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madschiavelique · 1 day ago

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A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 14 - Eight of Wands

summary : garen tries to help you out a bit after the events with fiora, and things start getting much better than you thought they would evolve to but also : what is this feeling you're starting to feel?

content warnings : hurt. (sorry), mention of blood and fighting + injuries, some sort of comfort? adults communicating (i know, that's so hot right), also omg um tension? hihi we're on the tension road now and it will escalate chapter after chapter

word count : 11,2k

author's note : okay this is a big boi of a chap here loves, and i hope you will like it! as always i'm in big doubts about it because i've been wondering about the pacing and whether i'm going too fast or not for it, let me know in the comments!!! speaking of which, i know i haven't been able to answer to all the loverly things you guys said, but i want you to know that i read everything i received and cherish it with my whole heart <33 thank you so much. imma try and work on some of my requests bc gadayum they've been in my inbox forever and i feel bad about it!!

proofread the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

masterlist．．discord ．．playlist．．my ko-fi

vocab words for this : mais quelle anguille = what an eel.

Your fists struck against swollen, inert flesh, your red knuckles and dirt-caked fingernails mixing crusty blood and muck, curled tightly as you mechanically landed blow after blow.

The body beneath yours was still, an unrecognisable face below you, swollen and bloodied, red and blue blending unnaturally on youthful traits.

As your fist rose into the sky again, preparing to strike another blow, a huge hand engulfed your wrist like a handcuff and pulled you to your feet.

The bleachers roared out, their wood shaking and cracking as your fist was hoisted into the air.

Winner.

Your eyes stared at the ground for a moment before they reached the motionless figure you'd left behind. Vome came and crouched beside her, bringing his white sausage-like fingers to her neck for a pulse check, but you were carried out of the arena before he could deliver his verdict.

Fourteen found you, his tired features splitting his face and accompanying the few scars he had obtained. His eyes fell on your hands, gloved with blood that was drying unpleasantly on your skin.

He came over to you, his thin smile comforting, his voice low. He took your hand, not caring about getting dirty.

"Come," his voice was soft, contrasting with the shouts from the arena you could still hear a few seconds ago, "let's get you cleaned up."

He walked with you slowly, his hand keeping yours in a pleasant embrace like a comforter.

You reached the dormitory, its name not particularly associated with its appearance. In a dim light made up of candlelit crevices carved into the walls of a damp cave, thin floor mats eaten away by rats and other critters stretched down a low corridor.

The rock was dark, hard and crumble-free, water from your breaths and compressed air dripping down the sides of the stone that made it one of the small sources of water available.

A few others were sleeping there, their bodies emaciated from lack of food, their skin dull from lack of external light, their greasy, stringy hair sticking unpleasantly to their skin.

Fourteen led you to your futon and sat you down. You remained silent, your jaw clenched as if opening your mouth was going to spill something inside you that you couldn't afford to let go.

He went away for a moment, but you weren't worried. You simply bent your knees, hunched your back as you came to rest your head against your knees. It was unpleasant - your cheek hurt, one of the blows had hit your cheekbone, but you didn't care. You were tired from the effort your body had had to make, and you would almost have fallen asleep if your eyes and your mind could have allowed you to.

Fourteen returned, a small bowl filled with water in one hand, a rag that held a strange, dirty tint in the other.

"Let's see," he sighed as he sat cross-legged next to you and took one of your hands from the floor.

He dipped the cloth into the water, soaking it generously before your palm resided in his and he gently ran the cloth over the back of your hand.

The cloth was rough, coarse, scraping more than it softened. But it wasn't about comfort, it never had been. It was just a way of sleeping better at night, even if it was difficult.

Fourteen did the washing without ever pressing too hard, only trying to clean your fingers of blood and other dirt so that it didn't become uncomfortable, and probably because it was a human thing to do.

"You did well out there," he said as he dipped the cloth back into the bowl, the water tinting slightly in the little warm lights you could afford.

Well, you did well. Punching someone until they passed out while you were in the same situation as them was well.

Your cheek still resting on your knee, staring off into space and letting that rough caress cover your skin, you felt tired.

"Did I kill her?"

Your voice was cracked, like the sound of a turntable with a diamond on it, but where the song never started.

Fourteen stopped in his tracks, his eyes shifting from the damaged knuckles of your hand to your eyes. He took a deep breath before sighing, and you could feel the warm air hitting the raw flesh of your hand - but you didn't care.

"She's under care," he replied simply.

Between life and death, you concluded, and you were responsible.

Every night, you wondered if you'd been violent enough to make a profit the next day. You wondered if, perhaps, you had fed their appetites enough for them to offer you sustenance.

You didn't dare look at the others, wondering if one day you'd have to face one of them. You were terrified from this very thought.

Terrified of finding yourself in the state you'd put a fellow kid in. Terrified of taking a life. Terrified that one day you'd have to face Fourteen.

"Do you think this will stop one day?"

Your questions were so heavy in your mouth, so light in the air, lost in the dark uncertainty of the room.

"It will," Fourteen confirmed as he brought the cloth to press it to your cheekbone, "I promise.

You woke with a jolt, your body drenched in sweat while the room was still bathed in the darkness of the night.

Water.

You got up, the damp fabric of your bed sheet repulsing you as you made your way to the bathroom, gasping for air. Your body burned, your fingers swollen with heat as you turned the tap and vigorously scrubbed your hands under the coldest water you could get your hands on.

You turned off the tap, letting the sink fill up as your bewildered eyes caught your reflection in the mirror. You breathed hard, your pupils small and your hair a mess. Anger bubbled up inside you, boiling up your gullet.

Your face contorted in the air one last time as you turned off the tap when the sink was almost full to the brim. You plunged your whole head in, hands gripping the pale sides firmly as you let the coolness of the water engulf you.

A deep roar rose from your gut, crossing your throat and bursting under the silence of the water, the boiling bubbles of your frustration making it shake.

The water would cleanse you, purify you, hold the heaviness of your pain in its path and carry it away with it in silence, without anyone seeing or hearing a thing.

After that cry buried under the surface, as you drew in a breath, you choked on the water, mixing the salt of your tears with the chalky petricite aftertaste it contained. You pulled your head back, coughing violently, your face aching with frowns as beads of water more unpleasant than your sweat dripped onto your skin.

Clean. I need to be clean.

You threw off your pyjamas in a panic, tossing them carelessly on the mosaic floor as you climbed into the bath. Your legs were too weak to stay up in the shower, so you repeated the same thing you'd done at the sink.

The bath began to run, the initially cool water reaching your toes, doing nothing to calm your incessant trembling but helping the heat in your fingers.

The hot water arrived shortly afterwards, lukewarm as it mixed with the previous chill. After the freshness that had bathed your face, you were looking for insatiable warmth, water so hot that it would pasteurise everything in you and wipe the slate clean until you were neat and pure and flawless.

But you didn't offer yourself that torment. You had already suffered enough physical pain the day before and you weren't going to punish yourself any more, even if you wanted to.

It was just a mistake, an overreaction, you weren't going to do it again. Never, ever again.

You never wanted to commit this again anyway, it wasn't a desire, just a fiery response that you thought you'd buried deep in the cracks of your memory.

And all those eyes watching you, waiting in fear for your every move, a fear that had changed sides.

The water finally reached your chest, and you turned off the tap with your foot, sinking into the pleasant warmth that stopped the shaking.

Your hands gripped each of your shoulders firmly, holding you in place as if you were in danger of exploding into a multitude of shards of glass. You breathed in heavily, trying to calm yourself down.

You had to think of something else, find a way to anchor yourself, and you knew one that Selene had taught you. So you closed your eyes and recited in your head.

In a village, there is a house. It has yellow curtains, a red table and a blue sponge. What more can you tell me about it?

You breathed softly, trying to imagine its interior.

There are huge green enamel bowls, an orange sofa soaking up the afternoon sun with turquoise cushions. In the bathroom, there's a hot shower that's airing out the smell of shampoo and bubbles of foam on the walls.

The idea of being indoors again almost made you feel like suffocating though, so you changed your point of view.

This house has lots of windows and hardly any walls overlooking a garden. It has a small vegetable garden with tomato plants and basil, an arbour where wisteria grows in spring, and a deckchair where you can lie back and bask in the sun while reading a book. Butterflies flutter by during the day, fireflies light up the garden at night, and cicadas are always singing.

You felt your body relax, your heart less stressed as you sank into the bath until only your head emerged from the water and your ears were covered from reality.

When you come back into the house, pieces of crystal shimmer multicoloured lights on the walls as you pour lemonade into purple cups. Your lips pressed together, the memory of the coffee you shared the night before returning to your mind. Your heart began to beat again, your skin feeling warmer than the bath water.

You inevitably thought back to the look in his eyes, piercing yours with that dark glint that made your tummy feel so warm. Why did you feel that way? Why did his gaze on you mean so much to you? Why did you want more?

You sighed, your eyes opening on the bathroom ceiling. You turned slightly on your side, curling your legs up against you.

The warm bath water caressed your cheekbone, making you hiss. You'd taken very little care of your wounds yesterday. After your fight, you went straight to the hotel, never escaping the curious and worried glances of passers-by.

You changed quickly, cleaning your face and applying the compresses you always kept in your toiletry bag just in case before going out again.

You needed to walk, you needed to not be solicited, you needed to get your adrenalin down and get as far away as possible from anyone you knew.

What you'd just done had the terrible potential to get you into a lot of trouble. This behaviour was unworthy of the greatness of Piltover Academy, you were supposed to represent the splendour of your excellence, not deposit a reputation for violence and rudeness outside the white gates of the great city of Demacia.

What if the Academy expelled you for this disruptive behaviour? What if, after this trip, you could never set foot in the Academy again?

Not only did this problem linger in the back of your mind, but there was another worry on the rise. Fiora was heiress to one of the most powerful families in Demacia, and you dreaded the reaction her parents would have when she returned and they saw the state you had put her in.

You had attacked their daughter on their own territory with blows that could have sent her to her death, and you didn't know what would happen.

You hadn't returned from your walk until night had fallen and you were beginning to feel hungry.

You had taken an empty table in the hotel, the eyes of the students and other customers on you, but you had yours on your meal, which you ate quickly before going to bed.

And there you were, in your bath, remorse biting you harder than rust on metal.

You took your hands off your shoulders, letting the warmth of the bath cover your palms before bringing them up to your face, grunting slightly as your swollen skin ached.

You didn't want to go out today, you didn't want to have to go to class, you didn't want to have to meet the same faces and stares that had seen a side of you the day before that you wished was dead and buried.

But you had to face this world out there, face it despite all this, and move on.

When the bath water was cooler than hot, you got out. You ran your hand over the steamy surface of the mirror, tracing a horizontal V to reveal your reflection, tired but less erratic than before. You sighed, needing to take care of your bruises, the fresh marks on your body before they got any worse.

You wrapped yourself in a towel, tidying up your hair and wringing it out before leaving the bathroom.

The second bed was of course still empty. You'd probably have had something to worry about if Fiora had decided to sleep in there with you, and you dreaded the thought of having to wake up with a blade to your throat, or never seeing the light of day again.

You dressed simply, there were still about four days to spend in Demacia, and you weren't as enthusiastic about it as you'd been at first.

The subdued light in your room wasn't going to help you with your patch-up job, so you decided instead to put on a jumper paired with jogging pants before getting out of your room to have breakfast, if the hotel was even open.

To your surprise, the staff were already busy in the kitchen, and the buffet table was filling up by the minute with pastries, breads and spreads, all different and appetising.

You took whatever appealed to you most, revelling in the knowledge that you didn't have to pay for anything during your stay. So you took a seat on a bench in a corner, near a window overlooking the city still bathed in the blue of the night.

You relished the silence, the blue glasses that calmed everything, the solitude. You regained a little of your peacefulness, fighting whatever was in you not to stuff your plate on the spot out of bad habit.

When you brought your cup to your lips, your mind inescapably went back to yesterday's scene. Could you get that memory out of your mind and off your lips? Or would you be doomed to replay it over and over again?

Did you really want to put it out of your mind, or did the novelty of it frighten you, despite your growing desire to hold on to it and ask for more?

Your lips kissed the rim of your cup in search of a trace he'd left in your mind, wishing you could find it again and again, to have his eyes burning like two suns letting your heart tan.

This thought evaporated, however, when Garen entered the hotel restaurant. He was wearing jogging bottoms, a hooded sweatshirt with the zip open over a white t-shirt.

He didn't fail to notice you, and with good reason - you were the only person in the room. He exchanged a glance with you before approaching, your gaze returning to the table.

A small knot formed in your throat, and you grabbed your cup to bring it to your lips and hope to drown the sensation.

He sat down opposite you, forearm on the table as he watched you. He sat in silence for a long moment, the two of you staying like that for a bit until he broke the silence.

"Wanna talk about it?"

You chuckled, regretting the way your mouth stretched into a smile as the wound on your lower lip reopened and you drowned it in coffee.

"About the way I almost punched your friend to death yesterday?" you questioned as your tired eyes met his. "That's a thorny conversation subject for such a calm morning."

He shrugged, crossing his arms on the white tablecloth. "I was going to ask more about the reason why you're up so early."

"Is waking up early illegal in Demacia?"

His eyes found the street, empty except for the few passers-by heading to work early. "I don't know many people who get up early without any particular activity for pure pleasure."

You looked at him for a moment. "Is that why you're up early?"

His eyes met yours again. "Among other things."

There was silence once more. But there was no pressure, no expectation that you'd say anything, just the silence of company.

Both your hands were around your cup, your thumb tracing where your lip had been.

"I..." you began tentatively. "I feel terrible." You admitted the words without looking away from your cup. "I didn't exactly have the most..." you inhaled heavily, "loving upbringing, and-" you shrugged, "I should never have fought with her. I feel like I regressed to an animal state in two seconds, like I couldn't control myself when I should have."

"You were angry," he said simply, "it's normal to lose your temper."

You sighed. "It was an overreaction."

"And she's the one who pushed you over the edge," Garen remarked, "and brought out a legitimate anger that seemed to have been buried inside you for a long, long time." He leaned slightly towards you, his eyes on you even though you didn't dare meet them yet. "She revealed personal information to everyone that you probably didn't want to divulge, and she did it in order to humiliate you. Not to mention the fact that she started spreading rumours to discredit you."

Just thinking about it made your muscles itch like nettles as you remembered your kneeling position in front of her, her pretentiousness.

"I wish I didn't have to get rid of that anger like that."

"Better out than in," Garen said.

You were finally meeting his eyes. "I'm not sure that getting rid of this violence in this way is the solution."

"Well, that I concede," he confirmed. "But I don't think it's such an overreaction. You both had your reasons. The parameters of your upbringing came into play, as did hers. She had her honour to save."

"But I had nothing to save, I did it out of anger and because I could."

"And anyone in your place could very well have done the same."

"You literally had to pull me off her," you sighed, "who knows how far it might have gone."

"But that's as far as it went, thankfully," he smiled at you. "You can't get stuck in this eternal 'what if' mentality if it's holding you back."

There was truth in his words, and you couldn't deny it. The guilt of having let yourself get carried away gripped you, but you tried to lighten the balance by thinking back to what he was saying.

Fiora had come looking for you herself after all, asking - no, ordering a fight with you and pushing you into it until you gave her what she had wanted. But what about the consequences?

Your eyes found your reflection in the coffee of your cup.

"My friends saw me," you began tentatively. "I'm scared that-" your throat knotted slightly and you cleared it, hoping to chase away the sorrow that was trying to spread through it, "that they'll see me differently, that in their eyes I'll be just that and nothing else."

"Viktor and Jayce, right?" he checked.

You nodded, your hand gripping the handle of your mug a little tighter as the terrible thought crossed your mind for a moment that Sky might have seen this.

"They came to see me after the incident," he revealed, "they seemed more concerned about your condition than Fiora's."

A warm stone dropped into your stomach. Worried? Jayce, you might have expected it, but the shock that flooded Viktor's face made you think it would be impossible for him to feel anything other than incomprehension.

"Don't lie to me to try and cheer me up," you chuckled nervously.

"Me? Lie?" he smiled. "Do you really think my Demacian soul spends all its time making up charades and lies just to flatter your ego?"

You relaxed your shoulders. "Got a point."

"I was with Viktor last night," he continued. "I gather he's not really the chatty type, we've barely spoken since we arrived, but last night he seemed more worried, a bit more talkative."

"Viktor? Worried and chatty? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?’

"He was asking me questions, wondering if I'd seen you later in the day, if I'd managed to find you."

"Found me?" you repeated.

"After you left, I looked for you a bit," he admitted. "But I soon realised that company probably wasn't what you were looking for, so I decided to wait. I was just going to go looking for you again if you didn't come back by nightfall."

"I didn't know you had tracking skills," your lips pressed into an inverted smile.

"I'm not fond of letting someone venture out at night into a city they barely know," he pointed out, a sneer stretching one of his lips to the side, "so yes, any means would be good to find you."

"Even a young woman who knows her way around a punch?" you questioned.

He tilted his head to one side. "If someone came across you with a staff or another sword, I've got enough memories of yesterday's little session to give me an idea of how you'd cope."

You chuckled, finishing the rest of your coffee and avoiding scratching your chin where the tip of his quarterstaff had resided. "I can never do anything right, can I?"

"I'm sure you're not too bad at jogging," he rose from his bench, taking your plate and cutlery in hand, "what do you say?"

"You want me to go jogging, with you?" you questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"Tell me if you see anybody else in this room apart from the two of us," he said before leaving to clear away your things.

You stood up, taking your cup in hand and following him. "Maybe you were asking a magical third individual in the streets."

“So that's a no?” he questioned, turning to you once the silverware had been put down.

"That's a 'I don't jog often, so please be kind as I'll try to keep up with you'," you replied, setting your mug down with the rest of your finished meal.

He chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

And you did, partly.

He took you outside and started jogging with you. You didn't really have the time or the inclination to go jogging in the mornings in Piltover, especially these days when you'd been working yourself to death.

But running in a setting you'd only recently discovered wasn't so bad. Like Piltover and many other towns, Demacia had a different atmosphere at night and during the day.

Garen took you around his usual route, showing you places that were not shown to tourists but were well worth a visit. From florists who had just opened their shops and were perfuming the air, to restaurants serving the previous day's leftovers and soups for stray cats and dogs, to little fountains hidden in the middle of cobbled courtyards from whose springs you drank.

You found it hard to keep up sometimes, but Garen was patient, letting you take as many breaks as you needed. He found himself teasing you. "I thought you could keep up."

"I don't do this every morning like you," you breathed, recovering from one of your side stitches as you resumed your pace.

He laughed, and so did you, gradually waking up the city with your mutual runs. There was something liberating about it, because for once in your life you weren't running to get away but to move forward. You were letting go of your tensions, freeing yourself from the weight of worries for which you were only partly to blame.

The ivory streets were bathed in the warm orange sunlight as you made your way back to the hotel. You almost regretted having taken a bath already, feeling guilty for using the hotel water. But the bill wasn't on you, and knowing you'd have the chance to shower again when you got home made you feel better.

"Take your shower," he breathed as you both reached your respective doors, "I'm gonna take a look at your cheek afterwards."

You almost forgot about the bruises spreading across your face. Fiora hadn't hit you too hard - not as hard as you - but it was still enough to leave marks and nail cuts on your skin.

"I can take care of it," you confirmed.

"Judging by the way you treat them, I doubt it," Garen laughed before knocking on the door to enter.

Viktor was probably still asleep, it was early, but Garen still had the decency to knock just in case.

You went back to your room, not having to worry about that matter from lack of roommate. You took off your sweaty clothes, and hoped very much that a washing machine would be put in order during the week. You had brought enough spare clothes just in case, but you could never be sure.

After your shower was over, you opened the door to your bedroom so that Garen could come in as soon as he was finished without worrying about knocking. His hair still dripping with water, he stepped out of his room.

It didn't seem to be plunged into darkness, and you deduced that Viktor was probably already awake.

Garen came in with a first aid kit, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"You carry that around in your luggage all the time?"

He smiled before sitting down on your bed with you. ‘You never know the kind of trouble you might get into along the way. Besides, I train almost every morning. If you only knew the blows Fiora can land with those damned training swords of hers."

You smiled as you listened to him open his kit and look for compresses and disinfectant. "I will lend you some of this for you to properly take care of this, this way you can do this yourself if it ever happens again on the trip, which hopefully, won't."

He took out some objects and placed them on your bed while he went looking for what was needed, a small pot with a golden lid intriguing you.

"What's this?" you asked, pointing at it.

His eyes drifted over the object, taking it in his hand and bringing it up to his head like a medal.

"This is the miracle balm," he began before holding it out to you, "it has saved me many times."

You took it in your palm, turning it between your fingers to observe it before uncorking it. It was a dark ointment, and you brought it to your nose. The smell was strong, and you put it away immediately. You recognised the scent, certain fresh, strong notes taking you far back in time.

"For knots under the skin, tired muscles, and other aches and pains - it's my saviour," Garen explained as he prepared a cotton ball, soaking it in alcohol. "C'mere."

You moved a little closer to him, your cross-legged knees almost touching his thigh. He brought his index finger under your chin, gently guiding your head to the side to get a better view of the damage left on your face.

You could see his eyebrows furrow in your peripheral vision, the thumb of his free hand coming to rest on the swollen skin of your cheek and pressing lightly.

You hissed, the pain spreading down the side of your face.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your swollen skin gently like a silent apology, "I was going to ask if it hurts but I guess I have my answer."

He pressed the cotton ball between his fingers, bringing it gently to your cheekbone. Your eye near the wounds crinkled under the tingle. It was unpleasant, but not painful. He barely pressed the cotton against your skin, taking care that, despite his imposing musculature, he didn't let it define him in every way and thus reduce his gentleness to nothing.

"Where did you get it, the balm?" you questioned, your eyes resting on a point in the void while his remained riveted on your cheek.

"We have enough shops stocked with balms and other herbal elixirs here that the majority of Demacia's athletes all have one pot of it. I'll take you there on a market visit, which shouldn't be long now."

"There's one scheduled for this very afternoon," you confirmed as he changed his focus to your face, moving up to your temple.

"Well then," he smiled, taking a second cotton ball to soak, "I'll take you there."

His index finger still under your chin pulled you back to face him, his eyes settling on your lips.

You had a nasty cut, probably from an accidental bite during the fight or a scratch from Fiora. Either way, it wasn't pleasant.

"That might sting a bit more," he warned as he pressed the cotton against your lip.

The previously forgettable tingle was now impossible to ignore and searing. You recoiled at the sensation, but Garen's index finger under your chin was joined by his thumb to hold you in place firmly, preventing you from any escape.

"It'll be over soon," he promised, repeatedly pressing the cotton against your skin.

You clenched your fists, your eyes drifting to the corridor you could see from your bed. A figure stood there, your heart dropping into your stomach as the pain of the alcohol was quickly forgotten.

Viktor.

There, standing impassively still, he watched the scene. Your eyes met his and you felt very small.

His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he hadn't had much sleep the night before, and his dark circles seemed to bring out the amber in his eyes. You couldn't make out his expression, but it was definitely one of frustration.

You lowered your eyes slightly as Garen removed the cotton wool from your lip, not feeling up to meeting his gaze. The weight of it seemed heavy, but you couldn't work out why. He must have been angry, or perhaps disappointed? Or even disgusted, by you.

"Oh, Viktor," Garen greeted as he began to put his things away naturally, "have you taken your breakfast yet?"

You looked up at him, hoping your eyes wouldn't cloud over with tears as all your shame rose in your throat. He parted his lips, and you wondered what he was about to say or answer. The whole tone of his voice would show where your friendship lay, and your heart was pounding just at the terrible expectation he was imposing on you.

"Come on, come on! Let's all gather together please," you heard Heimerdinger say in the distance, “I'm going to announce today's programme.”

You held your breath as Garen stood up: "Let's get going before there's no breakfast to eat anymore, I'm starving."

And so Garen took Viktor with him, and your breath caught and released as you inhaled violently.

The idea of Viktor hating you before was not a problem. You could have gone for days without worrying about it. Now it was a waking nightmare that was haunting you terribly.

You reached over and closed the door for a moment, taking advantage of this small moment to take your Tarot deck from your suitcase and draw a card for the day, hoping that it would help you.

And so the Eight of Wands fell.

Intentions are sent. Energy is in motion. Intentions are powerful and this card is an illustration of action in motion.

Although you were hoping for quick answers, you felt stressed, but continued your rapid reading of the booklet.

What's done can't be undone. The send button has been pressed and the letter has been sent. The spell is cast. The words and incantations have been spoken. Although you cannot undo what is done, you can pause, wait and see what the ramifications are. The energy is strong and effective. Let the universe work its magic. Do not try to control what has been sent. The situation is beyond your control for now. Be patient and you'll get results.

So you were asked... to wait? To be patient and see what would come your way? Of all the answers you could have hoped for, this was probably the last one on your list.

Heimerdinger had explained how the afternoon would unfold. First of all, you would visit one of Demacia's great museums, to learn about their art and history. Of course, you would have to fill in a form with all sorts of information and return it at the end of the day. After this little excursion, you could wander freely around Demacia.

Thus, you found yourself in one of the long corridors with its glass ceiling of the great Demacian museum. The students' shoes echoed against the black and white chequered floor as Heimerdinger gave a final reminder of the instructions.

You stood slightly back, watching a few statues and trying not to drift your gaze to the back of Viktor's head incessantly. What's he thinking?

You were at least hoping that the card would be right, that your answers would come quickly, that the wait would be short, and that the revelation wouldn't destroy you. And if Viktor decided to cut you off, what would you do?

How would you recover from the loss? You didn't have a very wide circle of friends, and this event could prove to be the end of all friendships with Viktor, Jayce and Sky.

Would Sky refuse to be your flatmate from now on? Would she move out because she couldn't spend another moment in the same room as you? Would Jayce stop coming to the café and shower you with his enthusiasm?

Your life would return to a profound emptiness, and you didn't know if you were capable of returning to it so abruptly. Of course, you still had Eris, but you saw her too little.

When had you started to feel comfortable with the idea of having friends like that? When did you allow yourself to trust them? to like them?

Heimerdinger finished his speech, and the students dispersed, as did you. You needed to get away from it all for a while, to try and take your mind off things by doing the only thing you knew how to do well: work.

You played nervously with your pencil, tapping its eraser against the few sheets you had to fill in, while your eyes absent-mindedly studied a white stone statue of yet another legendary fighter whose name meant little to you.

You were immersed in your thoughts, in the multiple possibilities that rushed into your mind to take the microphone and shout out their merits.

"I didn't see you yesterday during our afternoon lesson."

You lowered your eyes to your right, Heimerdinger standing up straight as he watched the statue by your side.

You sighed, turning in front of the latter's sign to jot it down in a corner of your paper. "Good morning to you too, Professor."

"I assume your absence was due to the incident that took place yesterday's morning?" he asked, and you sensed in your peripheral vision that he was looking towards you.

You turned to face him, his eyes widening slightly at the extent of the damage before you spoke. "I wonder what brought you to this conclusion."

You couldn't help using sarcasm, no doubt to play down the situation, and perhaps to try and put some distance between you and the freshness of these events. He seemed to watch you for a moment, his curious little eyes observing the tint the blows had left on your cheek.

"My my, quite an imposing mark. I didn't know you were so, um," he pouted thoughtfully, one of his hands rising into the air to make circular motions as if he were shuffling a keyring of words he was looking for the right key to, 'energetic'.”

You chuckled slightly, lowering your eyes to your paper. "I hope this excess of energy won't get me into any troubles regarding the Academy."

You suspected that this conversation was primarily about that, and although you tried not to let it go negative, you couldn't help the nagging anxiety in your stomach.

"To the Academy?" repeated Heimerdinger, as if surprised by the idea. "No, you have actually made more of a significantly positive impression."

Your shoulders settled between anxiety and relief, frowning as you looked back up at him. "Positive?"

"From what the students have been nattering about, and what has been brought back to me, it seems that you slightly altered the Piltover Academy popularity towards the Demacian through a performance that has tipped the scale on our side," he explained as his index finger and thumb pinched the air. "They were surprised anyone from our little group could keep up in any affray against such trained students." He chirped as he rocked for a moment on his heels, his arms linking behind his back. "I have to say that I myself am quite impressed."

You felt very light, as if a vulture that had hitherto pressed its talons on your shoulders had just flown away out of disinterest in the prey that you were. So you were being watched not as a monster but as... a champion?

You were having trouble digesting the information. Had you become so obsessed with the harm you had caused that you locked yourself into an mentality in which you were only at fault?

Did your friends feel the same way? Did Jayce, Sky and Viktor think the same as Heimerdinger?

"Impressed?" you repeated, as if to check that it wasn't a joke. "By what I did?"

"Absolutely," the yorddle nodded. "Now, I wasn't present and I would probably not have been in the opportunity had risen as I am not much of an advocate for the sweat of physical conflict, but I have to confess that through this opposition, you have brought a certain honour to the Academy." He turned to you, giving you a proud smile. "Well done!"

Were you dreaming? It must have been, wasn't it? But you'd never had such a beautiful dream, and given what had happened you weren't expecting to for a long time.

You blinked a few times, trying to digest this information. You weren't going to be expelled, or punished for what you'd done, and you were learning that some students might even have some respect for you as a result?

"I..." you searched for your words, the keychain of words passing in turn without your nervous fingers being able to find the perfect key. So you settled on a passe-partout that sincerely reflected your thoughts. "Thank you."

"No need for any gratitude," informed Heimerdinger, shaking his head, "all I ask is that I hope to see you in class. The taste of glory is exquisite, but I do not wish it to replace your diligence."

You nodded quickly. "Of course, Professor."

"Well," he smiled, "I'll leave you to your work from now on. I haven't finished exploring the immensity of this place yet."

And with that, he left, and you blew all the air out of your lungs, placing your hand on your chest then. You couldn't believe it, all the worries you'd imagined were crumbling away from your skin like dirt being washed away.

A nervous chuckle went up your throat and you smothered it with your palm over your lips, wincing slightly as the cut on it opened slightly and stung.

You had to pull yourself together. Sure, you'd escaped one problem, but another still remained - your friends. Should you go and find them and talk to them? Or would they come on their own?

You'd only had to move to another showroom to meet Sky and Jayce's eyes, your flatmate's face lighting up with shock as she ran to you and hugged you tightly, and you returned the embrace. Your whole body relaxed, and if you weren't in public you'd probably have been crying.

"You scared the hell out of me," you managed to decipher as her head was buried in your shoulder before she suddenly straightened up and cupped your face, watching your wounds with a frown. "What a viper."

"You should see her," you grinned, the tingle on your lip no longer mattering to you.

"I have seen her," Sky assured you, raising her eyebrows and smiling, "Jayce and Viktor told me everything."

"Oh yeah?" you questioned as your gaze drifted to Jayce who was coming towards you. His face was a mixture of joy and concern, and it hurt to see him like that.

"Mhm!" confirmed Sky as Jayce finally came towards you. "That she kept testing you until you agreed to a fight and brought her back to her place," she turned to him, "they kept saying you looked really, really cool."

Jayce nodded beside her, seeming to restrain himself from saying or doing anything.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, was he scared of you?

"No Jayce hug?" you tried, teasing him.

He huffed, pained like a puppy waiting for a treat. "I don't want to hurt you by squeezing too tight. You already got wounds, I don't want to make it worse.’

Despite his imposing stature, you had always noticed how Jayce seemed to deliberately try to appear small or less imposing. Whether it was putting his shoulders backwards when his hands were behind his back, or crossing them when he was thinking, he always tried not to spread himself and to appear less big than he actually was.

You smiled softly. "I don't care."

He sighed in relief, pulling you into a hug and it felt so soothing. His big arms encircled you in a way that promised you everything would be okay no matter what, and that he'd always be there whatever happened.

"Vik's been wanting to talk to you," he whispered, so that only you could hear him.

The news made your cheeks flush with warmth, your heart pounding in your chest as you patted his back gently and he straightened up away from you.

"I didn't know you were into boxing," Jayce remarked deeply intrigued and back to his usual curiosity, "why did you never tell us that?"

You shrugged. "I didn't see a reason to."

"Do you know how expensive boxing classes are in Piltover?" quipped Jayce. "I had tried it once but never came back to it just because of the price."

He nodded, and a small silence settled between the three of you. There were so many things left unsaid, so many desires to talk that you couldn't quite grasp and start.

"Why didn't you come to us?" questioned Sky at last, breaking the silence. "We were worried.’

You sighed softly, lowering your eyes. You'd left them in the dark, deliberately distancing yourself from them by assuming ideas that could have been avoided by discussing it with them and setting the record straight.

"I..." you clutched your pen in your hand, trying your hardest not to let your voice crack, "I thought you guys wouldn't want to associate with someone that did that. So... yeah. I'm sorry."

Sky and Jayce's eyes softened, and your shame and guilt at having walked away from them weighed in your stomach heavier than ever.

"You're going to have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of us," Sky smiled, putting her hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

You smiled back. Every misfortune that had haunted you over the last twenty-four hours was being resolved one by one, naturally, and now there was only one person left to balance it all.

"Have you done the part on the origin of the magical wars yet?" questioned Jayce as if nothing had happened, pointing to your index card. "You definitely have to check it out," he pulled out his map of the museum, pointing to the few rooms that contained the exhibition in question, "it's over there."

The message was simple: you'll find him there.

"Good,’ you nodded, "I'll catch up with you guys later."

The three of you then confirmed that you would meet up after the visit so that you could explore the Demacian markets together, and you set off in the direction of the indicated exhibition.

Your heart was pounding. Your anxiety was gradually diluted and replaced by immense relief. Did Viktor share their opinions too? What would his reaction be? You dreaded it as much as you longed for it.

When had he become such a central part of your life? And why did you feel so affected by every move and idea he might have had about you?

You reached the area in question, completely empty. Given the Demacians' disdain for the origin of magic and their bitterness towards it, you weren't much surprised.

It was a large room with an open side from which you had just come, each of its corners seeming to shelter small rooms with narrower entrances acting as mini corridors of separation. You tried to walk along the left-hand wall and into the corridor leading to the first room. When you reached the end of the small hallway, you froze as a voice you recognised approached.

"Vikkie?" Fiora was calling.

You turned, fearing that she might see you, and took a few steps back.

You stifled a small scream as what appeared to be a thin, curved bar pressed against your stomach and pulled you back and then to the side as a hand took hold of your arm. Your back met the wall and your breath caught as Viktor's eyes met yours and he pressed his index finger to his own lips to urge you to remain silent, the knob of his cane hovering near your waist as his hand gripped your hip.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden stress faded from your tense muscles and another feeling took over. The two of you were close, Viktor cocking his head and leaving you to watch the angle of his jaw as he waited for the area to be cleared of her presence.

The warmth of his hand on your hip cut through the fabric of your clothes, and you found yourself wanting to press yourself against it.

What was this sensation? Why did this position make you feel all warm and fuzzy in your stomach? Why was your heart pounding in your chest now that the stress was over?

In the distance, you could hear Fiora sigh. "Mais quelle anguille," she sighed in her native tongue as the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance and Viktor let out his held breath.

He pressed his forehead to the wall against which you were standing, his lips to the level of your ear. "Hit her in the jaw next time, Miss," the nickname mixed with his low voice made your cheeks flush. "This way maybe I can escape her constant need for useless conversation."

You couldn't help laughing. "I'll note that for next time, Vikkie."

You felt him squeeze his hand lightly on your hip as he gave you a sound that was a mixture of grumble, sigh and laugh before straightening up.

His amber eyes found yours, and your heart leapt. You hoped it would calm down, but it seemed to you at the time that this was profoundly impossible.

"For once I would rather you call me any witty nickname you could have than this," he smiled.

"Mm," you seemed to be falsely thinking about it without taking your eyes off him, "I'll consider thinking about it."

He smiled, his eyes drifting from yours to rest on your cheekbone and your cheek before finishing on your lips.

You swallowed silently as his eyes rested on it in a strange way.

‘Does it hurt...?’ he asked, his eyes finally returning to yours, a dark light flashing through his gaze.

You shook your head. "No."

He nodded gently. "Good."

His eyes, which this morning had been stern, were now more tender. He seemed to become aware of your closeness, his glance settling on his hand still on your waist.

He took a step back, and his absence from you and his hand on your hip disheartened you more than you thought it would.

"Sorry for this measure," he said, tapping two fingers on his cane, "I had to make sure she wouldn't see either of us nor hear anything."

A warmth spread across the back of your neck at the memory of how he'd grabbed you and pulled you towards him, and you tried to shake away the thought. "It's okay," you reassured, "I was actually looking for you, too."

"And you were first at it, once again," he smiled, nodding. "I'm glad it's you that found me before her."

"I agree," you confirmed with a thin smile.

A moment of hesitation passed, an additional silence of expectation that twisted your throat as you searched for your words. You didn't sense any judgement on his part, or that he wanted to press you for answers.

"I..." you began, inhaling, shifting your gaze from his to one of the few paintings on the walls of the small room, "I'm sorry, that you had to see me this way. ”Your eyes returned to his. "I don't know how I must have looked to you and," you breathed, "I regret it."

He gazed at you for a moment, frowning as his eyes returned to where Fiora knuckles had had the misfortune to meet your face.

"Why are you apologising?" he asked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" he chuckled, one corner of his lips rising a little higher than the other and raising his mole. "No, I don't think mad would be the term. Surprise, more like it."

"That I almost sent this girl to the hospital?"

"That despite all I seem to learn about you, I still want to know more."

A warmth spread through your chest.

He persisted, despite everything. He'd seen the vilest, most unbearable and stubborn parts of you, he'd seen you fight, and yet he stayed.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "I think I may have broken the second clause about helping each other and the sixth about honesty through this."

He looked surprised that you remembered so perfectly of the clauses' number, but he just shrugged. "If it is about telling me everything on your reasons for your reaction, I'm not hurried." He tilted his head to the side, his eyes on you. "I am patient, I can wait."

What had you done to deserve this? So much understanding, support and solidarity? You weren't used to it.

You considered telling him, about your past, about everything right here and there, but a thought occurred to you. If Fiora knew all the things she'd told you about your past, it was probably through him. You hesitated to ask him, parting your lips to inquire.

"And right here, in this very room, the birth of magical conflict," exclaimed the voice of a guide leading a group of tourists into the great hall.

You sighed, the little peace you had with Viktor vanishing into thin air.

"I guess we'll have to continue this conversation another time, Miss," he confirmed, "for the moment, we need to finish this damned file."

You returned to your little group like nothing had ever happened, filling in the answer boxes provided by Heimerdinger one by one. And when the visit was over, everyone returned to the hotel to get ready to visit the market.

Viktor left you all to take a nap, all that walking had made him tired. Garen, not wishing to intrude on this time of emotional reunion with your friends, provided you with a list of addresses and names of shops that might interest you.

And so Jayce, Sky and yourself wandered through the eccentric markets of Demacia. From wacky plant shops to armouries, you kept stopping and gawking. Colours and smells were all mingling together in this odd symphony that somehow wasn't too overwhelming

Each street was an exciting new discovery full of new things to uncover. You followed some of the names of the shops Garen had given you, taking the opportunity to get hold of his famous balm.

There was something strangely comforting about it, something familiar, and it made you feel good to have it close to you.

After a delicious snack of Demacian pastries and further visits to the length and breadth of the market, the three of you returned to the hotel with small bags of souvenirs and tired legs.

The aches and pains from jogging and the physical effort of the previous day's battle were beginning to take their toll, and you couldn't wait to go home and get some rest.

When you inserted the key to your room to enter, however, you found it already open. You frowned, pushing the door open and freezing as Fiora stood in the room.

She turned towards you, and you could see the rest of the damage you had caused. She probably had a doctor attached to her family, and they'd really helped her out. She had a bandage on her nose, her cheeks and cheekbones had deflated, but despite the ice cubes she'd had to put on her skin to soften them, there were still some purplish marks.

My marks, you thought, I made them, but I'm not proud of them.

Her eyes rested on you, annoyed. She looked around the room for a moment.

"Not too bad for a bedroom," she nodded, "too bad it's for two."

You sighed. She didn't seem to want to budge from her attitude, and you weren't going to play her game. You walked over to your bed, putting your shopping bag on the side of it.

"Why are you here, Fiora?" you asked simply, crossing your arms.

You preferred to get to the heart of the matter, beating around the bush was pointless and this day had shown you that perfectly.

She sighed heavily, walking up to your level and stopping at a respectable distance.

She put her weight on one of her hips, crossing her arms in turn. "I came here to apologise."

You frowned, doubting the veracity of this gesture. "Did Garen pay you to do this?"

"Pfft," she chuckled, "I wish I had been paid to do this."

"Did Madame Diane ask you to come here then?" you continued.

"Nope," she replied, emphasising the end of the word.

Had she really come to apologise of her own free will? It was almost doubtful.

"So why are you coming here to apologise?"

She sighed, her eyes drifting over her nails resting on her biceps. "I guess I feel, well, guilty."

She said the words as if she had to get rid of them, and you could feel the frustration building.

"How old are you?" you suddenly asked.

She seemed confused by the question, arching an eyebrow. "... Twenty four?"

“You're twenty four, you know what a word means, so what the hell took you?”

"I know, okay?" she grunted before taking a breath to calm herself. "Let's not start arguing, I didn't come here to nudge you to fight, just to get a conversation."

You straightened up, chewing the inside of your cheek to steady yourself. She was at least taking the first step towards remaining diplomatic, and you couldn't take that away from her, it was a good way of going about things.

You pointed your chin at her for a moment. "Why did I become your target?" you questioned. ‘You've been trying to set me aside since day one."

"No I have not," she said, frowning as her accent sounded stupid to you.

"You literally called me a rag."

"That's just because your sense of fashion is terrible," she explained, shrugging.

"See? You're doing it again," you remarked, unclasping your arms.

She sighed. "Well I guess if you had better clothes I wouldn't have said it ."

You chuckled. "This is a weird apology."

"Are you taking it or not?" Her tongue clicked against her teeth like a tired whip.

"I'll take it once I know why you wanted to put me aside."

"Because your friend Viktor is cute," she replied, shaking her head as an obvious smile spread across her lips, though it faded as her eyes rolled back into their sockets, "but the more I speak to him the more boring he gets."

You recoiled. "So you spat on me... because of a guy?"

"Not just any guy," she giggled, "he has the attitude of a prince."

Yes, he does, you thought. You remembered how he looked at the masquerade, all dressed in rich velvet and dark fabrics lined with goldened jewelry. And his coat, which you had the opportunity to wear, you couldn't forget it, couldn't forget his smell that had covered you while you walked your way back home. He had the chivalrous attitude of the Knight of Pentacles, and you couldn't deny that the role suited him perfectly.

Your eyes drifted off into space just thinking about it. "I guess you could say that."

"What do you mean “I guess”?" questioned Fiora, almost outraged.

Your cheeks heated as you tried to get back to normal, to pull yourself together and not think about it any more than that.

"Yeah I mean, I guess you're right?"

"Wait," she frowned, her head turning slightly to the side as her eyes squinted at you, "do you have something for him?"

The back of your neck caught fire, your eyes widening as your first instinct was to deny.

"What?" you laughed. "No."

She brought her hand up to her mouth to cover it for a moment as she looked at you with huge eyes, murmuring her words in disbelief. "You have a crush on him."

"This is nonsense," you cleared your throat as you remembered the pressure of his hand against your hip, bringing your own palm to the spot to regain your balance, "of course I don't."

"So that's why you were pissed about the fact I was so close to him," Fiora continued realising to herself.

"Absolutely not!" you countered.

She started walking towards the door though. "So if I go in the other room and tell him you don't have a crush on him you won't have any problem with it-"

But you hadn't given her time to reach the handle, standing in front of the door and blocking it with your hand and entire body. You reacted instinctively to this, but why?

"Don't," you whispered, "I don't have feelings for him."

She smiled at you for a moment, looking at you like you were the most ridiculous little thing she had ever seen in her life. "Then why are you reacting this way?’

You were asking yourself the same question on this very moment. Why did you start looking for him in every room? Why did you want his attention? Why did your body and your thoughts react this way when you found yourself near him?

"He's my friend," you mumbled, "I... respect him."

She giggled. "And you think that you loving him would be a form of disrespect to him?"

The truth of that sentence terrified you: could you honour him? Would having feelings for him be ridiculous considering how you were not worthy of deserving him?

"No, I told you I-"

"Fine!" Fiora's arms flew up in the air. "Gosh, you're stubborn."

You straightened up, looking at her for a moment as she exchanged a glance with you.

"So," she continued, "we bury the hatchet?"

You considered her for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. There were still four days to spend here, so you might as well spend them amicably. What's more, you weren't looking for a quarrel, so there was no reason to refuse this offer especially if it came from her.

"Alright," you nodded.

She followed your movement. "You fight pretty good by the way," she admitted, "I didn't think someone could hit that hard when looking like you."

You chuckled. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," she shrugged and nodded, "I thought you'd punch like a kid."

"And I thought you'd fight back better," you confirmed, "looks like we both got disappointed."

"If you hadn't taken such unrefined weaponry as your choice, maybe I would have been able to show you what an actual duel is like," she pointed out.

"I don't need weapons, and I didn't want to fight," you sighed.

"Why not?"

You shrugged as you moved forward to sit on your bed, fatigue gripping your limbs tightly. "Because I didn't need to."

"What is it with you Pilties," Fiora questioned, "you're boring."

"You're the bored girl trying to get everything because no one ever told you no," you remarked.

A muscle tightened near her eye, as it had before the duel you'd had had yesterday and things turned sour, and you noticed that it was perhaps time for Fiora to give you a better excuse than an attraction to a man to justify her actions towards you.

“It destabilizes you, doesn't it?” You planted your hands on either side of you, leaning back slightly. “That a stranger, coming onto your ground, destroys that reality you’ve built up for yourself brick by brick without being able to do anything about it.”

She shifted her weight on her leg as she listened to you, and you knew you'd hit the nail on the head - because you'd been through this same exact situation only a few months ago.

“Well I'm going to tell you something. Simple, clear, which will hopefully be instantly integrated in that brain of yours,” you stared into her eyes. “People don't owe you anything.”

Fiora looked at you, her lips slightly parted.

“I don't owe you my politeness, I don't owe you my knee to be bowed at your coronation, and above all, I don't owe you my respect.”

A small silence settled in the air, until Fiora chuckled and smiled.

“I like you better than I thought I would.”

You straightened up, confused. You expected her to engage in another verbal joust, to send you back what you had just offered her, or to leave by slamming the door, but not to this.

“You do?”

She approached the foot of your bed. “Do you know how many people ever told me what you just told me, Piltie girl?”

You shook your head, obviously not knowing the answer. She said nothing at the moment, simply raised her index finger in the air.

"One," she indicated as she lowered her perfectly manicured fingernail to point to you.

“Garen never told you that?” you questioned, finding it hard to believe that he didn't do the same.

She rolled her eyes. “He doesn't count. But anyway," she inhaled, "you're right. My honor was on the line of a blade I wanted to force to my will.” Her arms crossed over her chest again. “I don't want my reputation to hold on to the pillars of my family name, which has led me to...” her eyes passed over your bruises, “go low.”

“Exposing my personal information for everyone outside and trying to humiliate me is-”

“Yes I know!" Fiora cut off, annoyed. “I was scared, okay? You came here and the idea of having a stupid Piltie to show around all week wasn't the greatest for an ideal trip.”

Her truth was beginning to come out, and you were listening to her as she had listened to you. She inhaled, trying not to let herself be overwhelmed by her emotions.

“But then you held up to me, and I thought I could feel everything crack and... I went too far. So," her eyes wore their sincerity, "I'm sorry, really.”

You understood her. You knew exactly how she could feel, and you weren't about to put her down about it.

“I went too far too,“ you admitted, "sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?"questioned Fiora. “I pushed you to do this.”

“I made your face redder than your hair streaks with my fists and you wonder why I'm apologizing?”

She shook her head, and you both sighed. And to say that all this could have been avoided if your egos had been put aside.

“At least” she resumed, pouting, "now I'm matching with my hair, that's twice more fashion style than you have.”

You couldn't help but smile, and let it evolve into a little laugh as Fiora followed you into the latter. She could be funny, after all.

“So” she resumed "we're cool?”

You nodded, smiling gently at her. “We're cool.”

“Cool," she sighed, walking over to the bedroom door to open it. "Oh also," she turned to you "did you make yourself some enemies in your classmates?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Sort of, I guess. Why?”

“That Tyler guy, if I were you I'd keep him under a close eye” she was pinching the door in her hand, ready to get out. “He's the one that came to tell me everything I learned about you. He came to me the first night to tell me about all of that.”

And with that, she left, closing the door and leaving behind a deafening anger.

You should have expected it. How could you have been so stupid?

You were thinking about what Jayce had said at the beginning of the trip, about how you were probably related to the bruises Tyler himself had received.

You were starting to realise how the plotting of this had gone. If he couldn't manage to get you the treatment he was getting from both you and his family, then he would find someone who would have done it for him.

Did he insinuate to Fiora that she had to fight with you? Had he managed to push her to a duel against you in the euphoria of being able to see you lose to a renowned duelist like her?

You let yourself fall on your bed, too tired to get any more upset, but not allowing yourself to forget this under any pretext.

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morganaawriterr · 2 days ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Chapter 03;

— Your Sweet Love

Synosis: In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond.

Navigation: Intro - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 Pairing: fem!reader X husband!Park Sunghoon Genre: Arranged Marriage trope; Angst; Fluff; Sexual themes; Warnings: cursing, mention of pills (some are drugs); abuse; mentions of blood; sexual content; injuries; heavy themes; juicy tension ;) Music: Listen to 'nevertheless ost' and 'the trunk ost'!! Disclaimer: This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by the kdrama 'The Trunk' on Netflix but with a special twist! Words: 8k - New Chapter Every Saturday!!

A/n: This chapter was hard to write for some unknown reason, but it's literally my favorite!!! It's longer than usual, so enjoy! Also, I want to warn you: this chapter talks about domestic violence and has heavy themes, so be careful. Thank you for all the love and support. It means everything to me <3

The days after your injury seemed to pass tediously slowly. With your wounded right hand, you couldn’t do the usual chores that kept you busy during the day, leaving you stuck in bed or on the sofa. Watching TV and casually scrolling on your phone were all you could manage for the whole week. To you, it felt like you were a helpless princess trapped in a tower, unable to leave or do anything to distract your mind.

Today is Saturday, and it’s the most energetic and busy you’ve been all week. Since it’s the weekend, Sunghoon is at home with you, keeping you company and keeping an eye on you. The morning passed faster than it should have as you tried to help your husband with a quick cleaning of the house. Following your instructions, Sunghoon vacuumed the three bedrooms while you slowly wiped the dust off the surfaces. It was a simple task, but it was all you could do with just one hand. After that, he continued cleaning the kitchen while you busied yourself with the living room.

Once all the cleaning was done, you could feel how wet and sticky with sweat your body was, so you decided to take a quick bath to freshen up. You informed your husband of your plan, and he nodded, making a mental note to shower right after you. The sun outside was bright, casting its warm light through the large windows, bringing a sense of comfort with it. A soft breeze brushed against your skin as you walked to the main bathroom, the open windows refreshing the air.

As you stepped inside the bathroom, Sunghoon decided to lounge in the living room, planning to catch up on the series he had been watching. He threw himself onto the long sofa, yawning from exhaustion as he sank into the comfy pillows beneath him. Though he was focused on the TV, he kept an ear out for you, just in case you called.

In the large bathroom, completely illuminated by the bright sun outside, you began slowly stripping off your clothes. The warmth of the sunlight on your skin made you feel safe. As your clothes piled on the floor, your eyes scanned the tiled room, searching for the plastic glove you had been using on your right hand to help you wash without wetting your injured palm. You spotted it resting near the gold faucet. Carefully, you slid the stiff plastic material onto your hand and secured it around your wrist with a scrunchie, making sure it was tight before stepping into the tub. The bathtub was filling up as you moved, the fog from the hot water clouding the space.

Soon, you're sitting comfortably in the bathtub, the superheated water reaching just below your chest, making goosebumps form on your skin. Your arms dip beneath the surface as you let your head rest against the tub, savoring the quiet moment. After a few minutes of resting, you reach for your vanilla body wash and slowly begin washing yourself, keeping your injured hand in the air to protect it. The atmosphere is peaceful, the warmth of the sun, the water, and the familiar sweet scent relaxing you even further.

When you finish washing your body, you close your eyes and mentally prepare yourself to wash your hair. It’s always a struggle. Because it’s long, it requires a few extra steps to get it back to its natural state, and with only one hand to work with, it’s even harder. You gradually reach for your shampoo, causing little waves to ripple around you, and pour a bit onto the head massager you bought a few days ago to make the process easier.

You’re doing an okay job brushing your scalp when, suddenly, the tool slips from your hand and slides across the tiled floor with a loud thump. You bite your lip and quietly curse at yourself, barely believing what just happened. Your mind races for solutions. Two ideas cross your mind: you can stand up, walk over to retrieve it, and then get back into the water… or you can call Sunghoon for help.

Smiling at the second thought, you shake your head. There’s no way you’re calling him to assist you. Still, your heart starts to speed up at the thought of it—his handsome face peeking in as he hands you the massager, his usual confidence faltering at the sight of your bare skin. Your mind wanders even further, imagining how Sunghoon’s slender fingers could probably do a better job of washing your hair than that stupid tool, reaching all the spots you can’t quite get to.

Knowing that is definitely not happening, you reconsider the first option. You’d probably make a mess on the floor, leaving a large puddle of water as you walked. And worse, you could slip and fall—the tiles get dangerously slippery when wet. You close your eyes again, pressing your lips into a thin line, hating that, for your own good, you have no choice but to call for Sunghoon.

The truth is, you’re afraid of the growing proximity between you and Sunghoon. You’ve become dependent on his "good morning" every day to set the tone for your day. And lately, there’s been a tension between you—subtle but undeniable. Every time you’re close to him, you can feel it, like electricity traveling from his eyes to yours, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Sunghoon has been incredibly attentive and helpful ever since you cut yourself. He’s always around—preparing your meals, helping you grab heavier things, even something as simple as your coffee cup. You’ve started to notice how his touch lingers sometimes. When he holds your hand to help you put on your shoes, his fingers intertwine with yours for just a second too long. His other hand rests faintly on your hip to steady you, a barely-there presence that still sends your thoughts spiraling. With all these thoughts running through your mind, you make a decision.

“Sunghoon!” you call out, hoping he can hear you despite the distance.

Silence. You try again. And again. You chew on your lip, hating how dependent you’ve become on him, hating that he doesn’t seem to hear you. Just as you’re about to get up, there’s a faint knock on the wooden door.

“YN, is everything okay?” Sunghoon asks from the other side, his voice slightly breathless. He was nearly dozing off on the couch when he heard your voice calling for him. Worried, he rushed to the bathroom, ready to help with whatever you needed.

“Can you come in? I need help with something…” you admit, your voice louder, making sure he hears you this time.

Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t know what state you’re in, and if he walks in to see your bare body, he’s sure he’ll combust. The urge to touch you, to give in to whatever this tension is, has been driving him insane these past few days.

“Should I?” he murmurs, lower than he intended, his palm sweaty as it grips the doorknob, not quite turning it yet.

“Yes…” you answer. “Please.”

The invisible restraints holding him back snap at the sound of your plea. You always manage to hit his sweet spot without even realizing it, and he hates it.

Slowly, Sunghoon turns the doorknob and steps inside, taking a deep breath to steady himself. As soon as he enters the tiled bathroom, your scent surrounds him, invading his senses and clinging to his clothes. His brown eyes scan the scene in front of him, heat creeping through his body.

You’re sitting in the tub, your body turned toward the door as you lazily rest your head on your hand, your arm propped on the thick edge of the bathtub. Your black hair is soapy and piled messily on top of your head, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but think of how adorable you look. Then, his gaze shifts, catching sight of your right hand covered in a plastic glove. His attention snaps back to your face immediately.

“Why do you have a plastic glove on your hand?” he asks, still standing a few centimeters from the door, keeping his distance.

Your eyes find his, and for a second, you get lost in the deep brown of his gaze, words escaping you. But when he tilts his head slightly, confusion evident, waiting for an answer, you finally look away.

“I can’t get my hand wet,” you explain, closing your eyes as you add, “so I put the glove on so I could take a bath. Is that so hard to understand?” You said frustrated.

“You could have asked for help! It’s not good to keep your hand inside those cheap gloves. Besides, you should be washing that hand too—carefully.” Sunghoon sounds genuinely worried as he speaks, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. His hands move along with his words, gesturing in frustration.

A small smile tugs at your lips as he expresses his concern, and despite your best efforts, the little butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter. He looks adorable like this. Still, despite his words, Sunghoon remains frozen in place, as if his feet have grown roots, keeping him glued to the floor.

“Can you pass me that?” you interrupt, pointing at the black massager lying near his feet. “It slipped from my hand when I was washing my hair.” You gesture with your injured hand while your other arm remains firmly in place, shielding your bare chest.

“Oh—yeah. Sure,” Sunghoon stutters, suddenly realizing that you had everything under control and didn’t actually need his help. It shouldn’t surprise him—after all, you’ve always been used to doing things on your own.

He quickly bends down to grab it and steps forward to hand it back to you. His figure towers over you as he moves closer. You reach out with the arm you were using to cover yourself, stretching to take the plastic tool—but before you can, it slips from Sunghoon’s hands, rolling away once again.

You glance up at him, brows furrowed, ready to scold him. But the moment your eyes meet his, the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the intensity of his stare.

Sunghoon is completely entranced, his brain short-circuiting as his gaze greedily drinks you in. Your wide eyes look even larger as you tilt your head up to meet his, your pink lips slightly parted as you breathe slowly. A warm, rosy blush spreads across your skin—from your round cheeks and pointed nose down your neck and chest.

Soupy bubbles form around the edge of the water as it touches your skin, your breasts exposed. The way your skin glistens under the soft sunlight, the sweet scent wafting from your body, and the sight of your cute little hardened nipples make him lose his mind. Your seemingly innocent aura pulls him in, making it impossible to resist.

Sunghoon feels a tingling sensation spread through his body as his gaze travels back to your face—only to find you already searching for his eyes. Maybe he’s touch-starved from being single all this time, or maybe you’ve cast some kind of spell on him. Either way, he wants to touch you, to devour you as if you were the last meal he would ever taste.

“Sunghoon…” You call his name so softly it almost sounds like a needy moan. The truth is, you can feel his desire for you, deep in your bones. He’s a dangerously attractive man—tall, muscular, exuding confidence, and carrying a scent that draws you in like a drug.

“You don’t need to use those gloves ever again,” Sunghoon says, his voice low and firm. He kneels in front of you, reaching for your hand as he gently tugs at the cheap glove.

He does it slowly, carefully—his fingers burning as they graze your wrist, holding your hand still while he peels the glove away. A soft thud echoes in the foggy bathroom as it falls to the tiled floor. As he lingers, his fingertips barely ghost over your wound, his eyes locked onto your palm as if willing it to heal.

Your gaze never leaves his face as he continues his delicate ministrations, completely captivated by the tenderness of his touch. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, suppressing the overwhelming urge to kiss him. The thought of his plump lips pressing against yours, finally claiming you, makes your throat go dry.

“Can you turn around and hand me the shampoo bottle?” Sunghoon suddenly says, his voice softer now. “I’ll wash your hair for you. Just make sure you don’t dip your hand in the water—we’ll wash it after so it doesn’t affect the wound.”

His head tilts up, meeting your gaze once again. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips before he shakes his head, silently commanding you to do as he says.

Breathlessly, you do just that—turning your back to the side of the tub and handing him the bottle of shampoo. This position is perfect. Sunghoon has easy access to your scalp, and you can finally face away from him, trying to regain your self-control, which seems to slip away with every second your eyes linger on his.

Sunghoon’s fingers slowly thread through your hair, gently tilting your head back to keep the shampoo from getting into your eyes. The confidence in his touch makes you wonder—has he done this before? Your mind drifts to thoughts of his ex-lover. Did he often wash her hair like this?

A gentle yet precise massage at the nape of your neck pulls you out of your thoughts, making your breath hitch in surprise. Your eyes flutter shut as you savor the way he works through your hair, occasionally letting out quiet gasps when he seems to hit just the right spot. His skilled hands leave your scalp for a moment as he reaches for the showerhead to rinse your hair. Without a word, you slide forward, creating space so you can tilt your head back, letting the warm water cascade down into the tub.

Sunghoon gulps at the sight before him. Your face is completely relaxed under the stream, water gliding down your hair. His gaze travels lower, catching a glimpse of your breasts—wet, glistening, and perfectly peaked. He exhales heavily, knowing he shouldn’t touch you. But God, he wants to.

Dragging his eyes back up, he checks your hair, making sure it's ready for the next step.

“Which one is it?” Sunghoon asks, his deep voice reverberating through the steamy room—and your empty mind.

You open your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze for a brief second before reaching for your hair treatment.

With a shy smile, you hand it to your husband, feeling exposed yet reveling in the way he stares at you. His gaze makes you feel wanted. Desired. But it also makes your skin burn with unbearable heat.

Sunghoon takes the small pot, scooping out just a bit of the rich formula with his fingertips as you settle back into place, awaiting his touch once more.

Sunghoon holds your hair carefully, applying the hair mask from the middle to the tips, scrunching it lightly—knowing it’s needed for your wavy strands. As his expert fingers work through your hair, your mind wanders again. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making it painfully clear that he’s done this before. More than once.

“How long do we have to wait?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

“Five minutes,” you respond, turning to face him, your lips pressing into a thin line.

Sunghoon reaches for you, gathering all your hair and placing it over your left shoulder, letting it rest against your chest.

“There,” he murmurs. “Like this, it won’t get wet.” His voice is low, almost hesitant, as he feels the heat creeping up his neck and ears under your unwavering gaze.

“Have you done this before?” you ask softly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Sunghoon looks away, as if trying to avoid the question. But he isn’t scared of you anymore. So why not tell the truth?

“Well,” he begins, settling down on the floor and leaning his back against the tub, his face now level with yours. You rest your head on your palm, waiting for his explanation.

“My ex used to come home drunk after going out with her friends. She was always a mess—barely able to move. Sometimes she would even throw up on herself. So I started helping her shower as soon as she got inside the house.”

His once-relaxed expression hardens. His brows knit together, and his lips form a small, displeased pout as he recalls the memories.

You stay silent, unsure of what to say. Sunghoon notices and turns to face you. Your lips are sealed shut, the corners subtly dipping downward. Your eyes, almost half-lidded, stare at your hand as if you’re fighting an internal battle.

Then, finally, your gaze lifts to meet his. In that moment, nothing else exists—just you and him.

Your heartbeat picks up, thudding so loudly you’re sure Sunghoon can hear it. But he doesn’t seem to care. He’s lost in the red flecks of your deep brown irises, in the way your eyes always give away more than your words ever could.

And before he can think, before logic can catch up—his body moves on its own.

Slowly, he leans in.

Your lips part in anticipation, longing for nothing more than to finally taste those plump lips of his—the ones that never seem to leave your mind. You close your eyes, hoping to feel his warmth against yours, but instead, you're met with nothing.

When you open your eyes, Sunghoon is reaching for the showerhead.

Embarrassment burns through your cheeks, and you quickly shift inside the tub, making room for him to rinse your hair once more. You bite your lip nervously as you tilt your head back, careful to keep the water from getting in your eyes.

Each second drags on unbearably as he gently caresses the ends of your hair, making sure every trace of the mask is gone. The air between you feels thick—so heavy you could probably cut it with a knife. Every moment suffocates you, robbing you of breath.

Sunghoon finally turns off the water. You pull your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them, the sting of embarrassment and rejection making you want to cry.

Once your hair is done, Sunghoon reaches for a small towel hanging by the tub. He dips a corner into the water before looking at you.

“Can I have your hand?” he asks gently.

You let him take your wrist again, watching as he carefully rubs your injured hand, cleaning it with such tenderness it makes your chest ache. Your wide eyes remain fixed on him, feeling every ounce of care in his touch. The weight in your heart grows heavier, your emotions now as clear as water.

“All done,” Sunghoon murmurs with a small smile, turning his head slightly to meet your gaze. You hesitate before making eye contact, but the softness in his eyes eases the feeling weighing you down.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the living room,” he continues sweetly. “The new season of that basketball anime we were watching just dropped. I’ll bring the blanket and snacks.”

Then he flashes you one of those warm, seductive smiles, and it hits you square in the heart. As he walks away, you don’t move—your mind still stuck on the rejected kiss. Sunghoon notices you lost in thought.

“Come on, hurry up,” he says before closing the door, leaving you alone once and for all.

You let out a long sigh that had been caught in your throat and finally stand up, following his orders.

The rest of the evening unfolds exactly as Sunghoon had planned—the two of you sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching anime and eating junk food. You sit in the right corner while Sunghoon takes the opposite side, but at some point, without you noticing, he inches closer and closer.

Your tired eyes scan the room, burning from the bright TV lights, when you suddenly notice Sunghoon asleep, his head resting on your lap.

You don’t remember him moving this close, nor do you recall him falling asleep. But instead of waking him, you stay still for a few more minutes, letting him rest.

It’s amusing to watch him blink awake, immediately staring at you with a confused expression plastered across his face. The moment he realizes where he is, he quickly apologizes and sits up, his cheeks flushing red at the unexpected closeness.

Yawning, you also get up from the sofa and start heading toward your room, eager to sink into the comfort of your bed.

Sunghoon watches as you walk past him, his eyes never leaving your body. A part of him urges him to run after you, to pull you into his bedroom—but he knows that would be crossing a line he could never return from.

So he stays frozen in place like a fool, watching as you disappear into your room, leaving him feeling dizzy and lonely.

“You first,” Sunghoon instructs as he holds open the heavy restaurant door, leaving space for you to pass so he can follow right after.

The restaurant is busy, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter as soon as you step inside. The rich scent of barbecue fills your nose, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

A friendly woman stands by the entrance, greeting every guest with a warm smile. As soon as she spots the two of you, she quickly leads you to a table in the back of the room. It’s a table for four, surrounded by tall bamboo plants that provide a sense of privacy.

Sunghoon steps behind you, gently helping you take off your coat. Once done, he drapes it over the back of your chair before guiding you to sit. As you settle in, you glance up at him, wanting to show your gratitude for his gentlemanly actions. Your smile is met with his own as he walks around the table and takes the seat across from you.

Hungry, your eyes scan the menu quickly, already knowing what you want to order. Meanwhile, Sunghoon is still considering his choices. Resting your chin on your hand, you take a moment to admire the way his eyes focus so intently.

It’s Sunday, and since it’s yet another sunny day, Sunghoon invited you to join him at his favorite barbecue place. At first, you were taken aback by his request—he had never done this before. But then you remembered the dinner proposal from the night you injured yourself. He explained that this was the same thing, except this time, you’d be eating out instead of at home.

You smirked as you watched him struggle to get his words out, nervousness creeping in as he tried to explain his intentions. His flustered demeanor was endearing. You reassured him that it was a great idea and that you’d love to join him. The moment you said that, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Stop staring at me…” he suddenly says, putting down the menu.

“I can’t help it. The way you were shaking just to ask me to come here was so adorable,” you say sincerely. His reaction is sweet again—he quickly avoids your gaze, and you notice his ears turning red.

Sunghoon then calls out your order to the waitress, who gives him a thumbs-up and a smile. Your eyes wander to the large window next to your seat, offering the prettiest view of the Han River. Outside, people stroll leisurely, looking happy as if life regained its meaning with the sunlight. Your thoughts drift to a young couple sitting on a bench, the man handing the girl a bouquet of pink tulips, and it reminds you of Ni-ki and his sweet nature.

But your thoughts are interrupted by a loud, deep voice with a heavy accent. You turn your head to see a tall, brunette guy staring at Sunghoon, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“Sunghoon, it��s you! I haven’t seen you in so long!” he says happily, quickly leaning in to give Sunghoon a tight hug.

“Jake!” Sunghoon calls out, smiling. You notice how your husband’s face changes when his gaze lands on Jake. His eyes seem to sparkle like never before, and the smile on his lips is completely new—adorable.

“Oh, sorry for being impolite!” Jake quickly adds, looking toward you. “I’m Jake, Sunghoon’s childhood best friend!” The brunette bows at you, and you bow back.

“This is YN, my…” Sunghoon pauses, looking at you. “My wife,” he says softly, and the way the words roll off his tongue makes your cheeks turn red.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you say kindly, wanting to make a good impression. But despite his smile and politeness, confusion is written all over Jake’s face.

“What happened to Jiwon?” he asks shamelessly, his gaze returning to Sunghoon. Your husband glances at you, looking cornered. His features sharpen as he adjusts his shirt.

“We’re no longer together,” Sunghoon reassures, his brown eyes soft as they meet yours, as if trying to convince himself of that.

“Thank god, man,” Jake blurts out, leaving both of you baffled. “Don’t get me wrong,” he adds, noticing your confused stare, “she used to be a nice girl, but she was crazy as hell.” Your gaze shifts from Jake to Sunghoon. He’s looking at the plate in front of him, his expression weak and sad.

Silence settles for a few seconds, your eyes still glued to your husband’s. Jake seems to sense how uncomfortable the mood has become, and he glances at Sunghoon before speaking again. “It was good to see you, man. I hope we can go back to hanging out together!” He grins at his friend and pats his shoulder.

“If you want, you can sit with us!” you suggest, sensing Sunghoon hasn’t had the chance to catch up with his childhood friend in a while. Sunghoon looks at you, a mix of annoyance and happiness on his face. He’s a little disappointed that he’s no longer alone with you, but he’s also pleased to talk to his friend again.

“Sure, I’d love to!” Jake assures, taking a seat next to Sunghoon.

The conversation that follows is comfortable and fun. Jake starts telling you silly stories from their childhood, his excitement clear in his eyes. While listening intently, your eyes are fixed on Sunghoon. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, his friend’s easygoing nature making him open up a little more. You admire his big smile, so honest and happy, and how his brown eyes almost disappear when he laughs.

“I have to apologize for something, though,” Jake suddenly says, his gaze turning serious as he fully turns to face Sunghoon. “I shouldn’t have listened to her. It was selfish of me, but I really needed that job…” Jake explains, though you and your husband look at him with furrowed brows, clearly confused.

“Jake…” Sunghoon calls in a low voice, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

“No, listen, it’s my fault. I admit it,” the brunette insists, his accent growing heavier. Sunghoon seems to understand what’s going on, but you’re still confused.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, feeling annoyed to be left out.

Jake glances at you, then at Sunghoon. “Jiwon, his ex. She prohibited me from talking to Sunghoon. She said I was a bad influence on him. When I told her I wouldn’t stop talking to my childhood best friend, she threatened me…” Jake explains slowly, watching as your mouth falls open in surprise. “Her dad was the owner of the advocacy agency I worked at the time, and she said she’d get me fired. My mom was in the hospital at that time, and I was helping my dad pay the bills,” he continues, now shifting his eyes to Sunghoon. “I regret it now because I was fired anyway. But I never stopped caring about you, Sunghoon. The guilt was heavy every day. I couldn’t even look at our pictures from when we were younger.”

Sunghoon looks down at his lap, his hands fidgeting as he listens to his best friend, his heart aching at the honesty in his words. When he lifts his head, you can see he’s holding back tears, his sighs trembling as they meet Jake's eyes.

“It’s okay,” Sunghoon assures his friend, patting his shoulder. “You’re here now; that’s all that matters!” He says with a sad smile. Jake pouts cutely before wrapping his arms around Sunghoon’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.

You’re so busy watching that you don’t even realize you have tears in your eyes, tiny and warm. A melancholic smile forms on your lips as Sunghoon glances at you, wanting to show you how happy he is. But the truth is, it’s such a sad situation that you can’t imagine how alone and abandoned Sunghoon must have felt.

Soon, the food is placed on the table, and the two friends get lost in conversation as they grill the meat, the delicious smell making you giggle like a child. Sunghoon, despite engaging in his friend's conversation, never stops looking out for you. He cuts the meat into bite-sized portions so you can easily pick it up with your fork, keeps an eye on your cup to make sure it’s always full, and watches what food you’re eyeing so he can serve it to you.

The time seemed to fly by faster than usual, and soon you find yourself at the entrance of your home. Sunghoon is on his knees, untying the knots in your heels and helping you slip into your fluffy pink slippers. You walk to the kitchen as your husband stays behind, taking off his shoes. Inside the empty kitchen, you go straight to the fridge and grab two beers, planning to head to the living room and relax.

Sunghoon seems to catch on to your plan, so he heads straight for the living room and claims his spot on the comfy sofa. You soon appear, now in comfortable pajama pants and a long t-shirt, your big glasses back on your face. When you realize where he’s sitting, you let out a loud laugh, catching his attention.

“In the middle? That’s new,” you joke, arching an eyebrow at him. Sunghoon gives you a teasing grin and pats the empty space beside him, inviting you over. You do as he gestures and sit by his side, your knee touching his. “What are we watching? There’s no basketball match today,” you ask, glancing at him.

He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, facing you, while his side is turned toward the TV. “Can we talk instead?” Sunghoon asks softly, studying your focused face.

“Sure!” you reply with a smile, turning to face him, your side now turned toward the television. He stays quiet for a few minutes, his thoughts tangled in his mind as he gathers the courage to start talking. Before speaking, his gaze drifts from your face to his restless hands, resting on his legs.

“Jiwon wasn’t always controlling,” he begins, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart aches at the thought of her, now despising how she treated him. Noticing that he wants to have a serious conversation, your expression shifts too—your eyes narrow, and your smile fades away. “At first, she was calm, loving, and patient. She was always there for me, and that’s what made me fall for her. But over time, she completely changed. She became mean and controlling, prohibiting me from leaving the house in certain clothes, and then from seeing my friends. The worst part was how she always made it seem like it was my fault, telling me that I was trying to show off my looks and that I was starved for other women’s attention. I never even thought about anyone else, you know?” Sunghoon asks, finally able to give you a quick glance. “I could only see her.”

Hearing this wasn’t easy. Your eyebrows furrow, and a lump forms in your throat, making it impossible to say anything. When he briefly looks at you, you try to convey how sorry you feel for him with your eyes. You stare into his deep brown eyes so intensely, you’re sure he can see your soul.

“When we got engaged, it got worse.” He paused, catching his breath as it became harder to breathe. “We moved in with my dad because he was so happy I got engaged and was finally ready to learn about managing his company. Since I was always in meetings and dinners with important people, she became jealous all the time. She’d call me ten times during busy meetings. That’s when she started hitting me. At first, it was pushing me with force, then it turned into punches on my shoulders and sides… Eventually, she started slapping me. Every time I didn’t agree with her or wasn’t home when she wanted, she used it as an excuse to hit me.”

Sunghoon seemed ashamed as he spoke, his gaze nervously shifting around the room. But your eyes never left his face. Tears began to form in your eyes as you listened, and before you could do anything, they started rolling down your cheeks. They were silent but heavy, your breathing unsteady, and your hands trembling. You couldn’t even begin to understand the pain and abuse he had endured.

“I started sleeping terribly by then, feeling lonely and depressed all the time. And I had no one. My dad knew everything but acted like he didn’t. My friends stopped talking to me, and my mom…” Sunghoon’s voice cracked as tears began to form in his eyes. “I was upset at my mom. She caught Jiwon hitting me and told me to leave her and make a report to the police, but instead, I got upset at her.” Without realizing it, his tears started to fall too, wetting his warm face.

Without thinking, you reached for him and cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. That’s when he noticed you were crying with him, sharing his pain as if you were feeling it too. Your small hands tried to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, hating to see him this way.

“It’s not your fault, Sunghoon,” you muttered, your voice cracking. “She was abusive and evil, and it had nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong,” you assured him, staring into his eyes as you spoke, your heart aching as if it were being stabbed.

“I know that…” he added, a sad smile forming in his eyes. “Now, I know that.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all of this,” you added, the tears now falling like a waterfall from your red eyes. It’s so unfair that he had to endure all of this, especially knowing his father was abusive too.

“It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize,” Sunghoon said, gently pulling your hands off his face. He opted to hold them instead, craving the warmth of your touch against his cold skin. “I miss my mom so much,” he confessed, his sad eyes searching for yours again.

“I’m sure she misses you too. She loves you so much,” you replied, trying to smile. “I’m sure if you ran to her arms, she wouldn’t question it. She’d just take you in, because after all, you are her son.” You squeezed his hands tightly as you spoke, trying to reassure him with your words.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything else and remained quiet, watching you, completely fascinated by your empathetic heart. If he wasn’t sure of what he felt for you before, he certainly was now. Under your caring gaze, Sunghoon tugged gently on your wrist, silently conveying what he wanted. You bit your lip and hid a smile, then got up and settled between his legs, your back against his chest. Your husband quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder, inhaling your sweet perfume.

You let him do as he wished, knowing he craved closure after opening his heart to you. And to be honest, it felt good when he held you like this—his embrace was strong and comfortable. As the moon rose in the night sky, you and Sunghoon kept a familiar silence, enjoying each other’s presence.

The next two weeks pass by smoothly. Sunghoon starts eating dinner at home with you every day, always coming to the kitchen with a bright smile and a hungry stomach. You both talk and laugh about the stories he tells you about the company, and the atmosphere is comfortable and familiar. Usually, after eating, your husband helps you clean up and gather the dishes to load into the dishwasher.

Then, the old routine of hanging out in the living room follows, but ever since that afternoon, you and Sunghoon now spend more time together. He typically sits back against the sofa, opening his arms for you to snuggle against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. He then wraps his arms around you or caresses your soft hair, loving how it always smells clean and fresh.

Your hand is finally healed. Last week, Sunghoon drove you to your appointment, and the doctor removed the stitches, telling you to be careful for a few more days. You were so happy to finally be able to do your usual tasks instead of lying around all day. Today is no different. It’s almost seven pm, and Sunghoon must be close, so you finish the last touches on the meal.

Suddenly, your phone starts ringing, the loud music startling you. You check the caller ID and see Sunoo’s name. You almost forgot you asked him for a favor. You quickly accept his call:

“Hey girl, sorry for calling so late,” he greets from the other side.

“It’s okay…” you respond, noticing how hesitant his voice sounds. “Any news?”

“Yeah, that’s why I called.” Sunoo took a deep breath. “You were right. It was her who was giving him those pills. But they aren’t normal sleeping pills, YN. They’re drugs, actual drugs. My dad followed her for a few days and found out that she has a male friend who works at a pharmacy, and he provides her with drugs. He swaps them for the sleeping pills and gives her the bottles like it’s nothing.” As Sunoo explains, you feel your blood start to boil, your body temperature rising as you finally piece everything together. “We can meet another day so I can show you the evidence and explain it better!”

“Yes, of course!” Then, you hear Sunghoon’s car pull into the driveway. “Thank you, Sunoo. Tell your father he doesn’t owe me anything anymore. Sunghoon’s here, I have to go.” Just as you finish speaking, you hear him punch in the passcode and walk inside. Your fingers quickly end the call, and you try to act naturally. It’s hard to control your feelings when you first see Sunghoon. Today, he looks different—his face is serious, and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

You study him carefully, sensing something is wrong. Sunghoon steps into the kitchen without a word, circles the island, and comes close to you. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your chest, catching you by surprise. Your hands quickly find their way to his hair, and you caress it as you wait for him to speak.

“Today was so stressful.” He whined with a pout on his lips, his eyes glancing at yours. “I feel so irritated, anytime someone talked to me today I was rude.” He explained, now lifting his head and pulling you flush against him, now your head was in his chest.

You inhale his scent, feeling your nerves begin to calm down. “It’s okay, I’m here with you now,” you say sweetly, looking up at him with doe eyes, making him feel like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

You slowly pull away from him to guide him to the dinner table, then go to take care of the food. The jjajangmyeon is ready, and it smells delicious. You carefully place the bowl in front of him, then do the same for yourself. You sit across from him, and while you eat, you steal glances at his face. Your mind drifts to Jiwon, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the rage you feel. How could she do this to him? In addition to abusing him, she made him an addict. Sunghoon notices the way your face hardens and asks:

“You okay? You seem upset.” He asks while slurping his noodles.

“I’m fine, just frustrated, that’s all,” you explain, your eyes completely avoiding his.

“Frustrated? Like sexually, or in general?” Your mouth opens at the question, not expecting such a bold one. He sure has been a bit more comfortable with you lately.

“Sunghoon,” you call sternly, but your face betrays you as a soft red blush spreads across your cheeks.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything else, just smirking as he keeps eating, clearly enjoying making you embarrassed. This past week, it’s been harder and harder for him to resist you. It feels like the more he gets to know you, the more desire burns inside him, consuming him every single night.

The rest of the meal is silent, except for the slurping of the noodles. When you’re done, you get up and start gathering your dishes for the dishwasher. Today, you’re eager to go to bed, not feeling very social since Jiwon keeps bugging your mind. Sunghoon soon follows behind you, also picking up his dishes and helping you load them correctly into the machine.

You try to avoid him as much as possible, feeling like you can’t be your usual sweet self. After helping you, he brings his work case to the table and takes out his laptop, wanting to work a little while in your presence. But as you try to pass by him at the table, he suddenly gets up from his chair and bumps into you, causing you to stumble onto the table. His expensive work bag is knocked over and falls open, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” Sunghoon asks, concerned, his hand reaching out for your face, but you pull away.

“Yeah, sorry I made your stuff fall,” you joke, squatting down to begin picking up everything. Sunghoon follows suit, also gathering his things. That’s when he notices the small picture his ex gave him weeks ago. He tries to grab it, but before he can, your small hand picks it up first.

“What’s this?” you murmur more to yourself, inspecting the picture. You soon realize it’s a photo of Sunghoon and his ex-fiancée, his fake smile giving it away. Then, your fingers flip the picture to find a small bag with two pills inside. “Sunghoon…” you call, dangling the picture in your fingers.

“YN, I can explain,” he says, stuttering, already knowing he’s messed up.

“You better start explaining then,” you add nervously, standing up and crossing your arms. Your eyes are heavy as they stare into him.

“She gave me that a few weeks ago… I didn’t mean to take them, ever. Look—” He says, reaching out to grab the damn photograph. “The tape is intact. I didn’t take anything.”

“How did she give you this?” you ask, your voice rising as your blood starts to boil. You close your eyes, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I met her,” Sunghoon confesses, his head hanging as he speaks, too embarrassed to face you. “It was weeks ago, before you cut yourself. She—she was upset because I stopped reaching out to her, and she asked me to meet her.” He explains, now slowly stepping towards you, his hands reaching out for you. “I didn’t want to go—”

“But you went anyway,” you interrupt, your patience running thin. How could he do this to himself? Torture himself like this? As he gets closer, you step back, not wanting him to touch you right now.

“I went because I wanted to say goodbye to her. I never want to see her again. It was my way of saying goodbye,” Sunghoon explains, his eyes wide as he tries to justify himself.

“Sure,” you add, not believing a single word coming out of his mouth. Not wanting to argue further, you turn your back to him and start walking toward your bedroom. But it seems like Sunghoon isn’t done.

“Actually, I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. You don’t have anything to do with me,” he adds, feeling bitter and rejected as you walk away. His words make you stop. You slowly turn around and look at him.

“Oh, so now I don’t mean anything?” you add, feeling more hurt than angry. You knew he was pent up from work, and it was making him say whatever came to his mind. You weren’t exactly upset at him, but he was there at the moment, and you might have poured everything onto him.

“Wait, I didn’t—” Sunghoon starts to speak, running his hand through his hair. “You can’t tell me who I can meet and who I can’t. It doesn’t matter if I have feelings for you or not!” he adds, starting to feel angry again. “We’re not even together. Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

As the last words leave his mouth, they pierce through your heart like a blade, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. The sour truth leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You stare at him one last time without saying anything, your hands shaking and your legs feeling wobbly. A single tear falls from your eyes, but you quickly catch it with the back of your hand, feeling stupid for crying because of him.

Without saying another word, you turn your back to him again and walk up the staircase, avoiding him as much as possible. Sunghoon soon realizes what he’s said and sprints behind you, guilt consuming him. He didn’t mean any of those words. He didn’t even know why he said them. Maybe it was the frustration of the busy day or the way you looked at him, as if you were disappointed in him. To his dismay, as soon as he reaches the top of the stairs, you walk into your bedroom and slam the door right in his face.

And so, he stands by your closed door like an idiot, his head low as he debates whether he should knock and apologize or leave you alone.

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

Hey Revel, would it be okay to request an one shot fluff of Fort Max comforting reader after a really bad night?

Sure! He’s on my request list, just haven’t gotten to him yet

Fort Max Scenario- Nightmares

Fortress Maximus x Reader

• Again. Can hear you tossing and turning in your little nest. Spark constricting when you make a soft, pained sound. Hurting and this isn’t an enemy he can fend off. And it’s almost every night now, your sleep haunted by something you refuse to share with him. Running a hand over his face, he slides off his berth and crosses the room. You’re curled into a tight little ball, trembling and you gasp when he carefully picks you up blankets and all. “It’s me. Max, remember?” He soothes when you thrash in his grip, his voice making you settle even though he can still feel your heart racing against his servos.

• Shivering, you can’t look him in his red optics as he carries you back to his berth and lays down, settling you and your blankets on his chassis. “I woke you again.” Embarrassed, you curl on your side so your back is to him, because you can’t meet those worried optics right now. “Sorry.” Can still feel the vestiges of the nightmare, the fear so visceral you can’t breathe even now. Wanting to curl up and just cry, but knowing that will upset him more. The urge only increasing when he cautiously runs a servo over your head. The big guy trying so hard to take care of you. To fix what was already broken.

• Uncomfortable with handling you, afraid you might think that he thinks you’re a pet, not a person, it’s the only way either of you will get any rest. Any time you have those dreams, you’ll just toss and whimper all night long unless he intervenes. “My friend, Red, has trouble recharging,” he murmurs. Red Alert’s paranoia disturbs his recharge. He has no idea what bothers yours. You refuse to tell him. “Told me he has this little ambient noise loop going and it calms him right down.” Tiredly telling you stories about Red Alert and rubbing his servo between your shoulder blades until your heart calms. Until you relax against him.

• “Thank you,” you mumble, cheek on your arm as you listen to his deep voice and the hum of his spark. Letting your big protector banish the fear. Because nothing can touch you while he has you, even if there’s guilt for accidentally waking him. For not being strong enough to lie to him that you’re fine. Not that he ever complains about you annoying him, just patiently dealing with your issues without prying. Without telling you that you’re the problem.

• “Of course.” Rumbling softly to you when you yawn and close your eyes. Knows you’ll sleep peacefully now. You always do. Hadn’t wanted to presume or pressure you, but maybe you should just sleep on him from now on if it calms you. Doubts you’d ever ask him to let you, but you might feel better about it if he asks you. Besides, he’s getting used to your warmth, the feel of your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing. “I have you.” Misses them when you try to sleep alone. Getting to where he needs to be able to feel you there to rest just like you need him.

#transformers x reader #fort max #fort max x reader

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msbyslilbimbo · 3 days ago

Text

wolf!shidou who curls his teeth into the biggest smirk ever as bunny!reader and bunny!sae go at it.

he sees your little tail twitch while sae has you bouncing on his lap, his hands on your hips while you bounce up and down on his length. nails dig into the meat of your muscle while your hands rest on sae’s shoulders, grounding yourself in midst of your pleasure. your ears are down, completely indulging in the cock inside of you and the man giving it to you.

so naturally, when shidou lets out a whistle, your ears shoot up in panic and your head whips over your shoulder to look at him. you look terrified, you always do when shidou is around, and it makes his dick twitch; the way your eyes turn glassy and pretty as you peer at him is exhilarating. he can practically hear your heart pound in your heaving chest.

he can smell your arousal from the doorway.

“well what do i have here?” ryusei smirks. you whimper in fear of the wolf, but sae merely smacks your ass with a soft ‘didn’t say to stop, runt.’ “two needy little bunnies who couldn’t wait for me to give permission hm?”

“we don’t need your permission to hump, mutt,” sae grumbles, and you immediately tense up as shidou’s nose draws up your neck, licking a broad stripe in his wake. you quiver, and he slaps a massive palm down onto your tummy, making you jump and clench around sae’s cock. he jerks and his nose twitches, “she’s my girl first, your precious meat second. certainly aren’t going to ask for your permission to fuck her.”

his claws dig into the squishy meat of your belly, and you whine and lay your smaller hands on top of his for mercy, making shidou smirk. “what’re you doing to the poor girl, hmm? she’s absolutely trembling.” beefy hands trail up from your tummy and gently cupping your breasts, thumb stroking over your nipple and making you moan softly. “gotta be gentle with a little thing like her.”

“gentle?” sae snickers. “brat’s just terrified of you. you should hear how loud she squeals when my cocks fucking her nice and rough.”

you hear shidou chuckle and lean close to your ear, hot breath puffing against the shell. you shiver, tail twitching, and he sets up behind you, monstrous hands wandering up your sides and tits and belly while his hips rut against the squishiness of your ass, nudging your tail. you squeal in fear and your clit thumps, demanding attention from the big, bad wolf behind you.

"terrified? why, i'd never hurt a fly," he whispers, voice hushed and making you gasp. fingers trail to gently tug at the fluff of your tail, and you cry out in pain, the other hand caressing you darting between your legs to circle your clit hidden between sticky pussy lips. "i only want to make her feel good, ain't that right, angel?"

"you clench around me like that again, im gonna let him fuck that little ass of yours," sae threatens, digging his nails into your hips. "watch yourself. remember who you obey, little bunny."

the hand tormenting your little cotton tail shoots up to wrap around your throat and crane your head back, forcing you to look at shidou. "remember who can just gobble you up, little bunny," he snarls, teeth gritted close and once again, dangerously close to your face. the hand busy between your leg uses its nails to prod your clit, and you cry out in delighted fright.

he grins. sae bucks his hips up to slam into the spongy wall inside of you, pulling a moan out of your mouth and causing your eyes to cross.

"pretty bunny's close," shidou hums, pressing his lips to your cheek while he rubs your clit furiously. "i hear that little heart rate spiking. I feel that pretty tail twitching against my cock."

"if you cum now, im not protecting you from shidou."

"if you don't cum now, i'll tear you apart."

the signals in your brain cross as you cry out helplessly, body now being completely battered between two forces.

and if it weren't for the excitement brewing between your legs, you'd almost be convinced you were scared for their threats.

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thefrankoceanlover · 3 days ago

Text

nsfw. gn!reader, sub top jayce, missionary, first times, oral (jayce giving). as promised a continuation of this post

Jayce sits on your bed, silently observing as you shift through your notes. There’s a pillow on his lap since his mind seems to wander in your presence.

“I can’t find my questionnaire,” you sighed, sitting beside him. Your close proximity didn’t help the situation. The bed was already small, and you’ve made it your mission to sit right next to him, your thigh brushing against his.

“Would you mind if we did an interview instead? I think I remembered most of the questions.”

Jayce wasn’t sure why an anatomy class would require an interview. Still, he wanted to help a friend in need, even if he had dreamt about the said friend in various positions that would put the reproduction chapter of an anatomy textbook to shame.

“Yeah. Interviews are more reliable anyway,” Jayce replies. More personal.

“Great! My topic focuses on various lifestyles and their effects on differing body types,” you explained, but Jayce’s hazel eyes focused on your lips as you described your research project. You loved talking about anything and everything, your latest midterm or your favourite book. Would you talk him through it?

Fuck, Jayce shouldn’t think about these things with you, not even centimetres away from him, but he can’t help it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t take a nap before visiting your dorm, hoping to experience that dream again. It was wrong. He should not be thinking of his friend like that, but fuck. He even considered stopping by the library to check out a book on lucid dreams on his way to your room.

The questions were straightforward and distracted him from your body pressing against his side. Most questions centred on his diet, workout routine, and mental health. However, there were a few he didn’t anticipate.

“Are you sexually active?” you inquired, glancing up from your notepad to gauge his reaction. Jayce contemplates being honest with you, yet he fears you would take him for some virgin loser who was too preoccupied with his studies to have sex. It wouldn’t be an incorrect assumption, but you didn’t need to know that. So, he chose the most logical option and lied instead.

“Yes,” he says nervously, meeting your curious gaze. He hoped you didn’t notice his increased anxious demeanor.

“Makes sense,” you mumble, noting it down. What did you mean by that? Did he seem like the kind of guy to fuck? Did you think he was some player? The most play he had managed to get was in his dreams. He was strangely flattered and hurt by your offhanded comment.

Unspoken words were lingering in the placid atmosphere. You wanted to ask more questions that didn’t pertain to your interview.

“So, you’ve had sex before?” you asked. Jayce doubts that was a question you had on your questionnaire that you seemingly lost.

“Yes,” he confirms, attempting to sound casual. He’s digging himself a hole, but there’s no way you could call him out on his bullshit, right?

“What’s it like?” You questioned. Jayce was surprised. You were gorgeous. He couldn’t believe you’d never had sex before. Maybe you valued a connection and were waiting for the right person. Or maybe you were like him. He would relate with you, but he’s already burying himself in the hole he’s dug.

“You’ve never…?”

“No. Since you’ve done it before, would you mind showing me?” His heart thuds rapidly at your offer. You wanted him to take your virginity. You didn’t even know he wanted you to take his the moment he saw you in that light. You also weren’t aware he was a virgin and was lying to you to appear cooler.

“Oh, yeah, I can show you,” he chuckles, but he’s beyond nervous, and his words come out weakly. Jayce is shaking — from nerves or excitement, he’s not sure. You smile at him, and he thinks he’s dreaming.

This was another wet dream. It had to be because you were taking off your shirt, exposing your bare flesh to his hungry eyes. You toss the pillow off his lap and settle onto him. Jayce’s hands grab your hips like they did in his dream. His erection presses onto your clothed thigh, but Jayce is too busy feasting on your naked torso to care.

You were more beautiful than he conjured in his subconscious. Jayce squeezes your hips, your soft flesh filling his palms. He can feel you, yet it’s not enough to convince him he’s not still dreaming.

Leaning forward, you capture his lips with your own. Your hand cups his cheeks, your thumb subtly caressing his cheekbones. Jayce doesn’t consider the time a girl was dared to kiss him when he was 10 years old as his first kiss — no, his first kiss was right now, with you on his lap, holding his face like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Jayce whimpers into your parted mouth. That was a mistake. He wasn’t a virgin, well, he was, but he wasn’t supposed to be acting like one. You shift on his lap, getting closer to him. The sudden movement puts pressure on his cock through the layers of fabric, and he moans into you once again. You don’t mind swallowing each noise he made.

His lips move to your neck, kissing your sensitive flesh. Jayce mimics the words he’s read in those classic erotica novels he’s spent way too much time reading. His hand grips your thighs, squeezing them. Then his hand trails to your naked waist, holding you closer to him. Satisfaction fills him when you moan under his ministrations.

Finally, Jayce has you on your back, and nerves fill him. You’re both out of your uniform, left in your underwear. Then reality came crashing down. He was about to take your virginity — he was going to lose his virginity to you. It’s different from his dream, somehow more intimate than he prepared for.

“Look, I’m sorry I lied to you, but I’m actually a virgin,” Jayce whispers. “I understand if you don’t want to—”

“Jayce, I don’t care,” you huffed. Your fingers raked through his dark hair and tugged at his roots, forcing him to face you. He moans softly, and his big doe eyes are wide with shock.

“You don’t?”

“It was kind of obvious. You were grinding on my thigh for the past 10 minutes—” Jayce’s face burns with embarrassment, and he buried his face in your neck, sparing him from further humiliation.

Sure, he might’ve lost track of his thoughts, rutting his aching arousal onto your soft thigh, whining into the needy kisses you’ve shared, but he didn’t think he was that obvious. At most, he came across as inexperienced. Or so he thought. Jayce didn’t think he came across so desperate that you, a virgin yourself, noticed.

“Don’t worry, Jayce, I liked it. C’mon now, finish what you started,” you teased.

He nods at your words, and you remove the rest of the clothing from your body. Jayce is entranced by the sight of you bare, beneath him. His eyes lingered on your exposed skin, mapping out each blemish or beauty mark. You peer up at him with those eyes of yours, your chest rising and falling, matching the rhythm of his own. Jayce swears he’s about to come from the sight of you alone.

Jayce pushes his boxers down, his cock slipping down, and he winces at the cool air kissing the sensitive flesh. You moan when he enters you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he stretches you open. He halts when he’s fully sheathed inside you, and his eyes are snapped shut. Jayce allows you to adjust to him, but he’s silently praying to the Gods that he doesn’t come inside you too quickly.

“You feel so fucking good,” you moan. Your words do little to qualm the burning ache in him. He’s finally in you, and it’s better than his dream — this must be heaven. You squeezed around him like you were trying to become one with him. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Jayce,” you whined, writhing beneath him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. If he moved, he might finish in you before making you orgasm, but he wanted to listen to you, so he thrusts into you. Each one is weaker than the last. His entire body trembled. The pleasure coursing throughout him was too much, and he climaxed with a high-pitched moan.

Jayce collapses onto you, and shame fills his entire body. What kind of man was he? Finishing before his lover could even amount to the same pleasure. You weren’t irritated as you ran your fingers through his tousled hair, but you deserved more than a few weak thrusts.

“I’m not mad—” Jayce cuts your words off with a kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your throat and chest to between your legs. His goal was to ease the ache in your core, and Jayce was a quick learner, picking up the sweet spots that left you squeezing your quivering thighs around his head. It didn’t take long until he was hard again.

Jayce was going to redeem himself in the second round and make you come around his cock like he did in his dreams.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis #jayce smut #jayce talis x you #jayce x you #arcane smut #arcane x reader

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mameillieureennemie · 3 days ago

Text

i decided on angst. 😞

fwb!vi x reader

summary: you and vi are friends with benefits. so why does it feel more than that now?

the sun sets low, dipping behind the horizon and colouring the world in warm hues. it throws oranges through the window, made into stripes by partially opened blinds, and it's all so...peaceful.

simple.

you stare out the window at the city beyond, take in the skyline as it slowly starts to shimmer. it's coming alive; just in time to greet those who favour the night's darkness. you wonder if you could be drawn out; your friends have been dying to take you to a classy restaurant downtown.

all dressed up in glittery dresses, sloping silhouettes, and too-high heels reveal pain-tinged regret far too late.

still, you could be tempted.

but.

"you okay, sweetness?" vi says from behind, her arms finding their home around your waist. she pulls you in until no space can possibly exist between your back and her chest. her chin hooks over your shoulder, perfectly like a puzzle piece, and it really makes you think.

"i'm fine," you assure her, resting your hands over hers, because you are fine. better than you've felt in days, perhaps. you can't really pinpoint why, but deep down, you know. you're just unsure if you want to accept the reason. "i was thinking about going out tonight. there's this new restaurant my friends want us to try. very fancy; pretty sure you need a reservation."

"aren't you friends with mel medara and caitlyn kiramman?" vi teases, and you can't help but laugh. you see what she's aiming for, and of course, you'd never have to make a reservation for anywhere high brow in the city.

"your point?" you ask, just because you can, and yelp when vi nips at your neck's curve. "hey—!"

vi shushes you. "easy, princess," she murmurs, and you fall at ease. only because you want to. not because vi's voice can command you to do almost anything, especially when it's still a little sleep-heavy, a little hoarse around the edges. "if you want to go out, we can. i was kinda thinking we'd stay in. order some food and watch something funny."

you try not to focus on how vi said we instead of you. you try not to focus on how that made your heart skip.

you keep your eyes on the darkening skyline, noting how the lights in the buildings shine like stars. your throat feels dry; it almost hurts to swallow. there's so much running through your mind right now, so much that makes you want to turn around and go:

this isn't a part of the deal.

this isn't supposed to happen.

all of this is dangerously verging into a—

"i'd like that," you say quietly, already dooming your heart to a tragic end. you take bitter solace in the smile vi presses into your skin, it almost makes you feel sick. but you don't pull away when she turns you in her arms. you don't draw back when she leans in to kiss you.

you don't place a hand on her chest and say what you should say.

we agreed this wouldn't be more than sex.

but vi's mouth is the sweetest nectar you've tasted, highly addictive and forever on your lips. she draws you in until you're back on the bed, underneath her as you surrender to her touch.

the skyline's fully alight by the time you're both sat on the couch, watching some sitcom. you're freshly showered, curled up together with forks digging into take-out cartons.

vi laughs loudly at something on the screen, eyes closed and mouth wide. she's got some sauce at the corner of her mouth, and she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen and...

no.

you can't do this.

#vi x reader #vi x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane #kismet writes ☆~#may be a series (she says laughing deliriously)

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vxlentinescookies · 2 days ago

Note

ohmygosh is it possible you could write something for past!shadow milk cookie x (fem) reader?

perhaps there's a moment where the reader returns to his spire/kingdom after visiting her family that lives afar, but she comes back to him all wounded after being robbed from some bandits?

i just want to see this guy being absolutely distraught over not knowing this happened to us, but we reassure him with gentle touches, kisses, and comforting words 😭💖

→ ❛The Old Days: A robbery❜

→ Pairing ; Shadow Milk Cookie x Fem!Reader → Quote ; ❛❛You’re my all and everything, you know that, right?❜❜ → Genre ; Headcanons → A/N ; Here you go!

It was a normal day like always, it just seemed to be one of those days where things had come right and would pass right as they do, but…

“(y/n)! Beloved!” A voice would call out to you as you arrived at the Spire of Knowledge, your steps becoming hurried more and more as you approach it before kneeling by the side of your beloved, Shadow Milk Cookie.

“Milkie, what happened?” You ask him with worry as you rush to his side, before he’d speak again, between heavy breaths. “You look hurt…”

“I was robbed—Some bandits came and tried to rob us!” He’d say, clearly distraught as you sighed and helped him up “My sweetheart…”

“Come, lets get you all patched up, ok?” You say, softly, looking at him with a sweet gaze before lifting him up towards the stairs of the spire.

Being robbed was something Shadow Milk couldnt have thought of… happening in his life!

Yet here we are, moments after the events with you bringing him up with a warm smile and a cozy air.

Rising into your shared bedroom, you make sure everything is secure before allowing him to rest into the bed before you’d climb to his side, smiling.

And you’d whisper sweet nothings, gentle smiles and words and sweet whispers, things to keep him calm…

“Breathe, angel, breathe with me…” You’d say at one point, once in bed as you held his hands in yours with a warm smile “Feel free to lean on me…”

And he’d do so, leaning into your chest, feeling the soft heartbeat of your heart, it was everything he needed to feel calm already, despite being so distraught before, your scent and self calmed him instantly always.

“Oh sweetheart, what I would do without you…” He’d say, setting his face on your breast with a soft smile as his hair tickled your skin “You’re my all and everything, you know that, right?”

“Of course… Of course I know…”

But you know dreams are dreams, still, you cling to it like your life depended on it.

Your hands would caress his hair, softly, and your eyes would gaze over him as he cuddled to you, holding you close.

He was still distraught, that much wasnt a lie, he was still aching over what was stolen and lost.

But with you by his side… How could he ever feel lost…?

… Right, how could a jester like him ever feel lost…

#🌙;stellar headcanons #shadow milk cookie x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #cookie run x reader

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liahaslosthermind · 2 days ago

Text

𝑬𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏

Summary: The 4 times the Night Court’s Shadowsinger mentioned… someone, and the first time his family got the promise of an answer.

Content: Angst, with the promise of future fluff

Warnings: Angst, I like making Azriel sad sorry, I also take the ‘mate talk’ in the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter and rewrite it to fit this story. I also haven’t read CC yet so apologies if Bryce is OOC Azriel x OC [not introduced in this part]

*Slight spoilers for the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter

Bryce turned to the fae female next to her, “You have a mate, don’t you?” Nesta simply nodded in response, a slight smile forming on her face, followed by a deep blush. “Do you?” The red head directed at Azriel.

Nesta’s stomach dropped. She knew it was a sore subject for the Shadowsinger. What with everyone else in his family being mated except for him-

“I do.” He said, a trace of apprehension in his voice. Nesta’s head snapped to face him so quickly that her vision spun for a moment, causing her to stumble.

Regaining her footing, she barked out, “Azriel? What the fuck do you mean?”

The trio stopped walking for a moment, tension settling over the once calm night air. She gave him a demanding, and slightly betrayed, look. Even though his eyes met hers, Azriel kept quiet. Bryce simply looked between the two, face wrinkling in the awkwardness of the moment.

“Ah. A sore subject, I guess?” Bryce laughed, or tried to, it only came out forced and uncomfortable.

“Who, Az? How come I had no idea? Does anyone know?” There wasn’t anger in her voice, just hurt.

He had to bite back his usual replies, the ones he gave to his family when they tried to ask questions or bring up the topic without him bringing it up first. Not that he ever did.

“She’s-” he swallowed. Cauldron, when would he finally be able to talk about her without wishing the world would swallow him whole? “It’s not something I want to discuss right now, especially with present company.” He sent a pointed look at Bryce. He couldn’t hide the misery in his tone this time though as he took a deep breath and continued, “I will tell you about her, Nes. One day. I’d just rather do it on my own terms. On my own time.” Nesta opened her mouth, seconds away from arguing, when he put a hand on her shoulder, “Please.” he begged, softly.

The glimmer of silver in his eyes caught her off guard, gave her such a knee jerk reaction of protectiveness that she gave him a crushing hug. It was strange, this feeling. Azriel, the broody, closed off, terrifying, annoyingly perceptive, kind, and unbelievably loving friend she never knew she needed had just revealed a part of himself she could tell he kept locked away for good reason. The thought that even the mention of his mate could bring him to tears made her heart break in a way she thought impossible after all she had been through.

She took a deep breath as she pulled away, “When you’re ready,” she agreed.

He smiled back at her, while it was genuine, one of the few he reserved for his family, there was still insurmountable pain in his eyes.

Nesta turned back to Bryce, “Can you play more of your music? Just none of that screaming one.” She asked, shaking her head at the memory of the Death Metal genre she hadn’t liked when the redhead had played it for them.

She smiled softly as she felt Azriel squeeze her hand in a silent Thank you before he let go.

The High Lord sat, feet propped up on his desk. “When do you head out for Rosehall?” He asked.

Azriel, standing by the window to the right of his brother, answered, “The morning after Solstice.” Rhysand grimaced when he heard the mask of indifference his Spy Master had in his voice. “I still need to pick up a gift before I go.”

Rhys took it for the invitation it was. “Would you buy her something from me? On my account this time.” He tried to put on his commanding-High-Lord voice as he said it, but he knew very well that Azriel wouldn’t listen to the last part of his request even as his brother smiled in agreement as he walked out of the room, sending an inclination of goodbye to his High Lady in the chair across from her mate.

“Rosehall? What female is he visiting the day after Solstice?” Feyre spoke into her mate’s mind.

Despite Rhys’ usual inability to keep anything from his mate, he couldn't bring himself to explain, couldn’t bring himself to cross the very clear lines his brother had set all those years ago.

“It's not my story to tell. And don’t ask someone else, if any of them know, they also won’t talk.”

Certainly not the answer she had expected, as was evident by the look on Feyre’s face.

“And if I ask Azriel?” she inquired.

“It will just bring up things he isn't ready to share. He will come to you- come to us- some day.” ‘One day’ Azriel had promised his family long ago, long before their family had been as big as it was now. “I just pray it's under better circumstances.”

Feyre froze, feeling the weight of mixed negative emotions flowing down from her mate’s side of the bond. For once, she was even more confused after asking Rhysand for more information.

“Well, I believe we’ve reached the threshold of faked amiability before one of us attacks the other. We should quit while we’re ahead.” Eris said as he stood up from his chair, starting to grab his papers without so much as a glance to his reluctant hosts. Even years after their alliance was set in stone with the agreement from the Night Court to back Eris’ claim to his father’s throne, even after fighting beside them in war, these faked niceties could only go on for so long before the claws came out.

No one in the Night Court’s Inner circle could say there was anything but relief to see the Autumn Court’s High Lord walk away. But before they could let out a breath of relief, Eris stopped and turned to the Shadowsinger.

“I have received word that your… gift has been finished. I will send someone to get it to you within the week.”

Azriel’s head quickly snapped to Eris, “And they were able to meet all my requests?” He asked, not caring that everyone else in the room watched the interaction with fierce intrigue.

The eldest living Vanserra boy scoffed, “I assured you they’d be able to.” Azriel let out a relieved breath at that. While he’d known Eris’ court capable of such a thing, it wasn’t much more difficult than lesser magics, but hearing it confirmed ignited hope he didn’t know he still carried.

“Thank you. She’ll love it.” The Spy Master replied earnestly, much to Eris’, as well as the rest of the Inner Circle’s, shock.

The red haired fae simply schooled his features and nodded in response before winnowing away.

Despite the heaviness all the secrets and questions caused, everyone remained silent as they watched Azriel slip out of the room.

The dining room had been filled with loud chatter for the weekly family dinner. Love filled teasing and relentless jokes put everyone in a good mood. Nothing felt better to the Night Court’s Inner Circle than being all together. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end.

“I’ll be leaving for a few days.” Azriel told Rhysand, who was sitting to his left at the head of the table. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He quickly added.

“I thought you were leaving the day after?”

“I was, but the package I had been waiting on came, and I’d like to deliver it as soon as possible. I’ll drop your gift off too.” With that, Azriel got up, nodding a quick goodbye to his family, before disappearing into his shadows.

It wasn’t a request to have a few days off. He hadn’t asked if his High Lord could spare not having his Spymaster for a little. He didn’t even wait for any sort of goodbye from the rest of his family. He just left, the house sending his place setting away to be cleaned, as if he had never been there in the first place.

Once again, everyone had questions, concerns, for their friend. But no one spoke up, as per usual.

Until the one fae in the room with truly no information in the matter grew concerned enough with everyone’s immediate change in attitudes.

“Where is he going?” Elain asked, looking between her friends and family.

She saw on everyone's faces, in their eyes that refused to meet hers, that no one would tell her. Till she sent a look, full of concerned innocence, to Cassian.

“Rosehall” He blurted out. “Or at least, I assume that's where he is going.” The last part was directed towards his older brother.

“Where is this Rosehall?” Feyre asked, feeling he invitation Elain’s question had opened into the untouchable subject.

The High Lady, like her second oldest sister, sent a look to Rhys, knowing he'd break for her under an embarrassingly small amount of pressure.

“None of us know,” he gave in, “He goes at seemingly random intervals. Sometimes he’s there, often, for months. Then he will go quite a while without any visits.”

“Is it his mate? Is that who he is seeing?” Nesta inquires.

The word seems to suck all the air out of the room. His mate. Azriel’s mate. Their brother’s mate.

Nesta’s stomach drops at the looks she receives from Cassian and Rhysand.

They didn’t know.

As she opens her mouth to speak, she’s cut off by a palm smacking the table.

“Enough! You all know damn well this isn’t what he would want. The only reason you all seem so comfortable talking about it is because he's gone, too preoccupied to leave a shadow behind.” Mor argues. “He has asked one thing of us in the 500 years he has been by our side, to let him- let them- be.”

With that, she winnowed out of the room, leaving a suffocating mix of guilt, confusion, and concern behind.

Everyone could feel his presence the second he got back to the house. The light and happy Solstice air seemed to vanish in an instant. The shadows suddenly alive and wreathing.

Rhys and Cassian had gotten up to check on their brother. While he had said he’d be gone till Solstice, they had assumed he would be there the full day to celebrate with everyone. But he had missed celebrations, for both Solstice and Feyre’s birthday, had missed dinner, and had sent no indication that he was even alive. His mental walls had been as fortified as ever, not letting Rhysand nor Feyre in the numerous times they had tried to check in.

Their walk over to their brother’s room became a run, followed by the rest of the family, as they heard a loud crash.

The room was dark, but they could make out the faint outline of the broken mirror and Shadowsinger standing in front of it, holding his hand as blood seemed to drip from a wound. In the dark, the sight was unsettling, but in the light, it was far worse.

Cassian moved quickly, leaving Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle by the door in stunned silence.

“Woah-” Cassian said as he lifted Azriel’s hand, causing his brother to pull back in startled shock. He hadn’t known they were coming. Hadn’t sensed their presence even then they were right in front of him.

“It’s okay, Az. But we need to clean out the wound. Make sure there aren't any shards in-” The general stopped as he looked at the Spymaster, seeing the tears streaming down his usually stone cold face.

All he could do was help him sit down as Mor, seemingly better equipped to handle the situation, came over to kneel in front of her long time friend.

“Az?” She took his uninjured hand in hers, her other hand going to his face to wipe away the tears. “Come on, maybe you shoul-”

“She’s gotten worse.” He admitted, his voice noticeably wobbling, “So much worse, Mor.”

Mor quickly looked at everyone else, seeing the shock, the empathy, and worse of all, the pity. She knew more than the others, not the full story, not even close, but enough to know that their reactions were part of why he kept all of it a secret. He couldn’t handle their emotions on top of his.

By the time she looked back, she saw that Azriel had noticed it too. She could see him shrinking back into himself, trying to hide everything.

She couldn’t let it happen again.

“Let me in, Azriel. Don’t pretend, don’t go through 200 more years of this.” She pleaded. Luckily, this seemed to pull him back out. “Let us all in, please?”

“I can’t- I don’t want pity.” He admitted.

Rhysand spoke up this time. “Is that what you think this is? Just pity? Az, come on. We all love you, we want you to be happy. But we don’t want fake happiness. Seeing you like this makes us all upset, because we love you. Please, let us prove it. Let us in.” Rhysand begged.

Azriel gave them all a onceover, emotion showing so clearly in his face, in his eyes, that no one seemed to be able to breathe.

He took a deep breath before speaking up, “Tomorrow. I’ll explain- show you all, tomorrow. For now, I’d just like to celebrate Solstice, and your birthday, Feyre, with my family.”

The air lightened up a little bit at the promise. Tomorrow, they’d all face what Azriel had been dealing with alone for 200 years. But tonight, they would all celebrate Solstice, the return of light and promise of a brighter future, as a family.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar angst #rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #mor acotar #cassian #azriel x oc

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puck-luck · 2 days ago

Text

patchwork hearts | nico hischier

warnings: unprotected p in v, chatgpt-level swiss german (since google translate doesn’t have swiss german. only regular german. f u google translate), angst i guess (argument), make-up sex, pretty vanilla all in all, oral f!receiving, fingering.

pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader

request: Reader and Nico get into a fight before we leaves for away from away games in the west coast and they make up when he comes back (or while he is away). Request by @hockeygirl1328. thanks queen! sorry it took so long!!

wc: 3,345

The memory of the argument flashes through your mind when Nico’s face appears on your screen. It’s the cuddliest photo you’ve ever taken of him, scruff in full form and hair messy, but that still doesn’t improve your mood. Just before he left for this road trip, you’d gotten into a massive fight about his constant travel. You love Nico, so much, but he’s always gone. It’s your first season together and the adjustment from Summer Nico to Season Nico has been really difficult.

Maybe you were being selfish, but you didn’t want to miss Nico for another week. He comes home for a few days, then leaves for a few more. The cycle repeats over and over again and there’s not enough time for you and Nico to establish a routine. There’s not enough time for you to even see Nico some days, which is just disheartening. Your boyfriend is basically a half-version of himself and, most of the time, it feels like his only priority in life is hockey. You don’t even rank.

Nico’s words had hurt, even though you know in your heart that he was right. It was just excessive, the way he’d dug his claws into you with only a few words.

As the phone rings out, you hear the echo of what he said. “You knew what this life was when we got together. I don’t have time for a constant guilt trip every time I leave!”

“I didn’t sign up to be an afterthought,” you’d fought back.

“Not everything is about you, you know,” Nico snapped. “The world doesn’t revolve around you– my world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His eyes had grown immediately wide and his jaw had dropped, like he couldn’t believe he just said that. You couldn’t believe he’d said that. The argument ended immediately– only because there was nothing you could muster up in reply.

You hadn’t broken up with Nico for the mere statement, although you’ll admit that it crossed your mind. Instead, you’d sat in place as Nico’s many apologies fell on deaf ears. You felt almost catatonic as he’d kenlt down in front of you and tried to gauge your reaction, touching your knee with a gentle nudge. He’d wiped away the tears that leaked from your eyes, even though you’d tried to turn away from his touch.

You’d slept over that night because you hadn’t felt you were able to move. The shock kept you in place. Nico had tucked you into his bed and relegated himself to the couch. When you woke up and you’d finally felt able to move, ready to face the boy, he was gone. There was a note on the door and a message left on your phone, both of which said roughly the same thing: that Nico was sorry he had to go, but he couldn’t stay. You knew why, of course. It was time for his California roadie. As much as you felt like an afterthought at times, you aren’t unreasonable. You know that he has to travel for his job.

You’re still hurt, to be fair. No matter how many times Nico apologized after dropping that bomb, it continues to cut at you and pop up in your mind whenever he calls. You’ve answered twice over the duration of the roadie, but the conversations had felt stilted and forced. After the last call, just over a day ago, Nico had asked if he could come over to your apartment and see you when he got back.

You think that he was calling a moment ago because he made it back to the Prudential Center and would be driving to your place soon. Your palms are a bit sweaty knowing that Nico is on the way. You don’t want to fight with him again and you have a feeling that he doesn’t want to fight either, but you know it’s not resolved.

You take the time before Nico arrives to calm yourself. You get a glass of water, you grab a handful of your favorite snack, and you sit on the couch to watch a bit of TV.

He calls again a few minutes later. This time, you answer.

“Hi, Nico,” you greet, voice quiet.

“Hi, I’m downstairs,” Nico says. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here before I come up.”

“Okay, Nee. I’ll see you soon.” You pull the phone away fom your ear and end the call, standing up to unlock your front door. You return to the couch and when he knocks, you call out to tell him that it’s open.

Nico comes through the door and toes off his shoes. “How was your day?” Nico asks, coming over to the couch to join you.

“Not bad. I went to work and the gym and then I came home,” you reply. You attempt a smile at Nico when he sits on the couch and circles his fingers around your ankle, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “How was California?”

“I missed you,” Nico says. “It was hard to focus on the games when I was thinking about you. I’m sorry I left after the fight. I wish I hadn’t needed to go. I wanted to stay and make things better.”

The breath leaves your chest in a deep sigh. “It was unfortunate timing.”

“I know,” Nico agrees, nodding. “It gave me a little time to think about what to say to you, which is nice. I know I can’t really make up for what happened last week, but–” Nico takes your hand and grasps it. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t a priority for me. You are. You’re a huge part of my life and I wouldn’t be anywhere without you, supporting me and cheering me on and being there for me every day. I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate of your feelings.”

You almost want to cry again after hearing him spout this heartfelt apology. Nico sits in front of you and waits, blinking patiently and chewing on his lower lip while you take in his words. The lines under his eyes are deep and you can tell that he lost sleep over something this past week, likely this incident if his words have any truth to them. You nod and reach forward, cradling Nico’s face in your hands. “I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you tell Nico. “I know you can’t help that hockey is such a big part of your life. I know you don’t mean to put me on the backburner. I just felt a little neglected and I’m sorry that I accused you of making me an afterthought.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize because of how you feel,” Nico says. He slides his arm down to your waist. “I was caught up in everything else in my life and didn’t give you the attention you deserve. I never want to make you feel that way again.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I know you won’t.” You lean in and press a chaste kiss to Nico’s lips. After kissing him, you shuffle forward and tuck yourself against his chest.

Nico pulls you onto his lap and cradles you there, kissing the top and side of your head. He touches as much of your body as he can, rubbing your back and your arms, your waist and your thighs. You breathe together, leaning against each other, and taking in the presence of the other person.

“Please let me show you how much I love you,” Nico requests after a few minutes, caressing your sides and looking at you with his big, brown eyes. “And how sorry I am for acting like I don’t care. I care, babe, I care so much.” He drops a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek. “Please.”

You don’t reply, but you turn your head and find his lips. You touch the scuff on Nico’s face, which he seems to have shaved over his roadie, but it’s starting to grow back. His hair is at risk of being deemed “too long” in his own opinion, so you touch the strands reverently, knowing that they’ll be gone sooner than later.

“Let me take care of you,” Nico murmurs, dipping down to brush a kiss over your jawline.

“Okay,” you whisper back, touching the side of Nico’s neck and the curve of his bicep.

He fits his strong palms under your thighs, lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to distract Nico on his walk to the bedroom. You might still be a little sad about what Nico said a week ago, but the apology worked well enough that you’re trying to let it go.

Nico lays you on the bed, kissing down your body and undressing you as he goes. His touch is loving, almost overwhelmingly so. He removes his shirt and settles between your legs, kissing from your calf to the inside of your knee, up your thigh and all the way to your hip bone.

The only sound that fills the room is the shared sigh of relief when Nico connects with your core. As his tongue flattens and licks a stripe up your slit, Nico’s eyes flutter shut and his hands fix on your hips to pull you closer.

Ninety percent of the time, Nico gets ravenous when he’s eating you out. Today is different.

His tongue trails through your folds. The tip of the muscle traces every inch of your cunt before he even considers pressing closer. Nico takes his time– he savors the taste of your slick. “Mm, liebste,” Nico groans. “You taste so good.”

He works his tongue against your cunt, licking around the rim of your entrance before flicking further inside. One of his hands comes to your front, thumb contacting your clit and rubbing soothing circles over it. His other hand travels underneath your body and you let out a startled gasp when his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, dragging you even closer.

He’s systematic and precise, kitten licking at your insides. He focuses on one part of your body, then another– in this case, he goes from your hole to wrapping his all-consuming lips around your clit and suckling.

His index finger finds your entrance and soothes the smooth ring, drawing circles over the outline of your most intimate area before you lift your hips into his touch. You’re silently asking for more and Nico understands that, gently pushing his finger inside. Just like with his mouthwork, he’s slow and attentive.

The pad of Nico’s fingertip feels out your inner walls, welcoming the hug of your cunt around his digit eagerly and repaying you by trying to find that spot inside of you, the one that always makes you see stars.

His hair has started to fall messily over his forehead, brushing his eyebrows. You find the strands with your hands, clutching at them and moving his head where you need it to be– for all intents and purposes, you keep him mostly aligned with your clit, but the movement of his head provides a friction that pure suction could not offer.

As you do this, his middle finger pokes at your entrance. The first knuckle disappears inside you with little resistance, then Nico starts to work on opening you up. His fingers scissor inside of you, spearing against the gummy ridges of your muscle, preparing you for his cock.

You clench down a bit at the thought of his member, pleas for the length on the tip of your tongue. You know Nico is thinking about fucking you too, just based on the way he rolls his hips against the mattress and hums.

He releases your clit from between his lips, which draws a whine of protest from you. Nico chuckles quietly and turns his head, planting a kiss on your inner thigh. Then, he dips his head and twists his wrist so that his palm faces upward. Nico licks between his two fingers, his eyelids open just enough that you can see how he looks up at you and takes you in.

Nico draws away from your pussy only to ask, “Chunsch du, schatz?”

He’s teasing you, plucking at an inside joke from when you felt you were brave enough to try to learn Swiss German. Thinking it would be sweet, you’d tried your hand at talking Nico’s native tongue in bed, but your words had just seemed too formal. Still, it’s something you can laugh over. Nico loves to parrot your effort at “Are you coming?” back at you, always smiling fondly when he does.

He’s worked his tongue back between his fingers, looking up at you with raised eyebrows. He waits for you to answer his question, sure to bump his nose against your clit when you open your mouth, so that you produce a moan instead of a sentence. Nico giggles at his little joke, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling. He brings his mouth to your clit and kisses over the bud, steadily pumping his fingers to really bring you to orgasm.

You whimper when he works a third thick finger into your entrance, stuffing you full. You know it’s necessary since his cock is also thick, but there’s a dull ache at the first stretch that has you writhing on the bed.

“I know, I know,” Nico soothes, lathing kiss after kiss to your sensitive center. “But I have to get you all open for me, baby. So you feel good later, hm?” He bends his knuckles and comes into contact with your sweet spot, the rush of pleasure making your back arch involuntarily. Nico notices this and grins, eyes determined and set on continuing this feeling for you.

Your noises grow more slurred with each touch of his fingertips to your walls, especially when he flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit. He’s still teasing you, dangling the climax just out of reach with the way he’ll overwhelm your clit with his tongue and then slow down, licking flat stripes along the parts of your slit that he can reach.

“Nico,” you lament with a frown when he pulls away again, just as you were about to come.

“Sorry,” Nico apologizes with a crinkle-eyed smile. He captures your clit and keeps his mouth there, beckoning his fingers and creating a vacuum around the bundle of nerves at the apex of your vagina. This time, he doesn’t let up– he goes and goes and goes until your hands have found their way back to his hair and pull so hard that there’s a stinging sensation along Nico’s scalp.

He allows his eyes to drift shut again, free hand dancing up your body until he finds your tits, finally giving them the attention that he feels they deserve. With a few harsh gropes, a pinch or two to your nipple, and even a tug at your chest, you’re unraveling over Nico’s digits and making your situation very well known to your neighbors.

“Bravo, süsse,” Nico praises over the heaving of your chest. He stays in contact with your center, but slows his movements to something that keeps you teetering on the precipice of pleasure rather than in the throws of it. “Do you think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you rasp out, reaching for Nico and catching him by his biceps. You coax him forward, palms sliding up to his jawline. You lick over the seam of Nico’s lips and taste yourself already, the flavor of your cum only growing stronger when Nico parts his lips and slides his tongue against yours. “Fuck me, Nico.”

“Mm, hase, I’m not going to fuck you,” Nico corrects. “I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to take care of me.”

While you were ready to protest the first part of his statement, your mouth quickly snaps shut when he finishes speaking. You lay back against the pillows, propping your head up, and you bring Nico with you. His body blankets yours, shifting atop you as he tries to remove his bottoms with one hand. His other roams on your torso, stroking the curves of your sides and stomach.

“So schön,” Nico murmurs.

“So beautiful,” you repeat, thumbing over his cheekbone.

Nico reaches between your bodies and lines himself up with your entrance. Just like before, he moves slowly. He moves with purpose. You can feel every inch of Nico’s length as it sinks into you.

When you roll your head back to let out a soft moan, Nico seizes the opportunity to paint a series of open-mouthed kisses on your neck. “I love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. He rolls his hips, filling you further. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, hands scrambling for purchase on the expanse of his back when Nico’s tip brushes against the cartilaginous wall of your cervix. He knocks against that wall again on his next thrust forward, only drawing out about halfway before snapping forward suddenly.

Regardless of how he fills you, his movements are still tinged with reverence and tenderness. Nico holds you like something that will break under the pressure of his fingertips, but he’s still desperate to keep you close. He’ll let his hips fall flush with yours and remain there sometimes, then other times he’ll roll and snap his hips like your lives depend on it.

You know that there was once an argument between you, but all that matters is the fact that Nico is here and he’s doing exactly what he promised he’d do: take care of you.

His hand finds your arm, then trails up to your wrist. He presses your wrist into the cushion above your head, but doesn’t stop there. He brings his fingers up to your palm, tracing over the lines that represent your love and your life. He slots his fingers between yours and intertwines your fingers, holding your hand tight as he continues to thrust into you. He repeats the same process on the other side, until both of your hands are wrapped in his. He pins you to the bed, but you feel only safe and secure, not trapped in the slightest.

“You’re so tight around me, baby,” Nico says, ending his statement with a kiss. His voice is low and rough, breathless and nearly spent due to the tango you’re performing now. “Gonna fill you up, fill you ‘til all of my love is dripping out of you.”

You were already overwhelmed, but when he said that– and then nibbled your bottom lip after– you feel a dam break inside of you. You come suddenly and without warning, jaw dropping. A high keen falls from your mouth, only to be met with a coo from Nico and a deep grunt as he continues to fuck into your even tighter entrance.

The squeeze of your cunt around Nico’s cock is enough to make him come too, the white spurts of cum filling your hole just like he’d promised. You can feel Nico trembling a bit from the aftershocks, your chest meeting his as you arch up into his touch and he deflates from exhaustion. He covers you just like a warm comforter and kisses you lazily, both of you wanting to stay connected after such an intense reunion.

You feel satiated, calm and happy that Nico came to you when he returned instead of going home and basking in the misery of the argument from a week prior. You certainly feel better now, after having gone through the throes of that low point in your relationship.

“Mm,” Nico hums, like he remembered something suddenly. His head tilts and he kisses along the crook of your neck. “During the break in February, I thought you’d like to come home with me. We can have a little couples vacation at home, just you and me. How does that sound?”

“Amazing, Nico,” you tell him, smoothing his hair beneath your fingertips. “That sounds amazing.”

note: read a stoner!nico fic recently that Cece reblogged and I tweaked. thinking of y'all! i think you'll see nico a lot sooner on this blog than you expect... perhaps a little "nico x ____ x reader".....

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#nico hischier #nico hischier smut #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nh13 #nhl #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #new jersey devils #hockey smut

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kingkat12 · 2 days ago

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prom night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, mature/dark themes, Roman adores reader so much aghhhh<33, fluff, Roman is bad with words lol, blood, mentions of death, attempted kidnapping, amnesia, Dr. Pryce is scary omg, dead dove do not eat tbh, silly bf Roman because why tf not

summary: going to prom with Roman Godfrey had been a dream of yours for longer than you could remember-- but suddenly, that was the only thing you could remember. seriously. what the fuck happened last weekend, and why is Roman keeping you in the dark about it?

word count: 16,708 (oh my fucking god)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12

a/n: celebrating 900 followers (??? WHAT) with the biggest chapter yet!!! I've spent a month preparing it, and this has been the chapter I've been building up to ever since I started this series... I suggest you read it in one sitting because I intended it to be read that way, (although I know that is a lot to ask!!! not necessary boo), and I'm sorry about everything in advance aghhh😭 I would also like to give special thanks to @mentallyscreamingsincebirth for being such a great support and for guiding my brain through this enormous chapter, THANK YOU LYNDI<3 much much love, ENJOY, and read at ur own risk!!!<333 MWAH

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

Have you felt it lingering in your forearms, like you're pressing them up against a flaming stove? Have you felt it pressing at the sides of your head, waiting for it to cave in on itself? I always thought it would feel like going to sleep; that no matter how you pass, you reach a point where your mind flips over into delirium, and then you feel drowsy until it's over. Yet somehow, I was suddenly convinced it was nothing like that. I was sure that it felt like nothing but pure panic, accompanied by a crippling fear unlike any other. Because it hurt, everything hurt, and I was sure I'd be stuck in an endless loop of hell where I would forever be semi-conscious and in excruciating pain.

And why?

Because right now, I was sure I was dead.

That I was done. Deceased. Expired. I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, or why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, like someone had grabbed hold of my tongue and tugged me forward-- a bright light shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the bed with a shriek. It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, and I clawed at my chest as my nails dug into the fabric of my shirt, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

"Pryce, do something!"

"Mr. Godfrey, sit down!--"

"Do something!"

I was still screaming when my hands were pried off my skin with an annoyed groan, still heaving for air as a man in a white coat now hovered over me. He forced my left eye to open wider with his cold, bony fingers, shining the light directly at my pupil. He was searching for any lack of reaction as I emptied my lungs, crying out in fear; it wasn't until I felt the scent of a familiar cologne fill my body that I started to fight my screams of panic.

I was sure it was Roman who was now pinning my hands down to the bed-- his indexes were pressing against my wrists, checking my pulse, the classic Godfrey move. He usually only did that when he was trying to make a point about him making my heart race, and that's how I was certain it was him.

Once the doctor finished, my cries had largely quieted down. All that was left was a series of whimpers and shaky breaths. "What's happening?" I struggled to ask, my voice cracking. I saw the doctor scowl at Roman, clearly frustrated by something. My lower lip quivered; why was I here? What was happening?

Why couldn't I remember anything?

When the doctor spoke, he was still not looking at me; "You're at the Godfrey Institute, getting what is considerably the best care in the world," He moved away, tutting as he sat down on the chair opposite the bed I was lying on. Coming to my senses, my eyes traced the room. The walls were painted an uncomfortably bright hue of white, and I was afraid I'd go blind looking at them for too long. However, the doctor's voice caught my attention once more; "You don't seem to be concussed, but I'll check your reflexes. Have you exhausted your lungs, or must I put you under as well? If you keep screaming and resisting, you will only make things harder for yourself."

"She'll be fine!" Roman barked, letting go of my hands. With swift, nervous steps, he now stood by my side as he stroked through my hair. I could sense his anxiety through the slight tremble in his fingers, and he squeezed my shoulder with his free hand as he spoke to the doctor with a lowered voice, as though I wouldn't hear him if he softened his tone; "She will be, right? Pryce?"

Doctor Pryce rolled his eyes as he looked over at the metal tray beside him, scanning the neat display of medical instruments. "Did you bring this girl to me to question my care, or because you trust that I'm the best?"

"I'm!--"

"I was the one that delivered you into the world, Roman, don't forget that. Your mother trusted me with your life, so you have all the reason to exert some patience and trust me with this very simple task," Pryce picked out his preferred instrument and leaned forward, pressing on a button that made the back of my bed raise.

I yelped, still trying to catch my breath; "What's happening?" I breathed, hoping to contain the wave of tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. It felt like I had died and come back to earth. "Please, why-- why am I here?"

With one final anxious glance at Pryce, Roman finally looked down at me. It was the first time I had been properly acknowledged. "Hey, you," he said, gently running his fingers through my hair. "We were in a car crash, and you passed out. This is Doctor Pryce, and he's just making sure you didn't faint because of anything serious. You could've also lost consciousness because of shock, fear... Many factors. This is just a precaution."

"Car crash?" I echoed. "What-- Why can't I remember?-- Ow!"

A panicked cry escaped me, and I looked down to see Pryce with what looked like a hammer, striking the supple area beneath my knee socket. My leg jumped up automatically, and the doctor let out a satisfied hum before he moved on to my other leg. "Miss, do you get enough sleep?" he asked. "On the regular, that is?"

I had never been this disoriented in my life. "I don't-- I don't know?"

With an exasperated sigh, Pryce muttered a simple alright. He sat back down in his chair, now gazing at me with a blank, neutral look. Something told me he had practiced that exact expression for his patients. "You seem to have experienced what is called a situational syncope. You must've gone into a deep state of shock, which caused your blood pressure to drop, ultimately knocking you out. Based on the tests we got done on you when you were unconscious, there seems to be nothing wrong with you,"

I forced down a sob as I squeezed my eyes shut. My body was still frozen with panic. Despite my efforts, I couldn't conjure the memory of the supposed car crash; what was happening to me? "There has to be something wrong!" I cried. "I can't-- I can't remember anything!"

Sighing, Pryce got up, but not without glaring at Roman once more. "You might have a minor case of amnesia. It's most likely short-term and will resolve in twenty-four hours, or it might not," He moved to a nearby table, writing down something on a computer. "It might be time to lay off the nocturnal activities, Roman. It's important that she sleeps."

My face had never been redder. Never. To be told to lay off sex in front of your boyfriend's family doctor? Awful. Not something I recommend anyone else go through.

However, in true Godfrey fashion, Roman didn't seem to care about that part. "Thank fuck," he said, letting out a relieved breath as he bent down to kiss my forehead. I could sense the ease settling in his body, and it made me wonder when it could transmit to mine as well. "So she's completely fine?"

"Yes," Pryce grumbled, absentmindedly tapping away on his keyboard.

"No internal bleeding, no injuries?--"

"She's fine,"

Roman nodded, and I thought that would be the end of it until he spoke again; "Will she remember... everything?"

My blood ran cold. Something about the way he said those words made me feel like it was ominous. I blinked, staring up at Roman as my heart beat hard in my chest.

Pryce's clacking stilled. He turned, moving sharply, as his eyes narrowed; "For your sake, I hope not,"

It only took me a second to reach for Roman's hand, grabbing it as fear ran through my veins. "Rome," I echoed, begging him to look at me. I needed to know. It didn't feel like a simple car crash; why was I still shaking? Was this normal? I was terrified that I wouldn't remember anything. "Please, you have to-- you have to tell me what!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman cooed, wiping that terrified look off his face in an instant. "Everything is fine, see? The nice doctor says you just need to sleep, so what do you say I drop you off at your place and make sure you sleep well tonight?"

I could hear Pryce snicker as he got up, gathering what he needed from the room. "The nice doctor," he echoed, shaking his head. Everything he did felt oddly sterile. Everything from the smile to the polite tilt of his head. "Sleep would be the best remedy, yes. And maybe some shopping."

Roman scrunched his nose-- "Shopping?"

Pryce nodded, pointing to my shirt which I had partially clawed up. "Shopping,"

I couldn't imagine I would ever get any redder than this. Why couldn't amnesia take this memory too? I wanted to disappear-- however, when I thought about the black void I had been thrust into before I awoke, I changed my mind. I was happier than ever to be alive. When Pryce left the room, I let out a shaky breath as I locked eyes with Roman; "Rome, please tell me how the fuck we ended up in a!--"

My words were stolen as two large hands grabbed my face, and my favorite pair of lips came crashing down onto mine. Roman was now partially on my bed, rushing his kisses as he pulled me close in sheer desperation. "You had me so scared," he breathed. "So, so--"

Grabbing onto Roman's hair for support, I could only yelp as he practically toppled me, kissing me with urgency. "You can't do that," he begged. "You can't, you-- you can't--"

I was beyond overwhelmed. Exhausted. Still, I could sense that Roman had almost been as scared as me. "Please, Rome!--"

"What would I have done if you got hurt?" He grabbed my face harder, forcing me to look into his teary eyes when he relented his attack on my lips. "It would've killed me. It would've killed me." The desperation, the panic, was evident in his big, green eyes as they searched mine.

When would this be over? "I don't even know what happened!" I cried. "I don't remember, and it scares me! What if I won't-- won't remember it?"

I hoped he would tell me. I hoped Roman would sit me down and tell me in excruciating detail. However, his brows came together and drew upwards in a look of pure pity; "It doesn't matter. Look at it like it's mercy,"

"Mercy?"

"I'm glad you don't remember," Roman breathed, pressing a passionate kiss to my lips before he leaned his forehead against mine. "I don't want you to remember it... I'm kinda glad you don't. You don't need to remember the bad stuff, right? I only want you to be happy. Happy, safe, and with me. Forever."

Forever.

I let out a shaky breath which fell against Roman's lips, defeated. It still lingered in my body-- death. Like something really, really bad had happened.

... Had it?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The air smelled like freshly mown grass although it was growing freely all around us, untamed. The long branches of the willow tree kneeling above us swayed with the breeze, and the leaves rustled with a gentle buzz; it was beautiful to look up at, even in the dark of the night.

Roman was lying next to me, eyes shut in peace that had only recently settled in his body. His chest rose and fell in slow, calm motions as his brown hair wove into the long strands of the grass. I had an inkling that he was getting comfortable with it now-- with the idea of forever. That I was his for as long as he'd have me. That he had someone to go through life with, after all this time finding solace in fleeting moments of intimacy with the girls that were lucky to be near him at the right moment.

Roman was unbelievably beautiful. Unreal.

I still had no idea what happened that day I woke up at the Godfrey Institute a week ago, convinced I had died. It was hard not to think about it, but sleep had done me good-- Doctor Pryce had been right. My memory of the incident hadn't returned, and I had a feeling it never would. Every so often, I would get specs of it when I heard a particularly loud car, or whenever the smell of diesel got very strong from Roman's red jag, but that was the end of it.

However, the whole car crash incident had set Roman off into a weird state of possessiveness. Not one night had passed without him sneaking in through my bedroom window, lying next to me to make sure I wasn't on my phone until three a.m., and that I was getting enough sleep. I had watched Roman doze off into slumber countless times, both next to me and on top of me, and I had loved to stroke his hair and watch him sleep every time. It was the only time I felt he ever got to rest properly. Never ever during the day. Which is why, now that Roman was doing the same for me, I started to feel more at peace with what had happened. With the crash. With what I didn't know. As long as I had Roman, I would be fine, right? I was sure of it now.

Not only had the car crash left Roman and I in a weird state, but my parents as well. They were wary of me needing to get enough sleep and rest, so they had given me a rather strict curfew up until prom night. This curfew also involved not having Roman over as much, meaning we had to get creative-- so here we were, lying next to each other in the grass at his secret hiding place around midnight, where we had previously exchanged our blood.

"Rome," I whispered, watching the swaying willow branch above me. "You put on an alarm, right? I can't be out for too long, I'm scared my parents will find the pillow concoction we put on my bed and know I'm not home..."

He hummed, his eyes remaining closed-- "We have about thirty minutes until I have to take you back. I'm keeping track of it,"

"You don't seem to be keeping track of anything right now,"

"Nonsense,"

"... You look like you're sleeping,"

"But I'm not, am I?" Roman's eyes met mine, his lashes hanging heavy over the green color of his irises. With a tug at the corners of his lips, he sung a short, mocking line; "I don't want to close my eyes!--"

Oh no. "Rome, don't!--"

"-- I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I miss you, baby!" His laugh was as melodious as his half-assed attempt at serenading me.

I snorted, no longer sleepy. This was beyond cringe. "You're an idiot,"

"And yet you're crazy about me," Roman purred, moving closer to me on the grass. The tips of his fingers, which had barely grazed mine a minute ago, were now running along the back of my hand in soft motions. "That says more about you than it says about me."

I turned my hand as I smiled to myself, feeling my chest burn with the warmth I got from being near him. If only he knew I was more than crazy about him. If only he knew. "Yeah, you're right," I mumbled, intertwining our fingers with a content sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

I didn't deem my words to be as heavy as Roman suddenly made them seem-- it was as though the leaves stopped rustling. As though the air no longer smelled like grass, and the only thing I could smell was suddenly only Roman's heavy, expensive perfume. Something stilled. Was it the waves of the water nearby? His eyes softened with his next exhale, pupils rounding out. It was almost as though I could see the pounding of his heart as his chest fell. "I don't know how I ever lived without you in the first place," he confessed. "It kills me that you were so close all this time, and... I didn't notice."

Thinking back at the time when Roman would barely look my way was excruciating, even now. "It doesn't matter--"

"We had chemistry together," he breathed. "You were so close." Roman no longer looked at me, and instead turned his gaze to the hanging branches of the willow tree we were lying beneath. "I used to think I was the center of the universe, y'know? That the world was mine, along with everyone living in it. I thought I was everything I ever needed, that no one else truly mattered except for me, but then..." He cleared his throat, an empty look in his eyes. "This is getting cheesy, isn't it?"

Silly, silly boy. "You were literally singing at me a minute ago, I think I can take you being sweet,"

The small upward tug of Roman's lips lifted an ache in my heart. "The past doesn't matter. But the future does, as long as you're in it with me,"

I love you, I love you, I love you. It was echoing in my head. "Grow old with me, Roman?" I hoped it would come off as a joke. I hoped he'd sense the smile in my words, the lightness in which I proposed the hypothetical.

But he was so serious. So, so serious, as he turned to meet my eyes. And just for a second, I was scared he'd open his mouth and tell me he couldn't get old-- I had read too much of that upir book. "I don't want to get old," he mumbled. "Old people don't have a lot of sex."

It was impossible not to laugh. "They probably do,"

"... Gross,"

Rolling my eyes, I gave his hand a squeeze. "I'd have sex with you. You'd still be the Roman I lo--"

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

I choked my words with a cough; "This damn grass," I cursed. "I might be allergic..." Gathering courage, I glanced over at Roman as I held my breath.

He seemed to be holding his too.

It took longer than expected for any of us to say anything. With small movements, Roman slid his hand up to my wrist, pressing his index against my pulse.

I cleared my throat, breaking out into a nervous laugh. "Okay, let me clear that up. The coughing made it sound like I was saying something that I wasn't saying."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Why was my throat so dry? "I was gonna say that you'd still be the same Roman I long for."

"Oh..." He seemed both relieved and disappointed. I couldn't read him. It was too dark. "Okay. I'll hold you to it when we're eighty, then."

My heart was still racing. Had I gotten away with that or was he letting me? "So you're basically saying you won't be jumping me when we're old? I'm disappointed. And on top of that, I think you'd still be yourself at eighty, no? Or will you no longer be so nympho when you reach a certain age?"

"... You have a point," Roman's classic smirk was back-- I had never been happier to see it. "I'll always want you, I'm afraid."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what,"

"Are you a hundred percent sure about that, Rome?"

"I'll do you one better. Hundred and one,"

It was impossible not to smile. I loved him so much it hurt; I needed to mend it. "... Even if I turn into a worm?"

The groan he let out blended in with the ringing of the alarm he had put on.

As Roman pulled me up from the grass, I realized how much I loved everything about this night. I loved that he wanted to see me so bad that he was sneaking me out of my room. I loved the feeling of my hand in his, loved the sight of his smile, loved every inch of him. I only wished we could stay this happy for an eternity-- an eternity with him would be so unbelievably nice.

And if Roman loved me too, I'd let him love me forever.

I'd love him till the day I died, tirelessly, endlessly.

... Even if he was a worm.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a lingering warmth in my body, yet I waited for the other thing to leave. The feeling. The doom. The terror I didn't remember.

And while I waited, prom was a wonderful distraction.

My parents were out of town for the weekend, which allowed us to skip the awkward photos in the hallway that were usually customary for prom. I was sure Roman would've rather died than go through that.

Actually, I was half convinced someone else had told Roman to man up and ask me to go with him, because it seemed like I was getting too much of the good thing recently. It didn't make sense to me that he wanted anything to do with something like this. And for a second, I was convinced I had been right about it all along; when I walked down the stairs of my porch, it was impossible not to smile from ear to ear at the sight of Roman in his tux. He was sitting on the bonnet of his car, smoking a cigarette as always--

... Without so much as a reaction to me in my dress?

It felt like my whole body was on fire, like I was one of Roman's cigarettes. My smile faltered as I approached, not saying a word. I held my breath, watching the green of his eyes pierce mine. He didn't blink. He didn't budge. He simply held his cigarette to his lips, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

Something felt off. I should've known Roman Godfrey wasn't the classic prom-man. "Do you not like it?" I breathed, feeling my confidence collapse as I toyed with the fabric of my dress.

Roman's eyes immediately darted down to my fingers-- "Don't tear at it. I know you like doing that," He held out his cigarette as he scanned me. It took a few seconds too long. With quick steps, he got off of his car; "Get in."

What? "No,"

Roman turned to me, cocking a brow. "No?"

"No," This was nerve-wracking. "You're being weird. Tell me what's wrong, or I turn around and go right back in again."

Visibly taken aback, Roman let his cigarette fall to the ground before he pressed his heel to it. In our moments of intense eye-contact and silence, I could see the way he had styled his hair differently tonight. It wasn't slicked back or messy, which were the two alternatives he always alternated between-- no, it looked like he had put effort into giving it a bit more volume, like something out of an old Hollywood film with James Dean as the lead. I couldn't understand him, where he stood in front of me in his ridiculously expensive tuxedo; it was obvious that he cared about this, so what was happening here?

"Nothing is wrong," Roman finally answered. "I just don't have the words."

"Words for what? What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on," he muttered under his breath. "It just makes me feel stupid."

"What does, Rome?"

"I... have never been good at finding the right words. I always screw these things up," Frustrated, Roman put his hands in his pockets as he no longer met my gaze. "Saying you look good doesn't feel like enough... and telling you that you look beautiful feels weird, because I don't use that word for anything and that makes it sound rehearsed, so... I'm screwed. I'm looking at you, and I'm blanking. My heart is beating too fast."

Oh.

"Take your time," was all I managed to say. I love you regardless was the thing I would have loved to add.

Roman chewed on his lip, sitting down on the bonnet of his car again. He dared to meet my eyes as he reached for my hand; I took it, ready to take a step forward, before I caught Roman shaking his head. "You'd help me if you did a twirl," he said, a smirk nudging at the corners of his mouth. "Come on, now."

My heart lightened with the giggle that escaped me, and I could only blush as I did as told.

"There you go," Roman cooed, warmth dotting his cheeks when I faced him again. "I like your dress. You kinda look like a cupcake."

"What? I do not! This is a-line!"

"A what line?"

"No, it's!-- Oh, forget it," Men.

Roman laughed, reaching for my waist to pull me in between his long legs. Softening his grin, he glanced down at my dress; had I not been watching him so intently, I wouldn't have caught the way his eyes subtly rounded out when they met mine. "I never realized how unfair it is,"

I frowned; "What's unfair?"

"You. Looking like this. Making every other girl on the planet look like an afterthought," Roman paused, his smirk softening with something genuine; "And it's not just tonight, y'know? It's everything about you. It's the way you laugh, it's the way you think, it's all that is you, along with how you look at me like I'm not completely messed up. You're just perfect." Roman stilled, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric around my waist as his smile turned self-conscious. "Sorry, that probably sounds cheesy as hell... What the fuck is up with me these days?"

If only he knew. If only he saw that I was fighting the welling of tears in my eyes. I love you, I love you, I love you. "As long as you don't start singing again, I'll be fine,"

Roman's smile was soft, and so was the kiss he gently pressed to my collarbone. Everything about the way he was holding me made me blush. "Come on," Roman cooed, a mischievous look shimmering in his eyes. "I can't wait to arrive with the prettiest girl in town. Everyone's gonna hate us even more than they already do, and I need the fuel of their spite and fear to survive."

I rolled my eyes, muffling my laugh against the following kiss. "Okay, Pennywise. Just keep the carnage to a minimum tonight, alright?"

"Deal,"

Just as Roman was about to lean in to kiss me, I remembered something important-- I grabbed his shoulders, watching his eyes widen as I pinned him to his place. "And we need to keep you far away from Brooke Bluebell tonight, by the way,"

"Uh, not that she was on the agenda, but... why?"

"Rumour says she's bought a needle. For revenge, and all,"

Roman let out a laugh of disbelief before it dawned on him that I wasn't joking. "Oh," he breathed, frowning. "Seems like there might be some carnage after all, then."

"No, that's not funny!--"

"Come on, it kinda is!"

"Roman-- ugh, fuck it, let's just go!" I placed a soft kiss to his lips; "Don't say I didn't warn you."

After more back and forth banter, it was finally time to get going. However, as Roman opened the car door for me and I sat down in the seat, I was hit with a major deja vu when he started checking out his hair in the rearview mirror. I knew that he did that every time before starting the car, this wasn't something out of the ordinary-- but for the first time since the incident, I remembered something clearly.

I remembered just a fragment. A feeling. I had been upset the day of the crash, and so had Roman. Had we fought?

It was at the tip of my tongue, there was a faint taste of exactly what had happened, and I was about to roll right into the memory when Roman put his hand on my thigh. I looked over at him, my breath high in my chest; he noticed it immediately. "You okay?" he tried.

It was lingering in my forearms, like I was pressing them up against a flaming stove. It pressed at the sides of my head, waiting for it to cave in on itself; death. It felt like a countdown.

Counting down.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I will know soon.

I put my burning hand over Roman's, forcing a smile;

"Never been better," ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Walking around at prom, hand in hand with Roman Godfrey as he talked to a couple of his friends, was only something I had imagined in my wildest dreams. I used to bury my face in my pillow and blush just at the thought of him even looking at me.

Back in those days, I had a specific image in my mind; since I hadn't ever thought I would go to prom with Roman, I imagined I'd be there with someone like Daniel. Someone I didn't like. I don't know, it wasn't too important. However, my date would be the type to not want to dance, and I would be left sitting with him by some table while everyone danced. And this would (of course) be the point where I'd imagine Roman walking up to me, charming, cocky, and high on his sky-high self-esteem, to reach for my hand. He'd ask if I'd like to dance, and I would glare at my date before giving Roman an affirmative yes.

Then we'd dance. Slow. Close.

And in my dreams, Roman would look me in the eyes and tell me that he had loved me all along, that he would love me and only me for the rest of his life, that he had secretly been pining for me since the day he first saw me, that he was actually planning to propose right now actually, and then the whole prom would stop and gasp in jealousy as he got down on one knee, and then!--

I bit down on my lip, suppressing a laugh at the memory. It seemed so childish, now more than ever. I told myself to excuse my old, stupid daydreams; the mind wanders when you're crazy about someone.

Roman squeezed my hand; "What are you laughing about?"

Fuck. "Oh, just..." I glanced up at him, smiling uncontrollably. Alas, now that Roman was my boyfriend, I didn't need all of that ridiculous stuff. I only needed him by my side, and that'd be enough for me forever. "I just remembered something stupid."

Roman cocked a brow, the green of his eyes shining down on me despite the darkness of the room. "Keen on sharing?"

"Not so much,"

"Alright," he said, tsking. "Pervert."

"Hey!" My cheeks turned a peculiar shade of pink which I hoped wasn't visible beneath the dim lights. Why did he have to say stuff like that while standing next to his friends? Not that they were listening, anyway. Nonetheless, the cheeky look on Roman's face told me everything I needed to know about it. "It's nothing like that!" I tried. "It was actually kind of sweet..."

"Oh, yeah?" Nodding, Roman's hand went to the small of my back, excusing us before he started leading us away from his circle of friends. "Tell me, then."

"It's stupid!" I giggled, my blush deepening with the kiss he pressed to the top of my head as we walked. Giant man.

Roman rolled his eyes; "Tell me before I spike the punch and get us kicked out," We had now reached the other side of the room, and he turned me around to press my back against the wall. Like this, he was towering over me as always. Just the sight of it made my heart beat harder.

"It should be illegal," I muttered under my breath, reaching for his tie. Sweet-talking him would hopefully be distraction enough. "You in a suit--"

"Tux,"

"Tux," I didn't want to tell him about my childish dreams about prom. I was aware how stupid it sounded, anyway. I didn't need to give Roman more things to tease me about, did I? "You're very, very handsome."

"Aha," he hummed, unimpressed. "How long would my sentence to be, then?"

"If it was illegal?"

"If it was illegal,"

"Hmm... I was thinking six years and nine months."

Roman bit down on a grin. "Do I spot a subtle sixty-nine reference?"

Yes. "Pervert,"

We shared a laugh as my hands slid down his tie, but my brows drew together when I felt something hard between the top and second button of his shirt. My mind flared red lights-- "Is this what I think it is?" I asked, gazing up at Roman as my eyes rounded out.

He didn't seem to understand my reaction. "I always wear it," he said, shrugging. "Didn't want to take it off."

"Ah," I suppose it was sweet. That's all it was. It most certainly didn't remind me of my least favorite passage from The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir;

There are even some upirs that are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

... Certainly not.

"I like feeling you close," Roman murmured, his long fingers now running past my waist as the sound of his voice pulled me back into the moment. "I don't like being apart from you, and having your blood with me at all times... feels like I'm carrying a piece of you, which I technically am." He bent down, his soft lips brushing against my ear-- it made my breath hitch. "What do you say we get as close as we can later tonight?" he whispered, a small kiss to my ear following. "Just you and me... And me in you?"

I could only smile. Especially as I spotted Brooke Bluebell and her cheerleader friends by the punch a little further away from us. I was sure my smile started to look rather sinister as my hand went into Roman's hair, pulling him closer as my eyes locked on Brooke's.

Fucking cheerleader whore. I hated her. I hated everything she represented. And honestly? I couldn't quite remember why. All I knew, was that seeing the jealous look on her face made my heart race with pride and joy.

... Something told me that Roman and I deserved each other. We were both evil in our own ways.

"That sounds perfect," I purred, leaning my head against the wall as Roman pressed soft kisses to my neck. "My parents aren't home, so..." I could feel him smiling against my skin at the reminder. It was such an exhilarating feeling. Especially when I knew Brooke was watching.

"Great," Roman murmured, pulling away to look down at me with a mischievous look shimmering in his green eyes. "Can't wait to fold you and hear you whimper."

My blush deepened in record time; "Pervert,"

Roman only grinned. I was sure he was gonna say something much, much worse, something that would've made my toes curl on the spot if they weren't currently pressed against the front of my slightly uncomfortable heels, if one of the prom chaperones hadn't started walking towards us with hasty steps and a grumpy look on his face. It hit me that we were probably standing too close for his liking, and that he was there to make sure the students were being appropriate, which... let's face it, we weren't.

I shook my head with panic as Roman opened his mouth to speak, and he seemed to catch onto what was happening rather quickly. With a quick nod, he took a long step away from me and held his hands up with a cheeky grin as the strict-looking chaperone approached. "Yes, officer?"

The chaperone sighed, passing fed-up glances between the two of us. I wondered where I had seen this man before. He was certainly someone's father who I had seen around drop-off hours. "I'm not the police," he grumbled. "You can put your hands down, Godfrey--"

"I invoke the fourth amendment!" Roman chimed in, winking at me. It was impossible not to smile.

The chaperone proceeded to groan, shaking his head; "Just-- no touching, okay?"

"Of... anything?"

"You can hold her hand, Godfrey, but anything else--"

"Oh, so it applies to things like... if I touch the wall?" Comically slow, Roman pressed his finger to the wall, hissing as though he was being burned by the law. "I'm a man of many crimes, as you see, officer!" He lowered his voice to a whisper; "I even touched the punch earlier! Actually, now that I think about it, I think I deserve to be kicked out... Can't believe I have allowed myself to commit such atrocities." With one last pout, Roman held his hands out to the chaperone, bowing his head in defeat. "Take me, oh, lead me away, kind sir! I will serve my time, and I will do my due diligence!--"

"Enough!" The chaperone barked. "As long as you didn't spike the goddamn punch, you're free to go!"

And with that, Roman's gig was up. He bit down hard on his lip to suppress his smirk, not to great success. "I wouldn't dare to, officer," he cooed, reaching for my hand in the smoothest manner known to man.

The chaperone rolled his eyes, probably rethinking all his life choices, as Roman led me away with the both of us trying not to topple over from the laughter we were suppressing.

"You're crazy," I said, squeezing his hand. I was worried my eyes had formed hearts.

Roman shrugged, glancing down at me with a knowing smile. "And you're crazy about me," he murmured. "But, speaking of crazy..." He raised our hands, making me do a little twirl as I giggled. When I faced him again, Roman wrapped his arms around me as he glanced over at the punch not too far away from us; "What do you say actually spike it?"

"... What?"

"It could be smart," he purred, swaying with me a little on the dance floor. "Brooke and her girls have been drinking it all night, and they just walked away... Maybe if they all get drunk off their asses when they come back, they won't be able to take their needle-revenge on me?"

Roman was right. We had kept a bit of an eye on them all night, just to make sure they were at a safe distance at all times. It was a fun game, if I were to be honest, but... Roman was right. It was an unusual occurrence that he was, so I couldn't help but smile as I felt myself get convinced.

"Fuck it,"

What ensued, were three nerve-wracking minutes at the table with the large punch-bowl. I stood in front of Roman, blocking the view of any possible chaperones as he skillfully got a silver flask out of the pocket of his jacket, and we spent a good amount of time positioning ourselves to make it all look casual, as though we weren't pouring straight vodka into the punch. Why Roman had any on him in the first place was a conversation for another time.

The second we saw Brooke and the cheerleaders approaching again, I felt my breath hitch-- had we made it or were we about to get caught?

However, Roman's timing was impeccable. With a smooth slither of his hand down to mine, he pulled me back to the dance floor, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be escaping the scene of the crime at this pace.

And suddenly, it felt like I had entered that silly dream of mine. Cause now, we were dancing. Slow. Close. The remnants of our silly escapade were visible across our lips, corners pulling up into knowing smiles as we held each other close. Roman's cologne was alluring as always, and so were his big, green eyes; I could see everything now. The scar on his right cheek, the way his pupils practically pulsated at the sight of me, the way he was drinking me in, the beautiful upturn of his nose, all to the way his warm breath fell against my cheek.

Roman's long, slender fingers intertwined with mine as his other hand rested at the small of my back; it was perfect. Better than I could've ever imagined it. It was intoxicating. Deadly, in the best of ways.

If I were to say anything, now would be the moment. If I were to say the words that I had longed to say, now was the time. All I could hear was the sweet sound of Roman's breath, the dimmed shuffling of the tulle of my dress, and the mellow remnants of the slow song playing in the background. "Rome," I breathed. "There's something I need to tell you." My heart had never beat harder in my life, I was sure of it now.

I was sure of it.

Roman let out a short hum, lovingly nudging his nose against mine. "I need to tell you something too,"

The more I thought about the beating of my heart, the more I was sure it was going to beat its way up my throat. "Yeah?" I tried. Breathless. Breathless.

"Yeah," Roman closed his eyes, gently pulling me closer. "But this might not be the place to tell you."

"I beg to differ," Something told me all my dreams were coming true in one go. If he was gonna say what I thought he was gonna say-- "There might never be a better moment than right here, right now." Please. Please. I wanted to beg him to say it first, if he wanted to say those three words at all.

It felt like the air was a tissue. A tissue falling into me, which was pulled out with Roman's next intake of air. Every breath felt sharp, yet exhilarating, yet draining, yet filling, yet emptying.

"Not here," he whispered. "You'd have a heart attack."

It felt like I was about to have one anyway. "I doubt it," God, I was about to spill, wasn't I? "What if I go first?"

Roman's brows drew together as he pulled away just a centimeter or two, looking more confused than ever. "What?"

My mouth pulled into a line. Was I reading this wrong or was this one of those situations where I just had to grow a pair of balls on the spot and walk on the burning charcoal? "Like... if you're saying what I think you want to say?"

"And what do you think I want to say?"

"... Uhm," It hit me that my mouth had never been drier. Could I do this? Should I do this? "The... thing?"

"What thing?"

"That you, y'know... That you--"

"That I what?" Roman's words were insistent, rushed. It almost scared me into silence. "Baby?"

My lower lip trembled as I gathered the courage to let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. This was my sign to retreat. With a defeated sigh, my eyes shied away from his as my cheeks burned. "Forget it,"

"But..." Roman looked beyond lost. "Okay, I feel like I'm messing things up here. Let's start again."

"Start again?--"

"Start again," he insisted, his green eyes burning into mine as I dared to meet them again. "You were gonna tell me something."

Fuck no. Now, I was sure that'd be a fate worse than death. "I-- I don't know, I'm a little lost now, could we just forget?--"

My nervous ramble was interrupted by a loud groan from Roman. At first, my eyes widened at his weird reaction to me stumbling over my words, all until I realized his phone was vibrating in his pocket. Thankfully, the song in the background wasn't so quiet and slow anymore, and nobody around us seemed to mind. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, letting go of my hand to fish out his phone. "This is fucking ridiculous, who in their right mind is calling at this time of night?!--"

Roman's anger came to a halt as he saw who was calling him. I was praying to all the Gods I could think of at the moment that it wasn't Letha.

"It's Peter," he said, eyes rounding out. "I haven't gotten a hold of him in a while, I-- will you kill me if I take this?"

I let out a sigh. Typical. I suppose some things simply remain a dream. "No problem," My ass.

"I'm sorry," Roman tried, placing two fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up, placing an apologetic kiss to my lips. It was quick, hurried-- something told me I'd remember it. "I will be right back, and then you're gonna tell me that thing, okay? I'm dying to know. Dying."

"Sure,"

"Just-- meet me by the door leading to the hallway, okay? Not the exit, not the one leading outside, but the--"

"Hallway, yeah. I got it,"

The look on Roman's face told me he was genuinely sorry. That was a consolation, at least. "We're gonna talk, I promise. I really need to tell you what I wanted to say,"

I swear, if he ended up telling me he was getting a new car instead of telling me he was in love with me, I'd wack him with the first heavy purse I'd find. "Go, Rome,"

Roman disappeared from the crowd rather quickly, making his way outside with hurried steps, leaving me alone and frustrated on the dance floor. Muttering curse words under my breath, I waddled to the door leading to the hallway, leaning against the wall next to it with a disappointed sigh. The momentum of that whole conversation had left me a bit of a panting mess, and my heart had yet to slow down. I wondered how I was supposed to get out of telling him that I loved him. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!

However, as I scoured my brain for something else to say, I felt the familiar smell of overly-sweet perfume fill my nostrils.

I stiffened in fear.

Oh no.

My mouth dried in record time as Daniel approached me, his stride calm and calculated. It was odd to see him out of his blue varsity jacket, yet he hadn't disappointed; his tux was blue too. The more I kept thinking about the color blue, the more I thought about the ocean, and the more I thought about the ocean, the more clearly I saw myself holding Daniel's head underwater until he drowned.

Daniel's smirk was nastier than ever. I couldn't believe I ever thought it was cute. "There you are," he purred, getting too close for my comfort. "You look like you're having the time of your life, as always."

I snorted. "Well, what do you expect of a brainless slut, as you so poetically called me? You've always had a way with words,"

"Damn," Daniel mumbled, pulling his hands into his pockets as he chuckled. "Did I really say that?"

"Yep," Asshole.

He nodded; "Ah... It seems you remember that night more than I do, then," Daniel's perfume had now infiltrated both my nose and my will to live. If only I could melt into a puddle on the floor and become immaterial-- that would've been mercy enough.

"I bet you haven't come here to apologize, am I correct?" I asked.

Daniel shrugged, amused. "I was actually coming here to ask you for an apology,"

"Me?! For what?" He never failed to say outrageous things, I could give him credit for that much.

However, Daniel seemed taken aback by my response. "Are you really going to act like nothing happened?"

"What?! Are you talking about you and I those thousands of years ago?--"

"No," Daniel's face fell. "I'm talking about what happened last weekend."

Something was awfully wrong. My intuition made the hair at the back of my neck stand up to the sky, and I realized I was pressing myself up against the wall. "Last weekend?" I mumbled. What did I do last weekend? I couldn't remember. All I could remember from last weekend was waking up at the Godfrey Institute because of the car crash--

Wait.

Daniel took a step forward; "I've been waiting for you to get away from that boyfriend of yours for a while," he said, his words low and threatening. "Cause you and I are gonna go have a little talk, aren't we?"

"About what?" My voice came out frail, scared, as my breath continued to catch in my throat. For a second, my attention darted to the person coming out through the door to the hallway, and it reminded me that I was in a room filled with people. Roman was coming back any time now, too. Nothing could happen to me. "I don't know what you're--"

And then it happened. Daniel stepped forward with speed I didn't know he had in him, and he jammed his foot between the door as he grabbed me with strength I couldn't fight. He clasped his hand over my mouth as I tried to fight him off, yet to no avail-- it didn't take many seconds before he managed to get me through the door, dragging me down the hallway and away from the party.

I let out a cry against Daniel's palm as my heart raced. Biting him didn't work, as my teeth barely grazed his skin-- I tried to dig my nails into him, yet I didn't manage to reach any exposed skin. The grip he had around me was crushing, and I knew my ribs would ache for days to come.

"We're gonna have a real nice talk," Daniel hissed into my ear. It was disgusting to have him so near, repulsing. His breath was unsteady as he spat his words, yet there was an exhilarated tone to his voice, like he was getting the biggest kick in the world out of this. "And I'm gonna let you go in one piece if you stop-- stop resisting!"

Daniel managed to drag me down the hall and around the corner before he threw me down. I hit the ground with a hard thud, wincing as I tried to get up with my heart threatening to beat out of my ears. However, Daniel bent down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, twisting me to look at him as I cried out in pain, eyes watery with tears as I met his angry blue eyes. I tried to drive my nails into his hand, yet he only tightened his fist in my hair-- the pain was blinding.

"Your spoiled brat of a boyfriend won't even pay for the damages," Daniel hissed in my face. His breath was warm, but in the most unpleasant way; it made me squirm as a tear spilled down my cheek. "Not a cent! The fucking Godfrey lawyers are blocking everything my family could've ever gotten as a compensation!"

I didn't manage to kick him away, no matter how hard I tried. "For a car?!" I yelled. "For a fucking car, Daniel?! Let me go!--"

"It's not about the car!" Daniel shouted, a few drops of spit landing on my face as I grimaced. "It's about the person driving it, you psycho!"

"I don't-- Fuck!" It was impossible not to curse at the agony. It didn't help that he was now dragging my head backwards, making me wonder whether he'd snap my neck. Would he? Would he actually? "I don't remember anything! I don't-- I don't fucking know! Were you in it?!"

This only seemed to anger him further, and Daniel proceeded to bend down next to me to properly get up in my face. I wondered whether he saw how clumpy my mascara was getting from the heavy tears weighing down on my lashes. I wondered whether he perhaps was hard right now from staring at the terrified look on my face. I wondered if he'd be sadistic enough to shove his dick down my throat if he was. These thoughts only made me panic more, yet I felt my body going limp from the pain; my hands were still fighting. I was still trying. There was no way I'd give up, but it also felt like there was no way for me to win.

"Not a single thing?" Daniel hissed, fury burning in his eyes. "You don't remember how you and your prick boyfriend left my father bleeding in his car? You don't remember how he swerved off the road and got the front of his car completely smashed in?!"

The more I tried to conjure the image, the more the feeling of all-taking panic and dread infiltrated my veins. I tried to claw his hands out of my hair, my nails digging into his skin, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

My current state unlocked the one I had been in on the day of the crash.

And with the panic, I remembered everything.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I could almost hear Roman's voice.

Tick tick tick.

Right now, I was there.

I was living through it again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The sun was blinding, although the air was cold. I hurried down the steps of the school that day, running to Roman.

"Where were you?"

I was confused. "I was just!--"

"I've been waiting here for, like, ten minutes!" Roman hissed, getting up from the bonnet of his car. He was in the middle of what I could only call a fit of fury, and his hands were flying as he marched towards me with heavy, angry steps; "Get in the fucking car!" He grabbed a hold of my arm, forcefully pulling me toward him.

I let out a squeal of shock, yet I didn't resist. It was impossible not to jump when he put me in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind me. "What the hell, Roman? What's gotten into you today?!"

When he got in the driver's seat, he didn't waste any time turning the engine on. "I don't like you lingering in math class," he grumbled, fixing his hair in the rearview mirror. Typical. If Roman had been a woman, he'd have been the type to get extensions and acrylic nails; I was sure of it, with how obsessed he was with his looks. "I don't need you fraternizing any more with the enemy than you already have."

"The enemy?-- Are we talking about Letha?!"

"Yes!" he barked, driving out of the school parking lot with a little too much speed. Had he not been the son of Olivia Godfrey, I was convinced he'd have about a dozen parking tickets for this type of driving.

"Roman, are you serious right now?!"

"Dead serious,"

"You're being crazy!"

That was it for Roman, who immediately started yelling; "Don't fucking talk to me about crazy! You wanna see real crazy?! Let me crash the car and laugh as we bleed out on the side of the road, then you'll see that I'm acting more than reasonably!"

Instinctively, I reached for the handle of the car door. My breath was stuck in a loop in my chest, too thick to pass my trachea. "Please stop shouting," I echoed. "You're scaring me."

Roman's ears were red with anger. I used to think it was a cute trait of his, all until he threatened to kill us both in this vehicle. However, at the frail sound of my voice, he glanced at me for a second or two as he leaned one arm on the rolled-down car window; his big, green eyes rounded out with the realization, with the weight of his words. "I'm not--" He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the road. "I'm not being serious. I wouldn't actually do that, you know me."

I could see the guilt settling in the lines of his brows coming together, yet my breath had yet to escape me; it was hard to think while being suffocated. "Stop the car,"

"Baby, I'm about to get on the highway!--"

"-- Stop the fucking car!"

Roman's anger returned as he struck the steering wheel, ignoring the way I jumped; "Fine!" With the speed he was driving at, it didn't take long before he managed to park by the road. He turned to me with a fed-up look in his eyes, one that brought my blood to a boil. It only got worse with the next words rolling off his tongue; "Christ, woman, what is it?"

For the first time in my life, I hoped I'd get superpowers and lazer-blast his stupid head off. Watch it blow and fly away in chunks, with his blood splattering all over the car. I bet it was the same dark-red color as his beloved Jaguar. Without saying a word, knowing I'd only spew profanities at him if I stayed, I made my way out of the car despite there not being a walkable road in sight.

"Hey-- Come on!" Roman yelled, watching as I started walking away on the side of the road. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

I shivered with the incoming breeze. "Far away from you!" Pissed out of my mind, I wrapped myself tightly in my jacket and ignored the sight of a car passing by me at full speed.

Roman got out of the car with haste, following me with urgency in his steps. "I'm not gonna drive us into a tree, I was just trying to make a point!" he yelled, dragging his hands through his hair to make sure his hairstyle was preserved in the wind. "Baby, please, come back here!--"

"It's not about that!" I yelled back, turning around to face him. Now, there were only a couple of meters between us as we gazed at each other, one with remorse, one with fury. "You say that you trust me, and then you explode when I come back a few minutes late from my class with Letha!"

"Well, of course I'm!--"

"No!" I barked, clenching my fists. "You've been acting so damn weird ever since the day we exchanged the ancient blood capsules, or whatever the fuck they are! You're being erratic! Are you still on cocaine, maybe? Have you relapsed?"

Roman's mouth opened and closed, offended. "I'm not on drugs!" he shouted, flailing his hands to make his point. "I'm not crazy!"

"Rome, you can tell me!" It felt as though my heart was beating out of my chest, and I pressed my hands to the thumping motions of it. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes; this whole week with Roman had been so weird, intense, and it had all come down to this. All this pain, all these emotions. "I'm your girlfriend, I care about you more than anything else in the world, you can tell me if you're back to!--"

"I'm not on drugs! I'm not crazy!" He was chanting it to himself now.

"I can get you the help you need, Rome, please!--"

"I'm not!" With the last boom of his voice, Roman seemed to grow taller on the spot. I was sure I was imagining the way his pupils dilated, the way his jaw twitched, and how he genuinely seemed to be growing an inch or two on the spot, as though he was about to pounce on me.

Was I maybe tired? That had to be it. After math class, my brain was always fried, anyway. Nonetheless, my breath hitched in my chest as I took a step back in blinding fear-- yet what I thought was a step back, was more of a step to the left. I didn't have much control over my body as my hands trembled, paralyzed at the sight before me. Roman didn't look like himself. It was him, I was sure it was the man I loved, yet something was so terribly off.

I hadn't realized I was standing in the road.

I was frozen to my spot.

I couldn't move.

And as the sound of a car honking repeatedly hit my ears, I saw nothing but the way Roman's pupils shrunk in an instant. Sheer panic filled his eyes. I barely registered how he got to me, but it took him less than a second when it should've taken him at least three.

Roman was too late, yet exactly on time-- it felt like a breeze wrapped itself around me with the swiftness of light, and before I knew it, I screamed as I was lifted off the ground and swept up in his arms. Too scared to register where we were, I only felt the prickling of grass in my hair as I soon heard a crash, a bang, and an alarm going off.

I held onto Roman's strong body for dear life as my high-pitched screams refused to subside, and tears welled up in my eyes which were squeezed shut in fear. He had wrapped himself around me in a protective hold and made sure I had landed on top of him in the grass by the road, a little too far from where we should've naturally landed, and Roman clutched onto the fabric of my jacket as he tried to shake me out of my shock.

It didn't work. My throat was getting sore, and I was trembling like a wet, abandoned kitten.

"Are you hurt?" Roman called out. "Hey, are you hurt?!"

With my next sob, the words came rushing out; "N-No!"

He let out a sigh of relief as he pressed me tighter to his chest, now stroking the back of my head and kissing my teary cheeks. "You're alright. It's okay, I'm here, you're alright," he cooed, gently rolling me down to the grass beside him.

I didn't want to let him go. I held onto his hair like a newborn, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I-I'm so, so-- so sorry!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman kissed my lips which were salty with tears. "It's not your fault, it's okay. Try to breathe, alright?"

I would've stayed like that, horrified and shell-shocked at our near meet with death, had I not heard pained groans in the distance. I dared to open my eyes, and immediately saw the cloud of smoke coming from the car with the peeping noise. There was a man groaning in pain, and his body was splayed over the steering wheel. And just as I didn't think it could get any worse, I saw the indent of a footprint in the car door--

My shaking subsided as I rose from the grass, sitting up in a zombie-like state. My eyes refused to leave the image before me.

Had Roman... kicked the car away?

Had he kicked a car coming our way at about a hundred kilometers an hour?

Before I could ponder it any longer, Roman grabbed my chin with the gentlest touch known to man and turned me to him. He didn't have a single scratch on him. Shouldn't he be gasping in pain at the blow of landing on his back with me on top of him? His eyes were round, worried, as he scanned me for any injuries. "How does your head feel? Are you dizzy? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"No," I breathed. "Roman, the car--"

"Fuck that for a second, do I need to take you to a hospital?" The look in his eyes quickly went from worried to crazed, like he was angry that I was choosing to have sympathy for the person in the car instead of caring about myself first.

I blinked. Once. Twice. "Roman?"

"Yes?"

"The guy in there might be dead. Or dying,"

"I know," he echoed. "But he might also be bleeding."

"Exactly," With shaky steps, I tried to raise myself to the ground. The beeping of the car was driving me mad with guilt and worry. "He might be bleeding, so we need to--"

"Call an ambulance, I know,"

"No, we need to check if he's!--"

"Bleeding? Dying? Yeah, I can't," Roman grabbed my hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. They were round with a look I hadn't seen before, like he was trying to convey something I'd hopefully understand. "I shouldn't go near it when it's that much fresh blood." He squeezed my fingers before he brought them to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "And you're about to faint."

"... What?"

"You have about five seconds,"

"How do you?--"

"I'm not crazy," Roman said, an end statement. "I'll make sure you won't remember most of this, but trust me. I'll take care of it."

The worst thing was that he was right. I couldn't do anything to stop it when I started seeing white spots, and I let out a panicked yell. It felt like my head was caving into itself; that was a feeling that would stay with me. I covered my ears before I realized I couldn't feel my toes, and just as I went down, Roman went up to catch me in his arms.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And as I faded out of the memory, it took longer than expected to snap out of it.

I was done.

Done.

I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Again.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, again, like someone had grabbed a hold of my tongue and tugged me forward, again-- the bright lights of the school hallway shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the ground with a gasp for air.

It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, or like I had been drowning, all over again. I clawed at my hands, my nails digging into the fabric of my dress, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how, again?—

There was a release. I no longer felt like my neck was about to snap, and there was no longer pressure on my scalp as I was released from Daniel's grip on my hair. My body fell limp against the floor as I heard a loud thud to my right along with a shrill cry of pain.

As I slowly came back to my senses, I realized that Daniel was being repeatedly punched against the lockers by none other than Roman Godfrey. There was no way for him to fight off the repeated attacks, no way at all, as Roman's fist landed blow after blow with no mercy.

"Rome," I wheezed, coughing and wincing as I tried to get up from the floor. I barely had any power in my body anymore-- it didn't work.

The sound of his nickname had Roman letting go of Daniel in an instant, who fell limp to the floor with a cry of pain. Roman looked completely out of it; his green eyes were wild with fury, worry, and an untameable thirst for revenge. I hadn't seen him like this before, so possessed.

He opened his mouth to say something, yet Daniel let out a wail; "He can't even walk anymore, Godfrey! You fuckers left my father in a coma, and when he woke up, he was fucking paralyzed from the neck down!"

My head was pounding. This couldn't be true. This was a nightmare.

"You ruined his life!" Daniel yelled, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to get up. "And you ruined mine! You took my father from me, and he will never be the same again!"

Roman took several deep breaths. It was clear that he wanted to beat Daniel to a pulp, yet he was holding back. "You think I wanted any of that?" he tried, balling his fists. "Accidents happen all the fucking time!--"

"He says you kicked the car!" Daniel shouted. His voice was shaking. Profusely. It dawned on me how scared he truly looked. "That you-- you kicked it off the road!"

Roman's fists remained clenched. "Did you maybe have too much of the punch?" he asked, attempting to incorporate a calm tone. "You can't possibly be hearing yourself now, Goldman. Explain how I'm supposed to have kicked away a car coming at me at full speed?"

Daniel's lower lip trembled as it caught a few of his tears. "Everyone knows something's wrong with you, Godfrey. It's just a matter of time until someone figures out your secret," A beat. A snarl. "You're a freak."

There was a long pause. Roman was so furious that he could only glare. I could see the way his jaw clenched and how his hands were now balled so tightly they were shaking.

Daniel caught onto it. Despite looking scared out of his mind, tears still staining his cheeks, he conjured a victorious smile which only confused me further. "You gonna hit me again? You gonna beat me to a pulp in front of your girl?" He nodded towards me, a mocking laugh following as his eyes shone with evil glee.

Roman's eye twitched. I held my breath.

"You think she'll stay with you once she knows what you're capable of? You think she'll still be yours?" Daniel wiped his nose, staring up at Roman through his brows with his vicious eyes. "You and I are one and the same. The way she looks at me, the hate, the disgust? You're going to know exactly how I feel."

"No," Roman hissed, breathless. "I'm nothing like you,"

"Oh yeah? Do you really believe that?"

"You're scum!--"

"And you're a fucking sadist, just like me!" Daniel didn't even try to wipe the grin off his beaten face. He simply sighed as he rested his head against the lockers, closing his eyes as though he was reliving his best day; "Bet you would've killed to see the look she had in her eyes when I nearly snapped her neck in half, just before you came... The tears, the fear. She has these pretty whimpers when she's in pain, y'know?" Daniel opened his eyes, staring up at Roman through his brows. "Are you going to let me get away with that?"

I couldn't stay quiet anymore; the panicked cry I let out was unlike anything I ever had before. "No, don't listen to him!--"

"I would've left her here for you to find, just like what you two did to my father!" Daniel chanted. "I would've ruined her, and it would've been all your fault, Godfrey!"

That was it. It was over. I knew it the second those words filled the hallway. His fault.

Roman snapped. He yelled out in fury, and his hands flew to Daniel's neck where he was on the floor, crushing his windpipes along with any hope for breaths or protests. The look in Roman's eyes was too wild, too uncontrolled, too unstable for my liking-- he looked like he was two seconds away from snapping his neck like a twig, just like what Daniel would've done to me.

"Stop it!" I screamed, terror freezing me to my spot. "Stop it, Roman, stop!--"

"Do-- it!" Daniel wheezed, grinning. "Show her-- what a monster you are!"

My heart was pounding in my ears. No, no, no!

Roman's voice boomed throughout the hallway; "I will break your fucking hands if you touch her again, do you hear me?!"

The amusement in Daniel's eyes quickly disintegrated into abject horror. It was the lack of air. This was the moment he realized one very crucial detail; that all his taunting, all his encouragement, could actually get him very, very badly hurt. "W-Wait--"

"Do you hear me?!"

"Y-Yes!--"

"I will tear you apart!" Roman yelled, tightening his grip. "Is that what you want?!"

Daniel's face was turning a peculiar shade of purple as panic settled in his body. His hands went to Roman's, clawing at them, but to no avail. It was essentially a match he couldn't ever hope to win. It would've been impossible. Roman was too strong, too quick, too sharp-- Daniel didn't stand a chance.

I didn't think it could yet worse, yet somehow it did. In a moment which shouldn't have been possible, not so easily, Roman dragged Daniel's sputtering body up along the locker, lifting him from the ground with no exertion or effort. It made me gasp as I propped myself up from the floor, tears rushing down my cheeks as I watched the scene before me, scared into silence.

When Daniel's legs were dangling off the floor, I knew he had a few seconds before he was out. It was clear in the way his eyes started bulging and how his hands fell limp by his sides.

Roman's last words were chilling; "Let me show you how much of a monster I can be,"

Daniel let out a short, defeated wheeze. Had he not been choking, it would've been a laugh. He had won, but now he had to pay the price. He squeezed his eyes shut with his last efforts, ready for the beating of his life, all until--

"No, that's enough!" I cried, exhausted by the terror. "Roman, enough!"

It was as though something changed in Roman at the sound of my voice, and the veins were no longer bulging from his hands as he realized the weight of what he had been about to do. With that, he let go of Daniel, who collapsed down along the lockers for the second time tonight; air rushed to his lungs with massive gulps, and his face was no longer purple from the blood rushing to his face.

Now that I remembered everything from the day of the crash, I saw the similarities. The way Roman seemed somewhat taller, how unnaturally wide his pupils dilated, and the way his jaw twitched.

For the first time, I was seeing him for what he truly might be.

For what he... was.

Upirism lives beneath their skin, scratches at their teeth, and corrupts their minds through dark urges in constant attempts to drive them to the edge of genesis. Do you suspect you are a upir, or do you recognize a darkness in your loved ones?

I do.

Gulping, I finally found the courage and strength to get off the floor. My hands were shaking, and so were my knees-- I was sure my mascara had stained my cheeks at this point, and I felt more breathless than ever as I faced the man I loved.

What made everything worse, was that Roman looked more beautiful than ever. Hair disheveled, broad shoulders raising with every shaky breath, lips parted. The tux only added to the sight-- he was perfect. Despite the sleeves of his jacket being rolled up, and a part of his shirt being untucked from his pants, he was perfect, and he always would be. His round, green eyes were barely green with how big his pupils were, pulsing with adrenaline; "Are you okay?" he asked, taking a step forward and away from Daniel. "Are you hurt? You were practically unconscious when I came--"

Roman's words came to a halt when he saw how quickly I took a step back.

My breath was stuck in my chest. I couldn't speak.

"You look scared. Don't be," he tried. "He's fine, see?" Roman turned around to face Daniel's body, where he lay limp and barely conscious, and proceeded to shortly kick him.

It made me gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth as Daniel let out a pained whimper. My stomach felt uneasy-- I really didn't want to throw up here.

When Roman saw my horror, he immediately took a step away from Daniel. It hadn't yet dawned on him why I was so scared. "I'm so sorry about this," he said. "I'm sorry I stepped away. I should've never left your side."

I tried to speak, yet nothing would come out. Only tears rushed from my system, peaking at my chin before dripping down to the floor.

Suddenly, there was a loud cheer from down the hall, a reminder of the prom going on just a door away. It made me jump, frozen in fear.

It was clear that Roman found it to be ironic, and he alternated between glancing down the hall and looking at me. "You still look good," he mumbled, a trying smile tugging at the corners of his perfect lips. Those perfect, plush lips that used to softly press against mine. Was he hoping we could go back inside and act like nothing had happened? "I have a comb you can use, if you want? The mascara is easy to wipe away, I think, and I bet there'll be no one in the restroom, so we can both go and fix ourselves and--"

When he took another step forward, I took another step back.

Roman stilled. His eyes softened with hurt. "Baby,"

I shook my head. That was the only thing I could do.

"Didn't you hear what he was saying? He wanted to-- wanted to do all these awful things to you, I had to do this,"

I couldn't breathe.

Roman insisted; "I was just protecting you," Despite his calm tone, I spotted the slight shake he had to his hands. "Don't think about all that bullshit he said, okay? He's not in his right mind, he's clearly insane!--"

"His dad, Roman!" My ability to speak returned to me with my growing frustration.

"-- Was a very sad, tragic thing, yes! I'm not denying it!" With the next step Roman took, I stayed in place. He let out a string of controlled, short breaths, trying to calm himself down. "But he didn't have to come after you. I would've given him the money he needed, but it's my mom who controls the assets. All our dear Daniel had to do, was to talk to me. No one had to get hurt."

I squeezed my eyes shut, yet my tears still fell past my lashes.

Roman let out a sigh which resembled a soft hum. "All that matters is that you're okay. That's all that matters. To me, you're all that matters,"

As his big hands framed my face, holding me when he finally got close enough, I still didn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I was scared out of my mind. Roman's touch was no longer a comfort-- it was chilling to know that they were choking someone less than a minute ago.

"Are you scared?" he whispered, worry coating his deep voice. "You don't have to be scared of me, I'm not-- I'm not some monster."

I couldn't believe him. His words echoed in my head. Let me show you how much of a monster I can be.

Let me show you.

"I'm not," Roman insisted. He didn't sound like he believed it much himself. "I'm all yours, only yours. That's all I am, and that's all that I ever will be. You need to know that."

Let me show you.

"Please look at me,"

Let me show you.

"Please," he begged. "I-- I've made some mistakes, but I'm still your Roman. Can't you stomach it anymore? Is me wanting to protect you repulsive to you?"

I shook my head; not at all. My hands found his chest, feeling it raise against my palms. I used to lay there. Fall asleep there, listening to his beating heart.

"What did you want me to do, then?" Roman whispered. "You're my everything. You're everything. I couldn't let him get away with doing all of that, I-- I couldn't. I'm sorry if it scared you, I'm sorry you had to see me like that, and I'm so sorry I ever left... I should've stayed with you. I'm a fool. I should've stayed and heard what you wanted to tell me."

I didn't need to look at him to know he was crying, now. His voice was breaking. Actively. It shattered me.

"Cause... you still want to tell me, right?"

Something told me he knew what I had wanted to tell him.

My hand crept further up Roman's broad chest as I quietly sobbed, my whole body shaking. My fingers were at his neck, tracing his soft skin.

Roman's grip on my face tightened in desperation, yet his voice came out in a frail, low murmur; "Please-- Please tell me,"

I love you. I love you. If only Roman could read minds. I couldn't conjure the words, not in this state.

My silence only broke him further. Hopeless, he pressed his tear-stained lips to mine in a sheer cry for mercy. "Please," he whispered between repeated kisses I couldn't reciprocate. "Please-- Please--"

My fingers had managed to slip between the two top buttons of his shirt, and they now grazed the vial of my blood around his neck. As Roman continued to kiss me, desperately pressing my body up against his, I let out a sob as I twisted the capsule, just like I had once practiced; his breath hitched as I wrapped my hand around the vial, clutching it as I pulled it away from him without a word.

Roman's hold on my face disappeared as his hands floated an inch away from my face, his big eyes watery with hurt and confusion.

I told myself it was for the best. The blood had poisoned his thoughts for too long.

My first step away was slow, trying.

Tick.

Tick tick.

My second was quickly followed by a sprint down the hallway, away from Roman, away from Daniel, away from everything.

Tick tick tick.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

It felt like I was dying for the hundredth time this week. The agony was pressing at the sides of my head, and it made me hope it would finally cave in on itself just to spare me the torture of being awake.

It was the fear that brought me to Letha's doorstep. The thing I didn't want to be true. Everything had balled up into a ginormous travesty of a boulder, and I could no longer try to push it over the side of the mountain-- I was no Sisyphus.

I couldn't begin to comprehend how shocked Letha must've been when she opened the door. She opened and closed her mouth, scanning the mascara which had stained my cheeks, and the state of the top of my hair. "What the fuck?" she cursed under her breath, grabbing my hand to pull me inside. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

I felt like a shell of the person I used to be. Like I had been cracked open like a lobster, with someone actively scooping out my insides. Letha's house smelled of expensive fragrance sticks you'd buy from Rituals-- I recognized the one she had in her house at the moment, the ritual of hammam. It was her favorite, I remembered that much. I felt at home. It was an odd feeling.

"Your dress," Unsure what to do, Letha bent down to fix the way my dress fell. "Seriously, what happened?--"

"A while ago, you said you wanted to tell me the truth about Roman," My voice was sharp, hollow, as I stared at the girl who was once my best friend. I had cried into her shoulder before, we had shared countless laughs-- what had I done? "What was it?"

Letha stilled with shock when she straightened up, meeting my troubled gaze. "Shouldn't you be at prom?"

"Letha, I need!--"

"Where even is, Roman, actually?"

"You need to tell me!" I cried. "You need-- I need to know, I need to hear it from you, because I need someone to tell me that I've gone crazy!"

With slow motions, Letha stretched out her hands to place them gently on my shoulders. "Let's take some deep breaths, okay? Whatever this is, I bet you and Roman will get through this. Did you have a fight? It can be painful to argue with your boyfriend, and it really can feel like you're going crazy. I get it, and--"

"-- I have this book," I interrupted, feeling my tears press up against my lashes once more. "It's really long and dreadful, but I've read the whole thing over and over about five times now."

The worry streaking across Letha's face turned into a look of confusion. "Okay...? As long as it's not Fifty Shades again, I'm listening,"

It was odd to speak to someone that knew me so well. She knew I had read that stupid book several times, despite how ridiculous it could be at times. It almost threw me off. "The more I read the book, the more I saw the... similarities with Roman,"

Letha grimaced; "Fifty Shades?"

"No! The other one!"

"Oh, alright. Phew,"

I groaned, rubbing my temples. I was exhausted. "You said I deserved to know the truth about him, so I'm begging you, Letha, to put everything aside," My breath struggled to steady. "What was it?"

Her palms lifted from my shoulders. "I-- I don't know how to say it, or whether I should tell you at all. I only ever mentioned it because I thought you were in danger, but--" Letha stilled. It was clear on her face that she knew she had said too much.

"Danger?" I echoed. "Letha?"

With a quick hitch of her breath, Letha made her way past me with hasty steps and disappeared into the living room.

"Please!" I followed her, watching as she paced back and forth in the big room, anxiously biting her nails. "Letha, I need to hear it from you, I need to know that I'm wrong, I need to hear that it's something else than what I think it is!"

"I-- I don't, I can't!--"

"Tell me!" I needed to hear it out loud. I burned to hear it from someone else than the voice in my head.

"N-No, I!--"

"Letha!"

"It's too-- I can't!--"

"Say it!"

Letha stilled with the boom of my voice. She stared back at me from across the room, no longer pacing as she finally dared to face the crazed look in my eyes. There was a long pause, a silence that laid itself over us like a cold blanket-- "What book was it?" she breathed.

"The--" I hated this title. "The avoidable vampirism, the--" I couldn't say the word. I couldn't.

Letha nodded. It was barely noticeable, and it resembled an involuntary tic. "Yes,"

Yes?

"Yes, he is,"

"Say it," I whispered. "Please."

Letha closed her eyes, resigning;

"Roman's a upir,"

The house was dead silent. You could've heard a pin drop. There were faint remnants of the wind brushing past the large tree outside the property, with the rustling of the leaves filling the sonic void. Letha wasn't moving. Neither was I. How does one process such news? It was a peculiar feeling-- I felt like I had already known for a long time. There was no shockwave, as I had expected there to be.

"Ah," was all I said. It left Letha to raise a brow, visibly off-put by my reaction.

I nodded to myself a couple times, glancing around the living room I used to know better than the back of my hand. A small huff escaped me, similarly to a laugh; I wondered whether my brain was melting. It surely felt like it.

For a second, I thought that was it. That there would be no blow to the reveal. That I was handling it surprisingly well, and that it'd be the end of it. However, the more breaths I took, the less I felt like I was breathing. The less I felt I was breathing, the more I could feel the painful thumping of my heart against my ribs, every beat serving as a reminder that I was still alive, still in this moment, still processing.

My breath got stuck in my throat with the next heave-- my hands flew to my necklace, trying to find the clasp. It was too tight, too tight. With shaking fingers, I tried to get it off, needed it off, right now. It didn't work, no matter how hard I tried, and my eyes welled with tears as I ripped my necklace off with a gasp, hoping I'd finally be able to breathe. The beads rolled along the hardwood floors as I clutched at my chest, hitting my chest in hopes that air would fill it.

Letha's big, green eyes were filled with worry as she rushed to me, unsure how to help. "Hey, hey, breathe, okay?--"

The corset of my dress was suddenly an agonizing pressure around my waist, and my fingers went to the ribbons at the back to slacken it. It didn't work, no matter what I tried, and the sob I let out was followed by a broken plea; "Help-- H-Help!--"

Letha hurried to get behind me as I slowly sank to the floor, choking on my tears as she untied the ribbons at full speed. My hands were tearing at my dress, choking with my last breaths as I descended into the heap of tulle around me-- I tried to scream, yet no sound would come.

In a last attempt, Letha grabbed the ribbons with full force and pulled them apart, ripping the fabric in half as my corset finally came apart.

What followed was a mix of a sob and a heave, a choked sound filling the room as I leaned forward into the tulle, taking sharp breaths of release. I could finally breathe. I was breathing again. I wept into my hands as Letha's soft hands stroked my exposed back, sitting down on the floor next to me as she brought my body as close to hers as she could.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm so, so sorry."

I shook in her arms, drowning in tears. It was true. Roman was a upir. I had been right all along, yet I had also been stupid enough to suppress it. The sadness, the heartbreak, that hit me felt like a death-sentence, and I held onto Letha as my whole body trembled with the realization; "I love him," I cried. "I love-- I love him!"

"I know," Letha stroked my hair, sighing. "I tried to get to you before you got that far, but there always comes a point when you can no longer do anything. I've learned that the hard way, now."

This was worse than death. "What do I do?" I breathed. "I don't-- I don't know what to do!"

"... You know what you have to do,"

It only made me clutch onto her harder, and I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes of stopping the stream of tears. I wondered how I had any more of them in my system. "I don't-- think I can!"

"I only want what's best for you," Letha cooed, patting away my fallen tears. "And I know that Roman can be charming, and he can be very nice when he wants to be, but... now that you know what he is, how are you going to believe him ever again? He's lied to you all this time, and he would've never told you himself. You're aware that he's putting you in danger every time he's near you?"

I shook my head; "N-No, Roman would never!--"

"If you read a whole book about upirs, you probably know what he's capable of?"

"He'd never-- never hurt me!--"

"Maybe he wouldn't hurt you, but you know he can control people, right?" Letha sighed once more, tilting my head upwards so that I would meet her eyes. "He did that to me our whole childhood. His favorite thing to do in the winter was to make me stick my tongue on metal poles and watch me cry when I couldn't detach it."

What? "But!--"

"How can you ever be sure that your actions are yours?" Letha's eyes were so intense, so desperate to get her point across. "How can you ever trust him again?"

How many times hadn't I thought he was mesmerizing me? I could count them on my fingers, but the thought was still unsettling. "I... don't know,"

Letha shifted to sit on her knees, watching my mascara paint my cheeks with long, black streaks. "I'm glad you came to me," she murmured, softening her look. "I'm glad you see that I'm the only one that can help you. We should put everything behind us and stick together again, and we have to. I'm all you have now. Roman... he's dangerous. You're safe with me."

I was so, so tired. I didn't have the energy to fight the free help coming my way, yet... something felt off. "He's not dangerous," I tried, in denial. "He's--"

"He's what?" Letha insisted, hardening her gaze. This was giving me whiplash. "Seriously! He could snap any day, can't you see?! And who would be closest to him the day he's overcome with thirst?"

"No!--"

"It'd be you!" Letha grabbed my face, and it only made my tears flow faster, hanging from my quivering chin. "It'd be you, and I can't lose you again, not in that way!"

The more my vision blurred, the weaker I felt. "I love him,"

"I know,"

"I-- I love him,"

"But you need to love yourself more," she whispered. Letha let go of my face, wrapping her arms around me in a warm embrace. She smelled just like she did all those months ago. My best friend, Letha. I missed her more than anything.

How could I ever love anything or anyone more than I loved Roman? I didn't have space for that in my body. I didn't have the capacity.

"Do it for your life," Letha pleaded, her voice smooth as honey. It felt like she was talking me to sleep. "Please."

A life without Roman? I couldn't imagine it. Not when we had promised each other forever.

But... forever for him probably meant forever.

Roman is a upir.

I let out another cry into Letha's shoulder; this was a nightmare I wouldn't ever wake up from.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When you get devastating news, you never think of what happens afterward. It's similar to when someone dies-- you get the news, in comes the shock, and then you get handed the papers on what to do with the body. No one ever thinks about having to design the flyer for the funeral, right?

There is a certain weight in your body as you go through the motions you know you have to go through. Your hands feel heavy as you hold your next meal before your mouth, realizing that life moves on, whether you want it to or not. You still need to drink water, eat, wake up, and function.

And just as I opened the door to my empty home, I felt all of that at once. I wanted to freak out and sob in despair to the end of my days, yet I had to get back home. I had to get out of the clothes Letha had given me after I ruined my dress, I had to eat something to fill my rumbling stomach, and I had to sleep. How was I supposed to do any of that when it felt like my world was crashing down on me?

It felt like someone had pressed a button at the top of my head, putting me on auto-pilot. I didn't even notice that I was still wearing my jacket as I made my way to the kitchen with heavy steps, mindlessly opening the fridge and taking a... cucumber?

Why was I holding a cucumber?

Fuck it.

I couldn't think. I didn't even close the fridge. My mind was empty as I put it down on the kitchen island, not even bothering to find a cutting board. I didn't want to think. The more I thought, the more I thought about Roman. Roman and his perfect lips, Roman and his beautiful laugh, Roman and his green, green, green eyes. Roman, the man I loved. Roman, the upir.

Involuntary tears rushed down my cheeks as my face remained stoic. I was exhausted. I had no idea how I was still moving. My hands were mindlessly tapping the kitchen surfaces around me, hoping I'd somehow find a knife that way. Not that I'd be particularly successful, but maybe I didn't want to be? I wasn't even planning on washing the cucumber. Maybe I hoped the germs would kill me. Could you die from an unwashed cucumber? I had no idea. There was probably a higher possibility that Roman would kill me first.

... I hated that thought.

I wish I didn't have to have it.

However, as my hands found the selection of knives, I heard a sound coming from behind me. It came from the other side of the kitchen island, the one I had my back turned to. I didn't think much of it first; houses creak all the time, surely. But then came the scrape-- a deliberate, jarring screech of a chair being pulled out from the kitchen island.

My parents were out of town.

Someone was in my house.

Someone was pulling out a chair.

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, my breath catching in my throat. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps sent a chill crawling down my spine. They weren’t hurried or hesitant-- they were purposeful, unhurried, as though whoever was there wanted me to hear.

I gripped the counter with trembling fingers, my pulse hammering in my ears. I didn’t dare look back, but every inch of me screamed to run. My fingers brushed the cold handle of the biggest knife I could find, finally. The familiar fight-or-flight surged through me, but I couldn’t choose. All I could do was grip the knife and hold it as though it were a lifeline.

When the footsteps stopped, I thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, I had imagined it.

But then-- the breath.

A low, soft exhale just inches behind me.

Now or never. I spun around with a panicked yell, the knife held high, ready to plunge it into whoever had invaded my home-- My scream got stuck in my throat when the blade pointed at the chest of a tall figure standing in the dark, his face barely illuminated by the faint glow of the refrigerator light.

Roman.

Roman didn't even bother to stop me, didn't jump away, nothing. The tip of my knife was barely dipping into his solar plexus, yet I was sure it would've been enough to draw blood on any other person; it didn't even pierce his skin.

I couldn't believe what was happening. He somehow didn't look like himself-- it was Roman like I’d never seen him before. His expression was blank, too blank, the kind of blank that made my stomach churn. He didn’t flinch at the blade hovering just below his sternum. His green eyes locked onto mine with a kind of detachment, as though I wasn’t holding a weapon to his chest at all.

“You done?” he said, his voice carrying an eerie stillness.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My knuckles whitened around the handle.

Roman’s eyes flickered down to the blade, then back to me. “Put it down,” he said, his tone measured but firm.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Roman took a quiet step back, glancing down at the large knife I was holding at him with an unreadable emotion shimmering in his big, green eyes. "Right..." he huffed, sucking in a sharp breath. His gaze darted up to meet mine in the dark of the kitchen. "Is that how you want to do this?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. There was no other way, not when I knew the truth.

Roman’s lips parted, and the breath that escaped wasn’t human—it was low, steady, and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze locked onto the knife, then slowly dragged up to meet mine. His pupils were darker now, swallowing the green of his eyes, and the silence between us stretched too long.

“If you’re gonna do it, don't hesitate,” Roman's voice was soft, yet laced with something cold and merciless. He took a single step forward, the tip of the knife now pressing harder against his chest. “You won’t get another chance.”

I gasped, stumbling back, but Roman didn’t follow. He stayed in the shadows, his figure looming over me like some unholy force. “Fine. This is how it's gonna go,” he continued, his tone so calm it made my blood run cold. “You’re going to put that down and listen. No running, no screaming. I deserve that much."

I tightened my grip on the knife, my chest heaving. “Why should I listen to you?"

A huff-- Roman was pissed. "Cause I'm really not in the mood for chasing you. It'd be over in less than three seconds, and that's never fun," Roman's voice dropped to a near whisper; "You wanna fight me, or do you want to be smart about this?"

I didn't lower my knife. I couldn't. "Alright," I breathed. "Talk, then."

Roman tilted his head, studying me, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smirk-- it didn't reach his eyes. "There you go," he said.

"Good girl."

(a/n: ... are u still breathing? cause I'm not!!!! AGHHH😭 thank you for reading this if you got this far, this is so so much lore so if your brain is overheating pls pls go grab an icecream, you deserve it, and I LOVE YOUUU MWAHHH CAN'T WAIT TO SHOW Y'ALL THE REST OF THIS STORY!!)

here are all the chapters!<3: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12

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