a comprehensive guide on hero rankings and strategies. We should study this for our next training session." His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the group was huddled around the book, discussing its contents with renewed excitement.

Meanwhile, nearby, Eijiro Kirishima trailed after Katsuki Bakugo through the bustling mall, his grin wide and infectious. The air was thick with the mingled scents of food and perfume, and the cacophony of shoppers' chatter created a lively atmosphere. Kirishima's energy was palpable as he practically bounced on his heels, his excitement barely contained.

"C'mon, bro, let's hurry up! I wanna check out those romance novels you were talking about," Kirishima urged, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. His red hair caught the overhead lights, giving it an almost fiery glow, and his broad smile seemed to brighten the entire aisle.

Bakugo grunted in response, his usual scowl softened slightly by Kirishima's persistent cheer. He had a reputation to maintain, but Kirishima's unwavering smile always managed to crack through his tough exterior.

The corners of his mouth twitched as if resisting a smile, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. They navigated through the maze of aisles, their footsteps echoing against the polished tiles. The aisles were lined with displays of books and manga, with colorful covers vying for attention. Bakugo’s eyes darted toward a stand of novels, his expression turning contemplative as he contemplated a particular title.

Nearby, Mina and Aoyama were in their element, quoting vines and hunting for discounted products, their vibrant personalities on full display. Mina's laughter rang out as she twisted open a bottle of lotion, the fruity scent wafting into the air. 

Her pink skin seemed to shimmer under the store's lights, matching the lively energy she exuded. Aoyama, ever the picture of elegance, carefully examined a row of lip glosses, each one sparkling under the lights like miniature jewels. He held one up to the light, admiring its glittering hue with a flourish of his hand.

Being a crusty bitch is a crime in their book. 

"This one captures my essence perfectly," Aoyama declared with a dramatic flair, his voice lilting with confidence as he made his selection. Mina chuckled, shaking her head in amusement as they made their way toward the counter.

Denki and Sero, not far behind, were engrossed in a lively debate over their favorite music band. Their voices rose above the ambient noise of the mall, attracting a few curious glances. Denki gesticulated animatedly, his eyes bright with passion as he defended his choice. "I'm telling you, their new album is fire! The beats are insane!"

Sero countered with equal enthusiasm, a mischievous grin on his face. "Si, pero like , the lyrics in their older stuff hit harder. You can't just overlook that!" His arms crossed over his chest, a challenge in his posture as he awaited Denki's rebuttal. Their exchange was playful, filled with an easy camaraderie.

Not far off, Jirou sat quietly with Momo. Jirou’s earbuds were plugged in, the faint sound of music just audible as she perused a rack of graphic tees. Her expression was thoughtful, her fingers brushing over the fabric as she considered her options. 

Occasionally, she glanced over at Momo, who was absorbed in selecting art supplies from a nearby shelf. Momo's concentration was evident in the way her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pursed in determination as she compared different shades of sketch pencils.

Near the food court, Sato and Koda were in their element, sampling soft pretzels from a nearby vendor. The aroma of freshly baked dough filled the air, mingling with the scent of warm butter and salt. Their faces lit up with delight as they bit into the savory snacks, the crunch of the pretzel giving way to soft, chewy perfection.

"I’m gonna make this back at the dorm!" Sato declared, his eyes wide with pleasure as he took another bite. Koda nodded in agreement, his usually shy demeanor momentarily forgotten as he enjoyed the treat.

In the midst of the mall's eclectic offerings, Toru and Ojiro found themselves browsing through racks of matching T-shirts and pajamas. Toru's laughter was infectious, her voice light and bubbly as she held up a pair of pajama pants covered in cartoonish animal prints. 

"These are so cute! Ojiro, you should totally get a pair to match!" she teased, her invisible form barely discernible except for the clothing she held.

Ojiro chuckled, his tail swaying behind him as he examined the T-shirt in his hands. "Sure thing, these tees would look pretty cool on you," he said, holding up a shirt with a simple yet striking heart design. His expression was relaxed, content in the easy banter they shared.

Further down the mall, the Hot Topic store exuded a darker, edgier vibe. The walls were adorned with posters of alternative bands, horror movie memorabilia, and gothic accessories that attracted a certain crowd. 

Fumikage Tokoyami and Mezo Shoji were drawn to the store's unique collection, their interest piqued by the array of darkly themed merchandise. Tokoyami's eyes gleamed with approval as he browsed through the selection of black hoodies and band T-shirts, Dark Shadow flickering in and out of view as it reacted to the ambient darkness.

Shoji, towering beside him, was more methodical in his approach, carefully examining each item before making a decision. His multiple arms moved with practiced efficiency, picking up and setting down items as he weighed his options. There was a quiet intensity to his movements, his nature calm but intensive.

Hitoshi Shinso, the newest addition to Class 2-A, stood nearby, quietly observing the array of mystery novels lining the shelves. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity as he reached out to pull a book from the shelf. The cover was dark and foreboding, promising a tale of intrigue and suspense. Shinso flipped through the pages, his mind already piecing together the story within.

As the afternoon unfolded, the tranquil atmosphere of their shopping expedition was abruptly shattered by a sudden commotion echoing from the mall's main atrium. The cheerful chatter and the hum of activity were quickly drowned out by a chorus of panicked voices. 

Shoppers and storekeepers alike scrambled to escape the center of the chaos, their hurried footsteps reverberating through the marble floors.

"What's going on?" Shoto asked, his voice low as his eyes narrowed, instinctively sensing something was amiss. The cool air around him seemed to grow colder as he prepared for the worst.

Izuku's gaze darted towards the source of the disturbance, his expression sharpening with determination. "Something's happening. We need to check it out!"

With a unified nod, they abandoned their purchases and hurried towards the scene, their training as future heroes kicking in instinctively. They weaved through the bustling crowd, the throngs of people parting in their wake as they sprinted toward the mall's open space. The vibrant colors of store signs and displays blurred around them as they closed in on the source of the disturbance.

When they emerged into the atrium, the sight that greeted them was one of utter chaos. A villain stood at the center, their body crackling with electricity, causing nearby electrical appliances and lights to flicker and malfunction dangerously. 

Sparks flew as lights exploded overhead, sending shards of glass raining down. The air buzzed with the raw, uncontrolled energy that pulsed from the villain.

Ochaco's eyes widened in alarm. "We need to stop him before he causes a blackout!"

Before any of them could spring into action, a brilliant flash of light erupted from the villain's direction. The intensity of the glow momentarily blinded them, but when their vision cleared, they saw a figure stepping forward from the crowd—a woman dressed in unassuming civilian attire. 

Despite her inconspicuous appearance, her presence commanded attention. There was a quiet power in the way she carried herself, her gaze steely and focused as she assessed the situation.

"Everyone, stand back!" she called out, her voice firm and authoritative. 

Izuku and his classmates exchanged surprised glances but held their ground. watching in awe as the woman unleashed a burst of energy from her hands. Their initial confusion gave way to awe as the woman raised her hands, now crackling with energy that mirrored the villain's. 

She moved with a fluid grace, her actions deliberate and controlled. In one swift motion, she unleashed a concentrated burst of energy that shot through the air with blinding speed.

The energy blast struck the villain with pinpoint accuracy, the force of it sending them stumbling backward. The villain's powers sputtered out, the crackling electricity around them fizzling as they crumpled to the ground, unconscious and harmless. The once rampant chaos that had filled the atrium dissipated almost immediately, leaving behind a stunned silence.

The woman lowered her hands, the energy dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. She remained poised, her eyes sweeping over the now-subdued scene before landing on the group of young heroes-in-training. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, the sheer power she had displayed lingering in the air.

"Thank you for the backup, but I've got it from here," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she acknowledged their readiness to jump into action. She quickly restrained the villain before pulling out her phone and called for backup, her voice calm and authoritative. 

"This one's neutralized. Send a team to secure the area."

Within moments, the sounds of sirens filled the air as police and other pro heroes arrived to handle the situation. Relieved, the woman now turned to the students, her eyes locking onto Izuku's for a moment longer than the others. Her gaze was intense, as if she recognized something in him.

"You're all heroes in training, right?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind. It was weird how her presence was both commanding and serene. The way she carried herself exuded a quiet confidence that spoke volumes about her experience.

They nodded, still processing the sudden turn of events and the display of power they had just witnessed.

"Good," she continued. "Stay out of the way and let me handle this. Head back the way you came."

Reluctantly, they complied, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. Some of them were eager to jump in themselves, but the recent war had left a few of them wary of rushing into unknown danger.

Her eyes lingered on Izuku for a moment longer than the others, a fleeting exchange that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in a way yet to be understood.

There was something about that look that he couldn't quite shake, a feeling that would stay with him long after they left the mall.

---

As they regrouped outside, Kirishima was the first to voice what everyone was thinking. "That was so cool to see in person! The way that off-duty pro handled it without anything getting damaged was so manly!" 

"Yeah, but it's kind of a bummer our trip got cut short," Mina added, pouting a little as she remembered the bags they had left behind.

Some of the students remained quiet, their minds replaying the events that had just unfolded. The atmosphere was a mix of lingering adrenaline and reflective silence. Izuku and Bakugou, in particular, seemed more shaken than the others. The encounter had stirred memories of past battles, memories that were still too fresh to ignore.

Ochaco noticed Izuku's distant expression and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Izuku, are you okay?"

Izuku blinked, snapping back to reality and forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how strong that lady is. It was incredible." His mind was still replaying the moment when her eyes had locked onto his, trying to decipher what it meant.

The group made their way back to U.A., the towering building a comforting sight after the unexpected events of the day. As they entered the common room, they were greeted by the sight of other classes returning to their dorms, their faces reflecting the mixed emotions of a day interrupted by the unexpected.

In the common room, Aizawa was waiting for them, his usual stern expression softened slightly by their safe return. The class brightened upon seeing their teacher, and they quickly crowded around him with excitement, eager to share their experiences.

"Dadzawa, look what I got!" Kaminari exclaimed, holding up a new band poster with a wide grin..

"Check out my new lip gloss!" Mina chimed in, showing off the shiny tube she had managed to purchase before the chaos erupted.

"I got some new hair dye!" Kirishima announced proudly, holding up the box with a toothy grin.

"One at a time," Aizawa said, raising his hands to quiet the enthusiastic students. "I'm glad to see you're all safe. Now, tell me about your ‘mall adventures’ ."

As the students eagerly recounted their shopping trip, showing off their new trinkets and purchases, Aizawa listened patiently, occasionally nodding and responding to their stories. The atmosphere was lively, the students' spirits lifted despite the earlier interruption.

Finally, Aizawa raised his hands again, silencing the room. "Alright, listen up. A new teacher will be joining U.A. while completing her Doctorate. Treat her with respect and learn from her."

Mina and Kaminari immediately perked up at the news. "More details, please!" they chorused, their curiosity piqued.

Aizawa's stern look silenced their pleas. "She will be your new art and history teacher. That's all you need to know for now."

“Ugh, lame!”

Some of the students, especially Mina and Kaminari, let out groans of disappointment. "But, Mr. Aizawa, can't you tell us a little more?" Denki pleaded, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I understand you all have questions about the new teacher joining us," he began, “But she has asked to remain anonymous at this time. She is to arrive there in three weeks time and I expect you all to give her the same respect you give me.” 

After looking around the room he sighed through his nose, “Hell, make it more respectful. Remember that you represent U.A.”

“But—” Kaminari started to protest, but the stern look Aizawa gave him made him quickly back down.

"That's all for now," Aizawa said, his tone final. "I expect you all to welcome her respectfully. Now, it's time to get ready for tomorrow."

With that, he dismissed them, and the students broke off for the evening, the lively atmosphere gradually returning as they scattered to their respective rooms. Izuku, however, was still deep in thought. As he entered his room, he carefully set up his new Charge Bomb figure on his desk, placing it alongside his other hero memorabilia.

Sitting down, he opened his hero notebook and flipped to a fresh page. His mind raced as he began sketching the mysterious woman, trying to capture the essence of her stance and the way her eyes had locked onto his. Each line he drew was careful and deliberate, his concentration intense as he tried to understand what had transpired.

As he sketched, he jotted down a few notes:

Name: Mall stopper

Quirk: Unknown, but likely related to energy manipulation.

Appearance: Mysterious, not in costume during the encounter.

Personality: Commanding presence, but not rude. 

Additional Notes: Encountered at the mall while stopping a villain. Avoids citizens getting harmed. 

Seemed to recognize me?

Izuku stared at the page for a long moment, his pencil hovering over the paper as he pondered the day's events.

He still had many questions, but he knew obsessing over it would disrupt his sleep schedule again.

But he knew he couldn’t sleep. 

Grabbing his phone, Izuku dialed his mother's number. The dorm room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant laughter of his classmates the only sounds breaking the silence. His fingers tapped nervously on the phone case as he waited. It didn't take long for her cheerful voice to come through the receiver.

"Hi baby! How was your day?"

"It was good, Mom. We went to the mall and... something interesting happened," Izuku began, recounting the day's events and the encounter. As he spoke, he could hear the concern in his mother's voice.

"Just be careful, Izuku. I'm glad you're safe," she said, her tone gentle and loving.

“I promise, Mom. I’m tired of everyone thinking I’m in love with that hospital bed.” He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Inko giggled into the receiver before her tone took a softer approach. “You know, sweetie, you can still come home when you can’t sleep. I’ll handle your teacher.”

Now the idea of his adorable mom dealing with the physical embodiment of a grumpy cat that was his teacher was tempting but he really didn’t want to put her through that. 

"I know, Mom. But I’m fine, really!” Izuku replied, a small smile playing on his lips. The thought of his mother's comforting presence was tempting, but he was determined to manage on his own.

“Okay, if you say so. Make sure to get good rest tonight.”

“Goodnight, Mom," Izuku replied, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she said before blowing a kiss into the phone and hanging up.

As he lay back in bed, his mind raced with thoughts of the new teacher and the mysterious pro hero. The encounter at the mall had been brief, but it left a lasting impression, fueling his curiosity and excitement.

“Who are you?” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling. 

The moonlight cast shadows across his room, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The day's events replayed in his mind, the adrenaline and wonder still lingering. 

The gentle hum of the air conditioner became a lullaby, blending with the distant murmurs of his classmates as Izuku's thoughts gradually began to quiet. He could still feel the intensity of that woman's gaze,  the warmth of her presence as vivid in his memory as if she were still standing before him. The encounter had left him with more questions than answers, but those questions could wait for tomorrow.

As he lay there, his thoughts slowly settled, and the comforting warmth of his conversation with his mother began to soothe the last remnants of his restlessness. The image of her familiar smile and the sound of her voice reminded him of the safety of home, a place where he was always welcome.

He shifted under the covers, finding a comfortable position as the day's events continued to fade into the recesses of his mind. His eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Izuku's last conscious thought was a whispered promise to himself to uncover the mystery behind the pro hero who had left such a strong impression on him.

In the stillness of the night, the world outside his window continued to turn, but within the quiet of his dorm room, Izuku finally surrendered to sleep. Dreams of heroes, battles, and new beginnings filled his mind,

---

As the dorms settled into a quieter atmosphere, Bakugou lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The buzz of late-night conversations and the distant sound of someone playing music softly on their phone faded into the background. His room was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting a faint glow across his tidy desk and the posters on the wall. 

Bakugou could hear the rhythmic breathing of his classmates through the thin walls, and while that used to annoy him and still kinda did, it was a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone, even in the stillness of the night.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Glancing at the screen, he saw his mother's photo flash across it. With a resigned sigh, he answered, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Oi, Katsuki! I saw you on the news at the mall today,” Mitsuki's voice boomed through the phone, as loud and commanding as ever. Apparently some people had taken videos of the villain attack and he was spotted in the background. 

“You need to take it easy. Remember your heart? And your arm?”

Bakugou grumbled, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little leave-"

“Fine, my ass! Have you picked a therapist yet?” she demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"I don't need one," Bakugou retorted, irritation evident in his tone. His free hand clenched into a fist, the tension palpable.

"Don't you give me that, Katsuki! You're my son, and I won't let you walk around with your trauma eating you alive," she snapped back, her fierce tone unmistakable. Some shuffling was heard in the background before a muffled “Fine!” Bakugou rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance.

A gentler voice came on the line. "Katsuki, it's Dad. You know All Might and Aizawa found some really good professionals for you. You don't have to worry about your... verbal constipation with them. We understand you don't want to talk to us about it, but we love you and want you to be okay."

"The little squirt knows that already!" Mitsuki cut in, snatching the phone back. "You already know that we love you. If we didn't, we'd just let you do whatever, and you'd be a bigger asshole than you already act like."

Bakugou grumbled something incomprehensible, but his mother cut him off again. "This isn't up for negotiation. You don't have to talk to us about it, but you are going to heal, and that's final."

There was a pause, and Bakugou finally sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "I get it, Mom. I’ll... I’ll think about it."

The line went quiet for a moment, the tension easing. "Good. We love you, Katsuki. Goodnight," Mitsuki said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of tenderness.

"Love you too, Mom. Dad," Bakugou responded, his voice uncharacteristically tender, the words surprising even him.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Katsuki watched as the line hung up and he clicked his phone off and stared back up at the ceiling, a sense of warmth washed over him. His parents' concern, though sometimes overbearing, came from a place of deep love. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and allowed himself to relax. The worries and frustrations of the day seemed to melt away, leaving him with a rare sense of peace. 

For the first time in a while, he felt a bit lighter. Bakugou’s mind was quieter than usual, the echoes of his parents’ voices lingering in the back of his thoughts, offering a strange comfort he wasn’t used to acknowledging.

He wasn’t one to lean on anyone, not even his parents, but something about the way they’d insisted, the way his dad had gently nudged him while his mom pushed with her usual force, made him reconsider. It was a rare moment where their concern didn’t feel suffocating, but grounding. It made him think about the things he’d been pushing down, the way he’d been ignoring the nagging feelings that crept up on him in the quiet moments, like now.

The moonlight continued to cast soft shadows across his room, and the distant sounds of his classmates—now more like a comforting white noise—faded further into the background as he focused on his breathing, steady and even. Bakugou wasn’t sure when he’d started to rely on these moments of solitude to sort through his thoughts, but tonight, they didn’t seem as overwhelming as they usually did.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but the idea of talking to someone—a therapist, of all people—wasn’t as off-putting as it had been before. Maybe he was just tired, or maybe the events of the day had worn him down more than he realized. 

Or maybe, just maybe , the thought of unloading some of the weight he carried didn’t seem so bad. But that was a decision for tomorrow. For now, he let the warmth of his parents' love settle in, something he wasn’t used to acknowledging but found comforting nonetheless.

Bakugou let his eyes close, his breathing slowing as sleep began to take over. For the first time in a long while, the tightness in his chest eased, replaced by a sense of calm that was almost foreign to him. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, he was content with the knowledge that he didn’t have to face it all alone. 

And with that thought, he finally drifted into a deep, undisturbed sleep, his usual scowl replaced by the faintest hint of a relaxed expression.

---

Across the dorms, a restless atmosphere pervaded the night. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken fears and lingering trauma, wrapping around each student like a suffocating blanket. 

In one room, Sero and Denki were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, the room illuminated by the flickering screen. Their eyes were dry and heavy with fatigue, yet their determination kept them focused on the game. Sero's fingers flew over the controller, his competitive spirit shining through despite the exhaustion. 

Denki leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally letting out a frustrated groan when he lost a race. The game was a distraction, a desperate attempt to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares waiting on the other side of sleep. They wanted to stay awake, afraid to drift off with the lights off and let the flashbacks creep in.

Down the hall, Jirou sat cross-legged on her bed, her guitar resting gently on her lap. Her fingers trembled as they strummed the strings, testing out the reconstruction of her ear. Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. 

She winced from the phantom pains, her breath hitching with each painful cramp that surfaced. The melody she played was soft and mournful, echoing the lingering trauma within her. Each note seemed to resonate with her heartache. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the music, hoping it would offer some solace.

The music was a refuge, a way to express what words couldn’t—her pain, her fear, the lingering terror that her body was still recovering from. She focused on the vibrations of the strings, trying to drown out the phantom pains and the memories of the screams and explosions. 

Wounds that no melody alone could fully heal.

Kirishima tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. His brow was furrowed in distress, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He fought against the blankets as if they were the villains he’d faced, his body rigid with tension. Kiri was trapped in a nightmare, locked in a never-ending battle with a mysterious figure. 

His hardened skin, usually a source of strength, offered no protection from the terror gnawing at his mind. He clenched his fists physically, his muscles tensing as he fought off the invisible enemy, but the fear remained, a relentless killer.

In another room, Tokoyami paced back and forth, his mind a storm of anxiety. The pacing was erratic, each step driven by a nervous energy that had no outlet. Dark Shadow hovered nearby, mirroring his agitation with restless flutters. 

Sato, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had tried to bake away his stress, but the pile of untouched pastries on the table told a different story. The sweet aroma of cookies and cakes filled the room, a stark contrast to the bitterness of their shared unease. Sato just stared at the pound cake he had made, his eyes unfocused. 

He couldn't bring himself to eat it, the sight of the cake stirring up memories of happier times that now felt distant.

How it mocked him now. 

Shinsou was in Koda's room, perched on the edge of the bed. The room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows that danced gently with the movements of the little creature. Koda's gentle strokes seemed to calm not only the bunny but also the tension that had been building in Shinsou's chest all night. 

Koda's touch was careful and soothing, a therapeutic distraction from the darkness that loomed over them. The bunny's nose twitched, and Koda smiled faintly, a brief respite from the weight of their worries. He would need to sneak his cat in soon.

In the kitchen, Momo and Mina stood side by side, giggling softly as they made fried egg rice, the gentle sounds offering a momentary escape. 

The familiar routine of cooking offered them a small slice of normalcy, a way to focus their minds on something other than the gnawing anxiety that had settled in their stomachs. The soft clink of utensils, the sizzle of oil in the pan, and the aroma of fried egg rice filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their hushed conversation.

Their laughter wasn’t forced, but the enthusiasm was a mask for their lack of appetite and the anxiety that gnawed at their insides. 

Momo's hands moved with precision as she flipped the eggs, her mind clearly elsewhere, but the rhythm of the task kept her grounded. Beside her, Mina stirred the rice, her usual energy dampened but still present in the jokes she told. 

They had made a pact to eat together, finding comfort in each other's company. Maybe during one of these meals, they would find some semblance of peace, even if just for a little while.

In Tsu's room, the atmosphere was different, heavy with the shared weight of darkness that clung to them like a second skin. Ochako and Tsu had taken to sleeping in Tsu's room, both girls haunted by nightmares. They found comfort in each other's presence, huddled together under the covers like two lost children seeking shelter from a storm. 

Ochako’s hand moved gently through Tsu's hair, her fingers weaving a calming rhythm that seemed to blend with the steady beat of their hearts. Tsu's voice, usually so strong, had softened to a croak as she whispered back reassurances, her words mingling with Ochako's in a comforting lullaby. They clung to each other, finding safety in the closeness.

Todoroki sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to meditate. His mind, however, was a war  zone, haunted by the image of his brother's burnt remains being hauled to prison and the knowledge of his parents' impending divorce. His scar throbbed painfully every time he thought about it, the physical reminder of his family's turmoil adding to his mental anguish. He took deep, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm inside him, but the images persisted, a relentless assault on his peace. 

In another room, Aoyama sat hunched over, clutching a pillow tightly against his chest. He was allowed to stay at the school, but now he used tactical weapons, a constant reminder of the shame he felt. Tears streamed down his face, his muffled sobs filling the quiet room. The guilt of his actions, the sense of betrayal he had inflicted on his friends, weighed heavily on him. He whispered apologies into the night, his voice cracking with each word. The moonlight that spilled through his window bathed the room in a cold, silvery light, but it did nothing to lift the darkness that had settled over his heart. He didn’t deserve their forgiveness. 

Iida scrolled through pictures of him and his brother, his heart aching with every swipe. The blue light from his phone screen cast a lonely glow in the dark room, reflecting off his foggy glasses. He wanted to call his brother, to hear his voice, but hesitated, worried about not appearing strong. He didn't want to burden anyone with his feelings, even though he longed for the comfort of his brother's voice. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

Elsewhere in the dorms, Toru and Ojiro were connected by a fragile thread of comfort, falling asleep together on the phone. The silence was comforting, but they would panic if they couldn't hear the other breathing. Hatsume had finally made Toru a suit that would protect her and disappear with her during combat, but Toru hadn't wanted to put it on for a long time. They both dreaded the return to classes, haunted by the visions of devastation and innocent lives lost. The phone line crackled softly, their breathing synchronized in a fragile connection that kept their fears at bay. 

Mineta and Shoji sat quietly in Shoji's room, each lost in their thoughts. Shoji's large hands rested on his knees, his eyes distant as he stared at the floor. The memories of past battles and the fear of suddenly losing his classmates gnawed at him relentlessly. It was a fear that clung to him, insidious and ever-present, like a persistent bug he couldn't shake off. 

Mineta, usually boisterous, was unusually quiet.  The usual sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a haunted look, the guilt of his past behavior towards Mt. Lady and Midnight, and his female classmates, feeling icky and disgusted for treating them so pervertedly when they almost died weighed heavily on his conscience. The near-death experiences they had all faced brought him a new perspective, making his previous actions feel vile and unforgivable. The shame and regret twisted in his stomach, making it hard to meet Shoji's gaze or anyone else's.

The silence between them was heavy, but their presence provided each other a small measure of comfort.

The dorm was filled with a heavy silence, each student grappling with their own demons. Despite their proximity, they felt isolated in their pain, struggling to find a way to heal from the scars of the war. The evening stretched on, each tick of the clock a reminder that the night was still young. 

And then there was Shouta Aizawa, awake in the stillness of the night with little Eri asleep in his arms. The soft, flickering light from the children's show on the television cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a cocoon of warmth and tranquility. Eri, nestled against his chest, was fast asleep, her breaths coming in gentle, rhythmic intervals. 

Aizawa's fingers moved softly through her hair, the silky strands slipping through his touch as he offered silent reassurance with each stroke. He knew he should tug her into bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. He needed a few more minutes with her warm presence, a reminder of the fragile yet resilient life he was entrusted with.

Aizawa's eyes wandered to his laptop, the screen dark and waiting. He sighed, knowing there were reports to review and emails to answer, but he decided it could stay shut. The digital demands of his work could wait; this moment with Eri was too precious to cut short.

His thoughts drifted to you, the new hire who had been a topic of much discussion. He didn't know much about you other than what Nemuri had mentioned before in passing and now in her lucid moments before slipping back into her coma. 

He was visiting that night when Nemuri awoke and kept screaming your name, an indication of some message he didn't yet understand. You were coming over from somewhere outside Japan, and your media stunt piqued his curiosity. 

Your hero name had made national headlines a few months ago when you openly condemned the world government for letting the villain situation in Japan deteriorate to the point where high school students had to step in as heroes in an interview. This statement had sparked national outrage, the impact of your statements was still reverberating throughout the world.

Parents, politicians, teachers, pro heroes, retired heroes, activists, universities, civilians and students had reshared the clip, their responses ranging from agreement to vehement opposition. Your boldness had shaken the status quo, making waves in a community that was already shaky and possibly past its edge.

Nezu’s decision to bring you on board was a calculated move, but the details of that calculation remained elusive. As the principal of U.A., Nezu was known for his shrewd, strategic thinking. If Nezu saw value in you, it was likely due to some unique qualities or capabilities you possessed that could benefit the school in ways not immediately apparent. There had to be a reason, a calculated move that Aizawa hadn't yet deciphered. 

As he continued to stroke Eri's hair, he felt a mix of skepticism and curiosity about your arrival. What could you bring to U.A. that Nezu found so necessary? What kind of impact would you have on the students?

Eri stirred slightly, her tiny hand clutching his shirt. Aizawa smiled softly, his worries momentarily pushed aside.

He knew you had been spotted in Japan several times, not just as a spectator but actively involved in aiding the capture of remaining villains and providing relief to the heroes. 

Your efforts extended beyond direct action; you had initiated several charities and secured sponsorships to support families devastated by villain attacks and heroes who were affected in the line of duty. These actions had garnered you a significant following and earned you a reputation for being a force for good in times of crisis.

Yet, despite your public persona, you maintained a guarded privacy. You refused to disclose details such as your age, height, or the reasons behind choosing an all-black shroud for your hero costume, apart from its emblem. You seemingly avoided media attention, declining certain magazine features and interviews. 

Instead, you channeled your "celebrity" status towards advocating for societal change and supporting humanitarian causes. It was simple, if they wanted to talk to you, they had to donate. Your reluctance to engage with the press directly and your selective disclosures raised Aizawa's suspicions and defensive instincts, particularly when it came to the well-being of his students.

He was an underground hero himself. Why so worried?

Because he knew they were all suffering. 

Nezu was in the process of trying to find a school therapist team that could be on call. And it killed him that he couldn't do anything about it other than allowing trips to the mall and being there when they got back. So he did not need a 'mysterious' loose cannon of a teacher negatively affecting them in any way. Any additional information he requested was denied under your contract binding the school to not show your image, ever. As far as he knew, only Nezu and Nemuri knew what you looked like.

He valued transparency and reliability in those who interacted with his students, qualities that seemed elusive in your case. The contrast between your public deeds and private secrecy only heightened his wariness.

Eri shifted in his lap, and Aizawa decided he didn't want to think about negative things while holding her. He gently scooped her up, placing her in her own bed and kissing her forehead before tucking the covers around her and turning on her cat night light before shutting the door, but not all the way. He made sure the nightlights in the hallway and bathroom were working before he forced himself to sleep in his bed and not on the couch because it was closer. 

The darkness of his room offered a semblance of peace, but his mind remained active, turning over the complexities of the situation with you. It was his duty to safeguard his students from any potential threats, and that included being cautious about new additions to their environment.

As he closed his eyes, he tried to push aside the anxieties that had plagued him throughout the day. The comfort of his own bed, the familiar surroundings, and the knowledge that Eri was safe in the next room helped to ease the tension in his head. He had seen enough to know that vigilance was necessary, but he also knew that excessive worry would not serve him or his students well.

It didn't matter if you did end up being a bad influence. He would keep a close eye on you and be ready to stop anything that would harm his class.

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Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, If you wanna be added lemme know!

Chapter 2 is here.

That was the first chapter! So far there are 3 posted on my ao3 account.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[hannie-dul-set]

나비 / NABI — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of sex, hospital scare, ghosting, rumors as a plot device, what may be considered as bullying, mc refuses to monologue about her feelings, the works. WORD COUNT. preview: 1.2k words | full fic: est. 30k.

RELEASE DATE. end of may or within the month of june. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. this is a sequel to 모기 / MOGI. remember when i said i wasn’t planning on writing a part two to this? haha, remember? well, this might be my best work yet gosh darn, life works in mysterious ways! i poured my entire fucking soul into this! 

something i’d like to mention is that i’ve already planned out this entire sequel before beomgyu’s sukidakara cover came out, before i revisited his other two covers. the timing was crazy because there’s three major arcs to this fic— and somehow, all three songs fit the themes. really really well i started crying at some point HAHAHAHAHHA. there’s so much i want to say about this story, but i’ll bite my tongue until its release. enjoy!

preview under the cut.

YOU STILL DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. Ever since you and he reconciled and publicly became friends again, your life has never known quiet— all thanks to the countless insects constantly buzzing around him, and by consequence around you, every damn day. And it’s not like you can keep avoiding him. Choi Beomgyu has made the executive decision to take advantage of the guilt you’ve been feeling, so for the past month, you’ve been a slave to his whims. 

Responding to 3AM ice cream runs even though you’re swamped with assignments. Going to parties hosted by people you don’t know the fucking names of because he keeps calling you a boring loser. And, the cherry on top, having to deal with Lee Heeseung’s even more annoying presence, just like how you’d predicted he’d behave if he ever finds out you and Beomgyu are friends.

Which he did. Much to your despair and agony.

“Beomgyu, your girlfriend’s here to see you.”

Case in point. You spare him nothing but an eye roll when he lets you in the clubroom for the, ahem, coding club. You’re here because Beomgyu texted you to fetch him a matcha latte and since you’re playing as his slave at the moment (and until your patience runs out), you obliged out of the kindness of your heart, only to get a truckload of teasing in return.

“Oh, hey, what’s up,” Yeonjun throws you a peace sign from their worn out sofa by the door the moment you enter. He’s accompanied by a good number of chip bags on the cushions.

“Hey,” Hanbin greets you as well when you pass by their alleged meeting table. Which, by the way, has stacks of leftover takeout containers and some empty, some half-empty plastic jugs of water. “Beomgyu is on the computer.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. This clubroom is a fucking gremlin hole.

“You know what.” Your path towards Choi Beomgyu is interrupted by Hyunjin, suddenly popping out of the half-wall separating the lounge area from the computers at the back. You jump, because what the fuck? “My heart races everytime you come here. I still get flashbacks from the day you threatened to wreck our safe haven. I think you gave me PTSD.”

Ah, yes. That day. That was eventful. It was the first time you’ve seen Choi Beomgyu cry.

“Serves you right, gossip snorter,” you say. “Out of the way, I have business to deal with.”

Hyunjin indeed gets out of your way, and there he reveals a row of four computers lined up against the wall with their assigned nerds mashing on the keyboards and yelling profanities at matching game screens. You zero in on the one on the far left corner. Surprisingly, Beomgyu is relatively calm compared to the others. You tap on his shoulder. Beomgyu turns his head around.

“Oh,” he says, pulling his office chair back from out of the desk with a swivel while removing the headphones from his ears and letting them rest around his neck. You notice Jeongin seated beside him, who looks up at you only for a moment only to flinch back to the screen. “You’re here?”

No, shit. You jangle the latte in front of his face, head cocked, and he reaches out for it. But then you quickly jerk back your hand before he can snatch it from you. “Nuh-uh. Pay up.”

“Tch,” Beomgyu clicks his tongue and shoots you a bitter look. “Hyung, can you toss me my jacket?”

Someone from behind does indeed toss him his jacket, and at that very moment as well, Heeseung decides that it’s a great time to indulge in his newly founded hobby. “Hey, how about me? Why didn’t you get me a drink?” He joins the already crowded crevice in the back and swings an arm around your shoulder. “You get a boyfriend and forget all your friends. Have you forgotten that you two got together because of me? I’m hurt, I’m so hurt.”

Your face scrunches up. “Literally, how many times do I have to tell you he’s not my boyfriend.” You elbow Heeseung off, eliciting another whine from him. When your eyes snap back at Beomgyu, you see that he’s preoccupied with going through wallet. You kick his chair. “Say something, dipshit.”

Beomgyu hands you a bill and exchanges it with the matcha latte. You wait for him to speak. He takes a long sip, pulls his face away from the straw with a grimace, hands back the drink to you, then says, “What she said.”

You look at him, drink now back in your hands.

“What the fuck?”

“Keep it,” he says, putting his headphones back on. “Don’t you have class?”

Your jaw clenches. Fucker made you run an errand for nothing. He gives you an asshat smile of goodbye then spins his chair back to his computer. You scoff and smack the back of his head, causing his headphones to slip off. “Bye.”

“Hey!”

“Later,” Heeseung bids you off, and it’s followed by a chorus of goodbyes from the inhabitants of the testosterone infested, stinky gamer cave. Seriously, every time you drop by here,, you feel an ounce of your soul shriveling up and rotting away. Yeonjun very politely opens the door for you. You hear one of them yell out before you leave.

“Come over tomorrow. Hanbin hyung’s treating us to pizza!”

And with that, you’re finally free, matcha latte in hand and a desire to breathe in some fresh air. You’re pretty sure the air is polluted in there. But still, it’s been a lot easier to breathe recently than when you two weren’t on good terms.

“Saved you a seat.”

You make it to class two minutes before the schedule. Minjeong proudly taps on the seat next to her, and you take the invitation. “As you should,” you hum, taking out your notes from your bag, and not long after Sungchan arrives and lands on the spot next to you.

It’s the week before finals. Prof Shin starts the class and decides to fuck all of your study schedules by giving a last minute assignment due next week as well. 

“Does this guy want to give us depression before the summer or some shit?” Minjeong complains the moment your professor leaves the lecture hall.“I swear to god, if another prof gives us an assignment due over the break, I’m killing myself.”

“You two have plans over the break?” asks Sungchan, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and the three of you head out for lunch, funneling out into the hallway along with the rest of your blockmates.

“I’m going home,” says Minjeong.

“I have summer classes,” you answer..

Sungchan stops in his tracks. “You serious?” 

“Yup.”

“You bet on it.”

He looks at the both of you like you’re a bunch of withering old ladies and he’s very much unimpressed. “Make some time for the last week. I’m throwing the wildest summer rager and you two can’t miss it.”

You’re pretty sure you replied with something along the lines of an agreement, but you’re not quite sure. The thought completely slips out of your head throughout the next week because, well, finals. And before you know it, your first semester of uni comes to a close, and summer comes crashing in at full swing.

나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.