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highvern · 22 hours ago

Text

Steam I

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~14k | Fic Length: ~60k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: insane insane insane. i started this from a tiny little head cannon forever ago and when i started writing i anticipated maybe 20k max. but im a liar because this quickly excelled that by a landslide. i hope yall enjoy this monster of a fic as much as i did writing it. i'll be uploading each part with one day in between. p.s i used the ATLA wiki to build a believable setting for this but it really diverges from cannon and doesn't mention any of the original characters from the cartoon.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Ranchous voices filled the warehouse, deafening as the hoard of bodies looking for a night of gruesome entertainment flooded the stands. Steam and smoke and dust clogged the air, only cleared by the occasional rush of wind the massive hole in the ceiling that showed the clear night sky above, the moon barely half full and the stars dusted across the sky.

Wonwoo watched from the catwalk criss-crossing high above the ring like always. He won’t fight until later, not until someone was dumb enough to challenge him once the adrenaline of the smaller spars bubbles to their head and they decide they would be the one to end his winning streak proudly tallied on the leaderboard.

But for now he stood on the metal platform. Below, Jihoon launched a clay disk at his opponent with terrifying speed. With a wide swing of his arm, Chan knocked it aside before it could land, spinning off balance from the recoil.

Too easy. But no matter how many times the two fight, Chan never catches on to Jihoon’s tricks until it's too late. Jihoon hurled a second disc – cracking it into pieces with a squeeze of his fist – at Chan’s head. The airbender managed to dodge the first piece but the other two landed true, crumbling him to his knees. The crowd fell into a frenzy of starved animals, foaming at the mouth as a tally mark appeared next to Jihoon’s name on the victory board.

Wonwoo’s name sat on the next line above, so many tallies they nearly ran off the side of the sheet of repurposed metal.

He rarely lost. Dokyeom might force a draw for fear the building would burn down if a fight dragged on; but the last time that happened was nearly two years ago when Seungcheol demanded one final fight before retiring. They both walked away with matching black eyes and limps, his friend with singed uneven hair, and Wonwoo with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder.

It was one of the few fights Wonwoo didn’t mind losing. Defeat was much sweeter when he got paid half the betting pool for it.

The next fight geared up to start; another air bender and a fire bender racing into the ring. Wonwoo rarely cared to watch their fights. Hoshi lacked finesse, relying on overwhelming his opponents, while Seungkwan’s temper historically ended the match before it could really begin. But it never stopped the audience from rushing to place their bets with Jeonghan like always.

Deciding he needed a drink for the chaos about to unfold, Wonwoo descended the stairs towards the crude bar in the corner of the upper tier of the stands. It’s nothing more than a shabby counter top, covered with colorful bottles and cracked cups.

The sting of fire whisky going down didn’t shock his system nearly as much as the woman leaning against the wall; watching him, gaze heavy on his skin even in the dim light.

Rounding the bartop, Wonwoo didn’t look away as he approached. If you balked under his gaze, he can’t decipher a tell; only a satisfied smile pulling the corner of your lips high and your eyelids lowering until his chest brushes yours.

His arm rests above your shoulder, pinning you beneath his gaze. “You’re staring at me.”

It isn’t a question, it's an accusation. And you’re more than guilty.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You asked, chin tilting back defiantly, eyes narrowed. Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking at your mouth, hypnotized by the tantalizing pout of flesh as it slips into a smirk. He walked right into your trap before he even knew what was happening.

He dipped closer, eyes still on your lips. “What's your name?”

Just as your nose brushed his own, you melted off the wall and under his arm. Wonwoo cut a glance over his shoulder to find you stalking backwards into the crowd, eyes never leaving his until you're swallowed into the fold without a trace.

The dare was so obvious in your gaze. Paired with the teasing words, Wonwoo felt something surge inside him. That hot need to chase, to tease you back. To find out if your boldness evaporated with enough attention or if you’d use the same haughty tone to chaste him in private.

Wonwoo moved to do just that but he’s called to the ring for the next fight.

“Our reigning champion, the man of fire,” Dokyeom preened dramatically into the mic. The crowd roared in enthusiastic response. “The longest running victor in bending battle history!”

People parted as Wonwoo approached the walkway leading to the isolated platform surrounded by a steep drop off into a pool of water. Maybe he reveled in the applause and anticipatory cheers longer than necessary but if anyone’s earned it, he has.

“And our newest challenger!”

The poor idiot who signed up to fight shouldn’t last too long, Wonwoo isn’t interested in dragged out humiliation. Especially not now. Hopefully, he can end this quickly and find you again, bargain his victory for your name and maybe some time alone.

But, as swiftly as his hopes ignited, they crumbled to ash. Dokyeom continued his rambling as you flashed a smug smile across the ring.

He faltered for only a moment before continuing towards the center of the ring. Out of the dark, he failed to decipher anything that might give him advantage. You lacked the breezeness of an airbender, posture too rigid, the cocky defiance from earlier still present. Maybe an earthbender. Or better yet, a firebender.

Your eyes trickle down his form. Only one of you is at a disadvantage so far but it won’t remain that way for long. Wonwoo thrives on a challenge, and after so long without one his heart squeezed in excitement.

“Good luck.”

You remained silent, eying Wonwoo’s outstretched hand before ignoring it, turning towards your side of the platform with your nose in the air.

Gasps of shock erupted around the warehouse. The stands circling the platform were fuller than before, even the people who only came to socialize found a sudden interest in the stranger bold enough to snub the best. Wonwoo paid them no mind. You’re the most interesting opponent he’s had in a long time.

Words from earlier echoed in his ears.

What are you going to do about it?

Wonwoo followed suit and retreated to his post with a few grounding breaths. The flame inside him grew in preparation. Hungry. Vicious. It raged until there's nowhere for the fire to go but out.

The starting bell cut the air; immediately he's on the offensive, dropping into a low stance, arms drawn into his side before the shrill sound stopped. A swift punch launched a huge fireball from his fist, a swell of heat surging through his veins as it sails over the ring with terrifying speed. Then another and another, fast enough that just as one dissipates, it’s already replaced with a new explosion of flames.

Barely any smoke filled the air when they dissolved. They were nothing more than a cheap scare tactic; completely hollow shells aimed to intimidate rather than maim. The fight is just starting and there's no reason to throw his best moves just yet.

You sidestepped each blow, dipping close to the floor before rising again and twirling out of the way with catlike grace. Wonwoo lobbed the next one right in your path but you adapt without pause. Like you’re dancing around the fire. With the fire.

Wonwoo rushed forward, taking the advantage to drive you towards the edge of the platform, refusing to grant an ounce of reprieve. Not that you needed it. Every blow is avoided even as he adds more punch to the moves, each burning hotter and brighter than the one previous.

He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to keep the heat away from himself as his arms sweep and a ring of fire slices at your feet, close enough to singe the edge of your boots before you can avoid it completely. But you dove through the opening and rolled back to your feet, as if you expected the blow.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth to lick against your chin, close enough to feel the heat but Wonwoo maintains control. You could’ve blocked the move but you retreat again, eyes furious at the smoke of burnt hair jagged from contact dangling next to your jaw.

Wonwoo can’t detect any attempt at bending. The clay disks stacked at the edge of the ring remained unmoved, the air undisturbed. There’s no pull at the flames he’s conjuring, no hint that you're manipulating his own fire against him.

After another one sided volley of hits, your refusal to fight began to wear on his nerves. He harnessed more flame with a sweep of his leg, a swift stomp sending it over your head before it exploded and knocked you to your knees. You controlled the impact and roll to a crouch, eyes blazing,

“Is that really all you’ve got?” you said, shoulders squared but lax.

There’s no teasing in your voice, if anything it’s cold disappointment. To Wonwoo’s shame, a hot bolt of want ran through him. Images of you whispering the same words, with the same haughty tone, flashed in his mind; back in the dark corner near the bar where you started this entire game; back in one of the many unused rooms of the warehouse with just you and him and no one else to watch him earn your approval.

Your leg circled around and Wonwoo prepared himself for something of interest to finally happen but you used the momentum to raise back on your feet and brace for the next round.

Wonwoo realized you must be a waterbender. The way you moved, melting around every attack, shifting with impressive flexibility, was a dead giveaway. That or just plain stupid. If you walked into this fight with no bending then it was only a matter of time before you cut your losses and yielded.

Only one way to find out.

A towering wall of pure flame, large enough it’d scare even him to be on the receiving end, swelled in front of Wonwoo. The crowd roared in excitement, feral for the inevitable end to the match. There was nowhere for you to evade this time. It was either into the flame or off the backend of the platform.

A flat footed kick sent the wave barreling directly at you, consuming more oxygen and growing wider with rapid speed.

The flood of fire forced your hand. A tsunami of water rose from the grates criss-crossing the ring, geysers gushing with enough pressure to shake the floor. A sharp hiss echoes as opposing elements collided in an explosion of steam thick enough to clog the entire warehouse. So dense Wonwoo can’t see in front of his own nose.

Wonwoo stood unfazed, even as the crowd distantly murmured in confusion. Now, the game truly began.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called, listening. Waiting.

A splash behind him is the only warning of your presence. Wonwoo slashed his leg through the air, an arch of flame slicing through the fog providing a brief glimpse of visibility before it sealed back up. However, it did nothing more, you weren’t there.

“Longest running victor in battle history, and he can’t even land a hit,” you tsked.

Wonwoo jerked at the sound of your voice, so close he expected to find you right behind him but he’s only met with a faceful of powder.

A fucking snowball?

You must have been close enough to see the scowl twisting his face because you giggled before launching another.

“Can’t handle a little water?” you snorted.

Under different circumstances, ones not involving you pelting him like a child, Wonwoo might have enjoyed the sound. He might have even wanted to find out what the sound tastes like on his tongue.

Another snowball, this one more ice than anything, collided with his chin and that desire turned into cinders. He whipped fire towards the noise but missed.

Arms raised, he feigned as if to launch another and instead harnessed his breath and forced a wider arch of flame to evaporate the fog you’ve hidden in. Wonwoo found you evading from the corner of his eye and used the moment of weakness to spring into action.

Except you crumbled with a choked scream and the sudden rush of victory tastes like ash.

Three wide strides and Wonwoo was there, hunched and ready for the next blow; ready for another one of your tricks. But your choppy breathing extinguished his competitiveness. The air reeked of burnt. The entire ring smoldered with heat.

He should’ve known better; especially with you. So clearly unprepared for the intensity of a fight like this. Dokyeom should never have let you put your name down to fight, let alone against Wonwoo.

Acrid smoke rose from the discolored collar of your tunic; too close to hope he hasn’t burnt your face but he does anyway. Wonwoo prepared for the worst as he rolled you over, already yelling for a healer.

He isn’t prepared for an icy fist straight to his nose with enough force to send him onto his back. “What the fuck?”

Another blow landed on the back of his head. Hot blood rushed forward as the next punch lands with a grotesque crunch against his nose. His skin stung with cold, eyes burning from the sudden influx of pain.

Long channels of water with blunt frozen ends sprouted from the grates like a watery forest. You stood unscathed amongst the pulsing curtains, smiling like a lunatic.

Wonwoo covered his head from the brunt of attacks. His nose was broken and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. A torrent of water collapsed over him, bearing down with the power of a waterfall. His knees buckled. The air in his lungs abandoned him.

In a last ditch attempt to save his pride, he thrusted his hand forward. The reek of ozone clouded the warehouse as electricity splintered towards you.

And as if it’s nothing, you redirected the bolt of lightning through the opening in the warehouse roof as Wonwoo watches in shock.

The warehouse went silent. Seconds grew into minutes but no one moved as you rose into a lazy stance.

Wonwoo watched through sweat and blood, dark spots floating in his vision as the sound of your boots grew closer.

“How disappointing,” you sighed just loud enough for him to hear before striding towards the platform and out of view.

When the echo of your footsteps faded, Wonwoo sank into darkness.

In the late hour, the Middle District streets buzzed with life. Vendors shouted, hawking their wares, boasting exotic produce and clothing with incatract embroidery from the farthest reaches of the world. Taverns packed with patrons singing and hollering in drunken glee. The smell of fried dough and roasted meat wafted through the air.

Mingyu was easily distracted with every stall he passed. Why, you had no idea. Even as a guard he could get the

best quality of anything he wanted at the palace; food, clothing, drink. But he stuck his nose in the air as the scraggly old man refuses to barter over the bruised moon peaches and wanders down the aisle to another stand with the exact same selection and even more wrinkled merchant.

In the midst of his discussion on cherry nuts, you slipped away, down one of the cramped alleys choked with smoke and shouts of people enjoying the balmy night.

No one looked in your direction twice as you meandered through crowded walkways, children squealing as they chased each other and adults shouting in annoyance when one bounces off their knees. In all the chaos, it was easier to disappear and actually explore without Mingyu hovering like an anxious mother hen. If anyone would get you two caught for sneaking out of the palace, it was him. Even in servant’s clothes, you couldn’t help but feel woefully out of place and he wasn’t helping.

The side streets were calmer; veins flowing slowly into the heart of main street. People moved in lazy sways, some appearing to only remain vertical from leaning against door frames into dark hallways. The lanterns strung above cast an oily sheen on the cobblestone. If you remembered the archive maps correctly, the Gaiety should be close.

Even through the thick clouds above, you felt the moon swelling. Only a few more days until she’d be full and with it came the unbearable restlessness. Mingyu only agreed to sneak you out of the palace after the fight weeks ago because you’d nearly taken his head off while sparring.

A night away, somewhere new. Somewhere to take out the energy without nearly killing him. The warehouse out in the harbor was out of question after the fight weeks ago. Not with the way you made a spectacle of the cocky firebender you’d studied for weeks. Mingyu threatened to rat you out if you thought for a second to step back in there. At least it’d been worth the loss; Wonwoo’s face as you redirected his lightning like it was nothing was worth every second of Mingyu's anger.

No longer feeling like one of your grandmother’s koi, swimming in endless circles of the garden pond, you forced your shoulders to slouch, chin tipping down to obscure your face beneath the wide brim of your hat.

Most of the buildings lining the street are shabby; peeling paint, splintered windows, wooden steps on the brink of collapsing from years of rot. Most are alive with noise, men and women crowded around low tables just beyond the door, wine flowing like a river and laughter spilling from open windows.

Further down, where the lanterns are more sparse with red shades casting everything in an eerie glow, the air grows thick with smoke. The street twisted like a grotesque snake, turning at harsh angles to hide whatever waited beyond, tangled in indecipherable turns. Buildings were little more than shacks, each leaning on the one next to it for support; stacked like a house of precariously stacked cards one gust of wind away from crashing down. Plenty of alleys jutted off into darkness, shadows shifting with scantily clad women and what looked like couples making no attempt to obscure what was clearly taking place. A small crowd still mills about, some ogling but most too absorbed in their own merriment.

Just like when that firebender hit you with lightning, hairs all over your body stood on end. This place is wrong. You need to leave. Now.

Turning to do so, you found yourself nose to nose with a man completely blocking your vision.

“What is a pretty girl like you doing all alone?” he said, clearly drunk from his haphazard slant. That, or incredibly stupid. His breath stung your nose, bile rising at the scent of liquor.

Water, or something resembling it enough to heed your command, rocketed from a nearby drain pipe. The thick haze over the area dissipated in an instant, all eyes on the man frozen to the rickety wall of a nearby building, face turning purple as he shouted indignantly.

You stared for a moment, stunned by your own hand. And then, you ran.

People shouted as you crashed through them, feet pounding on the uneven stone road. Several sets of footsteps chase, gaining by the sound of it, all calling for you to stop. You pushed yourself to run faster, so hard your muscles burned but you pressed forward.

Lungs screaming for breath, you rounded the entrance to the main street in time for someone to snag your arm in a vice grip.

“Let me g—” Your scream is muffled by your captor forcing your face into his chest, arm slipping around your shoulders to keep you from breaking free. You fought but couldn’t break free.

“Walk, don’t look back” a deep voice rumbled.

The hands were too warm to belong to your guard – not that you’d be lucky enough to run into Mingyu and make it back to the palace so easily – completely unfamiliar and unnecessarily rough. Between the guards still in pursuit not far behind and the man already dragging you through the crowd, you preferred the odds of whatever this new stranger had planned.

Out of the side street, your new captor maneuvered hastily. People parted on either side of your path, allowing more distance to grow between you and the mob, but their yells licked at your heels. You chanced a glance up and found the very firebender you’d humiliated weeks ago. Features schooled in a neutral expression, Wonwoo kept moving further down the street, steps so wide it was difficult to keep up.

“Next intersection go right.”

Your heels dug into the ground, refusing to move another step with this man. No way he took that beating weeks ago and wasn’t holding a grudge. You humiliated him in public, in front of his friends and probably a few enemies; few men would take that without protest and pass up an opportunity for revenge.

“Trust me, princess.”

The word striked frigid fear through your veins like ice. But he kept his eyes forward, constantly scanning the crowd and using the momentary pause to push you forward. You bounced off another couple as you stumbled to do as he says, face still hidden in the collar of his shirt. The street is still wet from last night’s rain and the water calls in reassurance.

Wonwoo underestimated you, like so many others. Even though he didn’t look smug about knowing your identity he was still a threat. Perhaps he thought your victory was a fluke but you were prepared to remind him what defeat tasted like.

But first, you needed to lose your pursuers. And for now, Wonwoo served that purpose.

The street he turned you down was far calmer, but no less packed. The bodies moved in a gentle pulse unlike the crush of the central avenue. Wonwoo pressed forward but not as urgently, flowing with the ebb of foot traffic.

Your muscles tensed as distance from the main street grew, prepared for Wonwoo to strike. To pull you into one of the shadowed alleyways and challenge you to another brawl. But there were too many witnesses here for him to do much, not to mention all the buildings made of wood. Unless he was a unique type of stupid.

But, surely this was far enough to shed him. Another busy street was not far ahead, one you recognized; farther south from the palace than you’d like but you’d make do. You just needed to find Mingyu and get back to the tunnels before Wonwoo caught back up.

Preparing yourself to run, you chanced another look to see if guards from earlier were well and truly gone. The chaos of before hadn’t followed, no shouts or discontent from the people left in your wake. But you couldn’t be sure until you—

“Don’t look.”

You huffed but faced forward once more. “I wasn’t going to!”

“Yes, you were,” Wonwoo swallowed something like a laugh.

How dare he! If he thought he could take you captive and chastise you like a rebellious child then he had another thing coming.

You jumped to your toes, twisting against his tight grip at your waist to peer back. Only to find one of the men from earlier already staring straight at you.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

“You looked,” Wonwoo groaned. “Run!”

Turning again, you froze the lanky man’s feet to the ground. He stumbled at the unexpected set back, crashing into passersby who seemed none too pleased but you could only assume from indigent yelling as Wonwoo dragged you away.

“In here,” Wonwoo whispered, shoving you into a dark alley, barely more than a divot between buildings before he followed suit.

His body pressed tight against yours from knee to shoulder. Like back in the warehouse. When he nearly pinned you against the wall and almost made you forget the entire reason you went at all that night. When he tempted you with a different challenge than what you planned to offer. You might have considered the proposition if Wonwoo hadn’t failed so spectacularly; let him prove his worth beyond bending.

In the dark, you tripped over the slick paced ground and fell straight into Wonwoo’s chest. With your hands planted on his shoulders, you felt his lungs stretch around gulps of air. Under more pleasant circumstances you’d remember the impropriety of it all. Alone with a man, in a dark corner of the city; breath mingled in choppy pants, the heat of him sinking straight into your bones with his thigh between your knees. And his hands. Such rough, warm hands pinned against your sides. If anyone saw then they’d see a couple unable to wait for a more private location.

But you didn’t find yourself caring in the slightest. Not about propriety or even the fact that Wonwoo all but admitted he knowingly fought a member of the royal family and was now doing something even more scandalous. You couldn’t think when you were wedged so tightly between a wall and a man, intimate proximity you’ve never experienced before. The miraculous way his palms fit perfectly against your hips, how his breath ghosted against your forehead and the deep rumble of his voice—

“What were you doing?” he said. “Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”

If only he’d shut his mouth long enough for you to enjoy the fantasy of being like any other woman in the kingdom, free to touch and be touched. But the reprimand shattered the short lived dream.

“They wouldn’t have arrested me,” you huff indignitaly. “I had it under control! Or do you need a reminder?”

“By all means, freeze me to a wall! That went so well last time, didn’t it? Maybe this time you can just wait around for them to catch you.”

“Maybe I will!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, momentarily shocked by the firm muscles there, before ducking out of the alcove and back onto the street before doing something stupid with the new information.

But Wonwoo yanked you back into the shadows just in time for one of the men to run past. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Of course I do!” you silently scream. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because only an idiot would visit the Red Lanterns alone. Especially a woman. You clearly didn’t belong there.”

He said woman, not princess. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe it was a stupid nickname you were looking far too much into. There was no reason he should have recognized you. Your grandmother was so fiercely protective of her sole heir apparent that she hardly let you explore even the farthest corners of the palace grounds, let alone appear somewhere subjects got close enough to make out a single feature beyond your silhouette next to her. Only nobles, guardsmen, and servants would recognize you and the entire appeal of visiting the Middle District was none of them would be here. No one would know their princess was among them.

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“You’d be a lousy prostitute if you froze all your customers to a wall.”

You watched his face for any hint of dishonesty but he stared right back, eyes blazing with the same contagious annoyance. He didn’t know. His heart raced beneath your palm but didn’t stutter with dishonesty.

“Then what were you doing there?”

“I saw you earlier and thought…it doesn’t matter.” He eyed the disgust on your face before sighing. “Just tell me where you’re going and I’ll help you get there.”

“Thought what?” you gritted.

The air thickened with silence as different emotions flashed across Wonwoo’s face. He was no better than the drunk who tried to proposition you. Your thoughts might have devolved into something less than proper but you’d never act on it. If he thought he could just—

“No!” he shouted, eyes wide and bright red despite the dark. “That’s not…I wanted to challenge you to a rematch and then you went and got yourself into a fight.”

“So you were stalking me?”

“You’re in my neighborhood, waterbender. How do I know you’re not stalking me?”

You snorted at that in an attempt to ignore his muscles flexing between your thighs. He couldn’t have not noticed how compromising the position was. If he dipped his chin you could easily kiss him. Not that you would. Ladies did not kiss strange men in alleys; especially not princesses. Even if the strange man was incredibly handsome. And muscular.

“Why would I need to stalk you for a rematch? I know where to find you if I need a confidence boost.”

Whether you liked it or not – and you most certainly didn’t – you were stuck with Wonwoo until you could shake him and the group of Middle District guards after you. Something tells you even if you did tell him you knew exactly where you needed to go, he’d follow just out of sight. That simply wouldn’t do if you wanted to keep your identity a secret; assuming he truly didn’t know.

Which meant he really did want to help; at least for now. As you peered back up, the fading bruises littering his jaw came into focus. Ugly splotches of yellow and green. Gifts you gave him freely and would happily supply more in spades but there is a twinge of guilt souring your stomach

“Did I do this?”

“Yeah,” he released a long breath through his nose, subtly leaning into your finger unconsciously tracing the marks. Someone did a good job healing him. “And you broke my nose.”

“Maybe next time you should learn to block,” you teased.

The same fire from when he approached you in the warehouse burned across his face, hot enough to scorch everywhere his body touched yours. Maybe one kiss, just to see what all the fuss was about, wouldn’t be so bad. The maids seemed to talk of nothing but which stableboys and guards they were kissing; how some were bad and others were good. Whatever that meant. How several were skilled at doing more vulgar activities with their mouths and hands. No matter how many times you asked, none of them ever answered what exactly they were so talented at but you read enough to have an idea.

For the briefest second, you wondered if Wonwoo would demonstrate just what it was that made the maids giggle so incessantly.

But as his head dipped closer to yours, the spell broke by the crush of reality. You needed to get back home. You needed to find Mingyu.

You looked back towards the street before speaking again, “I don’t know what the street is called but my friend was checking out fruit stalls when we got split.”

“Ah, yes,” Wonwoo grumbled, head tilting back against the wall behind him. “The one street with fruit merchants. Remember anything else? Cobblestones and people? Were there buildings?”

Smartass.

“Um… there was a stall with spirit carvings and a tea house.”

He scrubbed his face, or attempted to. There wasn’t enough room between your faces for the action so his hand hovered in the darkness awkwardly before collapsing back against your side. It seemed only then did he register his proximity, and whatever anger he clung to melted into stammering embarrassment.

“Did you see the sign for the tea house?” he asked, eyes on the street.

“It was silver and had a—”

“The Silver Dragon. I know it. Come on.”

Another check that the coast was clear and Wonwoo pulled you back into the street, arm slung over your shoulders. He navigated easily enough. Each time he spotted something suspicious ahead he pulled you towards a stall, feigning interest in whatever goods were on display while watching from the corner of his eye until he deemed it safe enough to continue towards the Silver Dragon.

Slowly the buildings became more familiar; a merchant with a unique hat, the raven eagle fountain that hosted squealing children splashing in its waters. An old woman dishing out cups of frozen watermelon juice.

A silver flag embroidered with a dragon hung limply overhead. You scanned for Mingyu but to no avail, faces passed and blended the crowd into an amorphous ocean of strangers. Wonwoo kept a firm hold on your shoulders as the crowd swayed. He gripped your bare upper arm beneath the billowing sleeve of your tunic. No one besides your maids had touched you like this; so familiar and foreign at the same time. The heat of his palms like the first lick of a fire after hours in the snow.

While Mingyu appeared to have moved on, the guards seemed to have doubled back. They wove through the thicket of people aggressively. Wonwoo froze, noticing at the same time that there was no way to turn around without garnering their suspicion.

The street choked into a tight squeeze, locking you in place as the guards surged forward. Twenty feet, then ten. Then only a single person separated you from them and desperation fanned the flame of stupidity.

Your neck strained upward, and before Wonwoo could jump back, you fisted a hand in his hair and dragged him down to meet your mouth. He hesitated before sinking into the kiss eagerly, commanding your full attention with his teeth and the, with his tongue. With another pull, he guided you into the narrow space between merchant stalls, tripping over his own feet until all you registered was the hot press of him to your front and the chill of brick behind you.

It’s not like the sweet chaste kisses in the plays you grew up watching. Wonwoo demanded nothing less than your complete attention with a hot suck against your bottom lip. You copied him with clumsy eagerness.

All the thinking, the responsibilities and reminders plaguing your consciousness silenced their screaming; instinct filled its place. Your hips thrashed until his thigh slotted between your legs with dizzying firmness but then there was the want of more that had you rocking against it. In the process you brushed against a lump between his own thighs, and the instinct to rub against it was too strong to ignore.

Wonwoo only groaned before diving to lap against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. He surged forward, meeting every curl of your hips with an enthusiastic arch of his own. A hand at the base of your spine, beneath your tunic, angled you just so – completely at his whim. His other hand heated the side of your throat, tipping your head back to leave you panting with another rough press of his mouth.

Unconsciously, you traced his side, tugged at his shirt before letting go and only to crush the fabric again. Then your hands fell down his stomach until your palm pressed against that straining hardness and Wonwoo seized, teeth razing against your ear until you did the same.

“Spirits,” he exhaled through swollen lips, grinding into your hand.

You sucked him back into another kiss, laving at the swell of his bottom lip until he knocked your hand away and spread your legs for a raw drag against your core. His head tucked into the crook of your shoulder, panting breath creeping through the fabric of your top as he did it again. The press of his mouth made your pace sloppy, mindless grinds until you both groaned.

You wanted him without the frustrating barrier of clothing obscuring the warmth of his hands, his chest; to have him do something about the aching emptiness settled in your core. The pang of needing something stoked by the bruising twists of him against you.

There’s no sound over the roaring blood in your ears. Sparks flashed in your vision but your eyes sneak open to watch Wonwoo’s face twisted in agony. You latched on to his neck – biting and licking the same way he did – until he made that noise again.

In the corner of your vision, you registered the pedestrians moving past as if nothing was happening. As if their princess wasn’t concealed only feet away, pressed against a strange man with a hand sneaking beneath the tie of his pants.

But instead of embarrassment, a hot jolt squeezed your chest. No one knew. Much like the nights you snuck from the palace to explore the city, your freedom was innocuous. A way to learn what was hidden behind the false shine councilmen presented in their reports and the poetic ramblings of tutors.

Wonwoo could teach you about those sneaking passions that drove you mad on long nights. He already proved how much better they were when someone else wanted to resolve them.

Hours or days might have passed as you focused on coaxing out more of those delicious sounds – nail raking through his hair with every rut, rolling against him the same way waves rolled over the shore of the ocean under the full moon's pull.

Your vision blurred, unfocused on the faces walking past as Wonwoo sucked a bruise into your skin. That feeling in the pit of your gut twisted painstakingly tight like an itch you couldn’t scratch. More and more, until a familiar face passed by and reality came like an ice bath.

Mingyu.

He couldn’t see you in the shadows, and the call of his name morphed into a throaty whine as Wonwoo snaked his hand further down your spine, down the back of your pants to squeeze the curve of your ass painfully. He continued to mouth at your shoulder, unaware. When you pushed him this time he pushed back with a hungered moan until you tugged him out of hiding.

“I have to go,” you panted, melting out of his grip. Your voice was unfamiliarly husky. Everything felt slower, hazier like the smokey streets earlier.

His body tightened, attempting to pull you closer before letting go. Lips wet with spit, he regarded you with pure confusion. “What?”

But you were already back on the street before you could answer, underwear uncomfortably sticky. A problem for later; in the dark safety of your room. With vivid memories of a handsome firebender and the way his body felt surging against yours.

You chased Mingyu down the street, snatching his hand and taking off before temptation got the better of you and marched you back into the alley for Wonwoo to finish what started.

“We need to leave,” you said. “Now.”

“Spirits, what did you do?” Mingyu cried.

“Just go!”

Wonwoo didn’t chase, and a part of you curdled with disappointment.

Wonwoo knew he should be in bed. Sleep or not, his body needed rest after the last few nights he spent awake plagued by the nightmare of you. He couldn’t concentrate. Blows he’d block with ease slipped by, bruises littered across his torso as proof. Forms he’d been drilled on for years and years to the point of muscle memory became sloppy enough for his commanders to notice.

And it was all your fault.

You were everywhere; the teasing lit of your voice, the heat of your eyes, the taste of your lips, those soft noises you made when Wonwoo pressed his cock into your core.

It was bad enough after the first night you challenged him. Dokyeom spent all night healing Wonwoo and it hadn’t soothed the sting of humiliation. Then came the fact that no one knew who you were; Dokyeom hadn’t gotten your name, Jeonghan took bets under ‘death wish’. No one recognized you from anywhere in the city. You were a ghost.

But then fate granted him a second chance, only for it to slip through his fingers. Again.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do the one thing he’s good at without being consumed by thoughts of you.

Moonlight dappled through the trees overhead, casting everything in a hazy filter of silver and shadows. Something scurried across the trail ahead and dipped into the bushes. Wonwoo was only fifteen minutes out from the barracks, too close to people for any of the bigger creatures to venture close. Even if something did come across his path, maybe it's what he needed; a new distraction from the one who's been terrorizing him non-stop.

Besides, Wonwoo was a soldier, body trained to remain vigilant even if his mind wanders. If something decided to attack he could handle it. But only fireflies and cicada crickets disturbed the stillness of the forest late at night.

He isn’t sure how long he walked but the moon remained heavy and full in the sky. The sun lay far way away, deep beneath the horizon. Wonwoo’s thoughts wandered farther than his feet could take him, imagining how you’d be spending a night like tonight, probably somewhere getting into more trouble. Maybe freezing another drunken pervert to a wall.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. You with your nose in the air as some man begs for mercy, leaving him to rot just because you could.

Then, as all his thoughts of you were in the past few days, the images morphed until it was you and him. You beneath him, on top of him; him between your legs, his cock, his mouth, fingers. All of it as he tried to earn your approval.

There it was. The uncomfortable tightness across the crotch of his pants, the sweat at the edge of his collar. Even the most innocuous thoughts of you sent his body into a helpless frenzy. He hated it all the more because no matter what he did it never stopped. It didn’t matter if he trained until his bones crumbled in on themselves, muscles wilted and spent, there was a part of him immune to exhaustion in light of you. When he took the herbs the medic recommended to help him sleep, his dreams were plagued with the most vivid visions of you; even worse than the waking ones.

It was all your fault for kissing him.

He could have dealt with the embarrassment of being defeated swiftly in the ring. Things happened, he wasn’t immune to bad luck against a good opponent. But you kissed him, and touched him. You let Wonwoo touch you as if there wasn’t a busy street of witnesses only a few feet away. You wanted him to; purred and whimpered with each drag against his thigh. If he had slipped his hand beneath your underbindings like he wanted to there would be evidence of your arousal. He wanted to do that too – where anyone could have seen him. On his knees, with his mouth between your legs as you writhed and pulled his hair until you came.

But he didn’t know your name and was at the mercy of the spirits if he was ever to see you again.

Wonwoo followed the channel, meandering with every bend as his mind worked over and over. He just needed to clear his head enough for tomorrow. After that, he’d figure something out. Find a way to find you or hope you stumbled into his path once more.

Splashes up stream pricked his ears. The closest waterfall was at least an hour's trek upstream from the barracks, where the mountains dropped off into a steep cliff like a spirit cleaved it in half. Wonwoo didn’t know how far or how long he walked but the trees were too dense to be that far out.

The ground was no longer soft from the rain days ago and allowed Wonwoo to sneak forward without sound. It was a shame the night was so clear, the shadows hugging close to the trees, not nearly enough to conceal himself in. But it was of little consequence.

He saw you in profile, bathed in moonlight as you stood in the river, water parted into great walls on either side. Even at a distance, Wonwoo traced the silk binding your torso and the dark leggings clinging to your thighs as you danced among the swelling waves eager to follow your whim. If he hadn’t known better, it looked like the moon was focusing her gaze on you, illuminating you from beneath your skin.

The longer he looked the more he was convinced you were a spirit. No matter how close the waves came to your person, they never seemed to make contact; water completely bent to your will, under total control.

Wonwoo shuffled closer like a moth to a flame. Completely enamored with the sight before him, he didn't realize his mistake until a twig snapped beneath his foot.

In an instant, the sweat and humidity clinging to his clothes froze; icy crystals stinging against bare skin.

Your chuckle was barely audible over Wonwoo’s hiss of discomfort. Heat flushed through his veins, melting your attack but the chill remained.

“You know, it's getting really hard to believe you aren’t stalking me,” you called. The rings of water floated around you even with divided concentration. Something like jealousy and awe rooted in his chest.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be out in the woods tonight?”

“I’m just saying it’s convenient that you always show up when I’m alone,” you smirked. “Don’t worry. I didn’t freeze anyone to a wall this time.”

Cover blown, Wonwoo approached the dry river bank. “Speaking of that, you never said ‘thank you’ for saving your life.”

The whip circling your figure sagged back down into the stream. Wonwoo felt a piece of him warm that he was distracting enough to crack your focus so significantly despite the full moon. As you turned, he became privy to just how much visible through the silk bindings criss crossing your chest. “You didn’t save my life but thank you. Now, do you want to fight or can I get back to my training?”

He couldn’t help but focus on the glittering drops of water cradled in your collarbone. How sweet they’d taste on his tongue if given permission.

“I think I’ll watch for now.” He took a seat on the river bank, legs sprawled in front of him, a careful bend of his knees so the tent in his pants became less obvious.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug. The tentacles previously encasing you rose once again.

It was entirely inappropriate to ogle a woman in nothing but her underclothes. If Wonwoo was a better man he’d leave, or at least have the decency to pretend he wasn’t staring like a starved wolf. But you were spectacular, flowing through different forms with ease that even the best trained guards in his unit would envy. You bent and stretched and twisted suggestively beneath the moonlight.

If you had a weakness, it didn’t show. You bent the river to your will easily, skill that only came with years of trial and failure. Wonwoo stopped admiring the sight of bare skin and focused on your strength as you flowed into the more advanced forms. Thick branches hanging over the river snapping clean from nimble water whips, tree trunks peppered with ice daggers the size of his forearm.

He couldn’t help sending a disc of flame to cut off your next water whip, collapsing it into the grass as you stared indignantly.

Another stream met a tongue of fire from his fist, a burst of steam left in its place. This time you face him with a huff and Wonwoo simply shrugged.

Wonwoo ignored your next moves. You reached over head in a wide circle, back stretched long, all the muscles and skin obstructed by the frustrating blue fabric. It wasn’t until you froze a wall of water in place that he sent a blast of heat, melting the ice to drench you.

“Oops,” he shrugged, stifling a laugh at your indignation.

It’s not as funny when you dump half the river on him and Wonwoo was left gasping like a fish.

When he could finally breathe again, you smiled innocently with an ‘oops’ of your own.

Then the game was on.

Unlike the disappointing night at the warehouse, Wonwoo kept up this time.

You never sparred with someone who didn’t treat you as something fragile. Even Mingyu, try as he might to entertain your wishes, refused to attack with the full force he was capable of. Wonwoo didn’t harbor the same concern.

Neither of you kept advantage for long. Every water whip evaporated before landing, each fireball snuffed by a wave. It was invigorating. You stood shaking and sweaty after hours of trading blow for blow, the moon already dipping low in the sky. Wonwoo didn’t appear to be faring any better. The bruises on his jaw were faded but new ones stained his torso, blood trickling down his elbow from a particularly nasty ice blade. Singed holes scattered your leggings but the grass and trees claimed the brunt of damage.

It would have been so much easier to concentrate if he hadn’t shed his shirt after a whip tore a jagged hole across the front, revealing a muscular torso to the pale moonlight. It was horrible knowing what beneath his clothes looked just as good as it felt the other night. Even worse when his pants ripped just above the knee and you caught a glimpse of his thigh.

The entire reason you even snuck out tonight was because of him. His taste, the feel of him pressed against you so intimately. It haunted you day and night – in sleep, while awake, in meetings, when you were all alone. There was nowhere you could go without the memory of his body against yours; nowhere you hadn’t wondered what could have happened in that alley if Mingyu hadn’t walked by.

You needed something to banish the feeling of his mouth on yours, to dissipate the restlessness settled deep in your muscles. While wading knee deep in the river wasn’t a smart idea, there was nothing at the palace that could help. No one wanted to spar, not to the level you could during the days leading up to a full moon. It wasn’t fair to give your all while guards curbed their skills in fear of hurting you.

So you bid an early goodnight, feigning some sort of illness and retired to your room before the sun had set. Once the moon started her venture across the sky you dug in the back of your wardrobe for the dark clothes from days prior. They were wrinkled but served their purpose. With Mingyu standing guard at your apartment entrance, you snuck out the tunnels and into the city beyond the palace walls.

The clearing was exactly what you needed. Plenty of water and space to lose control, trees offering their service as target practice for whatever twisted move your mind conjured. It helped. Your muscles strained with a level of exhaustion unfamiliar to you, enough so that your mind couldn’t roam as easily. But then he plowed through the forest like he owned it. Of course you couldn’t have a moment of peace, the spirits wouldn’t allow you to indulge in serene silence if they could help it. They sent Wonwoo straight to you as an act of retribution for your long list of sins.

But sparring with him burned away some of the tension. If you were fighting with Wonwoo then you couldn’t think about all the other cravings; of finishing what you started against that wall. Sending ice floes at his head kept him far enough away that even if you wanted to pull him against a tree or down to the grass, you couldn’t.

“Is that really all you got?” he taunted. Wonwoo’s pain is clear on his brow, every step closer punctuated by a limp and labored breathing.

“Oh, please,” you grunted, launching a weak ice disc at his head. The wall of fire lapping at your heels disintegrated as Wonwoo dodged. “As if you could handle more.”

Something feral flashed in his eye at the taunt. “Try me.”

Well at least this time he wasn’t so disappointingly easy to overwhelm.

You skated across the clearing. With the river to your back once again, you pressed the advantage and sent wave after wave. Wonwoo narrowly dodged them with well timed kicks, his fire dispersing them into steam. But each volley soaked clearing until he struggled to remain upright on the muddy ground as he approached the riverbank.

With your next attack, he fell on his back with a hard grunt. For a long second he didn’t move and you worried you’d seriously injured him this time.

“Wonwoo?”

His chest rattled with each labored breath as you approached. He looked horrible; a mess of sweat and dirt, hair matted to his head. His eyes flickered with pain as he stared up at you, hesitating to take your outstretched hand before accepting.

Back on his feet, Wonwoo wasted no time tackling you into the water.

Breaking the surface, you screeched, “You jerk!”

“Come on! I got that move from you,” he laughed.

Even in the midst of dunking his head under, your blood warmed at the sound. He gripped your body tightly to his own, pinning your wrists together in one hand, effectively cutting off your bending. But you refused to go down without a fight. Fortunately he didn’t think you’d be formidable at hand to hand combat and while it was true, he was stronger, you slammed your foot against his thigh, breaking Wonwoo’s hold long enough to slip away.

He breached and sputtered before following again. “Where did you learn that?”

You tussled on the shore, shoving handfuls of mud into each other’s hair and skin. Your legs hooked around his waist, rolling until you sat on his stomach.

Bad idea.

You’re close enough to trace the silver scar through Wonwoo’s brow. A fraction lower, his eyes light with the same fire as when you kissed him the other night. Rocks bit through the thin fabric of your pants, jagged against your knees. But Wonwoo was unaware, tilting his chin up to capture your lips.

You bore down on him, sighing into the seductive heat of his mouth. Wonwoo groaned with a curl of his hips. It took all your focus to snatch his hands from your waist and pin them above his head but he didn’t seem to mind as you rained a series of wet kisses down the column of his neck.

He made another desperate sound as you tugged at the water just out of reach, freezing thick cuffs from Wonwoo’s elbow up to his fingertips.

“Gotcha,” you whispered against his throat.

He slumped into the ground, an indignant huff fanning across your forehead. “Very funny.”

“From where I’m sitting, it is.”

You’re smirk dissolved as he rolled his hips once again. The force sending you up his chest, hands bracketing his shoulders in an effort to maintain balance. To your shame, a sharp gasp squeezed from your lungs at the motion.

“What was that?”

His face – barely an inch away – was lax despite his confinement. It’s enticing. The way he’s spread out, chest displayed, muscles stretched; all of him on display, including the stains on his skin tugging at your conscience. Your hand glided down his chest, catching droplets from the stream to heal the fresher injuries. Those muscles flexed under your gentle touch before relaxing. Wonwoo’s eyes closed with a sigh of relief as cuts knitted back together and bruises faded.

“You’re really bad at this,” you said plainly, shifting focus away from the need to rut down.

Wonwoo’s eyes widened for a moment, ears reddening before he sputtered. The realization dawned on you like the icy waters of the river. Oh.

“Not that!” you corrected. “Fighting me. I’d thought you’d be better this time.”

“It’s a full moon,” he argued, eyes closing once again as you mended a scratch along his chin. It wasn’t even bleeding, but the compulsion to touch him was too strong to ignore.

“So? I could fight you with my hands behind my back and still win.”

“Wanna test that theory?”

With a dismissive wave the ice trapping Wonwoo melted before you answered, rising to your feet before you did something stupid. He was healed enough. “I think I’ve done enough damage to your ego.”

He barely reared back his fist for an attack when the same water froze him again. Now, with his arms and legs immobilized, he glared up at you. Predictable.

Without thinking, you pinned his chest down with a muddy foot. You couldn’t help it; something so satisfying as having him at your mercy conjured the reckless parts of your brain. “Yield.”

His eyes followed the line of your leg, up your torso, only pausing on your wet breast bindings for a moment, and then finally met your gaze. “If I don’t?”

“I can leave you here,” you shrugged, only to hide a shiver. “I’m sure you’ll thaw out by noon.”

Perhaps it'd be better to leave him shackled to the ground. You could leave him and get back to the palace before doing anything scandalous. He could still firebend as long as his mouth was uncovered, and after all the noise of the battle none of the wild life would come close before he freed himself. But Wonwoo wasn’t fond of the idea of waiting until morning to leave.

“Fine,” Wonwoo huffed. “I yield.”

The ice melted again, soaking his pants. No sooner did you turn around, Wonwoo sent a lick of flame at your ankle and, in your attempt to dodge, you sprawled next to him with a hard thud.

“You yielded,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m a sore loser.” Wonwoo rolled to his side, the weight of his gaze heavy on your face. One of his hands found the strip of skin between your bindings and your legs, tracing it with maddening pressure. How easy would it be for him to slip that same hand beneath your pants and touch you again. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“I practice a lot.”

“With who? Assassins?.”

One of your eyes opened to glare. “I watched a few of your matches. You’re…predictable.”

“I never saw you at the warehouse before.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t want to be seen.”

Wonwoo took the opportunity to cover your body with his own, a thigh back between your legs and pressed just right against your center. His mouth found the sensitive spot beneath your jaw as he crumbled your defenses. You could afford to indulge a little bit; some kissing, more of that mind numbing friction from the market. Just to set your nerves at ease, untangle that insufferable knot in the pit of your stomach.

“And why is that?”

Before you can answer, Wonwoo kissed you again but this time you were prepared; surging up to meet him like a tidal wave.

Somehow, the weight of his body like that was even better than when he crowded you against the wall; heavy and satisfying for you to grind against, chasing warm friction. This time he touched without restraint, tugging at your bindings until they fell slack, committing the new swaths of bare skin to memory with his mouth and wandering hands.

His tongue traced the slope of your breast, the chill in the forest pinching your nipples tight for his teeth to take one between.

“Oh,” you moaned, fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to give more. Wonwoo offered the sting of a bite, sucking harder when you made the same depraved sound. You felt it everywhere, down to your core where he pressed against you with a kick of his hips. Far better than when you tried touching yourself after he had lit a consuming hunger in your veins. As if Wonwoo knew the spots driving you mad better than you ever would.

No one was around to hear the way you gasped his name as his hand snaked between your legs, the heel of it nothing short of mind numbing as it rocked against your clit.

“Still predictable?”

You leveled your gaze with his, furious at the confidence you found. During the spar you met him blow for blow. This would be no different, just a new stage.

“You’re hard and trying to scandalize the wildlife after I kicked your ass,” you stuttered through the last bit because Wonwoo curled his fingers against a spot you didn’t know existed. “You’re incredibly predictable.”

You touched him just as eagerly; dipping beneath the tight cling of his pants and fisting his cock with false bravado.

He stopped when you thumbed the leaking tip, huffing against your chest with a throaty groan of his own before continuing with renewed energy. Wonwoo pressed himself through your loose grip, back and forth and back and forth with that mesmerizing hardness that was soft like velvet and hotter than any fire he’d attacked you with; each cant in time with the way you rocked against him. Until he followed your lead and dipped his hand beneath your leggings, calloused fingertips sliding timidly as you writhed beneath him.

“Wonwoo, please.” You needed something, anything. He kept his teeth at your breast, sucking and licking while a finger shallowly dipped inside you.

“Tell me what you want,” he gritted, pulling until you sat back in his lap completely bare from the waist up, the silk of your bindings left on the ground.

I don’t know! I don’t know, tell me what I need, you thought; but you'd rather die than admit inexperience. Instead, you acted on instinct. Each rock of your hips proved it was the right path, the tight press of his fingers better with the new angle as you clung to him. You sank further into it, Wonwoo encouraging you to take whatever you wanted.

It was too much and not enough. Your chest thrusted forward with every motion, and the hand cupping you gently turned into rough pinches hard enough to sting; his mouth the same.

Maybe you could sneak out of the palace every night for this, or sneak Wonwoo in. It wouldn’t be too difficult. He could give this to whenever you needed, no one the wiser as you bared yourself between the sheets for his eyes only.

“So fucking wet.” He punctuated the observation with another finger, palm rocking into that explosive place again and again. You’re knocked off-balance. Knees spread wide to accommodate and Wonwoo took full advantage to brush your hand away from his cock and pull you further into his lap, both hands beneath your bottoms; perfect to roll against as he leaned back to watch. “Don’t seem disappointed now.”

You swam through the beginning of something, Wonwoo’s voice grounding you back down to reality. The goading you could do without but it’s a small price to pay. As long as he maintained the wet slide of your core, he could say whatever he wanted. Your mouth dropped open, head tilted back as your thighs quaked.

“I—” you gasped. All at once the world snapped into a million stars.

He kissed you; your chest, your throat, cheeks, lips. Anywhere Wonwoo could reach was stained with the warmth of his mouth as you shuddered with teary eyes, raking pink lines into his chest. He swallowed each wrecked sound until you kissed back with shaky breath.

“You’re dirty.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed.

His humor exploded against your cheek, laughter tickling your ears as he dragged a finger across your collarbone. He meant the mud caked to your back, knotted in your hair. But you couldn't focus on the ridiculousness. Wonwoo was still hard, the dewy tip of his cock peeking from the band of his pants. The sight made your chest ache.

The laughter turned to a stunted moan as you gripped him once more. You shifted down his thighs to make more room, but Wonwoo kept you close, nipping at your jaw with each stroke. It’s unlike anything you felt before, the power, the thrill of undoing him, watching as he crumbled into a panting mess beneath your fingers. You pulled his hair and licked behind his teeth.

“O-oh. Fuck,” he groaned. His head fell back, the smooth skin of his throat enticing as he swallowed another sound; the pale glow of early dawn sun providing a startling contrast.

Panic flooded your veins. You looked up and found the moon sunk deeper to make room for the new day.

You were late.

“Shit. Shit. I have to go.” You scrambled away, snagging your bindings. They were disgusting but you had no time to wash them. At least the shirt you snuck out in would hide the wreckage. You tied them tight, whipping around to find the rest of your clothes.

“What?” Wonwoo blinked, as if he was waking from a dream; eyes glazed, cock dewy and pink in his lap as he stared up at you.

You flushed, tempted to sit back down and pretend it was a mistake. The voice whispering in the back of your head wanted nothing to do with responsibilities and obligations. You wanted this. To be reckless and enjoy what Wonwoo offered, and feel the way he responded when offered the same.

But the pale morning light brought reality with it.

“I’m sorry. I—” There was nothing else you could say. No explanation that wouldn’t leave you both with heartache. So you kissed him softly, long and slow, until Wonwoo’s fingers tickled back across your hips and you remembered you had to go. Now. “I’m sorry.”

And then you sprinted home without looking back.

After the beating Wonwoo received into the early hours of this morning, perhaps he should feel the same bruise to his ego like the weeks before when his face resembled the wrong end of a moose dragon. Even with the best healing, his body ached for days after. A constant reminder not only had he lost, but done so in front of one of the biggest crowds the warehouse ever had.

But even though he lost again last night, he’d won enough to walk on clouds like an airbender.

You were distracting while in your element but when you came? He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Helpless to the vision of your chin tipped back, spine arched as you moaned his name. Never mind he had to finish himself after you fled, returning to the barracks to hide in the bathroom like a teenager. The memory was enough, it only took a few strokes before he found his own satisfaction; though he preferred to find it with you next time.

Not even the weary day ahead dampened his glow despite the lack of sleep. The Queen rarely visited, and the princess never. But today they planned to, and that meant everything must be in perfect order which included new uniforms starched until Wonwoo could hardly bend.

The courtyard was packed with guards of all levels, cadeats to captains. They spent the morning sparring and working through basic forms under the watchful eye of Commander Aiko, Wonwoo overseeing the training ring. Under the high noon sun, the firebenders maintained a clear advantage over anyone else but Wonwoo conserved his energy for later. Once the Queen arrived, Commander Aiko would no doubt drag him out for a demonstration for the old man to tout as his own accomplishment.

It’d be good to remind the others of his skill, how he earned his rank through nothing but sheer determination. Most of the teasing had faded in the past month but it never hurt to make sure. Just because he lost to you didn’t mean he couldn’t defeat any of them. It wasn’t a fluke, you were just better. Wonwoo admired your skill but next time he’d win.

But he banished those thoughts for now. He’d found you twice – by chance but he still found you – a third time felt inevitable. There was too much unfinished business for him to believe otherwise. When he did have you again, he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.

It wasn’t until later afternoon that the royal procession arrived, palace guards donned in stark black uniform circling a pair of women like hawk vultures. He couldn’t see the princess’s face from where he stood, only the stretch of silk across her shoulders as Commander Aiko gestured animatedly.

Rumor had it the princess was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, with soft manners. kind eyes, and a gentle soul. Not that anyone saw her outside the palace. The queen kept her under lock and key, rightfully so as her only heir. But tales of her beauty and warmth flowed freely. She was the kind of princess men went to war for. Sacrificed their lives for.

And as such, most of the men had put extra time into preparing this morning; shaving and hogging mirrors in the bathroom to fix their hair. As if the princess would look upon one of them and find interest in a man with no title, no money, and no influence. The stuff of legends that Wonwoo had no interest in.

Wonwoo supervised the officers as they attempted to throttle one another. Apparently rumors of the princess’ presence inspired their best; it was almost pathetic if he wasn’t impressed by their creativity.

Rone yanked the ground from beneath Pono’s feet, rushing the smaller man forward into his fist covered in rock. The force would’ve knocked Pono unconscious if he hadn’t used the momentum to leap over Rone with a gust of air and slam his knee into his chest. Rone doubled over, gasping for breath.

“That’s enough,” Wonwoo called. “Ura. Tou. You’re up. Try not killing each other this time.”

Ura shook her head. “You light a guy on fire once.”

“Six!” Tou screamed. “You’ve lit me on fire SIX TIMES!”

“Make it seven,” someone on the sidelines cheered.

Ura lunged at To with a fire whip but Wonwoo was distracted with a call of his name before he could see Tou redirect it.

“Captain Jeon, I’d like to introduce you to her Royal Majesty and her granddaughter, Princess Y/N”

Wonwoo, remembering his manners to never turn his back to the royal family, whipped around fast enough everything blurred as he rushed to bow. “Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

“Commander Aiko has told me much about you, Captain Jeon,” a voice greeted him, definitely the Queen from the rich timbre. “I hope you’ll honor us with a demonstration of your skills later.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It’d be an honor.”

Wonwoo rose and finally got his first glance of the princess. She was even more beautiful than the stories claimed, face glowing in the sun, not a hair out of place. A dress of rich fabric, embroidered with pearls in a wave motif at the collar, hugged her figure but didn’t betray the power beneath.

While he couldn’t vouch for manners, your eyes were anything but kind. If looks could kill, Wonwoo was a dead man walking. His veins froze. Absolutely not. This was not happening. It was a dream, a sick and twisted dream where he made out with royalty in a field without knowing.

It didn’t make sense.

You bowed, eyes averted to your shoes with a greeting in return. The wild energy that possessed you in the field was nowhere to be found; extinguished by faux meekness and rigid posture.

“Jeon,” Aiko started, preening like a peacock. “Give Princess Y/N a tour of the grounds. She’s never seen men in action.”

Wonwoo managed to silence his snort of disbelief but couldn’t help the quip dripping from his tongue. “Oh, I doub—”

“A tour would be wonderful, Captain Jeon,” you cut him off. Your teeth gleamed like knives, gaze pointed. The wildness was still there and a bolt of fear flashed through him.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Wonwoo spun on his heel, leading you to the far side of the training ring while Ura and Tou lulled into a standoff, circling one another warily. He couldn’t help but feel you and him were doing the same.

Embarrassment, betrayal. It’s why you hadn’t told him your name, he realized. Not at the warehouse, not at the market, not even in the field. You played him for a fool again and again. And he let you

Tou knocked Ura’s left leg out from beneath her with a blazing kick. She fell to her knees but Ura rolled just in time to avoid Tou’s fist, dragging an arch of flame up with her heel and forcing Tou back.

You hovered beside Wonwoo, silently watching the fight. He refused to look at you because if he did then no doubt someone would notice his anger. And why would he be angry at the princess? Wonwoo never officially met you, this is technically the first time he’s ever seen you let alone spoken to you.

From opposite sides of the training ring, Ura and Tou’s both thrust their palms forward to summon fire streams thick enough the air around them shimmers as they collide; blue versus red. The crowd of guards watching stepped back, tugging at their collars. Wonwoo was tempted to step forward and join the fight, work out some of the restless annoyance burning beneath his skin.

“Impressive,” you commented, features tinged golden by the flame.

Wonwoo would have agreed if Ura’s ankle hadn’t quivered. Tou, forever soft for the willowy firebender, refused to take advantage of her weakness. He’d throw a hundred matches before using Ura’s injury against her. And Ura knew it.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“You don’t exactly seem interested in any sort of conversation,” you shot back.

You were right. Wonwoo didn’t want to talk anymore than he wanted to pull his own teeth out. What he wanted was to wake from this horrible dream, for Hoshi to come out of the woodwork and reveal this was all an elaborate prank.

Wonwoo winced as Ura grappled Tou down to his knees, slinging her arm around his neck and pulling him into a chokehold. Then he turned to look at you. “Pardon me for coming to terms with the fact I got into a fist fight with royalty. It’s a first for me.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t plan this.” You have the sense to look ashamed, eyes on the ground Tou wiggled out of Ura’s grip and scrambled to his feet.

“Do you know how much trouble I could get in if anyone found out I tried to fight you? I could be executed.”

“That wasn’t—” You stopped abruptly, chest expanding with a deep breath. “You said you were from the Middle District. How was I supposed to know you were a part of the Crown’s Guard?”

“I am from the Middle District.”

Your fingers bunched in the pleats of your robes. “But most of the guards are from the Noble's Quarter.”

“I’m not like most men. But I don’t expect you to understand what it means to earn something.”

“I think I earn my victories quite well,” you spat. “Perhaps you would like another demonstration, Captain Jeon.”

In the ring, Ura and Tou came to a standstill. The inky braid coiled on Ura’s head had long unraveled, tangled and lopsided as it hung down her back. Tou’s new jacket was signed at the collar, cuffs smoldering as well. They looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Wonwoo waited a long moment before speaking again. It would do no good to insult you. Already the darkest corners of his anger were brightening. “That was…unkind of me. I apologize.”

“Your insults are as deficient as your bending,” you smiled and strode away leaving Wonwoo to follow like a scorned puppy.

Ura and Tou waned but continued.

“Why don’t either of them give up?” you asked.

“Ura agreed to marry Tou if he could beat her in a fight.”

“I thought relations between guards were forbidden.”

“They are. It’s why Tou refuses to take advantage of her weak ankle.”

“Then why would she…”

“If you’re asking me to explain their relationship then I have no answers,” Wonwoo replied as Tou finally yielded and another pair of troops took their place. “You’re lucky most of the guards don’t go to those matches or we’d both be in serious trouble.”

“If none of the other guards go, why were you there?”

“I’ve been doing it for years. They pay well and I needed money.”

Wonwoo leaves the rest unsaid. What other reason did a Middle District kid have to fight other than money? He took his beatings in the public arena for years because coin was coin. He never planned to become skilled enough to start winning. But when he did, after years of blood, sweat, and tears, he was good enough for the Crown Guard to take notice and Seungcheol to bring him into the fold before retiring. Now, Wonwoo had a free place to sleep, albeit it was barely large enough for him and the four other men he shared it with, all on bunk beds. But it was far better than the fifty man barrack he started in years ago. There were free meals and hot showers and his patrols through the Noble's Quarter rarely were more than counting the number of steps through his route before he ended up back where he started.

The fighting kept his skills sharp in the way training couldn’t. Commander Aiko didn’t like his cheap shots or the scrappiness Wonwoo learned in the ring. They were ‘undignified�� for one of the Royal Army, especially the Crown’s Guard. But more often than not, they were the edge he had on the other officers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never intended to put you in such a difficult position. I just—”

“You just what, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat before softening. “How am I supposed to be Queen if I’m not allowed to actually see my kingdom?”

Seeing your kingdom felt like an odd way to describe what you and Wonwoo had been doing away from wandering eyes but he didn’t dwell.

“Probably not by lying.”

“Or by freezing men to walls.”

The attempt at humor softened and soured Wonwoo’s mood all at once. Rationally, he knew he should be angry. Furious even. But it was not that simple. If he was in your shoes, what would he have done? Probably far worse than sneaking out for a night on the town. Even too many hours at the barracks had a way of making him crave for the anonymity of the city streets he grew up on.

Wonwoo was not angry, annoyed maybe. Even as you stood, wrapped in the finest silks he’d ever seen with enough sapphires and pearls pinned in your hair for him to buy a village, it was pity he felt rather than disdain. To be forced to hide the wildness you possessed behind pretense and perform exactly what was expected of you. Could he blame you for wanting a break from it all?

Judging by the hopeful look on your face you wanted to leave the entire ordeal in the past, same as him.

“That might help you on the throne.”

You smiled and looked back at the two men sparring in the ring who were fighting with swords, the smaller one locking their hilts together and twisting until the larger man was forced to release his weapon.

He’d be infatuated with you but that was all it was; all it could be. A funny story to remember years and years from now, when his children’s children were grown. They’d call him crazy for rambling about how he once knew the princess.

He couldn’t help his next question. “And everything else? Are you sorry for that too?”

A blight of confusion twisted your face before your eyes bulged. Years of etiquette schooled your features swiftly but Wonwoo felt pleased to see you off kilter as he felt, however brief. You should be just as uncomfortable with the looming consequences of what happened in that field as he was.

The satisfaction didn’t last long.

You turned to face him head on, leveling him with a heavy gaze. “Are you?”

Wonwoo choked.

It seems the fire from before was not completely snuffed out under pounds of finery.

“I think I’ve seen enough of the grounds. It's quite warm and I feel myself growing faint.”

When he finally regained his senses, Wonwoo followed several steps behind, face tinged red. Hopefully everyone mistook it as a result of a day in the sun rather than a battle of wits.

Commander Aiko and the Queen ceased their conversation as you approached them..

“What do you think of our troops, Your Highness?” Aiko asked.

“They are very impressive, Commander,” you smiled.

By some great miracle, Aiko stood fifteen feet taller with your compliments. It itches at the back of Wonwoo’s brain that a compliment could slip off your tongue so easily towards others but not towards him.

“I’m pleased my men are up to your standards. Captain Jeon is one of my best, you’ll be completely safe in his care during next month's festivities.”

“Pardon?” you and Wonwoo asked at the same time.

Aiko frowned. “Her Majesty insisted on additional protection due to the increased presence at the palace. Surely, she informed you?”

“She did,” you nodded. “But wouldn’t Captain Jeon’s expertise be more valuable elsewhere? It’d be a shame for his skills to be wasted guarding me when we will be surrounded by allies.”

“In the event something might go wrong, is it not better to have someone as trained as he is to protect you?”

Wonwoo wanted to argue that you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But clearly your bending talents were a secret, at least to Commander Aiko. Perhaps that was for the best; the element of surprise was a powerful tool, one you wielded well. A glance at your blanked expression all but confirmed it.

Aiko continued, “You are next in line, therefore your safety is second only to the Queen herself. Captain Jeon would be honored to serve you.”

The old man leveled Wonwoo with an expectant look, giving him two options: reject the position and directly insult the crown and his commanding officer, inadvertently signing his own death warrant. Or accept, play minder for however long was required. Then he could return to his life and pretend none of this ever happened.

“It would be my honor to serve the royal family and her Highness.”

Wonwoo convinced himself that the disappointment in your eyes was wishful thinking.

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@ivehypnosis @spooky-goose1003

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littlelamy · 1 day ago

Note

Reader request with Rafe. Maybe she breaks down sobbing in the middle of sex and he has no idea why, thinking he hurt her. Her reasons aren’t bad. As someone that has only been with one person personally, and he was such a selfish uncaring lover, I legit think I would start sobbing in bed if someone was loving and caring towards me and treating me like the most precious thing. Love your writing <3

a/n: thank you so much for requesting...hope you like it!!⭐️

the room was drenched in golden light, the low hum of the bedside lamp the only sound as rafe’s hands roamed your body. his palms were warm against your skin, calloused but soft in their touch, tracing a path down your sides like he was discovering you for the first time. his lips followed, pressing kisses that started at your neck and trailed lower, his breath hot and deliberate.

“you okay?” he murmured, the deep rasp of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt, brushing the bare skin of your stomach as he paused to look at you.

your lips parted, and though you nodded, the tightness in your throat betrayed you. “yeah,” you whispered. “i’m okay.”

rafe studied your face, his brow furrowing slightly before he leaned down to kiss you again. it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate, but slow, sensual, the kind of kiss that set your skin alight. his tongue slid against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your lips as his hand moved lower, slipping between your legs.

“god, you’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and desire. his fingers stroked you gently, building heat that spread through your entire body, but there was nothing hurried about the way he moved. "my baby, so perfect." he almost purred, everything about him was deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of this—every second of you.

you arched into his touch, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he pressed his body closer to yours. his hips rocked against you, his movements careful but firm, and the pressure sent sparks of pleasure through your veins.

but that was the moment it all became too much.

your chest tightened, your breath hitching as the weight of everything crashed down at once. the tenderness, the patience, the care—it was everything you’d never known, everything you thought you didn’t deserve. and suddenly, the tears came.

a sob tore from your throat, raw and unbidden, cutting through the heated silence like a knife.

rafe froze instantly, his body going rigid above you as his eyes snapped to your face. “y/n?” his voice was sharp with concern, his hands pulling back like he was afraid he’d hurt you. “what—did i—did i hurt you?”

you shook your head, tears spilling freely now as you pressed a trembling hand to your face. “no,” you managed, your voice cracking. “no, you didn’t hurt me. i’m sorry, i—”

“hey, hey,” he interrupted, his hands hovering near your arms but not quite touching. his voice softened, though there was still a note of panic in it. “don’t apologize. just tell me what’s wrong. did i do something? did i push too far?”

you shook your head again, harder this time, your tears soaking into the pillow beneath you. “no, rafe. it’s not you. it’s… it’s me.”

his brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face as he searched your eyes for answers. “what do you mean? you’re crying, baby. i don’t know what to do.”

the raw vulnerability in his voice broke something inside you. you forced yourself to take a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you reached up to touch his face. “i’m crying because you’re too good to me,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

rafe blinked, clearly caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re too good to me,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve only ever been with one person before, and he… he didn’t care about me. not really. it was always about him—what he wanted, what he could take. i got used to that, and now… now you’re here, and you’re so kind and patient, and i don’t know how to handle it.”

his expression shifted then, his confusion melting into something softer, though there was an edge of anger in his jaw—anger directed not at you but at the person who had made you feel this way.

“y/n,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “that guy? he didn’t deserve you. not for a second. and i don’t care how long it takes, i’ll spend every moment proving to you that you’re worth everything. do you hear me?”

tears spilled down your cheeks again, but this time they weren’t born of pain. his words wrapped around you like a balm, soothing wounds you hadn’t realized were still bleeding.

“i don’t want to scare you off,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“scare me off?” rafe repeated, his tone incredulous. he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “y/n, you couldn’t scare me off if you tried. i just… i want you to feel safe with me. always.”

“i do,” you said quickly, your voice breaking with urgency. “i do feel safe. that’s why i’m crying, rafe. because i’ve never felt this before. no one’s ever… treated me like this before.”

his lips pressed to your forehead, lingering there as he exhaled deeply. “then we’ll go slow,” he murmured against your skin. “as slow as you need. or we can stop altogether. whatever you want, baby.”

“no,” you said firmly, your hands curling around his wrists to keep him close. “i don’t want to stop. i just… needed to tell you. needed you to know why i’m like this.”

his eyes searched yours for a long moment before he nodded, his lips curving into the softest smile. “okay,” he said simply. “but promise me, if you ever need to stop, you’ll tell me. no matter what.”

“i promise,” you whispered, your voice steadier now.

he kissed you again, but this time it was different. there was still care in the way his lips moved against yours, but now there was something deeper, something hungrier. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his hips rolled forward, the friction sending a gasp spilling from your lips.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed wet kisses to your skin. his body moved against yours in slow, deliberate thrusts, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough.

and this time, you let yourself feel it. you let yourself drown in the way he touched you, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. because for the first time in a long time, you believed that maybe—just maybe—you were.

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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.”

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.”

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice, he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments.

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else.

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve.

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using.

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well obviously something’s wrong.”

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?”

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not upset!”

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-”

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him.

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon.

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be.

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?”

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins.

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time.

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you.

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-”

“I didn’t get in.”

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke.

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock.

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?”

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!”

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has.

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand.

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation.

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say.

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?”

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds.

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?”

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.”

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive.

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest.

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to.

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you.

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you.

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed.

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?”

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving.

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.”

“Where?”

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace.

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.”

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for.

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified.

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.”

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home.

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers.

“You promise you’ll come home, right?”

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too.

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness.

“Anything.”

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.”

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did.

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.”

Frankie, Present

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point.

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings.

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you.

Well, he can’t think about you as much.

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him.

He let you take the first shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run.

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you.

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.”

“You barely run the mile in gym class.”

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.”

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you.

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to.

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans.

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day.

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement.

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.”

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings.

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.”

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.”

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.”

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).”

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past.

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible.

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him.

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer.

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school.

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too.

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school.

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble.

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed.

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to.

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him.

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage.

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment.

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him.

August 18th, 2006

Frankie,

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage.

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL.

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person!

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha).

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo.

From,

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line.

October 13th, 2009

Frankie,

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet.

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do.

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie.

Kenzie

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong.

February 4th, 2011

Hey,

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways.

I guess I’ll see you when I see you.

MacKenzie

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business.

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull.

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done?

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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jifloulette · 1 day ago

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sometimes, he can't help it but fight for your attention even if it means he's doing it against your pet cat . . .

who ? . . nagi seishiro ! words ? . . 642 !

oi.. y/n, stop cuddling yer cat and keep playin' with my hair.

nagi said the second you let go of his snow-like hair in order to hold your cat for a bit. it was more funny than it was cute, you knew your boyfriend loved your attention but you didn't think he'd fight for it against your cat! i mean, the cat was basically his child at this point, the two of you had been dating for a while now. hell, nagi once tried making choki play with the cat! so in order for your affection hungry lover to focus on his game as he laid on your lap, you had one hand on him and the other on your pet. you thought this would've solved the cries of nagi — instead, he kept pleading for you to have both of your hands on him. it was selfish, selfishly cute. nagi's touch starved personality is one of the reasons you love him so much besides his good looks. he always wanted you to either cuddle him, piggyback ride him, or play with his hair. you didn't listen to the begs of the man laying on your lap. even after he tried to make his tone sound more stern and serious — it only made you giggle due to the fact that his voice cracked as he tried doing so.

y/nnn, pls play with m'hair. i want you to play with it.

nagi said as he got up from your lap to push your cat away from you. it was a sight to see, it's the most your boyfriend has done just to get your attention — plus it was all because of a cat! not even another human being! you cat was already trying to scratch nagi to make him put her back down, but he couldn't care less. all he wants is to have all your attention on him and only him. it's only when you pull the white-haired boy down in order for him to stop is when he let go of the poor animal. when you finally play with his hair again, he goes soft and lays back down on your lap — continuing to play whatever shooter game was on his phone. then all of a sudden, your cat jumps on top of nagi, knocking his phone to the ground! thanks to nagi's fast reaction time, he got his phone safe and sound. though you did notice him glaring at your cat but before you could really take the look on his face in, he was already back to laying on you, except this time he did it on your chest.

i can't let that pesty cat get on you so i guess i needa do this..

this time, nagi took initiative and picked up both of your hands to put on top of his hair. you didn't resist though, you fully stroked his hair on purpose. before you knew it, he was already asleep on you. it's only been just 3 minutes, hasn't it? you weren't going to complain, you loved seeing your boyfriend snuggled up close to you as he went to dreamland. he enjoyed having you caress his messy hair, you enjoyed playing it the same. it was always moments like these where nagi just wanted time to stop, to just have you tousle his hair for all eternity. it was a self-centered thing to think about but really, he didn't care. as much as he loves your cat (he won't admit it to you though.), he really just wants you to focus on him the same way he does when he's playing video games. he's a selfish lover, he doesn't mind that — plus you loved that aspect of his personality anyways so why would he change? you knew better as his lover that that's what's best, after all!

©🇯🇮🇫🇱🇴🇺🇱🇪🇹🇹🇪, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x male reader #bllk x male reader #jinxed it up ! 𓆩♡𓆪 #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #bllk #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi x male reader #nagi seishiro x reader

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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Please, more Jazz 🙏🙏 it's one of my favourite storyline of yours, and I honestly love jazz so much, the nicknames are doing things to me 🫡

Don't feel pressured tho, take care of yourself. You're the best! 😋

I’m good. Just slow down when I write long form rather than these quick fics

Over It Now Pt 13

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Spreading out the blanket on the grass in the shade of the pin oak, he fidgets with the pillows he’d taken from the furniture on your porch. Satisfied, his attention turns back to your house. Watching your shadow moving around in the kitchen, as he heads back to the house and waits. When you finally open the door, you’ve got a tote bag in your fist as you awkwardly shuffle out the door with your crutches. Not even protesting when he reaches to pick you up and carry you across the grass to that pile of pillows.

• When he’d asked if you’d share a meal with him, it had seemed so silly to you. Knowing neither of you can eat what the other does, but he’d looked so serious when he asked. Not smiling like he’s teasing you and that’s what had made you agree. There’d been something real and vulnerable in that request. It’s chilly outside even with your jacket and you shiver as he settles you in the midst of what you’re certain is every decorative pillow and cushion that had been on your porch. “Thanks,” you say, reaching to touch his servos as he nudges a pillow closer and sets your crutches aside.

• “Surprised at how domestic I am, doll?” He asks, flashing a grin as he sits with a leg outstretched and the other drawn up, that little touch spreading warmth through him. Waiting until you unpack your strange smelling human food before reaching for his own energon cube.

• He’s sipping at that glowing goop, and you can see the mesh of his throat working as he swallows. Reminding you that even if he’s metal, he’s alive. It’s not like you haven’t known he wasn’t just a machine for a long time now, but it strikes you every now and then. “Just surprised you’re behaving,” you counter as you pick at your food, very aware of that visor flaring slightly. That he’s watching you eat with open curiosity to make you feel self conscious.

• “Nah.” Watching you shiver and huddle into your coat, he’s leaning forward. Picking you up plate and all, and settling you on his thigh against his frame as you inhale. “I have a reputation to maintain.” Servos lingering against you, he waits for you to get mad. But it’s your turn to surprise him by leaning into him. It’s only that he’s warmer than you are and he knows it, but that little show of trust throws him off balance.

• “The lying,” you say as you take a bite and he stiffens against you. Immediately on guard making you almost let it go. But that’s you, always unable to leave well enough alone. “You want to talk about it?”

• “Nothing to talk about.” He’s smiling still, but it feels brittle as one of his servos gently taps against your ribs. Wants you to let it go, don’t push. Don’t ruin this for him, because he just wanted to share a quiet moment with you. A little peace. Because the truth is that he doesn’t know how not to lie anymore. Playing spy, wearing a smiling, harmless face to hide how awful he really is underneath. Smiling instead of screaming at the things he’s been forced to do throughout the war. Things that haunt his recharge. That’s why he needs this, needs you. Your innocence reminds him of who he’d been and what he’d lost. And protecting you so you don’t end up broken and bitter like he is? It’s everything. “I’m just a liar, doll.”

#transformers x reader #jazz x reader #idw jazz

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solomonomenon · 2 days ago

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skz's first thought when they see an attractive woman

⚠️ for entertainment purposes only *based on tarot

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣

his mind goes into overdrive. he’s immediately hit with this rush of energy, like he’s ready to compete for her attention, but at the same time, he’s trying to play it cool. you know he’s imagining all the slick moves he could make, but there’s also a part of him that’s like, chill, don’t overthink it, just wait for the perfect moment. he’s caught in this inner tug-of-war between making a move right away and just soaking in the moment while plotting how to stand out.

𝙡𝙚𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬

he’s a mess inside, even if he looks calm on the outside. at first, he’s all smiles, thinking, she’s cute, I could totally vibe with her, but then doubt creeps in. he starts overthinking, maybe even comparing himself to the crowd around her. deep down, there’s this flicker of vulnerability, like he’s thinking, would she even notice me, though? he’d never show it, of course, but inside, it’s a mix of playful interest and a touch of heartbreak before he even says hello.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙣

he sees her, and bam—his brain goes wild. he’s immediately struck by her beauty, thinking she’s absolutely got it all. then his confident, intense side kicks in, and he’s analyzing her like, yeah, I know exactly how to charm her. but there’s also this darker, more primal side of him that’s like, she’s trouble, and I love it. he’s the type to admire her from afar while imagining all the bold, thrilling ways he could sweep her off her feet.

𝙝𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙣

his reaction is like a mix of dreamy and earnest. he spots her and immediately starts picturing some romantic, poetic scenario—like offering her a flower or writing her a song. but there’s also a playful, carefree side of him that’s like, what if I just walked up and said something totally random? he’s imagining all the sweet, heartfelt ways to grab her attention while also entertaining the idea of just being himself—charming, quirky, and maybe a little impulsive.

𝙝𝙖𝙣

he spots her and feels this pull, like wow, she’s something special, but then he’s all, nah, don’t get ahead of yourself. his thoughts start bouncing around—he’s wondering if she’d even notice him, imagining little scenarios where he tries to get her attention, but then he also kind of zones out, like, what’s the point? he’s intrigued but also keeps one foot out the door, just in case she’s too good to be true.

𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙭

he’s soft but lowkey deep about it. he sees her and instantly starts wondering about who she really is—like, what her story is, what she’s like when no one’s watching. there’s a part of him that feels fated, like maybe I was meant to see her, but instead of rushing in, he holds back, thinking, should I even approach her? he’s more reflective, imagining the what-ifs while staying in his own little dreamy bubble.

𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙢𝙞𝙣

his first thought is pure restraint. he sees her, and there’s this intense mental battle where he’s keeping his cool, telling himself, don’t get distracted. but let’s be real, she’s in his head now. he’s analyzing every detail, weighing whether it’s worth approaching her, and maybe even thinking, could she be a challenge? there’s a hint of a competitive edge, too, like he wouldn’t mind winning her over just to prove he could. but mostly, he’s locked in his thoughts, trying not to let her beauty throw him off his game.

𝙟𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣

he sees her and it’s like a spark of excitement lights up inside him. he’s immediately intrigued, admiring her beauty in this sweet yet curious way, while also imagining how she might react if he actually said something. there’s a playful, almost innocent vibe to his thoughts, like he’s thinking, what would she say if I walked up to her? he’s fascinated but also has this grounded side, imagining how he could subtly impress her without coming on too strong.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

#stray kids tarot #skz tarot #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids imagines

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vigilskeep · 1 day ago

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Do we know enough about how Crow succession and talonship works to believe it would be possible for Viago to take the seat of first talon either through some sort of non-violent coup in the absence of an heir to house Dellamorte or through marrying his kid (rook) off to Lucanis? Asking because I really don't know and would love to write something in that direction...and you seem a crow enthusiast...also love your blog

THEORETICALLY. yes.

we haven’t seen the talons shift directly, but they do shift, with regularity. house arainai was first talon in living memory and then fell slowly downwards to their current point where they’re struggling in and out of eight talon like a drowning man who keeps finding his way to air for just enough breath

the eight talons system, if you’ll allow me the tangent, is a really fascinating choice of fantasy hierarchy because it is such a clear hierarchy. among a bunch of ambitious killers whose prime goal is notoriety. you can only hold each position here if everyone below you is too afraid to do anything about it. what an anxiety trip it must be to decide whether to push someone down just one rung or to try to destroy them entirely; do you want to leave your rival with more opportunity or more motivation? but crow power is also all about theatre, all about perception—you are first or fifth or seventh talon primarily because everyone agrees that you are—so making a failed gambit for a higher talon has got to be incredibly damaging. which is a risky setup. it discourages attempts, but when someone does make an attempt, they will not be fucking around

anyway ignore all that we’re talking about soft takeovers today. okay so house dellamorte has a dying core family, theoretically. we’re making the assumption that no surviving young children from any branch of the family are mentioned because none exist. we have two heirs, neither very acceptable (my apologies to caterina’s delusions), both men in their 30s with (again, assumed) no children, and neither making much progress in that regard. (arguably dependent on player choice when it comes to lucanis, but since he can fall in love with and express his undying devotion to any kind of rook, we can at least say he’s not making that much effort.) within a generation the core family may die out. but that is a LONG TIME to wait. you still have to deal with the current ones, they’re pretty robust

lucanis is the current first talon as of the end of veilguard. can he be convinced to give this up and hand first talon over to someone better suited? i do believe it. mostly because i need to believe, for my mental health, that we can get him out of there. but he also now has a fairly bulky support system full of people who love him and will notice how bad this is going to be and convince him he deserves things like a life he doesn’t hate

as always your main problem is caterina. caterina is not going to allow a takeover, soft or otherwise, while she is still alive. caterina didn’t give up first talon when they murdered her children. there’s probably an emotional plot in here where she can be made to accept what she’s done to her family, far too late, but with time left to save just one by letting him go. on the other hand, i’ve also been experimenting with plots in my mind where she tries to quietly get rid of viago or romanced rook for having too much influence, with the added benefit on hopefully being able to steel & refocus lucanis on defending the house against whoever she frames. or plots where she blames lucanis trying to leave and not being the boy she remembers on his, you know, demonic possession, and attempts to forcibly remove or destroy spite. so. there’s potential ups and downs, here.

i don’t know how helpful rook de riva/lucanis is. most of your problem here is that everything that sets this ending up by giving the de rivas more power, and by giving any rook more power over lucanis, is something that in my mind would crank caterina’s wariness all the way up. house de riva surely has to move up from fifth already after the events of the game and look more like a contender, and i don’t think even caterina’s delusions about lucanis’ suitability for first talon could make her blind to the effect rook can obviously have. i definitely think she would delay on a marriage and have the power to do that

i think it’s worth saying that rook de riva at any point bringing up to lucanis the idea of handing things over to viago would be a hell of a conversation. i know lucanis never remotely suspects rook of any agenda and trusts them completely, and i know i agree with rook here, but you’ve GOT to see how “i love you and having power is bad for you and what you should do is hand it all over to my talon” sounds. i truly could not blame him for a bit of doubt here especially if caterina was around to suggest it

sorry this is a completely messy and disconnected response. i don’t even know if i had a point. you might have to wait for caterina to actually die? is that my point? i can see rook de riva/lucanis being helpful to ease a transition of power to house de riva then. i also think it’s worth pointing out that teia might be the better contender for all this out of the two lovebirds. what quietly makes teia probably the most dangerous talon in the crows, if she ever chose to be, is that everyone likes her. i’m not joking or trying to handwave crow politics, it’s a form of soft power and the result of her cultivated skill that nobody ever suspects teia of anything. even caterina treats her gently, and literally a talon who tried to murder all the others in tevinter nights was delaying murdering her because she was his favourite. if anyone can handle a gentler transition like what we’re talking about, maybe it’s more likely to be teia

#veilguard spoilers #i really dont like this ask response its a mess. sorry.#i just kept writing and it kept getting messier but i was too far in to restart. bon appetit #i didnt even get into how illario is still fucking alive #long post

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girl-named-matty · 2 days ago

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Little morning - Life after Hogwarts

synopsis ✧ Being a parent wasn't exactly easy and Sebastian found that out the hard way after the birth of his first son--who was now two-years-old and they were also expecting another. But regardless, he loved being a father. But the biggest problem with having a pregnant wife? A little toddler who just so happens to be a big mummy's boy that tries to wake her up at any chance he gets.

tags ✧ Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, like so much fluff you guys. Talks of pregnancy and babies (ofc), toddlers (thats a warning in itself haha), marriage, just all the domestic cutesy stuff we all love. .

word count ✧ 1.6k

a/n ✧ Just some random cute idea I got and I have been ITCHING to write Seb and Matty as parents. You've probably seen my other posts about their kids when they are older but I really wanted to do some of the younger stuff as well because the baby fever is strong rn and I need a outlet LOL.🥺 Hope you enjoy! xoxo

Sebastian Sallow severely underestimated how difficult being a parent would be and just how much sleep he would lose by being one as well. Sure, he knew kids were difficult, and his wife had told him countless stories of the kids she had nannied or worked with who were difficult, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real deal.

Little Eleazar was just past two years old by now, and yes, he was an abnormally well-behaved child; he still was a toddler, and well—toddlers did toddler things.

But despite the lack of sleep, the rough days, and the struggle of learning how to be a first-time parent, it was all worth it. They loved their little boy, and they loved him just the way he was.

And apparently it was “so worth” it enough that Matty was now pregnant with their second child. Or at least in Sebastian’s words, it was “so worth” having another. Matty had always wanted a couple of children, so she was up for having a second, but Sebastian was definitely the one who pushed the idea to have another.

Hence why she was now seven months pregnant and dealing with a toddler. But thankfully, Sebastian was a very hands-on and involved dad, and it made it all so much easier. He was an amazing husband and father. (She couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t the reason why she considered a second.)

It was nearing seven am when Sebastian, who was half asleep, heard the little pitter-patter of footsteps nearing the bedroom door. They had moved Ele into a different room a couple of months ago so he could get used to sleeping without Mum and Dad, especially once the new baby was around. But almost every morning, like clockwork, he managed to climb out of his crib and sneak off to Mum and Dad's room.

Sebastian, immediately knowing who it was, sat up and rubbed his eyes. The little footsteps stopped right at the door, which meant the door needed to be opened. Eleazar wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the door handle and turn it, so usually Sebastian would have to do it himself since he was the first one up.

He could practically hear his son pouting on the other side of the door, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake up Matty, who was still peacefully sleeping.

He walked over to the door before opening it, looking down at his son. “Well, good morning,” he said, his voice still gravelly.

Eleazar quickly put his hands up, babbling a little to let his dad know that he wanted to be picked up. Sebastian leaned down and grabbed the little boy up in his arms. “You’re two years old; you gotta start using your words, buddy.” He softly encouraged. But it seemed like Ele was too tired to speak anyway since he was rubbing his eyes the moment he was up in his father's arms.

Sebastian sat back down in bed, Eleazar placed in between him and Matty. “If you’re going to be here, you gotta go back to sleep.” He said, trailing his knuckle against his son's chubby cheeks. Of course, he was only saying this to try and get more sleep himself, but when did toddlers ever listen to anybody?

Instead, Eleazar turned around, seeing that his mother was in bed. “Mummy,” he babbled with a big smile, crawling over to where she was sleeping.

Sebastian’s heart almost jumped out of his chest as he had to quickly grab his son and pull him away from his mother in order for him not to wake her up. She definitely needed more sleep. “Wait, wait, no, we can’t go to Mummy right now, okay? Mummy is sleeping.” Sebastian tried to explain.

However, Eleazar did not like being told no. Especially when it came to his mummy. The corner of his lips curled down, forming a little frown, and by the way his little bottom lip quivered, Sebastian could quickly tell that he was going to start crying.

Panicking a little more, Sebastian quickly grabbed the little boy up in his arms. “Hey, hey, it's okay.” He soothed. “We just can’t wake up Mummy right now; she’s resting.”

He knew Eleazar couldn’t understand a lick of what he was saying, but he hoped the tone of his voice would help calm him down. “Mummy is very tired, and she has little brother or sister to deal with too, okay?” He continued. “I can assure you that definitely isn’t easy.” He half mumbled under his breath with a chuckle. But that was more for his own amusement than an explanation.

Ele didn’t cry, but he looked up at his father with his big blue eyes that he had inherited from his mother, a pout still on his face. “Mummy.” He repeated, this time more determined.

Sebastian sighed, shifting to where he was now lying down with the child in his arms. “Mummy is asleep. Which is what you should be doing right now too. You’re still so young to be waking up this early.”

“No.”

Sebastian sighed again. He hated the fact that usually one of the first five words for children was usually no. It was helpful when they could communicate what they wanted, but it also happened to become their favorite word very quickly. Saying no to everything mummy or daddy needed them to do.

“Yes.”

“Mm-hm.” Eleazar shook his head, clearly conveying that he was saying no.

“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckled, pinching his son's cheeks.

But luckily for the both of them, Matty shifted a little, signaling that she was indeed finally awake. Ele quickly looked behind him, seeing his mother begin to wake up. A big smile instantly appeared on his face, and he slipped out of his dad's arms and immediately crawled over to his mother. He was a big mummy’s boy and always wanted to be with her.

When Matty felt two little hands on her arms, she chuckled, opening her eyes. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said sweetly, the sleep still obvious in her voice.

Eleazar immediately plopped his full body weight onto his mother, giving her a big hug. She laughed, giving him a hug back before sitting up. She looked over at Sebastian and then back down to her son. “Something tells me you’ve been giving your father a little bit of a hard time.” She said, poking her son's little tummy.

“I’ll say,” Sebastian muttered. “Little bugger tried to wake you up the moment he got into bed.”

Matty smiled. “He just loves his mummy,” she cooed, shifting little Ele so she could have him comfortably against her.

Raising a toddler and being pregnant definitely wasn’t easy, but to Matty, it was worth it in the long run. Not all mornings did she wake up as nicely as she did now, but these mornings definitely helped and made up for the bad days.

“Well, thank you for letting me sleep in a little longer.” She said to Sebastian before leaning in for a quick good morning kiss from him. Sebastian smiled into the kiss, enjoying the attention from his wife. Sometimes that was scarce between work and raising a baby, so he was always loving any attention he got from her.

Meanwhile, little Ele was looking at his mother's belly, still wondering what on earth was going on there. It started to frustrate him that he could no longer sit on his mummy’s lap, but he slightly understood the concept of having another new little sibling that was seemingly “in mummy’s tummy” and that it was a baby.

Matty looked down and chuckled. “Say hi to the baby, Ele.” She urged.

Eleazar didn’t say anything, but he did wave, thinking that his little brother or sister could see him do so. Matty giggled a little bit at her son's expression, and she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “In just a little bit you’ll have a new brother or sister, and it’s gonna be sooo fun,” she said.

“Sleepless nights and screaming babies are an interesting thing to consider fun.” Sebastian joked sarcastically.

“Remind me whose idea it was to have a second?” Matty said, raising her brow at her husband. She knew he was just joking, but she did like to poke fun at him because, after all, it was his idea to have another baby once Eleazar was a little older.

“It was mine, and I’ll totally own up to that.” He chuckled, pulling his wife close to him. “And I can’t wait to have another. Anything from you is a complete blessing, and I’m lucky to have you and our children.”

Matty smiled and leaned her head against his chest. She had married the right man, that’s for sure. And boy did she love him.

“I hope it’s a girl,” Sebastian mumbled into her neck.

“Don’t want another little boy?” She chuckled, looking at him with a raised brow.

Sebastian shrugged. “I’ll be happy either way. I just want a healthy baby. But since we have a boy already, I think it’d be nice to have a sweet little girl. Beautiful and intelligent, just like her mother.” He said, giving Matty a little squeeze.

“And here I thought you wanted a little mini-you.” Matty said.

“Oh trust me, I do.” Sebastian replied. “But who's to say that a little girl can’t be my mini-me? We can get into all sorts of trouble together.”

“Mhm, right. Not on my watch.” Matty joked with a laugh.

“Worth a shot.” Sebastian grinned.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you so much for reading! 🥺❤️

#hogwarts legacy #hl #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #mc #Matty Ambrose #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Hogwarts legacy fanfiction #Ambrollow #fankids #fan child

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karaeilishh · 2 days ago

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have you ever tried this one?

dom!sabrina carpenter x sub!fem!reader

warnings: smut, strap, oral, degradation?, mommy kink, hella teasing

a/n - some of you wanted a switch!sabrina and i’m gonna write for her later, but for now just enjoy sucking her strap

inglewood was a nondescript town you always wanted to see. see with your girlfriend, holding hands and entwining your fingers. so when you found out that sabrina will be performing in this town in the future, you jumped up excitedly, throwing your arms around her neck and muttering something like, “you’re the best girlfriend ever!”

but here you are, and the days leading up to her concert were too busy with preparation, for you and sabrina to get out of the hotel to go to a restaurant or just take a leisurely stroll around the city together. all you had now were quick kisses before she had to go on stage again and soft cuddles before a three-hour nap and an empty bed the next morning.

you missed sabrina so much. her kisses on your skin, her hands on your body, her sweet voice when she softly moans your name in your ear, her warmth, your little intimate moments, you missed her all. and most of all, the moments when she took control. damn, you love it.

"come on baby…" no matter how little time you spent together, you were grateful to be with your girlfriend during her tour. you could always see her and catch the air kisses she blew you while her makeup artist worked on her makeup. you loved the moments when in a huge crowd, her eyes were glued to you for a few seconds. just a few seconds, but her mind was definitely constantly around you. you knew that no matter how many people she looked at during each concert, eventually her eyes would return to you. and her hands too. at night.

you swallowed hard when you saw sabrina's smile on the big screen at the beginning of ‘juno’. oh, that smile was just for you. you, like all the thousands of fans next to you, could only guess what pose she would show now and it really made you nervous. you needed her so much that you only had to think about it to get excited.

your vision is blurry as she runs to the edge of the stage. your stomach dropped as she knelt down. your mouth went dry as she made those movements with the microphone. sabrina managed to throw you a quick dirty look before continuing to sing, but fuck, you didn’t hear her anymore. you couldn’t hear anything except the frantic beating of your heart. you just need to kneel in front of her and…

“sabrina…” you have no idea how you ended up in a black tinted audi while her driver was driving you to the hotel. sabrina giggled and drew patterns with her manicured fingers on the inside of your thigh, teasing and tickling your milky skin. you instinctively spread your legs, begging her to go further, but she just adjusts your cute black dress that she picked for you by herself, making your pussy literally cry. her hands are no longer on your body when the driver asks her something related to the show. it was torture. "you're acting like a little slut, it's so sweet"

your breath hitched when she whispered those words in your ear. sabrina had always been such a tease, and you kind of got used to it, but now, when you desperately needed her inside you, there was nothing funny about it. now, when she ran her warm tongue over the pulse point on your neck, you thought you would die because of her. for her. for her pleasure, anything, just to get you alone sooner.

“please, brina don’t play with me…�� you whine softly into her ear, praying she’ll stop teasing you while her driver talks to your girlfriend, apparently not even noticing that she’s not listening to him anymore, caught up in you and your desperation for her. she giggles sweetly as her hand goes back between your legs, filling the empty space. “what did you say, princess?”

you open your mouth to answer her, but the only thing that comes out is something between a scream and a moan as she presses her fingers harshly against your clit. your face flushes red as the man in the driver’s seat’s gaze shifts to you. “are you okay, ma’am?”

sabrina looks at you so damn innocently it makes your blood boil. “are you okay, ma’am?” the sweet way she says it, the mocking way, it makes you squeeze her hand between your legs. you feel her rings scratching your skin. your voice didn't sound as confident as you'd like. "y-yeah…"

"good girl… keep quiet" yes, mommy.

“sabrina, please…” you whine as she presses kisses and bites to your neck while her hands explore every inch of your body. she told you to take your panties off, just so you could both see your arousal dripping down your thighs. your hands claw at the wall sabrina had you pinned against. this girl was petite, but you were so weak because of her. the fact that she was still wearing high heels made her tower slightly over you, and it was sexy. “please what, princess?”

her whispers against your skin made tears roll down your cheeks. so desperate, but sabrina just smirked, tearing her mouth away from your neck. she looked into your eyes, tilting her head to the side as if studying every emotion on your face. wasn’t it obvious? "and one more thing, it's not sabrina tonight"

you swallow hard, immediately realizing what she means. thank god you took off your heels, because she would have definitely made you fall to the floor. "please, i need you to fuck me…" you look her straight in the eyes as she chuckles at your words, her thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks. “mommy?”

"since you're so polite, princess, how could i refuse you?" sabrina winks at you, walking across the room to grab your favorite thing. you lick your lips as you watch her fasten it to her hips. you realize that you're about to be the one doing the pose sabrina did on the show. fuck.

"on your knees, princess" her pink strap fits perfectly on her body as she sways her hips, making her way to the bed. She sits on the edge, spreading her legs demonstratively. Encouraging you to crawl to her like a good puppy. You literally fall at her feet, holding her perfect hips with your hands.

“that’s my good girl. so obedient, mm?” she ran the tip of the strap over your lips, making you open your mouth in anticipation. you wanted to take it in your mouth, but she stopped you. “where’s your manners, sweet girl?” her voice was soft but serious. god, this girl driving you crazy.

“y-yes, im your obedient girl… please, can i suck it?” you squeeze her hips and give her a puppy look. sabrina smiles, enjoying you. she liked to keep such an obedient little girl a secret only for herself. she gathers your hair into a lazy ponytail, just like she did during the concert, bringing your head closer to her strap. "such a greedy, slutty little thing"

you didn't care what she said anymore as her cock filled your mouth. her hand guided your head and you felt the tip of her strap scrape the back of your throat. sabrina moans like she feels everything you do. your eyes as you look at her, the dirty sounds that come from between you and the silicone in your mouth, it all drives her crazy. both of you.

"that's my good girl…" sabrina grips your hair tighter, causing mild pain. you whine, taking more of her strap into your mouth, proving to her that you're her good girl. your drool drips down your chin as sabrina lets you pull your mouth away from her cock. you breathe heavily, looking somewhere at the floor. your arousal drips down your thighs.

"come here, princess. come on mommy's lap" sabrina helps you up and sits you on her thighs. your pussy touches the soft skin of her thigh and you can't help but start riding her. sabrina presses a kiss to your shoulder and then bites, making you sigh. "please mommy…"

it's going to be a long night.

#sabrina carpenter x you #sabrina carpenter x reader #sabrina carpenter fic #sabrina carpenter #sabrina carpenter x fem!reader #sabrina carpenter smut #sabrina carpenter oneshot #sabrina carpenter fanfiction #sabrina carpenter imagine #wlw

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celestie0 · 2 hours ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you.

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan.

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip.

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress.

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips.

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down.

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone.

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed.

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.”

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old.

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door.

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together.

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…”

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him.

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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note. going foward, i will be tagging only interacts because i want to make sure i'm tagging active readers! so taglist may change every chapter. i'm also getting rid of the extended taglist bc it's too much work for me lol, so only 50 tags per chapter. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs :) but as always let me know if/when your taglist preferences change; please do not ask me/pressure me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)

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notpixl · 3 days ago

Text

Realizing they’re in love with you! HSR Edition

(Ft. Robin, Acheron, Blackswan, Feixiao)

Y’all this came up to me while in class the voices told me to write this okay or else they’ll delete my accounts 🥲

Also, Beauty amidst Death will have an update. I’m just cringing at the fact that I decided leave it in strange place and am wondering how to continue it…

GN!Reader as usual. I want all sides to be happy

—————

———

—————

Robin

It’s… weird?

Well, she does get the usual fans declaring their love to her and all but somehow you’re different??? Like what-

Nowadays, whenever you two hug she’s always a blushing mess! And how come she just noticed that you’re… really, really close…

Too close…

There’s like this feeling on her stomach whenever you two are together. It doesn’t matter if it’s a call, a meetup, or just hanging out! It… It’s always there!

And whenever your name is mentioned her ears perk up! Like… what did do you to her?!

Eventually she’ll consult about these feelings with Sunday but he just chuckles it off, leaving her to guess what it is. (At least give her a hint!)

Though the answer would come knocking at her door

It was a simple gift

From you

There’s a little note etched into the cover

“For someone that means so much to me :)”

Opening it revealed a pretty little necklace

With a Dove as its Pendant

…come to think of it don’t they represent something?

She’s sure it was something about…

Peace…

Freedom…

And Love!

Wait…

Love…?

She slowly covers her face in embarrassment

Why… did it take her so long to figure this out?!

Aeons, she’s so dumb!

“All this time I was in love with them…”

Acheron

She’s met many people

Countless if you will

But why…?

Why is it that in this ever current flow of forgetting and remembering…

She just can’t seem to forget your lovely face?

She’ll rush to the libraries, read the news, heck, even threaten ask the greatest philosophers on what this feeling means!

Perhaps that Memokeeper knows something…?

Oh forget it!

She’ll tackle this head-on!

…by asking you herself.

“Ah… so that’s it is… Love.”

Black Swan

Hmm… what a quaint feeling she’s having when you’re around

Love, isn’t it?

She’s only seen and heard about it… but not once has she ever had the chance to have a feel…

…would you reciprocate these feeling as well?

Although that possibility comes in mind…

She’d rather hear it from you than face the harsh reality of rejection

Then again…

Would her as a whole be enough?

She’s never considered using her body to charm someone, let alone the person she has come to love…

Perhaps…

Perhaps you will

“The possibilities are endless… but I’ll never stop it from blooming.”

Feixiao

She’s rather perplexed

Wait- no… yeah no that actually works-

All it takes was one glance during her walk and now she’s stumbling on her way to work with this… strange feeling

There’s no point in running away, she already has Moze tracking you down

She’d talk to Jiaoqiu about this, only receiving a shrug and scraps of determination to “find it out herself.”

Cheeky Foxian…

Hmm…

Maybe she should ask from the source itself?

You lay in bed, already done with today’s schedule when you notice a shift in weight on your waist

Your eyes hesitate to open

“That’s not a good way to greet guests, isn’t it?”

Moving won’t help

“Look at me.”

You’re met with such a pair of eyes you can’t even begin to describe them

Scary? Beautiful? I think that shouldn’t be your main concern right now-

“I’ve got a question…”

Her grip tightens on your shoulders

“What did you do to me?”

—————

———

—————

Um… no comment down here

I hope you enjoyed/hated it

Asks are always open I guess if you want to force me to write and die and sob and and and a sn

#hsr x reader #feixiao x reader #acheron x reader #hsr robin x reader #blackswan x reader #GUYS I #BELIEVE IN NAIVE OPTIMISM #BECAUSE #THIS DRABBLE #IS ASS

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cryptic--writing · 3 days ago

Note

Hiya 👋🏻

It’s not really a kinktober request, but maybe you’ll consider doing it? No pressure though))

Ajaf era James, where he was drinking a lot. He understands that that affects him and turns him into a monster. He’s afraid he’s going to hurt reader, but he can’t break up with her for her safety, he loves her too much. So he comes up with stupid plan of making her break up with him because of his behavior? So he starts to undermine her efforts, e.g. the meals she cooks “could have been better”; makes fun of her simple 9-5 job , saying that’s she lucky she can have a relaxed job cause he’s earning most of the money and covering the bills. Although she’s hurt, she is staying as she loves him and thinks it’s the alcohol talking. James, realizing his plan doesn’t work, makes the final move: after they have sex one evening, he tells her that groupies do a much better job. That’s too much for her to take so she leaves him.

Unfortunately, after break up he feels even worse. Lars is worried so he interrogates him, and drunken James confesses. So Lars finds reader and locks her in the studio with James for them to reconcile (can we have smut here)?

Few weeks later when they start recording black album, James plays her a song (which will become nothing else matters), saying that it’s his way of telling everyone how much she means to him?

I’m sorry I can’t write short asks 🥲🥲🥹🥹

You are a great writer so I really hope this will become a story 🙏🏻

hihi!

and omg its here. took me 9 days to write it lmao but yeah

i cant explain how much I loved this idea pls marry me annon

also ~~~ means POV change (yes there is James and reader pov)

this fic has legit everything so I hope y'all enjoy it bc I busted my ass on it

some parts may be confusing idk

anyways

word count: 10623

warnings: mentions of achohol/drugs, death is mentioned, toxic relationship, break up, angst, smut, fluff, I'm prob forgetting smth

OR SO I THOUGHT (1989)

It had been a rough couple months with James. I felt determined to help him with his only worsening alcoholism, though he only continued to shut me out. I could feel the guilt when he was around, but it didn't make him stop. I tried, I really did, encouraging him to talk to me, to help me help him.

It was the same sad scene every night. James would come home, probably around midnight, and I couldn't sleep without him next to me, so I was up, all those hours, wondering as I tossed and turned as to where he might be. All I knew is I was in for a scary time when he got back, but I eventually grew tough skin to deal with this. Understood that this wasn't safe for me, or him, and I stressed that so, so much to him, but James never understood. Well, he never told me he did. Maybe there was more going on in his heart I never knew about. But, of course, I could never discover as he would always close himself off so much.

It was another day where the cycle would repeat. I woke up at three am to the sound of James stumbling in, mumbling something under his breath before he plopped down on the bed beside me, and I knew well enough to hold my tongue, to not provoke him. I pretended I was asleep, which he believed, trying, or at least I think he was trying, to snuggly up next to me, but he had his back to me. His arms weren't around me. Maybe that's all I yearn for now, to be loved and held.

Once I could finally go back to sleep, I was awoken not much later by the sound of my blaring alarm. It was seven am, time to get ready for work. James is a heavy sleeper, he never woke up from my alarms, though I always rushed to turn them off, just in case they would wake him. Slipping out of bed with a groan, I observed his sprawled out body, his shoes still on. I'm glad he made it to the bed this night, as others he would end up on the couch, or in his car, or somewhere I had no idea of.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, like a mother caring for her ill son on a school day. I slipped off his shoes, trying to get him more comfortable. I scurried towards the closet to grab my work clothes for the day before getting changed in the bathroom and rummaging through our medicine cabinet, finding some pain killers and then getting him a cold glass of water, leaving the items on our bedside table. I paused to watch over him as he slept, his slow, steady breaths that rose and fell from his chest. I loved him too much to change this lifestyle. I loved every part of him, and if this was part of him, then so be it. I'll help him get better. He loves every part of me, no matter what, right?

Or so I thought.

I slipped on my heels, walking into our messy kitchen, the sink filled with unwashed dishes James was supposed to do. But, he isn't well, so I must do them for him. After washing the dishes, I brewed coffee, poured myself a cup and left some for him and began to make breakfast. James had been off lately, different to how he already was off, but that slowly became part of our normal, so one new change did not stick out too much, but this one did. I don't know what it is. He just felt… lifeless, cold, I guess. I decided to make one of his favorite breakfast meals, a nice, warm and fluffy stack of pancakes with eggs and bacon, cooked just the way he liked it. I spent extra time trying to make it the best I had. I knew they would probably be cold by the time he woke up, but hopefully he'd appreciate my effort. I ate some eggs before scrambling for a notepad, getting a pen to write him a sweet good morning note, explaining I was at work, when I'd be home, how much I loved him, and where the other meds were if he needed them. I wrote these notes almost daily, but this one I made longer and more love filled. I figured he would want my love.

Or so I thought.

I came home around six pm, the evening traffic being worse than usual. Instead of seeing James' car out of the driveway and the house dark, he was still home. The soft sound of the TV buzzing was easy to hear as I unlocked the door, walking in to see him on the couch, leaning against the couch arm and holding his head up with his hand. He was too engrossed in whatever he was watching to nice me walk in, so I tried to have him notice my presence.

“Im back, Jamie,” I said softly to not startle him, my voice filled with love as I moved to sit next to him, he looked over at me, like a confused puppy. “How are you feeling?” I asked, gently stroking his back, though he moved from my touch.

“Oh, hi. Yeah, I'm fine. Busy right now, yeah?” He mumbled as a response as he resumed watching TV once more, brushing me off with his simple, cold words. I knew I had to respect his space and not probe at him, so I just nodded with a sigh and got up, slipping off my shoes and setting my bags down,

“Are you hungry?” I asked, digging through the fridge to get things to make dinner. He didn't answer. “James, are you hungry? I can make dinner,” I offered again, noticing the cleared plate that I had made him for breakfast, the note missing. I assumed he threw it away, just like the others. I never saw them in the trash cans, but after everything piles up, you can just assume. I heard James sigh from the couch, “Uh, yeah, sure, whatever. Breakfast was cold, so I threw most of it away anyways,” He admitted, and I felt a small ache in my heart. I thought he liked the dish since there was none left on his plate, but clearly he proved me different. Why I even put effort in these things, I don't know. THats a lie, I do. I love him, and want him to know it, to feel it. I should’ve been doing this as part of my own insecurities, but to make sure he knows I'm there for him, always.

I thought of what to make for dinner, seeing if he had eaten anything since breakfast, only finding empty beer bottles and a half eaten bag of chips. It was probably only the alcohol making him act like this. I decided to make steak with potatoes, something he normally liked and said I made pretty well. It was easy to make, and I know it was one of his favorites I made him, but normally I would wait for a bigger step in life, like celebrating something about the band, or something in my career, but I knew he deserved it still.

I finished after 45 minutes, preparing the plate to be gorgeous, something I wish I could hear from his lips for once. But, he loved me. I know he thinks I'm gorgeous, he wouldn't have to tell me. Right?

“Jamie, the food's ready, I made steak,” I said warmly with a smile, setting a dinner table for us. I didn't get a response, just a grunt as he stood from the couch and walked his near empty bottle of beer, finishing it off and grabbing another from the fridge. I sat at the table, waiting for him to come and join me. His eyes landed on the plate, pulling out the chair to sit down. I couldn't read his emotions, he didn't look too happy, but he didn't look mad. He just looked.. plain. James grabbed his fork and began to eat, the metal scraping against the porcelain plate, waiting for his nod of approval. It never came. He didn't talk, but not in a way like he was mad. He just didn't speak. But he didn't need to, he didn't need to say the things I knew already. I took a breath and began to eat, and it might've been one of the best I had cooked in awhile. Perfect tenderness, juiciness, seasoning, and cooked perfectly, something you could get at a restaurant, now in our home.

“What do you think, baby? I think it's pretty good, no?” I inquired, seeking the validation I craved from him. He just shrugged.

“It's fine, I guess. It could've been better.”

It shouldn't have hurt. It really shouldn't. He just didn't like the dinner I cooked. The dinner I poured my time into. The dinner I made was special. Special for him. But, what did I know? I doubt he meant it. That's why it definitely shouldn't have hurt. He was drinking. ITs just the alcohol making him act like this. He would never say something like that to me. Why did tears prick at my eyes. Why did it actually hurt?

“Oh, uhm…. I'm sorry, I'll do better next time, do you want me to make you something else..?” I choked out, fighting back my tears.

“No, don't waste your time making something mediocre, yeah?” James insisted, insulting me bitterly once again.

I took a shaky breath, another sting to my heart. Hes. Drunk. This can't be what he means, right?

Or so I thought.

“Alright, uh, do you wanna cuddle on the couch..? We can watch anything you want? Or not watch anything, just sit together.” I offered again, pleading to get love from my partner.

“I was probably gonna go to bed. You mind cleaning up?” He pushed me away again, and every word stung. I want him to see me, to notice me, just to love me. But I reminded myself again and again, he's drunk, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it. I'm just being sensitive and pathetic. Maybe it's just my hormones.

I nodded, forcing a smile, “Sure, yeah, go ahead and go to bed, I'll clean up and join you in a bit, ok?” I informed him and he just nodded and got up, walking to the bedroom, still carrying his battle with him. My eyes stung, and once he was out of sight, I felt tears streak my face, but I continued to fight them away. I quickly got up to clear James’ and my own plate, then cleaning the kitchen, washing everything with great care to keep it tidy.

I came into the bedroom, James half asleep under the sheets. His hair was astray as he slept near the edge, his limbs tight together. The now empty beer bottle sat on the nightstand, another reminder of James’ habits. I glanced around before getting changed into my sleep clothes, a nice little night dress James had gotten me for Valentines Day earlier that year. It was nice and pink with some fluffy pieces at the bottom and lace dancing across it. It flowed nicely and hugged my body in the right places, going down to a bit above my knees. It had some other pieces, like stockings and a garter. In reality, it was more so lingerie than a bed set. But, it was one of James’ favorites for me to wear. Maybe this would make him open up more, or just show me the love I'm craving. I crawled in beside him, though I doubt he noticed the weight accompanying him, trying to cuddle closer, pressing myself against his back.

“Jamie?” I asked softly, kissing the back of his head.

“Hm.” James answered in a sleepy tone, barely aware of my presence.

“You doing ok? You've been acting differently…” I kept a quiet tone, my hands gently running down his arms and back as I pondered on what may be hurting him so much.

He took a deep and large breath, sighing, “Yeah, I'm fine… why do you ask..?” James mumbled in response.

“Nothing, you just seem off, I guess,” I rushed out. I didn't want to upset him, but he just seemed so soft and sweet, something I hadn't seen from him awhile.

“Oh, well, alright then… love you..” He mumbled out, slowly succumbing to sleep after saying the words I knew were true.

Or so I thought.

The office today was exhausting. Absurdly exhausting. And infuriating. A stuck up and snotty boss whos full of himself ordering me around to do his mundane dirty work, my co workers giving me side glances of judgment for my more rushed than normal appearance, not having as much time this morning as I had to help James with yet another hangover, getting him to the bathroom in time before he painted our bed green in vomit, making him some foods to keep him comfortable and having to buy more pain killers, my 3rd trip this month, all before heading to work. All I wanted was to come home, sleep, relax, and be held by the love of my life.

As simple as an office job 9-5 may seem, how it is not. No one else wants to do their own work, always needing some kind of assistance, and of course, I none the wiser, agree to help them.

It was another late evening with heavy traffic, not allowing me to come home until seven, again. I had stopped at the market, grabbing food and other supplies we were running low on. And more beer.

The door to the house was locked, something that had been happening more and more as I came home, only growing worries on James' worsening habits, the idea of drugs coming to mind, but I tried to shake it from my head, just wanting a nice time at home.

I unlocked the door, the house quiet except for the soft strum of a guitar in James’ mini studio, which was just an extra bedroom we had turned into a spot for him to store his instruments and for his practeing. We hoped one day for it to become a nursery, a room for our future child.

I followed the music, the half open door allowing me to peek at James, hunched over one of his explorers, fiddling with the strings as he danced around the fretboard with his talented fingers. I smiled at the sweet sight, slowly entering the room.

“Whatcha working on?” I asked, announcing my arrival home. James looked up at me, at first a smile on his face, but he quickly dropped it. His actions only confused me further.

“Uhm, not much, just… a couple riffs and stuff for the new album..” He answered, still picking at the strings with something unreadable in his eyes.

I nodded, smiling at him, “It sounds good, I'm excited to hear it,” I responded before speaking again, “Work was so exhausting today, I don't know how I put up with it anymore,” I said with a laughy sigh, trying to lighten the statement.

James just shrugged. “I mean, I don't really see how a nine to five can really be that tiring,” He disputed, but his tone sounded unsure, shaky like how it did when we first met. But there was a force, an anger of some kind.

I was even more lost with his shift in attitude, “Well, what do you mean? You don't work one, you wouldn't know,” I argued back with more aggression than I meant.

“Yeah, I don't work one. Your job is light and relaxing feather work compared to the shit I do. You are out doing twelve hours a day for months on end at a studio, being out for a year just to tour and shit, you don't make anything working that job, I'm the one paying the bills with my money.” James spat, cold and bitter. His words rung in my ears, repeating each syllable like a painful stab. My brain scrambled for reasons to understand his reaction and response to my complaint of work.

James' piercing blue eyes still starred up and me, my mouth agape in shock. Why would he act like this? He loved me. He just told me he did the other week before we went to bed. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. What is wrong in his life that I don't know about, that he wont tell me about.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that might explain this behavior of his. Truly, anything that would help explain such a swift and sudden change in his mood, but deep down ZI knew, I was just looking for bottles, cans, cups, glasses, anything that would contain the fizzy and bitter liquid he loved. The only thing I could find was a half empty bottle, freshly opened next to the chair he sat in. That's it, that's why he's acting like this. He's just drunk. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it.

Or so I thought.

Even with my new found reasoning, his words still hurt a great amount, the pain struggling to leave. A simple insult, just telling me how I don't work as hard as him, that my job isn't as crucial as his. I took a breath, trying to control and reign in my emotions before I could meltdown in front of him for such a stupid reason. Drunken words, not filled or backed by any true thoughts. Right?

But they do say drunk words are sober thoughts.

“I- well,” I tried to speak, but I couldn't come up with the words. What would I say? I didn't want to make him any more upset than he seemed to be, but I didn't want to submit to him so easily, especially after such disrespect. But I knew better. I don't lash out, I keep him happy. We will work this out together, we have to.

“I'm just gonna go to bed,” I muttered under my breath, fighting back tears that needed to spill out, James rude comments only adding fuel to the fire that had been burning in me all day. Not a fire of anger, passion or desire, but a fire of hurt. Once I shut the bedroom door behind me silently, I broke. The bottle shattered, and my tears overflowed my face, covering my mouth as I cried, trying to calm myself down as I got ready for bed at such an early hour, even forgetting to make James something for dinner.

It was my day off, a relaxing Saturday I could use to have some me time, as James was gonna be out with the band all day as the brainstormed for the new album, which was still taking its baby steps into production, nowhere near any concept for songs yet. At Least that I knew of.

James had been really tense this week, and I had tried everything to get him to relax and cheer up. Taking him out to his favorite restaurants after I came home, making him home cooked meals, getting him gifts and all things. Though there was one thing I hadn't tried. Sex.

I spent all day dolling myself up, wanting to be as bare and beautiful as possible for James. I shaved everywhere, leaving not a single trace of hair anywhere except for my head,, of course. I scrubbed every nook and cranny of my body, putting on James’ favorite set we bought together, doing my makeup just the way he liked it, lighting the candles he got for my birthday, and dousing myself in his favorite perfume I owned. All the lights were out, except for the lowlights of the candles in the bedroom. I laid on the mattress, waiting for James to come home, hoping this would finally get him to unwind from his stress.

I heard James’ keys jingle in the door, and I could feel myself getting more and more excited for his arrival. This would be one of the few times I would have him sober, as when they worked on material they rarely drank or did anything crazy, thankfully. His shoes thudded on the wooden floors, a sigh escaping his lips as I heard him slowly walk towards the bedroom.

“Are you home?” He called out to me before approaching the bedroom door, taking in the sight of me and the room I had spent the evening preparing for this moment.

“Hey baby,” I mused with a smirk, looking up at him with loving eyes. His eyes met mine, looking warm for the first time in awhile.

“What's all this for?” He asked, still taking in the well decorated bedroom and my sexy form.

“Wanted to help you relax… you've been so stressed,” I replied, grabbing his hand to try and bring him closer, to get into the bed with me.

It didn't take much more conniving, and James had given in pretty quickly to my offer. He was being more loud than normal, probably because we hadn't had the chance to be intimate like this in awhile. I loved this so much. Well, I loved being close to James again. He wasn't hitting the right spots or focussing on pleasuring me much, but that's fine, he's the one who needed to relax anyways, and I have enough time on my hands if I wanted to please myself, I guess. It didn't take long for him to come, pulling out and painting himself on my abdomen and my breath labored, coming down from…. Well, not an orgasm, but being close to one. James was beat after that, and I don't blame him for that. He had been so busy recently, I was happy we just got to share a moment like this together again.

I laid close to him under the sheets as we both recovered, James already half asleep. I had his hand in mine, kissing each knuckle of his and more, pouting all of my love into that moment. I looked up, having felt James’ eyes on me for a while. I met his blues, and there was a slight guilt in them, a gestation and regret. But, it didn't last long as he blinked it all away, taking another breath.

“How are you feeling now? Did it make it any better?” I asked, my voice heavy with sleep as I lazily continued to press kisses to his hand.

“I mean, yeah, I guess… It wasn't like, amazing though… I've had better, normally the groupies can do a bit more than that, y’know?” James said cooly, acting as if the words he just said didn't mean anything and had no weight to them.

“What?” Was all I could muster out, the tears already filling my eyes as I tried to process all of this.

“You heard me, the groupies normally do better.”

The words came so normally from his mouth, as if he was just telling me the date and time. But no, he was comparing me to prostitutes, previous women he has slept with. I began to cry, not just out of hurt and sadness, but this time anger. How could he say something like that to me?

And then the worst part hit.

He was sober.

Something I would've wanted more than anything else just a few days ago is now what is causing this experience to be even worse than it is with the horrible comparison and insults James had spewn at me. He meant it. Alcohol was toying with his brain, making him into the aggravated man I had grown to know quite well over the years.

“Are… are you serious? After everything? I put myself through hell to deal with this, to go to work, to do EVERYTHING for you! I have tried so hard James. And Yet you still compare me to them?! Sluts with prices on their heads?!” I cried, anger and hurt filling the fire in my eyes, and I could swear I saw Jamw\es’ cold attitude falter for just a moment. Maybe it was what I was hoping for, that it was all an act, that he truly did love me deep down, but maybe he didn't. Maybe this is the truth I had been hiding from all these months.

James didn't res;ond, just sighing with a shrug.

That's what pushed me over the edge.

“Are you fucki ng serious? You're not even gonna try and fight for this? Get out of here! We're done. Since you don't appreciate anything I do for you nowadays, I don't want you in here anymore. Pack your shit and leave.” I cursed at him as I continued to sob, processing the moments that passed, feeling as if the earth was slowing, each second hitting me hard and heavy.

I could see a slight guilt in James’ eyes, and as much I wanted to believe it was true, I couldn't give it in myself to do that anymore. I couldn't keep living this lie. He nodded, staying silent as I cried, slipping on his clothes and grabbing some things he'd need for the night.

“I loved you because you loved me, or so I thought you loved me, truly you don't give a shit!” I called out again, hearing James breath hitch at my harsh words, but he just left. No goodbye, the final words spoken to us only filled with hate and hurt, though millions went unspoken.

— —- — —> A FEW MONTHS LATER…

Not a lot has happened since I broke up with James, but a lot has changed. Maybe for the better. I miss him terribly, but a lot of weight is off of my shoulders now. I'm no longer worrying about having to make elaborate meals for him, or to do everything in my power to make him happy as [possible, watching my words at all times to make sure I wont say anything that might upset him. It was a large change. The house is still cold like how it was with him, but its a different kind of cold. There is no warmth of another body. Its quiet, no more TV static and laughter or guitar. Work had only gotten more tiring, but I had recently gotten promoted, something I had wanted for a long, long time.

I haven't spoken to James since we broke up. I know he had come by the next day, as when he left that night he only took clothes to last him the night, and when I came home from work, all of his belongings were gone, and his spare key was left on the counter, all of his music gear out of the house, leaving me a now empty room, not to house his guitars, and no longer holding the hopes and dreams of a future child.

Or so I thought all of his stuff was gone.

I came home after work, the house dark and silent, turning on the lights before going into the former music room, which had now become my office for the time being, as I needed one for the promotion, to be able to have a comfortable spot where I could do other work tasks from home. I set down my purse, sitting in my computer chair and sliding off my heels. I saw something in the corner of my eye, something that somehow had never caught my eye all these months.

An ashtray, repurposed to hold James’ many guitar picks. It was behind a lamp that was in the corner of the room on an end table. There was more than just guitar pics, but one of his rings. Like the ones he always wore on stage, the cool reflective metal that shone brightly under the spotlight. I paused, only having gotten one heel off, so confused as to how I never noticed. I sat in this same chair, facing the same direction, taking my heels off the same each day. I quickly got the other off before walking towards the table, picking up the ashtray, having remnants of cigarette butts and ash, some of which covered the pics. There had to be at least 20 of those pics, I don't know how James could forget such a thing, along with one of his more favorite rings. He wore it when we met, but I never made the connection as to that being the reason he left it. I missed him, yes, but having these almost made it worse. Like the world was teasing me that he is gone, that I won't be able to be held by him again, because he doesnt love me anymore. How I still love him, I don't know. Part of me still wants to believe he never meant any of it, but the chances of that being true is slim now. But, I didn't have the heart to call him, to return them to him. He would have come to get them by now, right?

I picked up the cold metal, holding it in my hand before slipping it on my ring finger. It was too large, slipping off quite easily. I tried the next, my middle finger, and it fit well enough to not fall off. It felt so wrong to wear, but it made me feel closer to him. I hated it, but I loved it. A little piece of him to be with me always. ‘God, I sound like a wife mourning her husband who died in a war.’ Was all I could think to myself, setting back down the ash tray and taking off the ring before sitting back down in my office chair, trying to shake my head of the matter so I could focus on the important task at hand, work.

I spent about two hours on the assignment before finishing it among other things, now exhausted even further. I stumbled towards the bedroom, changing into my pajama pants and a sleep shirt. Since the break up, I have refused to wear or even look at the clothes sJames had bought me. I didn't feel any desire to wear those things now that I knew he would be the one to see me in them. I never really wanted to wear clothes like that, but knowing he liked it made me like it. Now that he's gone, so is that enjoyment. I layed down on the mattress, sinking down as it swallowed me and the day whole. I had gotten used to the loneliness of sleeping alone, even after having a body next to me for the last four years. Maybe it was an easier adjustment as towards the end it was like sleeping next to no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last few months are hard to describe. I can't explain it, I really can't. I've never been more lonely in my life, drowning all of my sorrows in the bitter bottles that wasted away each night and day. I've tried putting my energy elsewhere, focusing more on the band than I was earlier, trying to pour my emotions into guitar and lyrics, but nothing works. Nothing matches what I once had. What I threw away. What I ruined. Though, all my life, through all my struggles, there was one thing I learned.

Mask your emotions, hide your turmoil. It's something I had quickly gotten good at from a young age.

Or so I thought.

I went out for drinks with Lars to discuss lyrics and other parts of music for the record, as we normally had for our other productions and everything. We had another few weeks before we went into the studio, where we planned to record for many months, wanting this release to be the best we ever had.

Before I had even gone out to the bar with Lars, I had already had a few bars at home, or what I had tried to make into my home. It was a home, yeah, but it didn't feel homey. There was no warmth or touch to it to make it seem whimsical or joyful. I know I have a problem, but what is there I can do.

When I got there, Lars’s car was already outside, and I knew I was late by thirty minutes, having to build up the motivation to leave the house for a reason other than food, so trying to get up and socialize and talk about important stuff was not on my top choices to do.

I trudged in, my eyes darting around for the Danish, who was never that hard to find. And as I expected, I found him somewhat quickly, taking a seat next to him and ordering a drink for myself.

“Hey man, where the fock have you been? Been waiting here ages for ya,” Lars commented with his laugh, sipping on his own drink.

I just shrugged, “Sorry man, there was just…” I tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but none could come to mind. “Traffic, y’know, it gets bad around five or six, all those people getting off of work,” I explained, thinking I was an expert at this facade.

“Alright, whatever you say. Let's get to work now, yeah?” Lars tried to believe me, but it was clear he knew there was something more to what I said.

I just nodded, “Yeah,” I answered, and Lars took out his notepad where he already had some ideas for songs. The mask was as strong as stone, no way to see in.

Or so I thought.

Lars looked back to me, a thought popping back in his mind, “Traffic? There's normally not much in this area, I mean before you moved out of that place, shit, traffic was bad, but here? No way,” Lars questioned me, no longer believing a word I had said.

“Well, I guess it was just different today…” I muttered, “Let's just start now, leave it be,”. Lars agreed reluctantly, and soon we were sharing ideas sas I jotted down lyrics, Lars taking turns as we debated on the new project.

Of course, as we worked, we were drinking. Me more than him, and it was getting me tipsy, and then drunk. Normally we wouldn't get drunk during lyric writing, just a bit.. Wobbly, I guess. We were just reviewing the lyrics for the third song we were jotting up and I had ordered another drink.

“Jesus man, you only focused on drinking? We got shit to do!” Lars complained to me, and I just shrugged. “Sorry, got my priorities here…” I joked, and Lars only gave a pity laugh.

“Is something up? You've been acting weird as hell for the last few months. We barely see you anymore, and when we do, you're late.” He informed me firmly, clearly not wanting to put up with my demeanor much longer.

“I'm fine, didn't I already tell you that?” I responded, and at this point I just wanted to go home. “Well, you can tell me it a million fuckin’ times and that doesnyt mean Ill believe you,” He rebuttled, and I sighed. “So, what's up with you?”

I didn't want to answer, well sober me would've deflected. But drunk me? He doesn't have much of a filter. Who does when they're drunk anyways?

“Nothings up with me, just dealing with shit…” I answered, taking another sip of my drink.

“Ok, well dealing with what?”

“The breakup, and everything,” I answered, my eyes avoiding Lars’s own.

“Ohh, yeah, I see. What happened anyways? You never went into detail, just saying she kicked you out in the middle of the night. The fuck did you do to her?” He laughed, but the sting of the memories still remained.

“I.. well, I told her she was a shit cook, lazy, didnt work as hard me, and that groupies fuck better,” I admitted. Lars' face changed from a small smile to a look of shock.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah”

“What would make you say something like that?! That's totally messed up!” I knew this would be shocking, especially coming from me to say something like that. But I didn't expect him to be this shocked.

“No, I did it for a reason, I'm not just some asshole! I didn't want to break up with her, and I didnt want her to break up with me, but I knew I had to get her to break up with me. I keep drinking, and it makes me into… I don't know, I'm a different person and I don't want to hurt her. The only option was to force her to break up with me.” I tried to explain, but Lars was quick to respond.

“Only option?! Have you heard of rehab? Getting help? Did she just let you waste away?”

“I didn't want to go to rehab either, and no, she did try to help, but I don't want help…” It was getting embarrassing at this point, showing how weak I had become.

“James, not everything is about what you want! There's things you need to do, but you don't want to. Those are just as important.” He paused, hoping my worlds would process through me as he thought of an idea. “How about this, clean up your act a bit and I'll get her back over here and you can go back to paradise, alright?” Lars offered and I perked up a bit.

“How the hell do you expect her to come back to me after all of that?”

“I never said she'd come back to you, I said I can get her over here, make you guys talk or something.” He corrected me, and I just rolled my eyes.

“Well how are you gonna get her to come here? She probably hates me at this point,”

“I have my ways, we were closer friends than you probably remember,” Lars’ words didn't help. He could never explain his plan, and that's what always ticked me off about him.

“Fine, whatever, work your midget magic or something,” I muttered under my breath.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Nothing, nothing, just do whatever it is, alright?”

“Fine.”

— — — — > A WEEK LATER…

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Time moves slow these days. But not in a bad way, it was nice that life was hitting the breaks a bit instead of the pedal. Though, that joy wouldn't last long.

I sat in my office chair at work, working on some papers my boss had handed me a few minutes ago. He was giving me stack after stack after stack of papers today, all coming with my promotion I got a bit back. More money means more work, and more work means more money, so I guess it isn't all too bad in the long run. I glanced up from my paper, eyeing the now double repurposed ashtray, one being made for the intents of cigarette butts, then guitar pics, and now it held my keys and some other trinkets, including one singular guitar pic of James, one of his favorites.

I was startled out of my thoughts by hearing the office phone ring, quickly reaching to grab it, assuming it was a customer call.

“Hi, this is Capital Advisors, how can I help you?” I offered in a cheery tone, but the voice I heard response was not what I had expected.

“Hey man, look, it's Lars, something happened to James, you mind heading down to the studio?”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sure, Lars and I were close, but we haven't talked much since James and I’s break up. My words caught in my throat, processing the second half. “Something happened to James? What happened? Is he ok?” Even though he proved himself worthy of a break up, I still couldn't shake my love and worry for him.

“Uhhhh, yeah, no, sure he's fine, but you just needa come to the studio?” Lars rambled, not sure how to keep up his lie.

“Ok, yeah, of course, when do I need to be there?” My mind was racing, Lars wasn't being direct with what happened, so my mind could only think of the worst. He always poland things off to make them not seem as bad as they were. What if James fell and hurt himself? Overdosed on something? Only darker thoughts hit my mind.

“Like, now, this can't wait,” Lars demanded, and I had no choice but to agree.

“Yeah, I will be there as soon as I can, ok? Tell him I’ll be there soon, I don't want him to worry,” I gave in and then Lars thanked me and hung up.

Now I don't know what to do. My boss wasn't the type of person to just let me leave whenever I want, and I had already promised to Lars I would be there immediately. Though, my worries got the best of me and I quickly began to gather my stuff together. I grabbed my keys and my purse, quickly heading to my boss's office.

I always hated going in here, it was freezing since the AC was always blasted, and it reeked of musty air freshener. I gently knocked on the door before I heard his baritone voice respond, telling me to come in. I entered, seeing him sitting there, filing papers.

“Can I help you?” He said in a monotone voice, opening and shutting cabinets.

“Yes, I need to leave, like right now. ITs an emergency, family matter,” I tried to briefly explain, but it didn't take long for him to come up with a new response.

“Emergency? Of what? Is someone dying?” His eyes looked up from his papers, meeting mine as he waited for an answer.

“I… Well, I don't know,” I muttered, and it was true, I really didn't. With Lars’ vagueness, I tru;y didn't have a reason to not assume James was already on his deathbed.

“How can you not know?” He questioned me as if I was stupid, then noticing my pale and shaky look of true worry, “Fine, yes, you can go, but you're leaving three hours early. I want you working those hours back tomorrow. Understood?” He finally made an offer, and I quickly accepted without hesitation.

“Yes, thank you, and I'm sorry,” I responded with a smile and a nod, quickly leaving the office and getting to my car as fast as possible. Lars never specified where exactly the studio was, but I had been there a few times with James to hear them practice and record. I did my best to remember the way there, speeding in some places and having to make a couple U turns to figure out the exact spot. The whole time my head was buzzing, I could not think of one normal reason as to why James would want me there. He clearly didn’t like me much towards the end, even though I still like to think he never meant it and that it was only the alcohol talking, but I was probably wrong. Why did I still care so much after being so wrongfully disrespected? Part of me still loved him. Still wanted to wake up next to him every morning, hear the faint strumming of a guitar whenever I came home from work. Now those days were gone, and never looked like they would return. I still worried for the worst for James, endless horrid possibilities arising in my brain, all trying to piece the puzzle together.

When I finally pulled up, I saw two other cars out in front, not seeing James’ car, assuming Lars gave him a ride and KIrk giving Jason one. No cop cars or ambulances or fire trucks, so he isn't dying, or maybe they already left. Maybe I was too late?

I quickly got out of the car, almost running to the studio door, knocking until Lars came and opened it for me.

“Hey! There you are, took ya long eno-” Lars was quickly cut off by my own anxieties.

“Where is he? Is he ok? Was I not fast enough?” I quickly voiced out, my eyes darting around the inside and searching for him.

“Yeah, relax. He's fine. He's inside-”

“If he's fine then why did you make me come here from work?! I thought he was dying or something crazy,” I cut him off, questioning his efforts.

“No, none of that, you worry too much. He just wants to talk with you,” Lars answered, and my previous worries and a new suspicion grew in me.

“Just want to talk? Last time I talked with him he was critiquing me! He hates me! He doesn't want anything to do with me!” I voiced the feelings that had been clawing at me for months, never having anyone to tell them to.

“Or so you think. Look, just talk to him, that's all this is, ok?” Lars grew tired of my attitude and clearly I would have to give in soon.

“I want to, I want to talk to him, but I doubt he wants to talk to me,” I responded, trying to further explain my hesitations.

“I just told you that he wants to talk to you! Go in there, please!” Lars pleaded with me, and I sighed, finally agreeing.

“Ok, ok, I will,” I answered, beginning to head into the studio.

“Thank you! He's just down the hall, in that room with the sound equipment and everything,” Lars informed me, and I followed him, seeing James hunched over a table, scribbling down on a piece of paper. My heart was racing now. I hadn't seen him since that night. I didn't know what I would say to him, I was worried what he would say to me.

Then he looked up at me.

His cold, piercing blue eyes, a newfound softness in them as our eyes met. I avoided his eyes, but felt his lingering on me. Lars guided me in, shutting the door behind himself, leaving us alone. I was unsure of what to say, my eyes lingering on the floor, hearing James set down his pen.

“Uh… hi…” He started, probably just as unsure as I was.

“Hi,” I responded back shyly, avoiding his gaze, though I could still feel his own on me. The sound of footsteps approached me, instantly recognizing them as James’, and then I heard a click. Lars had locked us in here, now forced to talk.

“I.. I'm sorry, I really am,” He mumbled, and I looked up at him, seeing a true guilt in his eyes, “I wish I didn't do it, that I didn't say those things, that I didn't make you hurt so much like that… I should’ve been much more, well, mature about it. I feel like shit for everything,” James explained to me, but this only caused me to have more and more questions.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice still a hushed whisper as a wave of various emotions crashed down on me. “I had reasons for what I did, I just wish I went about it differently. I wish I had listened to you when you had offered me help. I didn't want to hurt you with my habits, and I couldn't break up with you, I didn't want to be the one to do that, so… so I tried to make you break up with me, and you did. Everything I said, it was a lie. I never meant it. You're a great cook, you work hard, you're just… you're amazing, you're too good for me.” James confessed, and I could feel a bit of the cold melt away, though still a hurt in my heart.

“Then why make me come and tell me all of this? This would only pour salt in that wound, no?” I was still confused at why he would make such an effort, but I still found it touching.

“Because I still love you. I want things back the way they were. I swear on everything, I've changed. I miss you more than anything-” I cut him off with a sweet kiss to his lips, and he melted into me, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting and loving embrace.

After James pulled away, he looked me in my eyes, “How could you forgive me for saying all of that to you?” He began, “Id think you would just… hate me, I was a total jerk,”

“Or so you'd think. I still love you and miss you more than you could imagine,” I responded with a small smile, and James matched mine, kissing me again. “Can… can I show you how much I've missed you?” James asked in a mumbled tone, clearly a bit embarrassed. My cheeks heated up at his offer and I giggled, nodding as our lips met a third time, a new hunger and desire now displayed. Slowly, he walked me to the table until I had backed up into it, his hands trailing up my sides until we broke away, his lips now going down my neck, eliciting a needy whine from the back of my throat, my hands pulling him closer, snaking under his shirt to trace his skin.

James’s fingers slipped under my shirt, working to get it off of my head, leaving my neck for only a second to remove the fabric before attaching himself to my sensitive flesh, feeling him suck and nibble, definitely leaving bruises. He gave a more harsh bite, causing me to whimper, then soothing it over with his tongue before pulling away. Soon his gaze focused on my breasts, still confined with my bra. His eyes met mine again, “Can I take it off?” He asked ,already reaching around my back to work on the clasp, which had become an easy task for him. I nodded, and soon the garment was now on the floor with my shirt. The cold air caused my nipples to erect immediately, and James’ eyes were locked on them, cupping the in his hands as he squeezed them and pinched at my nipples, making me make high needy sounds, causing him to smirk, kissing around the soft flesh, teasing me with every movement he made.

I began to claw at his shirt, trying to take it off of him, so he reluctantly pulled away from my chest, removing his own shirt, giving me a view I had missed more than I care to admit. My eyes dragged slowly over the newly exposed skin, and his lips crashed down on mine again, pushing me back so far I was now laying down on the table, the cold wood causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. I tugged at James’ pants, feeling myself grow wetter at the moment. He slipped down his pants, leaving him in only his boxers as you pulled down my skirt, leaving me in only my panties. I could see the bulge in his final layer grow at the new sight, and then he got on his knees, gripping the sides of my aunties and taking them off in a swift motion, leaving my glistening folds exposed to his hungry view.. His warm lips teased my thighs, kissing around the area I needed him most, making me writhe with desire. Eventually, his tongue found my center, giving it soft licks at first, parting my folds with his tongue. A moan escaped my throat, and James took it as his sign to keep going, burying his face between my thighs. He licked and sucked at my hole, probing at it with his tongue as his nose nudged my sensitive clit. My hand snaked into his long blonde locks, gripping his scalp tightly as I pulled him closer. I could hear him groan into my flesh, causing a vibration to coarse through me, making me moan again as I came closer to my first high. Eventually James moved further up, giving more attention to my aching clit, giving it gentle licks first to tease me before sucking it into his mouth, biting it softly, making me squeal from his ministrations.

“Jamei, fuck, Im gonna cum,” I whined out, tugging on hair harder, causing him to let out another low groan as he continued to feast on me. “Cum for me pretty girl,” He mumbled into my flesh, and like that my orgasm washed over me, a breathy moan falling my lips, feeling my core pulsate , releasing my grip on James’ head, allowing him to pull back.

James chin was drenched in my essence and his spit, some caught in his facial hair, wiping it off on the back of his hand. I dont think Ive seen anything hotter. His eyes landed on mine, and I noticed a lustful darkness in them, kissing me again as our tongues tangled in a battle for dominance, James winning in the end, and soon his boxers were on the ground, both of us bare in front of each other again.

JAmes broke the kiss, trailing his lips down my neck, leaving new hickeys and bruises in his wake as they now peppered my neck. I felt his tip at my entrance and I squirmed, his lips leaving my bruised flesh. “You ready, baby?” He asked, taking my hand in his, and I nodded, feeling him slowly push into me, the stretching sensation stinging my insides, a delicious stretch my body had missed as I tried to accommodate his size. Once he was to the hilt, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, squeezing his hand tightly.

I gave him a look of a need, and he gook note, slowly beginning to pump his hips, untwining our fingers as he positioned himself with better support, placing his arms on either side of my head. With every thrust a moan escaped my throat, tears pricking at my eyes from the pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so tight… haven't had anything since me, hmmm?” James whispered to me, and I could only whine in response, his calloused fingers sneaking down to my clit, brushing the bud lightly with the pad of thumb, and I began to squirm around his cock, feeling his thrusts increase with speed, more grunts falling from James.

The table I laid on creaked beneath from our frevorus movements of need, completely forgetting we were still in the studio. The band was still in that studio. This room wasn't for recording, very little sound blockers. Anyone in this building could hear us. The thought didn't pass my mind once throughout the whole experience, only focused and becoming closer with James once again, not just in body, but in our connection reforming with every minstration from either of us.

James' thrusts grew relentless, only increasing the pleasure for both of us as he chased his own high, helping me with mine, continuing to toy with and stroke my clit, moans and whines leaving me with any movement he made. “So pretty like this, baby, taking me so well,” He groaned, his small grunts and moans filling my ears like sweet music. I began to buck my hips, knowing that my orgasm was approaching, James not far behind, his vocal expression of pleasure growing in number and volume, mixing with my own mewls and moans, that and the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, my nails clawing his back.

My eyes began to roll back, James’ name falling from my lips a thousand times as my legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him deeper to finally bring me to edge. James noticed and thrusted harder, hitting that special spot with every movement, making me have to cover my mouth with my hand, the unholy noises escaping me growing too loud for us to stay secret. James disapproved, “Mmmm, don't do that baby, let me hear you cum around my cock,” He cooed, and that was all the encouragement I needed to come over the edge, a high pitched moan coming from me, feeling my walls clamp down on James’ length, pulsating as waves of pleasure cascaded over me. James helped me ride through it, still rubbing my sensitive nub, his thrusts losing rhythm as he approached his own high.

“Fuck, sweetie, gonna cum inside you…” He grunted, his pace increasing as his movement became erratic with pleasure. “Take it, take it like a good girl, baby,” He moaned, his load shooting deep inside of me and painting my walls white with his seed. His hips sputtered, bucking into me as he collapsed on top of me, our sweaty foreheads clinging together as we both recovered from the intense orgasms, trying to catch our breath. James pressed soft, lazy kisses around my face, reminding me how much he loved me and how he'd never hurt me again if given the chance.

After a moment, we both had come down from our highs, James’ softening member sliding out of me with a pop. He looked down at the mess between my thighs, all evidence of our pleasure with each other. “Youre fuckin’ perfect,” He muttered, his eyes dragging over me.

“Are the groupies still better?” I teased him, remembering our bickering that was one real, or so I thought it was real fighting.

“Oh, hell no, they don't stand a chance to this,” He responded with a smile, and I smiled back.

We cleaned up, slipping back on our clothes so we were somewhat presentable. Only now did the realization that we were never once alone in this studio and the rest of the band was outside had hit me. A wave of embarrassment flowed over me, my cheeks flushing even more than they were before given the previous activities. Both James and I looked quite disheveled, our hair a mess and clothes wrinkled. I tried to shake off whatever nervousness I had in me as James put his arm around me. We went to reach for the door handle, only to find out it was still locked. Now it would be even more awkward. James knocked on the door from the inside, calling out to Lars, or anyone else in the studio.

“Guys? Lars? Can someone unlock the door?” And it wasn't long before footsteps approached, hearing a key click as the door swung open, Lars, more curious than ever eyed both my own and James’ appearance, noticing the hickeys, the slight wobble I gave, and any other imperfections that we might have displayed.

“I take it you two worked things out?”

— — — — > A FEW WEEKS LATER…

It had taken some time, a lot of talking, and more than just one hook up for James and I to work out any other issues that we had with each other. We met up a lot in the recent weeks after that, discussing different ways on how to help James with his drinking, and just trying to regain eachothers trust.

Soon enough though, James had moved back in with me. I kept my office space, but now the room was split in two halves. I worked in one half, while James did his guitar work in the other half. It was a fairly large room, so we both had our own spaces and rarely bothered each other. If I had a work call or anything that required silence, James would just migrate to the living room.

It was the same old schedule we had all those months ago, and I was now returning from work. It was Friday, now I would have plenty of time to relax and be with James. I pulled into the driveway, parking and getting out of my car as I walked up to the porch, the click of my heels following my steps on the cement. The lights were on, the door unlocked. I could hear a faint strumming coming from inside, meaning James was hard at work on new material for the album. It was my favorite thing to listen to while doing work assignments at home.

I walked in with a huff, setting down my purse and keys on the counter before heading to the shared office space. James wasn't playing much, just sounded like scales and chords for his warm ups. “How was work, baby?” James greeted me, still focused on his guitar. “It was a bit tiring, but it was good. I think my boss is starting to like me,” I answered, settling into my chair. He nodded in response, going back to fiddling with the strings.

It wasn't until a little later a soft, sweet and melodic tune had hit my ears. Much different than what Metallica normally plates. James hummed along to it, almost like he had lyrics already written out. But knowing him, he probably did.

“What are you playing? It sounds really nice,” I started, listening to a few more notes before continuing, “It's not what you guys normally play,” I commented, and James let out a deep hum in response. “Just something new I'm working on,” He replied, and I nodded, getting back to work.

Only this time, I couldn't focus. Normally James’s music helped me to focus, becoming a comforting background noise. This time though, I couldn't get my mind off of that melody. He kept going, and each second I kept getting more and more captivated by it.

“That songs really pretty, I like it,” I said, scribbling down whatever notes I couldnt on a piece of paper. “Thanks, it's actually, uhm..” He trailed off, and I knew something was up. I spun around in my chair, going to face him. “It's what?” I asked, confused by his shy demeanor.

“It's called ‘Nothing Else Matters’,” He stated, finally stopping picking at the strings. “Nothing Else Matters?” I repeated, connecting whatever the lyrics might be in my head to the melody. Normally their slower, melodic songs were dark and heavy topics, so I expected the same with this one.

“Yeah,” James answered, “I wrote the lyrics about you, actually,” He muttered softly, though I still picked it up. “About me?” I questioned, slightly shocked. “Yeah… I've thought a lot about, well, everything recently. Ever since that point a few months back I've reflected and everything… Rumors spread, and I just want everyone out there to get the right idea,” He paused, searching for the right words, “I want people out there to know that you're all I care about, you mean more than the world to me, and I want everyone to know that,” He stated, his tone true and emotional. I had never heard him say sweeter words to me, and I knew that he was speaking nothing other than the truth, I could see it in his eyes, there's a way to read people, and James wasn't easy to read, but you soon could learn the lingo.

“That means a lot to me, Jamie,” I answered, smiling at him. I got up from my chair to sit next to him on the couch, leaning against him. “Thank you,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “You don't need to thank me, sweetheart,” James responded, wrapping his arm around me.

And now, I knew my whole world was whole again. What was once hatred, or so I thought was hatred, was once again love, everything as it should be.

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