#let us take the glimpses of shining sunlight

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part eight)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

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The Sunday morning sky is cloudy, offering hardly any sunlight to shine into your dorm room. Considering the tangled, dreary way you woke up feeling, it’s fitting.

Liv comes over with smoothies from an on-campus juice bar.

“They call this one Hangover Cure,” she says as she hands you a tall, plastic cup. “So I got us both the biggest size.”

You smile and thank her, feeling like you have more of an emotional hangover than a physical one. You sit up in your bed as she sits in your desk chair, swirling the straw in her drink.

“So, what happened last night?” she asks.

You shrug and look down. You’re not sure you should hook up with Rafe anymore. You don’t understand how he can call you perfect and beautiful and baby during sex, but when you’re clothed, he acts casual. At best. At worst, he’s just a jerk.

You did share a tender moment last night at the party, but it lasted mere seconds before he turned the conversation sexual again.

“What always happens. We hooked up and I went home.” You take a beat. “You actually think he likes me?” Your voice is thin as you recall Liv’s text from last night.

“The jealousy on his face when I told him you were with Blake… was something else,” she tells you. “And the way he left with you?”

She gives you a knowing look and takes a sip of her drink.

“Do you like him?” she asks. Liv’s already heard all about your arrangement with Rafe, but whenever she hinted that it could be more, you laughed it off. You don’t laugh this time.

“I’d be an idiot to like a guy who tells me from the get-go that would never tie himself down with a girlfriend,” you say. “The jealousy was because he might lose his favorite booty call.”

“If you say so,” she says. You force yourself not to feel any hope from her words.

You think about the way Rafe looked when you asked him about his family last night. It was a small glimpse into a side you hardly ever see.

He does have a heart underneath all the attitude and temper and ego. And it’s clearly damaged. But you’re not going to make a fool of yourself hoping he shows it to you again, let alone opens it up.

“Anyways, look what Blake texted me,” you say. When you hand Liv your phone and she reads the message, she puts her hand over her mouth in shock.

“This is so cute,” she coos. “A man who directly tells you he likes you? That exists?”

“Apparently,” you say. “I think I’m gonna say yes.”

“You should,” Liv replies. “But, and don’t kill me for asking, would you say yes to Rafe if he texted you this?”

“He wouldn’t,” you say confidently, taking back your phone. “Okay, stop holding out on me. You made out with Sam? How did that happen?”

Your friend tells you about the rest of her night and you’re appreciative of the break from your own thoughts.

About half an hour later, Rafe is coming back from the gym when he hears your laugh coming from your room. He can’t pass up the opportunity to pound on your door.

“Too loud!” he calls, passing by. Liv gets startled and you laugh again, recognizing his voice right away.

“Asshole,” you quietly mutter. Liv looks at you for a moment, no doubt noticing the smile on your face.

After she leaves, you look at Blake’s text again.

Gotta be honest. I wanted to kiss you when we were in my room but you make me really nervous haha. Can I take you on a date? A real one. Not just a study date lol. All good if you’re not into it. Let me know.

While you haven’t always necessarily felt an overwhelmingly strong pull to Blake, you definitely have a crush. You wanted him to kiss you last night. Maybe you could make each other happy.

You reply: you don’t have to be nervous :) a real date sounds nice.

When Blake responds, you plan to go out to dinner together on Wednesday night.

On Tuesday, one of your floormates knocks on your door to tell you she’s having a party in the common room that night. Since alcohol isn’t allowed in the building’s public areas, she lets you know the booze will be hidden to give the impression that it’s a dry party.

You decide to take the invitation. It’s nearing 9 pm when you enter the large room, its walls already packed with a crowd of students you’ve seen around the building.

Music is playing under the overlapping conversations and bottles of juice and soda are scattered around the room. You’re sure they’re all made to look innocent but are spiked with booze.

You dive into conversation with a girl who lives a floor above you when you pick up a solo cup and fill it with juice, barely glancing at the table as the overwhelming aroma of vodka hits you.

Rafe will never turn down an invitation to a party. When he comes through the door, he sees you standing by one of the couches and chatting with someone. Like always, you look pretty as hell.

He looks to one of the tables in the room to see stacks of different colored solo cups behind pieces of paper, words scribbled in marker. It must be some sort of party game.

The pink cups are behind a note that says Taken; the purple, Down to Smash, blue, Single; green, It’s Complicated.

He glances at you again to see you holding a purple cup. Down to smash?

You’ve been chatting for a while now, your cup empty and your head already sort of buzzing from how much vodka was in the bitter juice. You look up from your conversation to see Rafe gazing at you from across the room.

You hate how he can be so relaxed, in a simple t-shirt and jeans and messy hair, and still look so good.

He has a ridiculous effect on you. You accept this as a fact when you realize you’re overjoyed to see him. He’s captivating without even trying.

It’s the type of happiness you feel when you see a good friend, you tell yourself.

Your heart skips a beat when he crosses the space, closing the distance between you. You tell the girl it was nice talking to her before Rafe inevitably interrupts you.

He approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Interesting choice,” Rafe says.

“What?”

“That,” he mumbles, pointing to your cup.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you laugh.

Rafe silently nods his head towards the desk by the door. You glance over to see writing in front of each stack of cups.

“Oh,” you say, brushing past him to look down at the spread. “I didn’t know the colors meant anything.”

You can still taste the juice you drank. The vodka was good, but the juice wasn’t.

“Yuck, I hate this flavor,” you say. Rafe looks over at the bottle you must have poured from.

You study the cups, and if you’re really honest, the green cup is the most fitting. It’s Complicated. Because you’re not looking to casually hook up with anyone else, yet you’re not devoted to someone. Single makes you look like you’re hoping to be in a relationship, when you already sort of like two guys at once.

“What’s complicated?” Rafe asks when you pick it up. He wonders if it’s because of Blake.

You give him that look he’s so used to by now, that look that somehow irritates him and turns him on at the same time. At least you didn’t pick up the Taken cup. He can still touch you if you let him.

For a moment, he imagines a world where he isn’t in a frat. Where you two meet like this, at a dorm party, and he doesn’t have to watch you get slowly taken away by a guy he introduced you to.

“I can’t explain it. That’s what makes it complicated,” you flirt with a smug smile. You decide to put the cup back, still holding on to the empty purple one, figuring you’re tipsy enough for a school night.

“Why not?” he asks, muttering his words angrily.

“Is being mad, like your default state?” you ask with a small smile. “Or are you just jealous?”

“What the hell would I be jealous of?” Rafe’s eyes dart away.

“Blake,” you reply bluntly. His blue eyes meet yours.

Does he not know how transparent he is? He was pissed when he learned you were with Blake last night. He basically yanked you out of the party.

“You know you could easily find another girl to fuck around with, right?” you say. “I know of two, at least.”

You think back to the girl he had moaning in his room and the girl he made out with at the mixer party.

“I wanna fuck around with you,” he says. You let out a disillusioned chuckle.

“Charming,” you mutter. The response tells you everything you need to know. He’s mad because he’s losing a fuck buddy.

“Are you with him or not?” Rafe asks sternly.

The conversation has ignited an alluring tension between you. You were considering stopping the hook-ups. But you melt under his gaze, head swimming, core heating.

You’re nobody’s girlfriend. Why not have great sex with a friend while you’re available?

“I’m not,” you say, looking down at your purple cup. “I guess this was the right choice for tonight.”

Despite the irritation and jealousy gnawing at Rafe, he happily surrenders to the rush of excitement prickling his skin.

“Why aren’t we fucking then?” he asks.

“We?” you tease, pulling at the string making him jealous just a little more. “I was thinking I should find someone else and put all my practice to the test.”

“Shut up,” Rafe says with a lazy smile, taking the empty cup from you and placing it on the table, replacing it with his hand.

It’s almost funny, considering he was so against holding your hand the night on the boat, but now does it in front of a crowd of people.

His grip is tight as you leave the room together. Pulling you out of parties to get naked with you is becoming a new habit of his.

You’re glad he doesn’t suggest going to your room. It’s easier to leave him after the sex than to be left.

With that thought, a moment of self-restraint hits you when his door slams behind you and his lips are on yours, hands cupping your face.

“Turn on some music,” you pull back to tell him. “Loud.” Hopefully it’ll keep him from talking. His tender words are too much if you want to protect your heart.

He flips on a playlist on his speakers. Of course he has one at the ready. You bet he has turned it on for lots of other girls.

The first few notes play. You love this song. You knew what kind of party music he liked, but who knew you’d have the same taste in slow songs as Rafe does?

Rafe’s mouth finds yours again, his tongue swirling gently, his body curving into yours as you stand in the middle of his room, the gentle music filling your ears.

You both have your own pace, so in tune with each other now. He knows where to touch you and when, stripping layers off you between heated, deep kisses.

Once you’re in your bra and panties, you realize this might have to be the last time. Because his lips and hands feel damn near perfect as they roam over you. Because now you can only hope you find another man who can touch you and push you out of your comfort zone like this.

You urgently pull his shirt off and shift to sit on the edge of his desk, pulling him in, cupping his firm shoulders. Rafe smiles, amused by you taking control. You really aren’t shy anymore.

“You want me to fuck you on my desk?” he mumbles against your ear over the music. He spoke, but as long as it isn’t misleadingly romantic, you’re okay with it.

He unhooks your bra, squeezing your chest tenderly.

This is just sex. And with the confusion and uneasiness you’ve been feeling, you desperately want to get lost in the pleasure you know he can give you.

“Be rough with me,” you urge. Rafe’s stunned by your words, feeling himself throb with need.

“Look at you telling me what you want,” he praises in your ear, unbuttoning his jeans.

Once his pants and boxers are off, his hands grip your knees, aggressively pulling your legs apart. He presses over the dampness in your panties with his fingers, watching you through hooded eyes as your breath hitches.

“You wet for me?” Rafe mumbles. The moistness between your legs is palpable without you even needing to touch yourself.

“Might’ve made a mess,” you answer, looking down as he stimulates your clit, brushing over your moistened panties. Your words are so hot to him that he almost feels dizzy.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “I can’t fucking wait to be inside you.” His fingers slip under the band of your underwear, pulling them down your legs.

He pushes your knees apart again, even rougher this time, massaging your bare pussy, coating his fingers in your arousal.

You’re so wet, so sticky, that his cock is aching at this point. He’s so glad you want it rough tonight.

Rafe finds the small of your back, nudging you forward so you’ll tilt your hips up how he wants you to. He takes a condom out of his drawer and you grab it out of his hand, ripping open the wrapper and holding his cock as you roll it down.

It’s intoxicating to him, seeing how bad you’re craving him. How’d he get so fucking lucky to be wanted like this?

Once he can guide his tip into you, he shifts to hold your hips down and look you in the eyes as he jerks into you hard.

The sudden jolt causes you to hit the back of your head on edge of his top shelf and while you giggle, his brows furrow in concern. He brings his hand up, resting it where you hit your head, thrusting into you again and letting the shelf dig into his skin instead.

The gesture is tender but then again, almost everything Rafe does during sex is tender. Why can’t he be like this all the time?

His other hand cups your cheek, pulling back and pushing into you hard again. Your breath hitches at the pressure of him curving up into you like this in the new position.

His thrusts start quickening, the desk rattling against the wall, the music throbbing within the walls of his room. Your pulse is skyrocketing as you take in his aggressive pressure.

“Feel good?” he murmurs.

You nod, lost in the pleasure, eyes rolling. He gently tugs at the roots of your hair, coaxing you to tilt your head back and look at him with your eyelids half-closed and lips parted.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he whispers. “Like you were made for me.”

This is the shit that brings your heart into something that is only supposed to be about your body.

You press your fingers against his mouth to shut him up, but he takes the opportunity to shift and kiss your palm as he pushes into you.

“Don’t say that stuff,” you mumble.

“What?” he whispers with a mocking chuckle. “Thought I taught you to take compliments.”

“Just don’t,” you urge, leaning in to meet his lips again. Rafe kisses you hard but pulls back, forehead pressed up against yours.

“You still don’t think you’re perfect?” he rasps.

“It’s… it’s not that,” you say. Fuck. He’s just making it worse.

“I thought talking was good,” he says, almost in a whine.

“Just stop,” you tell him, kissing him again.

Rafe hates being told not to speak when all he wants to do is tell you how good you feel, but he gives into the confusing request when he hears the desperation in your tone.

Hell, he’d stop talking for days if it meant he could have you like this.

He deepens the kiss, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth. You groan at the sweet pain, shifting to wrap your arms around his body.

This position isn’t enough. You want him to be able to thrust into you as deep as possible.

“On the bed,” you say urgently. He hates pulling out of you but follows your instructions, watching you drop your feet to the floor.

When you sink onto the bed, your ass in the air, your pussy glistening, his stomach rolls with excitement. He settles behind you, propped on his left knee and his right foot, guiding into you again, watching his cock disappear as you swallow him.

You arch your back and groan, your pulse hard in your ears as he goes balls deep into you. He starts to go so hard that you feel like he’s splitting you open with every frantic thrust, your fingers bunching into his pillow.

The music is too loud. He wants to hear your pretty moans. He shifts off of the bed and you look back in confusion, watching as he shuts off the music and comes back, burying into you again.

“I wanna hear you,” he says. You rest your forehead onto the bed, pushing back onto him as he slams into you. Admittedly, you want to hear him, too.

Your breaths are shallow with his fast pace, sweat coating your skin. His stomach is starting to ache from how hard he’s working his muscles.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Cum with me.”

You shudder as you find your swollen clit, rubbing just the way you like while he pounds in and out of you. Rafe loves the way his hands look gripping your hips, your ass recoiling with every move.

“You take it so good,” he says, voice ragged. “This pussy is mine. You’re fucking mine.”

You hate that his possessive words sound so nice to you. A deep pleasure starts to roll through you, your orgasm slowly reaching you. He can tell with the way you’re tensing that you’re close and he goes even harder, your skin slapping.

You moan and shudder through your peak, clenching around him. Rafe’s groan is deep as he feels his cock swell and tighten, releasing and spasming with hard jerks.

His chest is heaving as he pulls out, watching you limp to your side, your face soft and satisfied.

Rafe doesn’t bother to stand and clean up yet. He’ll worry about it later. He gives into the impulse to lie down behind you, his body curving against yours, arm wrapping over your chest.

Your eyelids are heavy as you come down from the high, thinking about the things he said.

“Turns out you need more pointers,” you say between heavy breaths. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to a girl when you don’t mean it.”

“Like what?” he says into your ear.

“You know what,” you say. “I’m not yours.”

Rafe knows he fucked up by saying that. That’s the kind of shit a boyfriend would say. And he so clearly isn’t the boyfriend type and you so clearly see him as just a friend.

“Why are you so mad, huh?” he says, trying to dismiss the tension. “You’re acting like me in… what’d you call it… my default state?”

You laugh despite yourself. He feels an overwhelming sense of pride from making you smile when you’re clearly upset.

You try to sit up, but his arm is locked around you. His breath is warm and comforting on the back of your neck.

He doesn’t understand where you’re rushing off to. You told him aftercare was important. And for fuck’s sake, now he actually wants you to say and let him hold you for a little while.

You don’t like this. You two are getting dangerously close to cuddling. It’s like he’s trying to make you catch feelings for him. Just because he can separate affection from emotion, doesn’t mean you can.

“Hate to make you sad but I gotta go,” you quip. He exhales mockingly.

“I don’t get sad,” he says bitterly. This makes you still.

With those simple words, Rafe has said so much. You knew he was emotionally unavailable, but the clear disgust he has with the possibility of feeling sad is telling.

“Everyone gets sad,” you say. You think back to his father’s cruel scolding. “And if anyone makes you feel like you’re wrong for being sad, they’ve got their own issues.”

Rafe can’t wrap his head around this. He’s been told to man up all his life.

“Did you fall asleep?” you ask with a chuckle after he doesn’t reply.

“No,” he says quietly. “You honestly believe that?”

“What?”

He’s silent again.

“That it’s okay to be sad, you mean?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” you say. “What, you don’t?”

“It’s weak.”

You stare ahead at the wall opposite his bed, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can feel his heartbeat against your back. It’s gotten faster.

“Do you really think that? Or did someone make you think it?” you ask.

Rafe has never been challenged like this before. Whenever his father berated him for simply getting close to crying, he was told to grow a backbone. To stop his whining. His whole life.

“I really think that,” he finally says. If sadness wasn’t weakness, why did it always make him feel like he was breaking from the inside?

His coldness makes so much more sense to you now. It seems Rafe doesn’t allow himself to feel anything but anger.

“It’s a good thing you’re not the relationship type,” you say with a sardonic laugh. “Some advice, though? If you ever find a girl you want to be serious with, don’t make her feel shitty for being sad. It’s not weak to have feelings.”

Rafe wants to know if you said he’s not relationship material because he told you himself or if you really think it.

Then he scowls to himself. Why the fuck does he care?

“You’re just full of advice tonight,” he says with a smirk, his hand running over your ass.

“That’s why we started this, isn’t it?” you reply, closing your eyes for a moment to enjoy the sensation. “Speaking of, consider therapy.”

Rafe playfully and gently slaps your ass and you giggle, squirming out of his grip. When you try to get up again, this time, he lets you.

His eyes take you in as you pull your clothes back on, his head propped up on his hand, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. You look at him, noticing how flushed he is from how hard he went.

Normally, being watched like this would make you nervous, but you’re fine with his eyes on you. You actually like it. You’re not sure if it’s because of Rafe or if you’d feel this way with any guy now.

Rafe watches you as you get dressed, getting deep in your thoughts like you do sometimes. How are you so damn cute?

You’re reconsidering your idea of if this should be the last time having sex with him. It feels too good. You’re still buzzing. While you’re single, why can’t you casually hook up with him?

“Fuck, you’re fun,” Rafe says, his bright smile and deep dimples melting your heart.

Okay. This is why you can’t. You started this because you basically hated him when you decided on it. Now, you can’t imagine hating the sweet, complicated man lying in bed watching you.

Maybe this was the last time.

“I know,” you respond with a smile, copying his cockiness. You finish dressing yourself and rush out to take a shower, wishing the water could wash away the complicated feelings bothering you.

The next night, an hour before Blake said he’d pick you up, you’re getting ready, music playing loudly from your computer.

Rafe is trying to make sense of a syllabus as your music floats into his room. He thinks of last night and immediately wonders if you’re hosting someone. And having sex with them.

As you try on your third outfit, your phone buzzes.

Rafe: loud af… do i need to tell on you

You smirk.

You: dude it’s not even quiet hours

You calling him dude reminds him of the way you called Blake babe the other night. He forces away the memory.

Rafe: partying by yourself?

You: yup getting ready for a date

Rafe looks up from his screen, disappointment wrapping around him like a heavy blanket he can’t shake off.

His stomach sinks hard. Harder than it did the other night at the ABC party when he heard you were upstairs with Blake.

You’re slipping away from him. Anger pools in his stomach but he tries to act casual, teasing you like he always does.

Rafe: who tf would date you lol

You roll your eyes at the text.

You: people with taste… jerk

Rafe: just kidding

You: hate u

Blake pulls up in front of the dorm building ten minutes late, apologizing profusely for his timing. You laugh and forgive him, sliding into his car to see he got you a bouquet of flowers.

He takes you to a restaurant off-campus, pulling out your chair. You sit across from him, taking in the way he’s sitting up straight.

“You look cute,” he says.

“Thanks. You clean up nice, too,” you say. “Compared to the plastic bags you were in the last time I saw you.”

Blake’s smile is big, his laugh gentle.

“You have fun at the party?” he asks.

“I did.” And after it in Rafe’s dorm.

“Cool,” he replies. You nod, looking down at the menu. The way conversation between you moves reminds you of your study date. It’s not painfully awkward, but it’s not seamless.

You figure it’s nerves.

When your food arrives, Blake takes a picture of the table. Once you start eating, your discussion starts to flow a little easier, making jokes and pulling from topics you’ve discussed over the phone since you started texting.

Blake’s a gentleman, parking to walk you up to your door after he drives you home. His hand ghosts over your shoulder as you walk through the hallway, his touch warm.

When you stop in front of your door, Rafe can hear you talking. He saw Blake’s Instagram story. It was just a photo of food at a restaurant, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he was with you. The date you had was with him.

“You really liked the food?” Blake asks you for the third time. You chuckle at his nervousness.

“You picked well,” you reassure. “And thanks for the flowers.”

How original, Rafe thinks. He got you flowers.

A group of fellow residents pass by laughing. If Blake tries to kiss you, you probably won’t like it in such a public space.

“That was fun,” you say, stepping back a little, hoping he gets the hint that this isn’t the place to make a move.

“It was. Oh, we’re going to the beach on Saturday,” Blake tells you. “Not everyone, just a few of us. Bring Liv. Between you and me, Sam likes her.”

“Yeah?” you say with a laugh. “Sure. That sounds fun. I’ll invite her, too.”

“Great,” he replies, nodding.

“Good night,” you say. Blake gives you a tight grin and echoes the sentiment, stepping back to give you the space to open your door.

Rafe finds a text Sam sent him a few hours ago.

Sam: you alive?

Rafe hasn’t been to the frat house since the party last Saturday night. To be honest, he’s not sure how he can handle being around Blake. He can’t exactly lose his temper on his brother. His future at the frat will be shot.

But he wants to be at the beach if you’ll be there.

Rafe: yes lol whats the move this weekend

Thankfully, Sam mentions the beach plan Rafe overheard about. Maybe he loves to torture himself. Or maybe he just wants to take every opportunity to see you.

You pull up to the beach in Liv’s car on Saturday. The boys picked a good day to swim. It feels like a heat wave.

When you find the group of six guys, you’re happy to see that Rafe is one of them. He’s in his swim shorts, his baseball hat on backwards like usual.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say when he notices you. “Gross.”

“Shut up,” Rafe says with a smirk, flipping you off. He takes in how good you look in your dress, eager to see the bikini underneath. “Why the hell did you come? Brothers only.”

“Am I not basically one of you now?” you say, leaning over to greet Blake with a side-hug. Rafe’s smile disappears and he looks away.

Blake hands you a bottle of flavored seltzer and you look down at it, cocking your head, trying to figure out how to kindly turn it down. It’s the same flavor of spiked juice you drank last night.

“She doesn’t like that flavor,” Rafe mutters.

Blake meets his gaze, pulling the drink back towards his chest.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. Funny enough, you actually mentioned not liking it on your date when you were swapping hangover stories. He looks at you. “I knew that. Sorry.”

“All good,” you chuckle. “What else you got?”

Blake leads you to the large cooler in the sand and you steal a glance at Rafe, whose jaw is clenched tight.

As the afternoon goes on, you realize Blake is less nervous talking to you when other people are around.

The eight of you play a game of beach volleyball. Rafe considers Blake lucky that he’s on the same team as him. He’d whip the ball at him every chance he got if he were on the other side of the net.

At one point, Sam serves it so hard that you have to duck onto the sand, the ball bouncing off your arm, leaving a stinging feeling.

“You trying to kill her?” Liv scolds her teammate. You feel a hand cupping your forearm.

“You good?” You look up to see Rafe leaning over you, his voice deep.

“Yeah,” you say. Rafe is pissed off beyond belief that Blake is just standing there like an idiot, watching you instead of making sure you’re okay.

“You alright?” Blake asks from his place on the court in front of you.

“Yellow card worthy,” you joke, getting up on your feet.

When the game wraps up after you all decided to stop keeping score ages ago, Blake approaches you, looking down at you with a shy smile.

“You wanna swim?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say.

The water is so cold that it feels sharp, leaving you and Blake to laugh together with every step into the sea.

Rafe is sitting in the sand with his buddies, watching Blake’s hand find yours. The view makes his stomach turn.

It seems natural between you two, the way you touch, the way you splash each other and laugh together.

He gets the same feeling he did the night of the mixer party, when he felt like his anxiety over losing you wasn’t just because he was losing great, casual sex. It’s not only that. It’s more. And that fact makes him uncomfortable.

But that shit just doesn’t come naturally to Rafe. Affection is like a foreign language to him. He’s not into the boyfriend stuff solely because he doesn’t want to do it. It’s also because he can’t. He doesn’t know how to.

Buying flowers, planning dates… he’d feel totally lost. He can’t compete with Blake. Like Rafe always says, doing something serious like dating in college is a waste of time. Maybe he believes that because he didn’t think he’d meet someone like you. And because he doesn’t want to fail at it.

You and Blake stop when you figure you’re deep enough in the water, the sand soft beneath you, the sun shining down.

“I keep messing up today,” he says.

“What?” He looks down, shaking his head, lips twisting adorably. These cute, little moments remind you of why you have a crush on him.

“Can I kiss you?” Blake asks.

You smirk, relieved that you can finally do this and feel if your physical chemistry is there like you think it is.

When Rafe sees two figures join in the distance, his heart drops.

(part nine)

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo teasing the heck out of you after realizing you get flustered by his eyes

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,3k

Synopsis: After working with smooth operator Gojo Satoru for years, he slowly but surely began to realize what your true weakness is: his bright blue orbs. And he wouldn't be Satoru Gojo if he wouldn't use that against you...

Warnings: none really, language maybe. Shout out to the anon who requested this! I know I already posted it yesterday, but my Tumblr completely broke down at some point and I had to write support multiple times so this got lost in translation somehow...Hope you still enjoy <3

Tag List: @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @dazaisdick @sanicsmut @arehzhera @mynahx3 (if you wanna get added to my permanent tag list leave a comment to let me know)

Urgh, why does this man have to look so shamelessly good? Your eyes dart towards him when his skilled fingers are about to take his blindfold off. You truly hate Satoru Gojo and the way he carries himself with so much self-consciousness. Yes, Satoru Gojo is one of those men who know exactly how good they look and how to use this power over weak people.

Weak people like yourself.

You aren’t even able to realize how blatantly you stare at him before his eyes meet yours, cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Enjoying the view, (y/n)?”

Oh, how much he loves the blush that immediately turns your cheeks red, whole face screwed up in pure embarrassment. You’re like an open book, so easy to read that he just can’t help himself. Over the last months of working together with you as teachers at Jujutsu High, he slowly but surely began to realize the power he has over you. How your gaze always wanders towards him, eyeing him up and down. How you seem to automatically walk his direction without even noticing. Yes, it is clear to everyone else that you are attracted to him.

And you are miserable at hiding it.

“Don’t be ridiculous”, you huff, shielding your eyes from his intense orbs.

Fuck, he caught you staring again. You swore to yourself to stop this madness. Yes, you are a grown woman, a truly skilled teacher at Jujutsu High. Seeing a good-looking man shouldn’t leave you all flustered. What about Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto? Why are you able to act professional around all these ridiculous gorgeous men?

Because they don’t have those eyes.

Oh, those striking blue orbs that seem to hold the entire oceans of earth, the eyes that shine like diamonds in sunlight. As soon as you catch a glimpse of him without his blindfold or even better sunglasses you are completely doomed.

And he knows. Satoru Gojo definitely knows. And that’s exactly why he uses every little bit against you whenever possible.

“You’re staring again”, he purrs.

You shake your head vehemently. Stop this madness, you are too old to act like that! With a swift motion you turn on your heels, walking away from him as fast as possible while sweat runs down your forehead. Why the hell did he have to catch you again? How embarrassing, why do you have to act like a horny teenager? Satoru Gojo is nothing more than a beautiful man with way too much charm. What is so special about him?

“You’re walking the wrong way. Your students are waiting over there.”

You stop in your tracks. Please, let the ground break open and swallow you whole.

“Screw you”, you hiss under your breath.

-at training-

“You’re doing quite well today, (y/n). I’m impressed.”

You swing around elegantly, avoiding his attacks under any condition. You narrow your eyes over his dumb comment, gazing at him just long enough to witness how he’s taking his blindfold off.

Oh.

What a gorgeous man. That bright blue orbs that elevate the delicate features of his face so well, how they seem to match the sky above so perfectly. Satoru’s eyes surely have something no men else has. Is it charm, is it the infinite power he holds in those eyes? You can’t put a finger on it.

In fact, you aren’t even able to react when he sweeps you off your feel, back clashing against the hard floor underneath.

Ouch. You groan in annoyance, gazing up at him in distress. This…this was on purpose. That fucking asshole.

“You have some nerve”, you hiss through gritted teeth, face going completely red in the split of a second.

You look so lovely to his feet, whole face screwed up in anger while a wave of embarrassment rolls over you without mercy. Yes, he caught you staring again. Why does it have to be so damn amusing to mess with you? But there’s something else…

Sure, he messes with Utahime and his students all the time just for the fun of it. Something about you is different, though. Yes, it’s not exclusively about laughing his ass off. He likes the way you blush under his gaze, how you react when he looks at you with his bare face. The way you aren’t able to control your emotions at all pulls on his heart strings in a way it shouldn’t.

“Need a hand?” he questions, stretching out his hand in front of you.

“Leave me alone”, you bark at him, smacking his arm away while standing up.

When will this madness finally end? Why can’t you just pull yourself together? You know Satoru Gojo for many years by now, you fought on his side so many times that you lost count. Why? Why on earth are you still not able to contain yourself? Why do you have to get all flustered when this jerk bats his eyelashes at you?

“It’s quite cute to be honest.”

“What?”, you mumble, turning away from his intense stare.

“The way I make your knees go weak just by taking my sunglasses or blindfold off.”

You swirl around, rage running through your veins. Did he really say that out loud? God, please let lighting hit and kill you right on the spot. Why…why did he have to say it like that? Your face feels hot like a thousand fires, it seems like you forgot how to talk.

“What, cat got your tongue (y/n)?”

He sneaks up on you, step by step nearer. Oh god, you feel like fainting. What the hell is happening here? Your heart almost beats out of your chest, eyes completely locked with his intense gaze.

“T-that’s…not true”, you stutter.

Within all the years you knew Satoru Gojo, it was never more than an innocent crush, never more than him teasing the heck out of you. But now he lingers above you, heat of his body so near that it feels like you’re burning alive. No, you never allowed your mind to wander this far, to imagine him this close. But now…

“Are you sure about that? Your body tells me differently. For example, the way your cheeks burn up…”

His fingertips brush against your cheek, gently caressing it.

“Or how your whole body trembles…”

He lets his other hand glide over your shivering arm.

“Oh, and the way your breath got stuck in your throat. What’s wrong, (y/n)? Did you forget how to breathe?”

His face draws closer, only inches away until…

You let out your shaky breath. He suddenly stops, only inches away from the heat of your lips.

“See, I told you I make you weak”, he purrs.

Oh god, lord have mercy. What are you supposed to do now? It seems like your mind went completely numbed, glossy eyes staring at him wide open. He is so close that you can smell him, so close that you can literally feel him. This isn’t about his eyes anymore, it’s about him. Satoru Gojo and the goddamn power he has over you, how you fold just by one glance of him.

“Well, I need to get going now. See ya, (y/n)!”

As fast as this sweet moment approached he is gone in the wind, already on his way back to Jujutsu High. You stay behind, glancing at his back completely bamboozled.

That asshole. He only played with you.

“I fucking hate you Satoru!”, you shout, running after him with your fist flying through the air.

“Nice try”, he comments, catching your hand mid-air.

“But I meant what I said, you really are cute. It’s just that I have a meeting in…oh, 30 minutes ago. Bye (y/n).”

With one last glimpse into his ocean blue eyes he’s gone. That jerk who sweeps you off your feet with his orbs only, the man that makes you feel like a child again.

You sign to yourself. Wow, you really are weak.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | three

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: heavy injures, description of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, bad language, english not being my first language

They look at each other, adrenaline boiling and screaming in everyone's veins. Nimue doesn't take her eyes off Rhysand, but she feels everyone looking at her.

She feels naked, unprotected.

She blinks to get used to all that light. She had never seen so much light and it's beautiful.

Her senses come to life as she lets go of Rhysand's hand, which she had unknowingly been clinging to. She breathes over and over, trying to calm herself, but involuntarily she begins to tremble.

What has she done, what has she done, what has she done.

Father is going to kill her.

Amidst her frenzy of thoughts, Rhysand starts barking orders. She doesn't hear them well, only scattered words: healer, help, house.

Nimue glimpses a huge house to her right, and realizes she has brought them all to the courtyard of a mansion. Around her, everyone seems to spring into action.

The blonde female runs into the house, and seconds later comes out accompanied by another woman, shorter and slighter. She can't tell if she's fae or a creature. When Nimue and her lock eyes, it's like they're looking in a mirror. Both frown but decide to ignore each other.

For Nimue, it's as if everything is happening in slow motion: when she wants to realize, there's another person there, attending to the two injured Ilyrian. A glow emanates from her hands, its warmth reaching the princess's face. A healer, she supposes. She had never seen one.

She fights against her own panic, trying to get used to all the hustle and bustle and all those sounds. The birds flying above her head, the sunlight, the smell of the sea, the smell of pine and cedar, the voices around her, the poor Ilyrian screaming in pain...

She lowers her gaze, and without thinking, she starts speaking: "I can help."

Everyone looks at her again, judging her. They scan her from head to toe.

The two females who were thrown into the Cauldron are to her left, crying and hugging the one who was with Rhysand. Are they sisters? They looked so much alike...

"I can help," she repeats, this time firmer. She starts walking and sees how Rhysand prepares to attack her, "I can heal both of them, if you let me."

She analyzes the High Lord's face, and sees how little by little he is giving in. No one articulates any words, with a simple nod of the male's head, he grants her permission. He has nothing more to lose.

She kneels beside the one with the shattered wings and begins to do what she does with herself and the wounds she has ever suffered: with her magic, she grasps every little nerve ending, every small piece of skin. She pulls them and threads them, weaves them, joins them and separates them as if making a tapestry. So little by little, she shapes the wings of that Ilyrian. It's all pure instinct, what her nature dictates to her.

Father always told her she was his Goddess of Destruction, but Nimue knew deep down that she was capable of fixing, of healing, of bringin good to the world.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, she was piece by piece, shred by shred, joining and repairing the broken wings of that male. When she reached the bones, she simply imagined how they should have originally been: she ordered them to return to their form, to be soldered, and they obediently complied.

With a final grunt from the male, Nimue finished her work. But before she could get up, he grabbed her arm:

"Thank you," he whispered. Nimue is stunned. Thank you?

Had anyone ever thanked her for anything? Had anyone shown her gratitude?

No, her real doubt wasn't that. Had she ever done anything worthy of others' gratitude?

She swallowed her fear and terror, kneeling on the ground. She watched as the male limped away from her and enveloped the blonde female in a hug, how he squeezed her tightly as they both cried on each other's shoulders.

She was so, so lost. Where was she? What was happening around her?

"What a miracle of a girl," the healer whispered. Standing between Rhysand and the slighter female, the more aged-looking woman never took her eyes off her, "You are a Cauldron's blessing. When you're done, I'll need you to teach me how you do that. You are a–"

"Silence, Madja," Rhysand's voice resonates under her feet and in the very mountain, as if he had spoken those words inside Nimue's skull. She shrinks, intimidated. That's the power of a High Lord, "Now him. Heal him.”

She looks away from Rhysand and sets her gaze on the last remaining male.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him is a pool of his own blood and something that seems to be shadows, moving frenetically back and forth. She had never seen anything like it, those... beings, moving around the man. Nimue hears faint noises that she can't quite understand.

Behind her, she feels a presence moving. Rhysand looks down at her, those violet eyes so deep that Nimue feels hypnotized, "Don't just stand there gaping and do what you did to Cassian. Now. Or I'll cut off your head, you filthy Hybern rat."

She nods, and when she turns back to the winged male, he looks back at her. His amber eyes follow every small movement she makes: from the slight tremble of her lower lip to the way she raises her hand.

When he tries to speak, a trickle of blood runs down his lip to his chin, "Touch me and I'll cut off your hands, traitor."

Nimue trembles.

What the hell is she doing? Where has she gotten herself into?

Before she knows it, two streaks of water run down her cheeks. Is she crying? She had never cried before, what a strange sensation.

Her gaze travels to the hands of the male in front of her. He grips a beautiful black dagger, its tip directly aimed at Nimue's chest.

She swallows hard and, in a quick motion, grabs the arrow he has lodged in his chest and pulls it out with all her strength. She has been so fast that the male collapses forward, falling on top of her.

Rhysand and the healer, Madja, take care of getting him off her, and when Nimue tries to touch him again, the High Lord growls at her, "I told you to heal him, not to open up the damn hole in his chest further."

By pure instinct, Nimue snarls back at him, "I am healing him, you idiot. Back off."

Where she found the courage, she doesn't know. But they obey her, and she gets back to work.

The male is lying on his back on the ground, and Nimue places her hand on his chest, where the arrow was previously lodged. She begins to weave again, slowly, thread by thread.

Her gaze rests on his face, which, with closed eyes, lets out the occasional groan between his teeth.

Azriel feels like his chest is on fire. He feels the edges of the wound burning, he feels combustion from within. He takes gulps of air as he struggles not to lose consciousness, and blinded by the pain, he reaches his hand into the air and grabs onto the first thing he finds.

Nimue startles when his hand grabs her elbow, but she lets it be, the touch of his glove is a new, pleasant, and different sensation. She looks back at his face, and in a low voice, she speaks to him, "I'm almost done. Just making sure there's no trace of the poison that the arrow was coated with."

Azriel lets out a growl. He couldn't care less about the explanations. He just wants it to be over already.

The pain reaches the core of his bones and he opens his eyes abruptly, looking at the girl in front of him.

What is that?

Around her, he sees a thread, a small golden rope encircling her: it descends down her shoulders and arms, caresses her wrists and fingers, and wherever her skin meets his, he sees how the thread enters his own body.

Is he hallucinating?

Hasn't he had enough with the arrow between his ribs, that now the poison is making him hallucinate?

Behind the girl, he sees Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, Mor, even damn Madja. He sees how in slow motion their brows furrow, he sees how they lean forward, looking puzzled at something that makes Azriel scared.

"What's going on?" he asks agitated. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but although the pain has already diminished, it still doesn't let him breathe properly, "What are you all looking at like that?"

Nimue furrows her brows as she pushes the man back to the ground so he stays still. She frowns, as she begins to feel something on her fingertips...

Something is not right.

The sensation travels up her forearm and shoulder, and settles in her chest. There inside, like a caged bird, that sensation starts tumbling, back and forth, faster and faster.

She removes her hand from the man's chest and he sits up in front of her, like a spring.

Azriel feels like he's going to explode. What has that witch put inside him? What kind of magic has she used on him?

"What the hell have you done to me?" he shouts. Azriel brings a hand to his chest when that pressure keeps growing.

Nimue mimics him, feeling like her chest is going to burst.

What has she done? Has she made a mistake? Perhaps her magic has betrayed her now for the first time...

She's hyperventilating, and when she feels that, indeed, she's going to explode like a firework, she looks into the eyes of the male in front of her.

And then everything suddenly calms down.

They stare at each other, stunned, not knowing what to say. Their breaths come together, equally fast and choppy.

And when their bodies stop vibrating and calm down, she feels it there.

There's something, something pulling her towards...

Towards him.

Azriel jumps to his feet, as if they hadn't just removed a poisoned arrow from his chest or he hadn't just lost liters and liters of blood. He finds Truth Teller in its usual place and with a practiced motion after years and years of battles, he grabs the girl by the collar of her clothes and lifts her up like a feather. The dagger rests comfortably against her neck, and she does nothing but look back at him, wide-eyed.

"Azriel!" Rhysand shouts. He ignores his High Lord, although every fiber of his being tells him to obey him, "Azriel, let her go!"

Then, Nimue comes to her senses. With a practiced movement, the winged male is kneeling on the ground again. The pretty black dagger is now in her hand, while with the other she pulls back his hair.

Azriel doesn't know when all this happened. He just knows that he blinked and now he's the prey. He clings to the girl's hand pulling his hair and tries to break free, but he can't understand how such a small woman can have the strength of a thousand men.

"Now I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to attack me. Understood?" She utters each word slowly, as if speaking in another language.

Nimue takes a step back, releasing the dagger, which falls to the ground with a dull thud.

Azriel stands up, and in a leap, he's next to Rhysand in an attack position.

Before Nimue, everyone present is on high alert. Some in attack position, others simply ready for whatever may happen.

The first to speak is Azriel, with the same accusatory tone as before, "What have you done to me? Undo it." He's trembling, and Nimue can't tell if it's from fear or from the pure rage she sees in his face.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't undo it, because she herself doesn't know what has happened.

What is that pulling her? What is that feeling in her chest, an anchor dragging her toward that winged male?

Everyone remains silent, looking at each other.

However, it's Rhysand who speaks first, the voice of reason in a desperate situation, "Let's all calm down."

Because he doesn't know if he's the only one who sees it, who feels it. That sudden change in the air. It smells like cedar and mist, like Azriel. But if he pays attention, he smells the sea salt and the sweetness of poison in the air. The scent that the girl in front of them emits. It's intoxicating and chilling at the same time. He couldn't say.

What he can say, however, is what he sees crystal clear. Azriel's essence, mixed with that of the unknown girl. He sees how both mingle in the air.

And then, Rhysand would swear that he stopped hearing Azriel's heartbeat next to him.

"My mate," his friend whispers. His face, a complete expression of surprise, something that the Shadow Singer rarely showed, "She's my mate.”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @donttellthecats

A/N:I really hope you are all enjoying it. Every kind of support is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much to those who already support it!! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know 🥰

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 16 - She lifted up her wings

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: some light references to grief/loss

Okay gang we are getting close to the end now. Thanks for all your lovely reblogs and comments, honestly it means so much. I'm so glad you've been enjoying this story along with me and I hope you're happy with how it ends!

You were woken up some time later by the rays of sunlight shining through Sally’s windows. Finally, daytime had arrived again. You stirred, grunting as you stretched and tried to wake up your still-sleeping limbs. Your back wouldn’t let you forget this one in a hurry. Your throat was bone dry and you would happily trade an organ for a glass of water at this point. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror, grimacing at the unsightly red and blue bruise that had crept over your cheek overnight. It felt tender and sore, a fetching souvenir from the evening before.

You didn’t let your thoughts turn to Bucky or Peter, and how stupid you’d been to refuse help…no, focus on your plan of action – get home. Find the gas station. Find a phone, or at the very least a charger for yours. Everything else could wait.

You unlocked the car door and slipped your heels on before easing out, walking around the side of vehicle. You stepped out onto the empty road, raising your arms to loosen your muscles. As you took a step forward you squeaked in surprise.

Bucky was sitting on the road, his back leaning against Sally’s driver’s door as his head slumped to the side with his chin pressed into his shoulder. He was asleep. Only then did you notice his bike parked up a few feet from the car.

You gawped in surprise at his slouched form. What the…

As if he’d felt your confusion, he suddenly groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he leaned forward and stretched.

“Ah fuck, that’s gonna come back to bite me,” he frowned as he got to his feet.

He brushed himself down and cracked his neck. He stifled a yawn as he turned to you.

“Oh good, you’re up”, he remarked casually, in the same way he used to after you’d appeared in his kitchen after staying over at his place.

He strolled over to his bike, leaning and picking up a toolbox from the side of it. He laid it across his bike seat, flipping it open and grabbing a wrench and a few other tools.

You watched in stunned silence as he casually retrieved a bottle of water from the bottom of the kit, passing it over to you. You took it dumbly and stared down at it in your hand.

He then moved to Sally, popping the hood, and inspecting the engine.

“Bucky…” you uttered, your voice quiet and scratchy.

“Mm?” he asked as he fiddled around under the hood.

“Did you…”

“Sleep there?” he asked without emerging, “Yeah. Of course,” he replied, as if it was obvious.

“That…that whole time?”

“Sure”.

“What…just…out on the road, like that, the whole time?”

He lowered the hood again to look over at you, “Yeah. Well…you weren’t gonna let me in, and I was gonna leave you there so…” he trailed off.

You blinked in confusion, and he stared right back at you, undeterred.

 “And…and what, you were just carrying that toolbox on your bike?” you scoffed.

“No…Steve dropped it off this morning after I texted him. And I asked him for some water as I thought you’d need it. Got a granola bar in there too if you want it”.

The two of you stared at each other.

“Bucky…that’s insane…” you whispered.

“Is it?” he asked incredulously, “You really think I’d leave you at the side of the road by yourself, asleep in your car? I don’t care how mad at me you are. I’d say it was more insane to not let me help…”

“But…”

You bit your lower lip as your head spun, unable to find the words. You were simply overwhelmed that he’d done this.

Taking your lack of response as his cue, he stepped back to the car. As he moved you could see the physical pain in his body from the stiffness of his posture and the way his limbs moved, you couldn’t even imagine how he’d managed to get any sleep like that – you had struggled and you at least had shelter, something soft to lay on and a blanket.

He’d really done that…for you?

Without the spotlight of his gaze, you took the opportunity to unscrew the bottle cap. You turned away from him as you drank from it frantically and felt that instant relief, not wanting him to see your desperate guzzling.

He continued tinkering under the hood and called out to you, “I know you said no to me helping but I’m pretty sure I can get you back on the road, then you can drive home and go back to ignoring me. So please just let me do this one thing, and then I’ll be out of your hair”.

You crossed your arms in annoyance as you frowned and lowered the bottle, but couldn’t really turn his offer down. Bastard.

“Rough night, huh?” he asked tentatively as he eyed you from over the hood.

You tilted your head at him, your sour expression making it clear you weren’t going to elaborate.

He winced but nodded and resumed his work. It was quiet for a while; the only sounds were the clang of his tools and the quiet hum of traffic nearby.

He cleared his throat.

“I think I’m being very restrained here in not asking you about that bruise on your face,” he said calmly from behind the hood, “Because if I’m right about who I think did that…” he tensely blew out a long puff of air.

“It wasn’t like that,” you replied softly, gently cupping your hand to your cheek. “He’s a jerk. But this was an accident. A genuine one”.

He leaned over the hood to look over at you, frowning at you with his famous ‘are you kidding me?’ expression you’d seen many times before.

You rolled your eyes, “Bucky, it’s the truth…”

His jaw visibly tightened; you could see him exhaling as he kept himself together. “He hurt you…” he mumbled, the twinge of sadness in his tone upsetting you more than you expected.

You shook your head, “Not on purpose. He was drunk and uncoordinated. It was clumsy, not malicious. I promise”.

He frowned but seemed to accept your answer, or accept it for now at least.

“It’s for me to handle. Not you. I don’t want you touching him. He told me that you threatened him…” you scowled.

“I didn’t threaten him, I just told him to treat you right or I’d find out if he didn’t…and, well, looks like he didn't...”

Now it was your turn to give him the ‘are you kidding me?’ eyes.

“I don’t need you to interrogate my dates, or rough ‘em up…even if they do deserve it a little…” you chided.

“Alright…I’m sorry. Okay? I just…wanted you to be happy,” he relented sheepishly with a sigh. “Wasn’t gonna do nothing…”

You scoffed at his obvious lie.

“It’s really not your business,” you scoffed, “I’m a person with autonomy who can date who she likes. It’s not your place to intimidate or fight them, even if they are an asshole”.

He nodded, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t ask about him, okay? But if you change your mind…”

You scowled and he tilted his head questioning towards your bruise.

“I just need to know you’re not in a dangerous situation” he said gravely.

“I’m safe, I was always safe - but it’s over any way,” you mumbled quietly.

He nodded; you could see he was trying to remain calm, but a hint of a storm threatened to overtake his face. You wouldn’t tell him that you were secretly impressed he managed to keep it together.

"Well...I'd tell you I'm sorry. But I wouldn't lie to you," he frowned, "does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“A little…but nothing some ice and painkillers won’t fix” you responded.

He clenched his jaw, and you could see his fingers tightening around the wrench he was holding, but he swallowed and then quickly resumed his post at the car.

It got quiet for again as he worked on the engine and you stood on the roadside, your arms crossed as your emotions bubbled over. Your fatigue and hastily buried feelings were beginning to ooze out.

“I hate that you’re doing this,” you spat.

“I know,” he replied gravely as he emerged again. “I got a pretty good idea of your stance last night”.

“Don’t think this magically makes us square. You fucked up, you hurt me. You didn’t trust me. That doesn’t just go away because you took a martyr nap on the concrete and helped to fix my car,” you told him, a little angrier than you expected.

“I know,” he replied, nonplussed by your anger but not dismissive, “I completely understand why you feel like you do”.

You nodded self-consciously, your shoulders dropping their defensive stance as your voice softened, “You really hurt me…Bucky”.

He looked up at you with such intensity in his eyes you almost couldn’t look back at him, “I know I did. And I’m sorry. It’s been killing me, really, it has. I’ve been a complete, fuckin’ mess without you Sug. Seriously. The guys are sick of hanging out with me because they’re sick of my moping. Hell, I’m sick of me, too”.

He kicked at a stone on the roadside as he dropped his head. You squeezed the water bottle tightly in your hand, the plastic cracking loudly as you tried to digest what he’d just told you.

He looked at you again, seemingly a little more composed, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and trying to learn from what happened. And I know you don’t forgive me. And that’s okay…I wish I could take it back. But I can’t. All I can do is try to be better and respect how you feel. And I’ll live the rest of my life with that on my conscience. I can’t fix it if you don’t want me to. But what I can do, right now, is fix your car. Not because I want to impress you or win you over, but because you need help – and this is help I can actually give you.”

You blanched, surprised by the earnestness of his tone and the sense of self-awareness you’d never seen in him before.

He stepped towards you, but seemed to hesitate and took a step back again. The two of you stood in the stiffness of the silence, much unsaid but also too much spoken. You so desperately wanted to talk to him, but no words would come.

He cleared his throat, then awkwardly shifted back to Sally. He opened the driver’s door and leaned over, flicking on the ignition. Sally hummed to life again.

“That’s better”, he said as he moved to close the hood, “She could probably do with a real tune-up, though”.

“T-thank-you, Bucky,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground, “I appreciate it”.

“S’ok”, he shrugged. “Now you can get home and ice that bruise”.

You nodded, your hand moving to your cheek. “And…thank-you. For…staying. That was…that was…”

“It’s no trouble,” he cut you off, as casually as if he’d given you change for a dollar.

“The house goes on the market next week,” you found yourself telling him as you looked back up, but you weren’t sure why.

“Ah. Good,” he nodded, jaw clenched. “You’ve worked hard on it. I’m…I’m sure it’ll be a lovely home, for somebody”.

“Yes. I hope,” you replied dully, “Still haven’t done the fence…”

He chuckled warmly, then his expression saddened somewhat. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped.

“What?” you asked as you observed his hesitation, “What were you going to say?”

He grimaced then clicked his jaw, you could see him debating whether or not to say whatever it was.

“I hope this isn’t out of line…” he uttered quietly as he shoved his hands in his pockets, “But did you ever wonder if you’ve been putting off the fence…because part of you isn’t ready to give up her house yet?”

You flinched, chewing on your lip as tears threatened to spill. His observation cut you to the bone, and you reeled silently at just how just how well he knew you. How he truly saw you.

“Maybe,” you squeaked, unable to say much more.

“You wouldn’t…it wouldn’t be giving her up…you know,” he replied as he idly rubbed at a spot on Sally’s paintwork, his eyes not being able to find yours, “Don’t…feel guilty about it. She’d want you to be happy”.

You nodded frantically as you swallowed back a sob, “Thank-you, Bucky”.

He looked at you sadly and for a moment you thought he was going to speak again, but he just pointed to your car. “You better get going…I’ll just make sure you get on the road okay before I head out myself. Maybe I can catch a few hours of sleep in actual bed”.

You smiled at him weakly as you got into your car and began to pull away. He held up his hand to wave goodbye as you drove off, and you watched as his figure slowly shrank in your rearview mirror.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Palette - Simon "Ghost" Riley*Fem!Reader

word count: 750

The memory with you was black. You’re just a stranger, nothing special, he promised he would never let anyone get close to him anymore. He watched you with observing eyes, but you greeted him with a dazzling smile and a nod.

The memory with you was maroon. He saw your figure standing alone in the barrack’s kitchen, he lurked in the shadow, contemplating if he should just turn and leave, but you spotted him, pearl-like eyes glinted with surprise. He had no option but to stay when you asked him if he wanted a cup of tea too. He stared at the teabag floating in the mug, while he showered in a comfortable silence with you. It was the first time he felt a weird relief in a long time. The earl grey tasted just like he wanted, his eyes widened, looking at you after he took a sip, and met with a big grin of yours.

The memory with you was yellow. You two become close friends, sharing dark jokes along the mission, shoulders touched when you sat side by side with him on the helo and fell asleep on him during the flight to base, the morning tea you greeted him with a joyful “good morning” every day, was a daily he hadn’t realized he loved yet. You invited him to your hometown when you heard him not going home for Christmas. You dragged him to a Christmas market and showed him the Christmas tree towering in the center of the market. You were excited like a child when you pointed at the star shining on the top. Fishing out a camera, you begged him to take a picture with you as a memento. Reluctantly obliged, you handed him the polaroid, and he saw the corner of his eyes crinkled in the photo.

The memory with you was pink. Your hometown snowed a lot during the vacation, so he went out to your yard to help you clean a road for walking. He shoveled the snow aside, and suddenly a thud landed on his back. He turned around, only to find you laughing, bending down and throwing him another snowball. The morning ended with you two breathlessly lying on the snow after a snowball fight, while he covered his mouth to hide his smile when your pleasant giggles flowed into his ear like a melody. Sitting up from the ground, he asked you what you wanted for dinner, the rosy pink on your cheeks when you yelled out a whole menu was prettier than all the scenes he had seen before in his life. He just sighed at your answer, but he didn’t say no.

The memory with you was white. He watched you walk down the aisle dressing in a stainless white wedding gown, the lace veil covering a part of your face, but he still caught a glimpse of your beam of happiness under the veil. You two didn’t invite many people, only Price, Soap, Gaz, Nikolai, Laswell and her wife, and a few of your friends, you said you didn’t need a thumping wedding, as long as he and the people you cherished were here, then it was the best for you. He thought the same when he lifted your veil and gave you a promised kiss.

The color you left behind for him is like rainbow, he experienced many things with you, he thought he couldn’t love or be loved for the rest of his life, his life is black and white without any ray of sunlight, but you squeezed yourself through the crack on the wall he built, bringing the sun inside with you. So many ‘first times’ he assumed he would never have a chance to enjoy, engraved in his mind as the most important memories with your company in them.

Simon takes out the polaroid, it’s a bit wrinkled and faded, but your smile is still as bright as he remembered in the photo. His thumb grazed through your face. You’re not here anymore, but the hope you left for him still burns in his heart, as vivid as the color of every memory with you. “Good morning, love. I’ll be back soon.” He presses a kiss on it just like he does every day, and he carefully places it back on the desk. He picks up his key, stepping out the door of the house you two used to live together. A new day started.

Reader just dies in 80% of my work I'm sorry

[literary-motif]

Prologue

In which plans are made upon your return to London. ~4,300 words

Overview // Author's Note

The city had barely changed since you had been here last. The streets were almost black with soot from the chimneys of homes and factories, and the dark clouds rolling over London felt more like omens of bad luck than the product of its booming economic success. Nothing had changed at all.

You walked up the steps to the place you had not called home for years, pushing open the sturdy wooden door only to hesitate in the entrance hall.

It was deserted.

The fading sunlight was kept out by the fastened shutters, allowing only a fraction of the warm orange to stream in through the cracks in the old wood. The welcoming atmosphere of the house you remembered so vividly was only a far echo now, unrecognizable as you looked around the empty room, letting your bag fall to the ground with a loud thump that echoed uncomfortably. 

Where was everyone?

You had expected to find several people scurrying around as they always did. Your mother was so obsessed with keeping up appearances. She would strut through the house and bark a string of nonsensical orders at the poor servants she had requested follow her every step.

Her vanity was laughable, and you had used to joke that in her deluded fantasy, she was pretending to be Queen Victoria herself with her court of ladies. 

The vase with freshly cut flowers had been a particular point of pride for her, and she always requested the most expensive ones to be bought only to flaunt your family’s wealth. She required the dark blue curtains of the windows to be fastened with a specific knot she had glimpsed once in the queen’s palace.

The floor had to be spotlessly shining at all times, even after your father returned from mingling with his friends and enticing them with his lofty plans of investments, dragging the soot and dirt from the London streets into the house and dirtying the tiles that had been scrubbed on aching knees for the better part of the day. 

You looked down at your shoes, scoffing at the immediate feeling of regret crashing over you.

It had been too long since you had been here last, but not long enough all the same. The memories and sentiments the house and the city dragged up in you were better kept buried. 

Leaving the bag by the door, you walked into the entrance hall, taking a closer look around. The flowers on the coffee table at the foot of the stairs were wilted, filling the air with a stifling odor. You turned towards one of the windows, opening it wide and pushing aside the shutters. 

It disturbed the dust on the curtains. The particles floated around the room, catching the gentle yellow light of the setting sun and making you wonder just how long it had been since someone had cleaned.

You turned your gaze towards the dark city outside, the smog rising in the far distance where the heart of the country’s economic success lay. Your jaw clenched. Even in the golden rays of the setting sun, London could not hide its bleakness and the dirt it was overflowing with.

You longed for the countryside. You long for the confines of your studio in Paris, far away from this life of exploitative riches and the screaming poverty outside your front door. It made you itch to leave as soon as possible, the reminder of why you left almost painfully burning in your chest. 

The quiet greeting you, as you faced the house again, was not peaceful, but it felt like evidence that perhaps some things had changed since you had been here last — almost five years to the very date. You cursed quietly, pushing away the melancholy that had snuck up on you. 

“Theodore?” you called into the silence, expressing some of your annoyance at being called away from your new life abroad. “I’m home,” you muttered in disdain, waiting for your brother to appear and tell you what ‘urgent matter’ had him insisting on your presence in London. You felt it had something to do with the darkness in the entrance hall and the dust on the curtains.

A heavy door shut somewhere overhead, and you looked up in time to see familiar golden curls poking over the banister as he approached it hastily. His face twisted into a dazzling smile when he saw you. “Da Vinci!” he called, almost tripping over himself as he took the stairs two at a time. 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, catching him as he nearly fell down the last few steps. He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you against his chest as you buried your head in his shoulder and breathed in his familiar scent. “I’m so glad to see you,” you said, your voice muffled. 

You had missed him dearly. Despite your many invitations, he had continuously declined to visit you in Paris, citing his alleged responsibilities at home or his engagement to his soon-to-be wife as an excuse.

It felt good holding him in your arms again after so long. Faintly, you could hear the elevated flutter of his heart beating quickly. You chuckled, happy to see him as well. The longer you stayed in the embrace, the more you noticed the restlessness he seemed to exude. 

Theodore was trembling faintly in your arms, his hands roaming your back as if he could not bring himself to stay still. He seemed nervous, almost afraid. You lifted your head, drawing back to look at him properly. 

The dark circles under his eyes looked like he had not slept these past days. His usually so expressive eyes were dulled, the excitement and energy within them dimmed with exhaustion you had never seen on him before. 

“Theodore,” you began in concern, but he shook his head with a twist of his lips that you could only guess was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

“Fine. I’m fine,” he said with conviction, not reassuring you in the slightest. 

He was a terrible liar, and with the evidence visible on his face, you did not know why he bothered at all. Still, you did not push. “What is the matter with ‘needing me urgently’?” you asked instead. Raising your hands to gesture to the bleak room you stood in, you could not hide your confusion. “What is going on?”

Theodore averted his gaze, clearing his throat before inhaling shakily. His lips twisted into a tight smile again, and he nodded nervously. The silence stretched on as you waited for him to explain. 

“Yes,” he said eventually, running a hand through his hair and looking around the room to ensure nobody was lurking in the desolate emptiness, “my letter must have come as a surprise. I would have explained more— I wanted to, but the matter is sensitive. You see, I—” 

He shook his head quickly as if to disperse unpleasant thoughts and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. When he reopened them, he was calmer, and his eyes softened as he looked at you. 

“I know you would have rather stayed in Paris,” he said, taking your hands and giving you a sad smile. It expressed both his gratitude and guilt at seeing you in London. “I’m sorry to drag you back. How— How have you been?”

You looked at him for a long moment. 

Paris had not been what you imagined. No matter where you went, your dissatisfaction with the world around you never vanished. You found solace in your art, losing yourself to the brushstrokes and colors on the canvas until the deeply seated longing inside you was quenched to an extent, only to find it returning with a vengeance when you resurfaced from drowning yourself in beauty and the picturesque. 

Misery was an old friend, one that never wavered from your side, no matter how successful you became or how admired your artworks were. You had stopped looking for fulfillment or contentment long ago until it felt like misery herself was leaning over your shoulder, taking your wrist and guiding the brush across the canvas. 

Happiness was never sufficient to create a meaningful work or seep into a life and suffocate the devouring longing for more. You had found that melancholy, sorrow, and misery were. 

“Well, brother,” you said. To your surprise, you meant it. “And you?”

He chuckled tiredly, releasing your hands to lead you towards the stairs. “Mostly well, until last week,” he said, his tone souring. “It is why I—” He stopped abruptly. You bumped into his back with a huff. “Where have you been?”

You looked past his shoulder to see a figure standing on the landing, staring down Theodore with dark eyes and an even darker scowl. “In the garden,” she said dismissively, and your eyes widened as you realized that the woman clad in the deepest possible shade of black was your sister.

“Lizzie?” you asked incredulously, earning only a nod in greeting.

Her straight black hair hung loosely over her shoulders. It was disheveled as if she had run her hands through it repeatedly, and you blinked away the memory of her excitedly thrusting ribbons into your hands, pleading with you to braid it. 

You could hardly reconcile the image of the bright and adventurous young woman you had kept in your mind all this time with her dark and brooding self you now saw before you.

She had changed so much since you had left her behind on that porch with tears in her eyes, begging you not to go. It had been so long since she had replied to your letters.

“Why do you look like you came from a seance?” you blurted out, at a loss of what else to say.

Her mouth twitched into a minuscule smile. “You have been gone for too long, Picasso,” she said, the barest hint of amusement seeping into her monotonous voice as she looked you up and down. “Seances are on Thursdays. Welcome to London.”

“Elisabeth!” your brother said sternly, raising his index finger in warning. It did not have the desired effect. Elisabeth snorted at his attempt to scold her. “I better not find any residue of your activities in the garden again. You know how frowned upon—” 

“I know, Theodore,” she interrupted him, sauntering towards the library nonchalantly and leaving you both standing at the top of the stairs. “I cleaned up. Believe me, I’m the last of your worries right now.” It sounded more like an ominous warning than a reassurance. She disappeared behind the door. The lock snapped into place, the sound echoing loudly in the empty hall.

Theodore sighed. “She spends too much time with these books,” he said, shaking his head. He gestured towards the study, opening the door for you. 

It had not changed much from how you remembered it. One wall was taken up by an enormous bookshelf, nearly overflowing with thick volumes. The dark wood of the desk before the window had lost some of its shine, and the papers thrown haphazardly on its surface were in a disarray that your father would have despised. 

“Have you taken over the study?” you asked, sitting in the armchair opposite the settee and nodding towards the desk. 

He gulped, his hands suddenly unsteady as he passed you the tea. 

“Theodore?”

The sound of the fragile porcelain pieces scratching against each other made you frown. You eyed his shaking hands, wondering what you had said to upset him this much. 

He quickly set the cup on the table between you before he spilled his tea. “Not by choice,” he whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on the tea. “I asked you to come back because I need your help. Our parents—” he hesitated, gaze flickering up to meet yours before anxiously darting across the room. “They are gone.”

“Gone?” you asked, not understanding the gravity of the situation. “Gone where?”

Theodore threw up his hands in frustration, leaping from his chair to pace around restlessly. “Just gone!” he exclaimed, wincing at his volume and looking around anxiously. This was driving him up the walls, turning him into a nervous wreck. “They left with— they left. I don’t know why. I don’t know where.”

You set down your tea, taking in this piece of news. Despite their brutish dominance over the household, both your parents were very mindful of the family’s standing in society. It was unheard of for them to disappear without a word. It would lead your reputation to ruin.

“What happened?” you asked. This made no sense at all.

“I have no idea,” Theodore said, sinking back into the settee and burying his face in his hands. “They just left.” 

He straightened a moment later, clearing his throat and retrieving his tea. You saw the shift in him, the facade he put up to appear in control of a situation that overwhelmed him completely. 

The neverending game of pretend he played was brought on by his misguided sense of duty. To his eyes, being the oldest meant carrying all the responsibilities, shielding you and your sister as much as possible to take care of things himself. He wanted to be perfect. He needed to meet the expectations your parents pushed onto him relentlessly to earn his place and justify the life he had. 

Theodore was always scrambling to obey, never stepping out of line for fear of falling from grace — and seeing him now slowly crumble and cave under the pressure thrust upon him made your heart ache.

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, indeed.

You leaned back, closing your eyes and wishing for a moment you had chosen to remain in selfish and blissful ignorance in the city of your dreams, with paint staining your fingers and indulging in the pleasure of being the second-born to its fullest extent.

“Does it matter why?” Elisabeth asked from the doorway, making both you and Theodore jump. Neither of you had noticed her walk up, her footsteps as quiet as a ghost’s. “They were never pleasant to have around, and we are better off without them. Theodore can manage the estate on his own. You have your life in Paris. What are we worrying about?”

You turned to look at her, holding her impassive gaze as you wondered when she had gotten so frigid. “They are our parents,” you said. While a part of you resented them, you still wondered what had become of them and why they had suddenly decided to disappear without a trace. It was hard to imagine that Elisabeth did not care about them at all.

She scoffed, flopping down next to your brother on the settee. Leaning forward, she stared at you intently as if trying to catch you out in a lie. She had gotten cold. You suppressed a shudder. Was this resentment she harbored towards you the reason she stopped replying to your letters?

“Oh please,” she said, an unfamiliar fire burning in her eyes that made you wonder if you were wrong about your assumption of her again. 

Perhaps she really did not care. 

“Mother threatened to disown you in as many words every time you talked, or have you forgotten that? ‘Stop wasting your time with frivolous things!’ or whatever it was she spewed when she caught you painting. You might as well have died when you left. It would not have made a difference to them. What’s there to miss?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing she was right. The harsh look in their eyes when you said goodbye that day and the sneer of your father — “Don’t bother returning” — was a memory you had tried to bury long ago. 

Their disappearance was peculiar nonetheless. You tried to think up reasons that could have led them to finally snap, inspiring them to turn their back on their comfortable lives in London. Was it the longing for something exciting? Was it the haunting feeling of the city’s long nights? 

Did their circles of friends not entertain them enough anymore? Did they grow sick of your brother’s desperation in tryingto please their unattainable expectations? Could they no longer stand the sight of your sister’s dark eyes glaring at them when she returned from speaking with the dead?

Had they decided to abandon your siblings to live selfishly somewhere far away where nobody knew them, and they were free to do as they pleased under the secure protection of their anonymity?

Had they picked up a canvas on their way to call themselves artists?

The parallels made you sick. You averted your gaze, ashamed at the understanding that a part of you had for them.

“That’s not the issue,” Theodore said, running his hand through his hair. His golden locks were in disarray, and he rubbed his temples tiredly as if to ward off a headache. “I couldn't care less about where they went. Elisabeth is right. There is nothing to miss. The problem is how it makes us look. It would jeopardize our standing if word got out that they just left. It is unheard of!”

You nodded, swallowing your guilt to focus on the problem at hand. “We need an excuse for their absence,” you said, picking up your tea to take a sip. You needed to think up a plausible reason.

“And one for their deaths,” Elisabeth added, deep in thought. Her nonchalance about never seeing them again had you in awe. 

You had made your peace with not having them in your life anymore when you left. There was only so much of a relationship you could maintain with people who seemed to despise every day you spent pursuing your dream. They had not bothered to reply to your letters — you doubted they read them at all — but you knew throughout your absence that they were well in London. Your brother had written occasionally, keeping you in the loop of family happenings that you acknowledged but did not particularly care about. 

It was enough to know they lived in safety, far away from you. This novelty of being uncertain if they were even still alive felt different. You hated not knowing what had happened.

“Simple,” Theodore said, taking a sip of his tea. He nodded to himself, reviewing the story he had constructed in his mind and making sure it made sense.

You raised your eyebrow. Elisabeth scoffed, waiting for him to continue. Nothing about this seemed easy in the slightest.

“They embarked on a trip to Greece. Mother always wanted to go. They visited Athens. They insisted on visiting Crete and got killed in one of the uprisings. We tell everyone they decided to travel on a whim — or because of father’s deteriorating health. He had been complaining of an ache in his bones, yes, Elisabeth? — and apologize profusely for them not saying their proper goodbyes.”

Elisabeth laughed at that, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms. “That is so absurd it might actually work,” she said in amusement. 

“On some later date, we will feign to receive a letter from local authorities informing us of their deaths. We will act shocked, lower their coffins into the ground symbolically,” Theodore continued, waving his hand in the air as if burying his parents was nothing but an inconvenience, “and save face in society as the poor orphans who are lucky enough to be endowed with estate, land, and property. That will be the end of this, and we can continue as if nothing happened.”

“Good thing Picasso’s return will keep the drawing rooms gossiping and marveling for at least a week,” your sister said, satisfied with the plan. “Nobody will think to question it.”

You stared at the rich brown of the coffee table, trying to find any fatal flaw in the made-up story. “What if they come back?” you muttered. “As far as we know, they are not dead. They could come back.”

A tense silence passed between you.

Theodore looked to the ground, opening his mouth to speak. Elisabeth beat him to it. “We kill them,” she said monotonously, her face devoid of any emotion other than fierce determination. You choked on your tea. She was deadly serious. 

He blanched. “That— that will not be necessary,” he stuttered. “They are gone for good, trust me.”

“How do you—?” 

“Just trust me, Elisabeth!” he snapped. 

She raised her hands in mock surrender, glancing at him as if she suspected something. 

“Apologies, I— It’s a lot right now,” he sighed, setting down his cup of tea. He winced, hissing in pain and touching his forehead. “I’m fine,” he said when he caught your concerned stare and rose from his seat. “We are invited to the Alderton’s soiree in approximately” — he pulled out his silver pocket watch — “twenty minutes. I suggest we get ready.”

Elisabeth hummed, making a show of dusting off her dress as she rose as well. “As much as you know I love soirees, brother,” she said sarcastically, earning a low groan from Theodore, “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. You two have fun making the Lords and Ladies” — she bowed mockingly — “believe our little story. I have a prior engagement this evening.”

“What could possibly be more important than saving us from ruin?” he asked pointedly, silently resigned to going without her. The last time she had accepted such an invitation must have been years ago.

“Things beyond your comprehension,” she said darkly, her eyes glistening with passion. “Also,” she added, disappearing behind the door to retreat to the library, “I am waiting for a delivery. Good luck.” 

Theodore sighed, gripping the back of the settee and allowing himself a moment to breathe. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against his hands.

You placed a hand on his back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Since when has she been like that?” you asked. 

He raised his head slowly, glancing over his shoulder to look at you. “Later,” he said tiredly, straightening again. “We should not be late. I will call for the carriage.”

It was only when you were sitting on the barely comfortable cushions of the carriage that brought you ever closer to the Alderton’s estate, that you realized there was still dried paint under your fingernails. 

It was the light blue you had used for the sky on the canvas half-finished and now surely gathering dust in your studio. 

“Elisabeth has taken to the occult lately,” Theodore said, smoothing down his black vest and trying to fix his crooked bowtie. 

You batted his hands away, loosening the knot and retying it neatly. “So she said. What was that about seances?”

He sighed, shrugging. “I have no idea, honestly,” he said, breaking into a fond smile as you brushed a bit of dust from his tailcoat. “Thank you.” He tilted his head to look out impatiently before glancing at his pocket watch. He nodded, satisfied that you would arrive on time. “She told me something about a failed ritual during dinner a few days ago. I did not dare inquire further, but it devastated her. She locked herself in the library for days after that.”

“I see,” you said hesitatingly. Your confusion at your sister's peculiar interest was overshadowed by concern for her.

What was she trying to summon? Why did it mean so much to her? 

Theodore winced again, his expression twisting into one of pain. 

“How is your headache?” you asked, wishing you could do something to relieve his pain.

Your fingers twitched. You wanted to run them through his hair soothingly like you used to. He had always been susceptible to headaches when the stress crashed over him like a wave, pulling him under until he drowned in it.

“We can turn around. Or drop me off,” you said, “I will take care of tonight. You should rest, Theo.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, giving you a small smile. “I can manage, don’t worry. I've had worse.”

You searched his gaze but chose not to argue. “Alright,” you sighed. Leaning back, you waited for the estate to come into view. “What has society been like recently? Is there any news I should mind?”

“Well,” Theodore said, trying to be cheerful, “Lady Bingley recently took a liking to theater, and she won’t shut up once she starts talking about the stage. Lady Fairhurst has taken a lover in Piccadilly, much to her wife’s indifference. Still, she gets irrationally defensive when the street is mentioned, including its shops. It’s quite funny, but her aggressive defense turns the conversation very draining. Lord Houghton is as obnoxious as ever. He made investments in China and is urginganyone who will listen to do the same.”

“I heard the Qing Dynasty has become unstable,” you mused, brushing down your clothes as the light of the manor came into view. “The Chinese population has grown tired of Western meddling, I have been told. It seems only a matter of time until they fight back. The missionaries are especially unpopular.”

“Do not tell him that,” your brother chuckled. 

The carriage came to a halt in front of the manor. His hand shot out, hovering over the door handle. 

“Remember our plan,” he added, looking at you one last time with a smile that almost seemed genuine, “and don’t let all the praise for your art go to your head.”

Annotations // I. The Symposium

[ahundredtimesover]

A little something from our PLM couple 🥰

Title: Please Love Me Bonus 08 - The Aftermath

WC: 15,116

Tags/Warnings: angst; mentions of pregnancy/having a family; mentions of illness; fluff; explicit sexual content (making out, nipple play, thigh-riding ish, pillow missionary bc yes, unprotected vaginal sex); JK Dreamers MV behind with the exposed arm

Series Masterlist

Jungkook’s eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen.

You remember how they used to look back at you when you were kids - wide and bright, curious and full of wonder; they shone like stars even during the day. 

You remember how they’d started to become livelier as you grew older - they held in them this playful mischief that was always endearing to you, even if the adults often called him out for being a rascal.

His eyes had become distant to you by the time you were in high school, though you’d still catch glimpses of them when he wasn’t looking. There was still that way it would shine like an entire galaxy, just as much as it held in them the recklessness of a teenager vying for attention. 

But Jungkook spoke his emotions through them just as much as he held his heart on his sleeves. And though you recall a time when his piercing gaze used to unsettle you when he was just coming into terms with your marriage arrangement, all that has faded away at your reality that this man is in love with you, and all you’ve been seeing is passion and care and an unyielding glimmer of trust and commitment. It’s been over 3 years and despite the rare moments of frustration and hurt that you’ve seen in them, his eyes would always show you love.

“Done staring at my face?” He teasingly mumbles with his gruff voice. 

“Not yet,” you softly smile, snuggling up to him a little closer. 

You want to hold onto this look of his a little longer - sleepy eyes and messy hair, soft against the white linens of your shared bed and the sunlight seeping through the windows. You want to hold onto it if only to forget about last night - the defeat on his face, the bottled up frustrations, the way his voice cracked as he told you how you hurt him, how he tried to control his cries, and how he’d let you walk out of that guest room to be alone and away from you. 

“You came,” you continue, gently tracing his face and missing how it felt.

“It’s hard to sleep without you,” he says, “even if we’re far apart. I don’t like waking up and not knowing if you’re there.”

The memory hits him as he utters the words - the fight from years ago and watching you walk away from him, then waking up to find that you were gone. The fear crippled him then, even more after learning about the truth. He’d promised himself after that night that unless he’s physically unable, he’ll never sleep without you, that the security of your presence and of your hold would trump any other emotion he’s feeling at the moment. Like now.

“It’s hard to sleep without you, too,” you reply, your voice almost cracking. “I’m sorry, Kook, I—”

He stops you with a shake of his head. “We don’t need to talk about it right now. It’s been a hard week.”

There’s something new in his eyes. Submission, maybe? It’s almost like he’s pleading - pleading for you to let it pass this time, to not let it linger - and all you could do is follow. This is the most that you could do for him after all that you’ve done. 

“Okay,” you hum. Perhaps the wounds are still fresh; maybe he’s letting everything still sink in. It’s much better than the past few days, and you’ll take what you can get.

He responds with a soft smile and a kiss on your forehead and one on your lips. You sigh into it and all your other thoughts melt away. Right now, this is all you need.

“I’ll make us some breakfast,” he says, slowly getting up. “The kids have a soccer game today. Are you okay to watch?”

“Of course,” you perk up, wanting so badly to be out of the house and in a place bursting with energy. “I’ll wash up and head down.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the TV while you both eat, and you convince yourself that this is him, claiming that sense of normalcy after a week of being cooped up in his home office, stressed and frustrated. You don’t want to think it has anything to do with him not knowing how to fill the silence that you both used to comfortably share. 

You place your hand on top of his once he's finished his meal, and as if it’s reflex for him, he squeezes it in response. It’s that bit of comfort you need and you don’t ask for more.

Neither one of you says much as you both get ready, choosing to let the music fill the air, the same way you do once you’re in the car. He holds your hand while he drives, though, and despite the absence of his usual affection - none of the kisses, the loving glances, the declarations of love - you know it’s somehow still there.

“Hey, everything okay?”

Yeri asks as she hugs a tutu-clad Ji-a on her lap, all ready for her ballet class after the game. 

“Yeah, just getting used to being outside, I guess,” you chuckle, appreciating the cool breeze this Saturday morning. 

“Ah, seemed like you zoned out a bit. Soojin almost hit a goal,” she informs you.

You turn towards the field and see your niece with that frustrated look on her face, the one she has on when she misses a shot. You hadn’t even noticed, as your eyes had been focused on your husband - on the sidelines with Junghyun as substitute coach for your brother. 

You’d wandered towards Jungkook’s direction almost immediately after you sat down, waiting for his usual questioning look of concern or that sweet smile he has whenever you’re separated but in the same place. But your gaze hasn’t moved, and you haven’t even realized that you’ve been absent-mindlessly looking his way, so you can tell he hasn’t even glanced at you. 

You’re both okay, you tell yourself. This is normal after a fight. You’re reminded that after last night’s confrontation, you and Jungkook hadn’t talked yet - about how you hurt him and how you can do better. Perhaps he’s still processing everything; maybe there’s still some ache left. And that should be fine; there’s nothing to worry about. 

“Yay!” Ji-a squeals, and you see Soojin celebrating on the field, running to the bench to high-five Jungkook, Junghyun, and Soyeon. 

You cheer with them, hopelessly waiting for your husband to look your way, but he never does.

He still takes your hand during lunch with your family though. He also sits next to you on your couch with his arm over the backrest when his friends decide to come over in the afternoon to play games and have dinner. And at night, he lets you lay on his chest as you both talk about the day - the kids being so excited about your upcoming family trip, Taehyung’s plan of proposing to his girlfriend, and Jimin declaring that he wants to be a dad, regardless of how it happens.

It’s what reminded you of the thoughts you’ve been having since the other night and all of the things that Jungkook had made you realize.

“Honey, I was thinking about what you said,” you say softly, eyes to the ceiling as you painfully recall. “Sometimes I think that I already know how to handle living with my condition and I figured out ways to not let it bother others but then… you’re right, about everything. It’s not something I should just brush off. I wouldn’t want you keeping things that serious from me, too.”

You look at him, apologetic eyes meeting his soft ones. “And I still have a lot to learn about being a partner, about being a wife… and being more honest and open and yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be easy for us to go through the process of pregnancy and having kids unless I’ve learned to communicate better about my needs and my struggles. Maybe… maybe it isn’t time yet.”

You’re met with silence, and you turn to Jungkook for any form of affirmation - that he’d heard you, that he agrees. 

Caught off guard, he merely nods, hoping you don’t notice the way his face falls at your words. Of all the things he’d said, that’s what he regrets the most. 

How the hell can we have our own kids if you can’t even communicate with me? If you can’t even tell me what you’re feeling? 

They ring in his head like a bad dream, one that he can’t escape from. He’d said them in a moment of frustration, of desperation, and he wants nothing more than to take them back right now, just so you won’t pass up on the one thing you want more than anything - a family. 

He hates himself for what his words have come to mean to you. Clearly, he didn’t mean that you’re not yet ready to become a mother, but it’s how you took it. And now, you’re here, believing that your inability to communicate what you’re feeling is what’s keeping you from becoming one. 

Jungkook knows you’re more than capable, and communication is something that you - that both of you - can work on. He’s the one who’s been so afraid to commit to having a family because of what it would mean for you, something he’s come to realize is also a bit selfish on his part because you’re the one who’d be physically going through the pregnancy, who’d be struggling and who’d be in pain, yet he’s the one who can’t get past all that to be able to give you something you want, which he knows deep down is something that he wants, too. 

Yet a part of him remains disappointed, that in an effort to patch up your relationship, you feel the need to concede to him, to reconsider the one thing that he knows is most important to you, to put yourself down, as if admitting that you’re not yet ready was caused by him. 

As he was days ago, he’s upset and hurt. He wants to hold you tighter, tell you that you’re wrong, assure you that you’ll both work together on communicating, and that should make everything alright moving forward. 

But as Jungkook has come to realize, he’s not all that good at dealing with complicated emotions like this, at reconciling how the person he loves the most can let him down. He’s not even over what happened last week and the words you’d both exchanged, and now here he is again, wanting to comfort you while feeling a mix of guilt and disappointment.

He decides against holding you tighter. You’ve fallen asleep already and he admits missing your soft snores and the way your warm breath hits his skin. He lets you stay there, comfortable and safe, while he wallows in his own emotions and stays up the entire night.

Jungkook falls asleep right before the sun rises, and that means he sleeps through the entire morning and is awakened by your caresses on his arm.

He grumbles when you tell him that lunch is ready.

“Hey, honey. Come on,” you say, removing the bangs off his forehead and kissing it. “I had Mrs. Na make tangsuyuk. I know you’ve been craving it.”

“Oh, she’s here?” He asks, eyes now half open.

“Mother made her come over to send me tea and fruits and I thought to ask her to prepare our lunch,” you respond.”

“Okay. I’ll be down in a bit.”

You excitedly wait for him in the dining room. You’d wanted to go for a walk in the park with him earlier but he slept in. You can’t imagine how tired he is so you let him be. You’re thinking that perhaps you can spend the afternoon watching movies or something, perhaps cuddle and make up for the week that was. 

But Jungkook doesn’t seem to want any quiet, as he puts the TV on blast while he watches soccer highlights. You don’t get any word in as his eyes are glued to the screen. You only get to say anything when he checks his phone and groans, dropping it on the table seemingly out of frustration.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, just work stuff,” he responds dryly. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well, then do you want to—”

“Is Mrs. Na staying?” He unknowingly interjects. “I was planning to go to the gym in the afternoon but I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Oh, I can ask her to,” you say dejectedly, masking the disappointment. “But yeah, you should go to relieve your stress. Will you be gone long?”

“Not sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll let you know.”

You nod and pick on your food now, suddenly losing your appetite. You don’t miss the thought that right before you and Jungkook had that confrontation, he’d gone to the gym as you suggested so that he could spend time on his own because he didn’t seem to want to spend it with you. That was just 2 days ago, and now he’s going back. You hate to think it’s the same reason and he’s only being subtle about it now.

Maybe it’s still too much for him. Maybe he hasn’t gotten over what happened the other night. That’s a lot to process, you remind yourself; even you haven’t done it because you don’t know how to. But he’s the one who doesn’t want to talk about it, and you hate to think that this time, he’s the one avoiding it, masking it, sweeping it under the rug until he’s finally ready to face it. 

You both finish your lunch and Jungkook heads to your room to fix up. He gives you a forehead kiss before he leaves. 

“Text me, okay?” You remind him.

“I will. Text me, too, if you, uh, if you feel anything.”

It’s 3 hours later when you send a message. 

Hey, Kook. Mrs. Na and I will bake some cakes. Craving for anything specific? ☺️

But he doesn’t reply. An hour later, you check on him again.

Hey, honey. Hope you’re not overworking yourself. What time will you be home?

And again.

Kook? Will you be back in time for dinner?

And again.

Everything okay?

He finally replies at 7PM, 6 hours after he left. 

Sorry. Was about to leave earlier but my boxing trainer got back from his leave so we did some rounds. He convinced me to get a massage so I did. Masseuse was great. She got rid of my knots. 

Oh and yeah, I’ll be home in 20.

Jungkook reads your messages over and over again. He isn’t the type to not text back when it comes to you, and you know that. He regularly uses you as his daily journal, in fact, sending you memes or texts of what he’s doing or what he’s seen on the way to somewhere. 

It isn’t like him to not update you about anything for this long unless he’s physically incapable. In this case, he’d purposely avoided his phone, knowing there would be a message or two from you. And he couldn’t bring himself to read them when the reason why he’s here is to rid himself of all the emotions that he’s feeling for and because of you.

He feels that staying at home with you would give you both an opportunity to talk about what happened, and he’s not yet ready for that. 

Every time he thinks of what he felt as he recalls that day of driving to the hospital to you, he feels numb and useless. There’s that feeling of dread and paralyzing fear. There’s also that disbelief that you could hide something so important from him, and this is always mixed with a tinge of betrayal alongside the resounding pain. He just wants to hold you in his arms to make all the ache go away, but the way you look at him burns. He wants to hear your voice and know you’re okay but he doesn’t want your apologies. 

He thought hearing you speak that night would calm his heart. He thought crawling into bed with you right after just so he can keep his promise of not spending a night away from you would push him towards forgiveness and acceptance. He thought that talking about the fight to someone would help him make sense of things. 

But he’s still left with a slew of emotions that he doesn’t know what to do with, that he doesn’t know how to make sense of or control. It’s why he decided to pass up on spending this lazy Sunday with you and head to the gym instead so he could release whatever he needs to release in there and not to you again. 

He promised himself after that night, seeing you cry and looking helpless and apologetic, that he wouldn’t unload all his thoughts and feelings about you to you. Much as you’re still his daily journal, he reckons that maybe, not when it comes to you. If he needs to be apart from you to save you from his own inability to understand and temper what he feels, then he will. He just hopes he doesn’t push you too far. 

Was love always this hard? Is it meant to be? Isn’t it supposed to be natural? Of course, your situation is different. You were both thrust into this arrangement and were lucky enough to fall in love. But after learning, isn’t it supposed to be easy, effortless? Like the love is just overflowing, unyielding, easy to understand?

And as you reply with your sweetness still echoing through - Oh Kook, get some rest when you get here. Is there anything else you want? Just let me know. Can’t wait to see you ☺️ - he can’t help it; his heart just breaks even more for you.

Jungkook comes home to handmade pasta and a chicken dish that you said Mrs. Na taught you to make. You also didn’t know what cake he wanted so you made cheesecake cups and a chocolate one and another one with mangoes. It’s delicious, as he expected, and your joyful face as you were making these while thinking of him flashes in his mind. He hates that he missed it, but he also knows that spending the entire day at the gym was the best thing that he could’ve done.

He does the dishes while you linger in the kitchen, asking about the most mundane things. Perhaps it’s to fill the silence, or maybe to convince you - or him - that things are normal. 

Any time that Jungkook feels like you’ll bring up something from the other night or the past week, he gets to you first, asking about other trivial things, too. In truth, he’s just scared of how another conversation with you about your issues would go. He’s learning now that he’s not good with communication, too.

How does he tell you he loves you without downplaying how you disappointed him? How does he tell you that you hurt him without hurting you back? How can he verbalize all these things he’s feeling without looking so helpless to you? 

“Kook?”

Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s been rinsing the same bowl for the past 5 minutes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, not making eye contact. 

He hears you sigh and he briefly closes his eyes to brace himself for another question or statement he’s probably not ready for while also thinking of something to possibly change the topic, but instead you ask if he’s going to work tomorrow.

“Uh, yeah. I have to check one of the sites,” he replies. “Have Mrs. Na come over tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine here?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you hum, looking away now. “I’ll go to the studio on Tuesday, though. I confirmed 2 classes.”

“Oh, okay,” he huffs. “You’re cleared to go back to work?”

“Dr. Kwon cleared me. As long as I don’t do anything strenuous or too stressful, it’s back to normal for me,” you state. “Plus, I miss the kids. I need some joy and laughter to fill my days. It’s… it’s been a while.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath to keep himself from asking further. He chooses to gloss over the insinuation that there hasn’t been anything worthy of joy and laughter in your days this past week. He doesn’t want to get into it right now.

“Okay then, if he says so.”

You wait for a follow up - perhaps his usual instruction to be careful and call me for anything, but it doesn’t come. There’s no playful banter, either. There’s no invite for a movie or wine and chocolate at the balcony like how your Sundays usually are, and you’ve come to think yourself silly for even expecting it. 

He yawns and it’s your cue, so you tell him to go to bed and prepare for what surely is gonna be another long week ahead.

“What about you?” He asks.

“I’ll drink my tea on the balcony. It’s a nice night,” you reply, wanting to be alone with your thoughts. And well, for him to miss you even for just a little bit.

“Alright, just don’t stay up too late, yeah? It’s cold out.”

You nod and his gaze on you lingers, his eyes telling you that he wants to say more - do more - but that he chooses to hold back. And you let him, thinking that if it’s time he still needs to sort out his feelings, then that’s what you’ll give him. He still speaks to you, after all, and sleeps next to you. Given all that’s happened, you know you can’t complain.

But he kisses your forehead, and suddenly you feel like crying. But you hold back, knowing that the tension would just build and neither of you seems ready to face it. 

The lone tear eventually falls though, an hour later after you’ve had your tea and you’ve washed up. The lights are off in the room save for your bedside lamp, and you can see the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest as he peacefully sleeps on his back. You lay on your side, facing away from him. It’s shortly after when you feel him shift and then his arm wraps around your middle.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

He loves you. So much. You know this. But it’s the unsaid things that you’re afraid of, that you worry about. It’s knowing he has more to say but that he doesn’t seem to want to share them with you. It’s missing the routines and habits. It’s the uneasiness of possibly doing or saying something again that would make everything boil over. It’s the insecurity of all your faults and shortcomings surfacing. It’s the fear of not knowing how to handle it the next time you’re faced with them again. 

It’s wanting to hold his hand despite it all and knowing that you’d go through this over and over again if it means loving each other much better at the end of it. 

You pull his arm tighter around you and sigh into his hold, taking as much as you possibly can.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back. “Sleep well, Kook.”

The cafe across the street from the art studio is chic and cozy. It’s an apartment that was transformed into a commercial space and it’s retained its homey feel, a perfect fit in this neighborhood that lets you forget for a moment that you’re in the middle of the buzzing city of Seoul. 

It’s also where you’re meeting Junghyun this Tuesday mid-morning, as he’s coming from an early meeting with an investor nearby.

“Hi,” you greet him with a hug, exhaling deeply as if you haven’t had something that comforting in a while. And well, you really haven’t. 

“Looked like you really needed that, huh,” he smiles kindly.

“I did. I still do,” you respond. 

It’s the statement that leads you to narrating the past week with your husband to the older man - from the cold treatment, the confrontation, and how that night ended.

Junghyun merely nods, hums, and sips his coffee.

“Jungkook brought you up, you know?” You say softly. “About how I trust you the way I do and that I don’t do the same with him.”

“I know,” Junghyun replies, surprising you. “He told me.”

“When? He talked to you about it? What did he say?”

“He mentioned it. During the soccer game, in the middle of coaching,” he chuckles, remembering how he and his brother went from drawing plays and encouraging the little kids to talking seriously about your marriage. “He didn’t go into detail the way you just did but he said he lost it, said a bunch of things that he regrets, and that hearing about you being in the ER from me triggered something in him. Deja vu for him, I guess, because I’m the one who told him about your sickness.”

“What else did he say?”

“He apologized to me, said that he shouldn’t have brought me into it, that he feels silly for being jealous and I told him that he doesn’t have a reason to be.”

“Oh,” you sigh. “I didn’t know he felt that way.”

“Is that all that you don’t know?” He pushes.

You shake your head no, and Junghyun has that look again like he knows there’s more, and like always, you give in. You talk about feeling distant from your husband, how - despite the care and the goodnight hug and kiss - he still feels so far away, like he’s deliberately creating space between the both of you with only his hand out far enough to let you know that he’s still there, but not close enough for you to feel that he wants things back to the way they were. Or that he’s ready for it.

“I mean, it’s much better than how we were last week and that’s at least something to be thankful for. But I…” you continue, feeling the tears forming in your eyes. “I don’t know how to make him talk to me. I don’t know what he’s feeling, I don’t know how to make it up to him or to make things better. I don’t know… I don’t know how to make him want me again.”

“Hey, I’m sure he does,” Junghyun nudges your knee. “You both just experienced something scary, okay? And then had to deal with the consequences of you keeping things from him. Those are a lot of emotions to process and manage. I can tell that he’s having a hard time. Especially when expressing those emotions caused you some hurt, too. You know that he can’t stand to see or even know you’re crying, like right now.”

Junghyun takes the napkin from the table and wipes your tears, thinking how he’s not used to this sight because you rarely ever become emotional like this. 

“I keep crying, I don’t know why,” you sniff.

“It’s because you’re not used to Jungkook not expressing himself, that’s why,” he states. “He always wears his heart on his sleeves, unafraid to speak his mind. He may be unhinged sometimes but it’s because he always keeps the door open - for you to read him, to comfort him… It’s just not the case right now. And that’s hurting you, too.”

“Why… why is he keeping me out this time?” You wonder, your voice shaking. 

“Maybe he’s not yet ready to talk about it. But if it’s bothering you that much, then assert yourself and don’t give him a choice,” he advises. “___, my brother loves you beyond I or even he can express. He won’t be able to resist you. But maybe he’s also just used to you being the one keeping things in and him being the assertive one. But you have to fight for him, too, you know? Face the issue and talk to him. I told him the same thing but he just shrugged. So if it’s not him then it should be you. You have to. I’m sure you miss him just as much as he misses you.”

“I miss him a lot,” you pout. “I miss him so much.”

“Then do something about it.”

When Junghyun advised you to do something about missing your husband, perhaps he wasn’t thinking of you going to the office with a surprise lunch for Jungkook. You recall him saying this morning that he was just gonna have a meeting in the morning and then stay in the office to work on reports. 

You walk in the reception area outside his room, beef noodle soup in hand, and ask his secretary if he can be disturbed.

“Oh, he’s still in a meeting, Mrs. Jeon,” So-hee informs you. “It was extended so Mr. Jeon and Ms. Wong decided to have lunch. He did say they’re almost done some time ago so—”

A woman and a man’s joint laughter interrupts her, and your husband and his companion - an investor for his project - walk in, clearly still enjoying their conversation. You’re thankful you at least get to hear his laugh and his excited voice this time. There’s that boyish smile you miss, too.

“___, hey,” he calls you worriedly and walks up to you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, honey. I just wanted to, uh,” you respond, looking at the meal you brought. “I thought you haven’t had lunch yet so I got you something but you can uh… I guess I’ll just take this home and—”

“No, I’ll take it,” he says, taking the bag from your hands. “I just have to give something to Ms. Wong and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

You nod in reply and smile at the woman who greets you. You watch them walk to his room and from the half opened door, you see him go through some documents that he gives to her. She walks out and bows at you, and that’s what you hear Jungkook call your name.

He’s leaning on his desk facing the door when you enter, his smile with less vigor this time. You had planned on checking up on him, stupidly thinking you’d have an opening to ask how he’s feeling. Clearly, this isn’t the time nor place to be talking about something so personal, but after speaking with Junghyun earlier, you just had this urge to see your husband, comfort him in some way, and seek his affirmation about the both of you.

“The soup smells good, but we just had lunch, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll have this for snacks, I promise.”

“It’s okay, Kook. No need to force it,” you smile. 

“Fuck, you came here to surprise me with lunch and I’m not even eating it,” he sighs. “And Father called for another meeting in a bit and I—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you assure him. “I just thought of dropping by uninvited and I didn’t expect you to be free. I just wanted to see you, that’s all. But I’ll go and prepare for my afternoon class.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kook,” you force a smile.

Jungkook takes the container out of the bag and that’s when he sees it - a napkin doodle of a man, perhaps him, kissing a woman, perhaps you, on the forehead. 

Something he’s learned about you is that you skirt around conversations when you’re afraid or uncomfortable to have them. He’d long figured out that you’re not as expressive with words as you are with your art. You’d said once that you don’t “keep emotions in” or bottle them inside because you don’t want to talk about or face them; you just express them in other ways, like through painting or doodles - brush strokes and curved lines of feelings that you can’t verbalize, sometimes because you can’t find the words and other times, because words aren’t enough.

He sees beyond the unsure smile and the way you’re clasping your hands together. And right as you say goodbye and turn around to pull open the door, he puts his hand over yours and pushes it close again.

“You didn’t just come here to bring me lunch,” he says softly, seeing right through you. “You wanted to tell me something.”

Trapped between him and the door, you turn your head and look up to face him. You want to say that while yes, you wanted to talk, it’s also not the right time. You want to say that it can wait tonight, that you’ll be okay, that he should focus on his work and not worry about you. 

But you let yourself be selfish, brave, unhinged. 

“You feel distant, Kook,” you finally say, voice like a whisper. “I want to reach out but I don’t know how.”

The sight before him is one that breaks his heart, perhaps more than seeing you in tears. Your eyes are glassy, clearly on the brink of crying, and your lips are quivering; you have to nibble and bite them to stop. This hurts him more because he knows you’re holding yourself back, and when you finally let go and let it all out, it’ll probably be when you’re back home, alone, where he can’t comfort you, hold you.

“I…” he starts, on the brink of losing it, too. “I know, and I’m so sorry.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other, and it’s Jungkook who looks away first. 

“I kept it all in last week because you were the one who needed care and attention,” he continues. “And I just couldn’t hold it back anymore that’s why that night happened, and I’m so sorry for that, too.”

You shake your head no but he counters, saying that he shouldn’t have said things the way he did, that he knows he could’ve talked to you more calmly. 

“But I just… I’m left with so many feelings that I don’t know how to deal with. I’m not used to this much, and this intense, nor this contradicting.” 

He covers his eyes with his hand, and much as you want to hug him and make the pain go away, somehow you know that you have to swim through this - face all this, and you can only do that with that distance in between the two of you. 

“It was the secrets, the worry, the concern over how we’re gonna move forward without hurting each other even more… and then that guilt over what I said, and you, taking it to heart.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“You said that maybe you aren’t ready for a family,” he recalls. “Because I said you can’t communicate well with me and I—”

“Kook, hey, that’s not on you,” you interject, rushing towards him now and taking his hands in yours. “I know that I have to learn to be better and that’s part of us preparing to become parents, like what we said we’d do.”

“Yes, but you didn’t think of that until I said something,” he counters. “It’s just like you pausing on doing your own pieces for exhibitions - your dream - so you could keep your job at the firm and continue teaching the kids. And now, you want to pause from becoming a mother, too. You’re holding out on things and I just… I hate myself for that, for making you doubtful. For not knowing how to ease your pain. But I’m also upset with you for hiding things from me, for conceding all the time, and for hurting me. But I also hurt you and I… fuck, it’s just a lot. And I don’t know what to do. You’re who I run to about everything but suddenly, I find it difficult to do that.”

Jungkook is heaving by the time he finishes. It’s a lot to take in for you, too. 

Your thoughts crumble when So-hee knocks on the door, informing your husband that the meeting his father called for is starting already, and they need him there right now.

“I’m coming,” he calls out, then turns to you. “I’ve been distant because I don’t want to unload this all on you. Because I want to protect you from all this,” he adds, pointing to his heart. “I just… I guess I just need more time. I’m sorry.”

Another female voice echoes from the other side of the door, the tapping much louder and more firm this time.

“Mr. Jeon, please don’t make your father wait,” the elder’s secretary says. “He has a flight to New York in a few hours. He asks that you be in the boardroom in 5 minutes, no more.”

“Alright, I’ll be there,” he groans, looking at you apologetically. “I have to go, but I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Of course,” you huff, knowing you don’t have a choice but to let him go. “I’ll see you.”

And just like your drawing, he pulls you close and kisses your forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, before opening the door and running to the elevator. 

You release a deep breath and wipe the tears that immediately flowed once he left. 

You ground yourself in Jungkook’s office, looking around and taking it all in - the lavender oil from the humidifier that he got because it’s your favorite scent, the painting behind his chair that you made, the framed photos of both of you during your trips that were taken.

There’s a lot of you in here, and it’s the most comfort you’ve received other than Junghyun’s hug earlier. 

“We’ll fix this,” you comfort yourself this time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Jungkook’s father’s urgent meeting turned out to be the introduction to what would become a full day one. There are several things to iron out in their different offices. The directors currently in Japan will meet with the team there, which means that both Jeon sons will have to go to Busan to troubleshoot and regroup. 

Plans were constantly drawn up. Dinner was eaten during the discussions, and it’s not until 10PM when it ended and Jungkook was able to leave the office. He still had to take urgent calls during the ride home, and that caused him to enter your loft at 11, only to see you curled under a light blanket on the couch, asleep.

You were waiting for him, he sighs to himself. You’d come to his office earlier because you wanted to see him, talk to him, and you waited only to be let down that he hadn’t come home early enough. And now, he has to leave early the next day for a trip until the end of the week. 

While that would mean alone time for him to regroup as well, it also means keeping the earlier conversation in limbo. There’s more to say but there aren’t resolutions to what was said. And you have to process what he did get to say on your own and do it all alone. 

Like clockwork, given the numerous times you waited for him to come home only for you to fall asleep, Jungkook takes you in his arms. Flushed against his chest, you shift and make yourself comfortable in his hold, merely mumbling his name when you feel like you’re moving.

He lays you in bed and tucks you in, removing the strands of hair from your face so he can see you clearly. There’s a tinge of sadness even when you’re asleep, and he wants to be able to wipe that away. 

After Jungkook has washed up, he lies next to you who has now moved to face his side on the bed. He kisses your forehead and he lingers.

“We’ll fix this,” he whispers, “I promise.”

Jungkook settles on leaving a note on your bedside about needing to travel to Busan early that Wednesday. He sends you a message about staying until Saturday for meetings and site visits, ending with an apology and an assurance that you’ll talk when he gets back.

You reply by lunchtime, and you’re never up that late, so he assumes that you sat on his message for a while before acknowledging it. 

It’s okay, Kook, your text reads. Don’t forget to get some rest and I’ll see you in a few days. I love you. 

Jungkook reads it over and over again, mad at himself for not feeling like returning your words of affection when it used to be a reflex for him. He loves you, obviously, but he feels hypocritical to be saying it when he’s being the way he is. He lingers when he exits to his Home Screen then sighs after looking at your smiling face for a little bit before locking his phone. 

“Not gonna call her?” Junghyun asks from next to him. 

They decided to just take one car so they can attend meetings together and discuss their action steps during the 4-hour drive to Busan. It was a long trip and they’re on the way to the office after a lunch meeting with an investor. 

“Nah, we’ll probably just say the same things. Except, it’ll be awkward,” Jungkook sighs again.

There’s a beat of silence before Junghyun speaks. “I saw her yesterday, you know? I was in the area and we had coffee.” Jungkook nods, so the older man continues. “It’s a lot for her, too. She’s not used to being on this side of it - clueless, unsure, insecure. She’s scared, Kook. She’s scared that she’s doing this all wrong.”

“I’m scared, too,” the younger man finally says. “And confused, and worried. And I miss her so much. But I couldn’t even fucking text her that I love her back because I feel like I’m lying to her. I yelled at her, said shit I shouldn’t have, made her upset, spent days away from her… all that on top of being angry and disappointed over what happened.”

Junghyun has known that his little brother thrives on clarity, on rules and standards that he’s set up for himself. He hates being told what to do, and in the instances when he’s unsure about things, he figures things out and sticks by what he’s come to know, whether it’s by looking at the world around him or experiencing them by himself. Love, it seems, is something he’s come to understand through the former.

“You know, the feeling or emotion of love is actually just a part of love. It’s not love itself,” Junghyun says. “Being upset with her, missing her, worrying about her, not feeling like being around her… that’s part of love, too. I shouldn’t be spelling this to you anymore because I’m sure you know it already but love isn’t just what you feel for someone, it’s something you share with them. So all the fun, happy stuff and the not so good ones? You share those with her as well.”

“For the longest time, I just kept thinking that things are supposed to be effortless, especially between us,” Jungkook now says. “Considering how we started, I felt like the beginning was the hardest part, and it was only because I didn’t love her then yet. And now I do, so much, but then I still feel all this.”

“Remember the time some years ago when Yeri and I fought?” Junghyun asks. “I mentioned it in passing because it was really getting to me; I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. We slept in separate rooms for an entire week.”

“Seriously?” Jungkook exclaims. “You’re both the chillest people I know. I didn’t think you’d fight bad enough to an extent that you’d sleep separately.”

“Well, the ‘chillest’ people lose their cool sometimes. Work was driving me up a wall, she was an overworked resident at the hospital… we said things we shouldn’t have and then we stopped saying anything to each other after that,” Junghyun narrates. “We just wanted to be alone. So I slept in the guest room for a week but everyday, I drew her a bath the way she wanted so she could relax once she got home. And every morning, she prepared me a snack box because I was doing field visits everyday. Sure, we were going through our own shit, we didn’t feel like talking, couldn’t stand each other at some point. But the love didn’t stop, nor paused or decreased. It was just… there, expressed differently. And I just knew, after we made up, that I could never love any other person the way I love her, and I knew she felt the same about me.”

“So things really work that way, huh? I feel so fucking naive,” Jungkook chuckles. “I guess I was stuck on the honeymoon phase we’ve been on for years. It was easy to not be upset or angry with her over trivial things. And then when it got serious, I guess I freaked out. I didn’t think I could feel this towards her.”

“Well, those things really happen, especially as you go through married life and then family life. You love ___ so much but it hurts, I get that,” Junghyun adds. “It’s cliche because it’s true. And this isn’t the toxic shit - it’s just how healthy relationships actually are. There’s an unbelievable level of trust and faith to be able to admit that the person you love hurt you, but you still love them with your whole being despite that. It may seem confusing to you but it’s normal, and as long as it’s not constant and you actually grow and be better after, it’s actually good.”

Perhaps it’s the idealist in him. Maybe it’s being a rookie in love, Jungkook thinks, that’s why he had such high standards when it came to your relationship, thinking that fights could easily be resolved and that negative feelings would immediately go away. 

He nods and takes his older brother’s words in. There’s a reason Jungkook always ran to him - wise beyond his years and able to just take everything in, reflect on them, then use them to be better. 

Their time alone is cut short when they arrive at the office, and nothing about the issue is mentioned again for the rest of the day. Jungkook spends the evening in his hotel room with his 5th cup of coffee and his eyes glued to his laptop screen until you message at 10PM that you’re off to bed. 

He thinks back to what his brother had said and how love, at times like this, can be expressed in different ways. He picks up the phone and makes a call.

Jungkook used to like drawing flowers. You didn’t buy into the tough and reckless guy act when you were younger since you knew about the kid who drew carnations and peonies and freesias during class. You remember receiving a card from an unnamed sender one time, and then crying when you lost it a year later. 

Ever since you got married, he’s gone past the secret drawings to giving you actual flowers whenever he can. He knows you like them fresh to be placed in your hand painted vases around your apartment, and he’s told you several times that he likes seeing your smile whenever you receive them. 

You wish he could see the one you have on right now, as you gaze at the bouquet of peonies and irises that just got delivered to your apartment that Thursday morning. There’s no dedication on it, and you take it as Jungkook not knowing what to say but wanting to tell you that he loves you, or that he misses you, or that he can’t wait to come home. You hope it’s all of those things.

You send him a photo of them placed in a vase on your bedside table with a message of thanks. 

They’re pretty. I’m glad you like them, he replies. We have a full day of risk assessment planning and stuff. I’ll call you when I can.

Your smile only drops a little at the latter part of the text, but you can’t really complain. He’s been managing his team from home the past week because of you and now, he needs to focus on them completely. And given how you both left the conversation from the other night unfinished, you suppose that he’s not ready to deal with the tension again, so you let it go.

Minhyuk’s coming over for lunch then he’ll take me to work, you message back. And I’ll have dinner with the girls. Will also go to Soyeon’s place tomorrow to hang out with the twins.

You want to let him know that you won’t be alone for the next 2 days in case he’s wondering. You think he doesn’t want to nag but you want to relieve him of that worry, so you update him first. 

Okay, good. You take care, he responds, sounding serious and unfamiliar. You’d figured that he’s like that when he doesn’t know what to say, especially as he fails to call that day and instead settles with an apology for their extended meeting. 

The next morning, you receive a pastry and dessert spread in time for breakfast - mini croissants, egg custards, macarons, eclairs, and chocolate-coated strawberries. 

Something to keep you company while I’m away, the card reads. 

He’s always spoiled you with flowers and desserts, and they’re most special when they’re a surprise and when you’re missing him like this. You feel a mix of emotions as you eat them - you’re happy that he’s telling you he loves you by giving you the things you love, but you also can’t help but think that he’s doing so because he can’t say it, something you’re not used to because he says it everyday and every chance he gets. 

It’s how love is in a relationship like this, you think - there’s no one way to feel it, there’s no one way to show it. But one way isn’t better than the rest; sometimes we just do and say what we can. 

“So, flowers and desserts, huh?” Junghyun asks from next to Jungkook in the car. “Is that like drawing a bath or preparing a snack box?” 

“She told you?” 

“Yeah, to tell me that they made her week,” Junghyun smiles. “Which means… you haven’t called her yet.”

“Work’s driving me nuts and Father won’t get off my ass,” Jungkook reasons. “I’m irritable and I don’t want to unload on her.”

“That all?” The old man arches an eyebrow.

There’s a beat of silence before Jungkook responds. “I’m being petty. If she thinks that work is the most important thing for me, then my focus will be on that.”

“Seriously, Kook?” Junghyun scoffs. “Of course that’s not what she thinks. And right, real petty of you. So many times before when Father’s on our ass, you wouldn’t shut up about wanting to go home to your wife because being next to her makes you forget about all your problems.”

“Yeah, and I still stand by that,” Jungkook replies, his eyes going soft at the idea of being in your arms. His heart aches at the thought, though, because he can’t seem to get over his own reasons for being upset with you even if all that he wants to do is hold and kiss you. “But I just feel like I haven’t gotten over what happened. I mean, I’m sort of over the fear. She updates me everyday about how she’s feeling and that appeases me because then I know she’s open about it, even if I know it’s partly out of guilt. The rest… I don’t know, I’ve been sort of avoiding processing them.”

“Okay, so there are a lot of thoughts and feelings,” Junghyun responds, knowing that the hour-long trip to one of the work sites this Friday afternoon is enough to help his younger brother make sense of things. “So then let's go through each one. What exactly made you so upset that first time?”

“I guess it was just the thought that I wouldn’t put her first - that she’d keep things from me so I won’t worry, even if it’s at her expense. And that she wouldn’t put me first - that much as she’s who I run to for everything, it’s not the same with her. I think those hurt the most.”

Junghyun rests on the idea. Being the one person who knows you both so well, he can’t disagree more. 

“But you think of it differently. You approach things differently, Kook,” he starts.” That’s how she shows her love - trying to make things easy for you in whatever way, and then that’s how you show your love - running to her, giving her all your attention. They’re different but it doesn’t mean they’re wrong, it just means that there are other ways to love people, that there are ways we put people first. That’s yours, and that’s hers.”

Jungkook’s face relaxes and a small pout forms on his face, so Junghyun continues. 

“Don’t you see? Loving each other means you get to show each other that. That maybe, the instances where she brushes things off is her way of saying that she puts your comfort and peace of mind first, and the way you tell her every little thing is your way of showing that you want her involved in every little thing about your day. And both are totally fine, you just have to talk about it. And I know this has been incredibly hard for you but trust me - once you’ve talked about it, things will feel lighter. They’ll only get better from here.”

“But I can’t let her just brush things off if it’s about her health,” Jungkook counters. “You know that. I can’t let her think that it’s okay because it isn’t.”

“I know, and I think she’s realized that. I understand the frustration when it comes to her. Trust me, I’ve seen it,” the older man responds. “But that’s what you get from someone who’s wanted to stay out of the spotlight her whole life because she’d seen the challenges people went through for her, just to make sure she’s safe. She’s not a burden, we know that. But you get to show her that; that worrying about her doesn’t mean she’s a burden, that any difficulty on her end isn’t a burden. That any time she expresses what she feels isn’t a burden. Listen to her. If she says she’s fine, show her that you believe her. Show her that she can be honest without the consequences.”

Like a loose screw that’s finally been fixed, it all makes sense to Jungkook. Maybe it’s after yesterday’s conversation and the time he took for a bath last night that allowed him to think. Maybe it was imagining your smile in receiving the flowers and desserts and wanting so badly to see it. Or maybe it’s because it’s his brother, and Junghyun is the only person who knows you as well as he knows Jungkook, and that makes all the difference.

“You know her so well, don’t you?” Jungkook says now with a small smile, feeling much lighter than he did minutes ago. “I… I know there’s still a lot to learn about her and about me in relation to her. I guess I never really looked at it that way.”

“You were the rowdy kid who was always so hard to control, and it was easy to notice her discomfort around people while you had all the attention,” Junghyun chuckles. “I just learned to not panic when she’d talk to me, to not act like I know better, to not speak over what she’s feeling or what she thinks she needs. I never thought it was my place - I’m not her brother nor her best friend - and then I realized that’s exactly the person she needed me to be. She’s so much more than her sickness, you know that. So don’t let it be the thing that keeps you both apart.”

“I won’t,” Jungkook huffs. “Fuck it, I won’t.”

“Did the kids tire you?” Soyeon asks as she drives off from their place to drop you off at yours. “Sorry, I just needed someone to hang with them while I had my meeting. I hope it was okay.”

“Are you kidding me? I love spending time with the twins and see just how much they take after you,” you state. “I mean, we played house and I was the babysitter while Sunghoon was the gardener and Soojin was ‘working from home’ while talking to her ‘husband who’s on a business trip’ over the phone like… she was calling him sweetheart and stuff and it was so adorable but also kinda scary. I wouldn’t wanna cross that child. She’s feisty.”

“Yeah, Min-jun said to soften a little bit in front of them but I said that was his job,” your sister responds. “But they love me, said they wouldn’t change anything about me. They’re sweet, those rascals.”

“I think it has a lot to do with seeing Min-jun take all of you in and love you the way he does. It’s beautiful to see,” you smile. “But uh, does Soojin really have a husband who’s on a business trip or is she just copying that line from you?”

“Ah, her brother said she has a crush on this kid who’s on a vacation abroad and that was just her pretending. You know, normal kid stuff,” Soyeon laughs. 

“How is that normal? Were we play-pretending or have husbands at that age?” You exclaim.

“Yeah, we did. I mean, didn’t our parents drill into our minds that we had to have a family when we got older?” She rolls her eyes playfully. “It was just how our world always worked. I know I pretended Joon-ki was mine and you pretended yours was Jungkook. That was so cute.”

“What?!” You exclaim at what is clearly news to you. “I’ve never heard this story.”

“I just remembered it! You were around the twins’ age and we were playing house in the garden. We told you to call your husband and you whisper-yelled ‘Kookie,’” she narrates, her eyes growing with affection at the memory. “Oh my god, it's so clear to me again. That was the cutest thing! I asked Junghyun if Kook was minding you already and being sweet and he said no, but that he saw his brother drawing some flowers and then you told Junghyun that someone left you a drawing of flowers under your desk. He told us and we all got so giddy.”

Junghyun was the only person you told about that, and you didn’t know he shared it with anyone else. In the minds of pre-teens, which he and your sister and brother were then, perhaps it was something worth gushing over. In your innocent mind, you thought it was sweet, even if little Jungkook barely spoke to you during those times. You remember the older Jeon telling you that his little brother is like that - even if at times he seems aloof or distant, there’s a caring and sweet boy underneath, and it was something that always stuck with you.

Perhaps he never outgrew that side of him. Even if you broke his heart by keeping things from him - like when 4-year old you didn’t want to play in the playground - he’s still that same boy who’d send you flowers despite not wanting to talk to you. A small smile forms on your face at the thought. 

You and your sister spend the rest of the car ride talking about the games you played and growing up with the Jeons until you reach your place. You bid her goodbye and head straight to the bathroom, choosing a fresh scent for your bath to remind you of Jungkook. 

It’s 9PM by the time you get to bed, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep immediately so you could wake up to Saturday, and that means finally having your husband back. 

Recalling your growing up years gave you that warm feeling, especially as you thought back to how you and Jungkook just always circled around each other but never close enough to be anything more than childhood friends. There was always something special though, and now you’re both here, married and as in love as any 2 people can get. Even if that means spending days apart and not getting to hear his voice.

Right on cue, your phone rings and your heart leaps when his face shows up on your screen. He hasn’t called in days; Junghyun has said enough of all the meetings and troubleshooting that their father has been making them do, and it’s been hard to focus on anything else. He’s always been more graceful under pressure though, so he’s where you get your news about your husband from. 

But Jungkook video calling you is more than enough now. He’s still in his work attire with the hotel room in the background, so you think he just got back from dinner. His eyes look tired, and you can tell all he wants is to lay in bed and sleep.

Seeing him somehow hits you more than you imagined. There’s this incredible amount of love you feel for this man that you can’t even properly verbalize. Brush strokes and drawings don’t even seem to be enough sometimes, which is how you prefer to express things to him. 

At these moments when you’re overwhelmed with what you feel, whether it’s adoration or apology, you just want to hold him, feel him against your skin and trace his body with your fingers and hands and everything else. You want to map out his entirety with your lips. You want to look in his eyes so he can see the things you can’t say. 

You miss him so much you can cry. And you almost do. 

You adjust yourself on the bed so you can wipe away your lone tear. “Hey, honey. How are you?” You greet.

“Hey. Just came from another dinner meeting,” he replies. “Sorry I got to call just now. Going to bed already?

“No worries, Kook,” you smile. “And yeah. I want to sleep right away so I can wake up to you here tomorrow. Needy wife things,” you joke. “What time do you get back?”

“Oh, we have that investor’s meeting in the morning so probably around after lunch?” He replies, not missing the way your face falls a little. 

“Alright. I’ll keep myself busy in the morning, then.”

You nibble your lips to keep yourself from crying. The thought of waiting for more than 12 more hours before seeing him is making your heart ache, but you know it’s better than another day away. You just have to be patient, you think to yourself. Then you’ll apologize for whatever else you need to apologize for and resolve whatever else is keeping you both from going back to how things were before. You want him so badly, but all you do is hug the pillow - his pillow - tightly and imagine it’s him. 

“Okay,” he says softly. He lingers, as he just looks at you without saying anything else. “Now get some rest.”

“Okay,” you whisper back, savoring the way he looks. It’s as if time is suspended and you’re just gazing at each other.

He speaks first. “Goodnight, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” you answer, your voice getting stuck in your throat. You hope he doesn’t notice how close you are to losing it. 

You drop the call and let yourself cry on his pillow, his scent filling the space and giving you the comfort that you need. He’ll be home, you remind yourself. He’ll be home soon.

At a 23rd floor hotel room in Busan, Jungkook stares at his Home Screen photo of you. He’d seen you nibble your lips and dig your face on the pillow. You were close to crying again and he didn’t want to ask what happened, knowing that it might just prompt you to actually cry and he wouldn’t be there to comfort you.

But then again, you’re probably crying now and he still isn’t there. This is what hurts him more - knowing that you’re all alone when you’re letting yourself go. 

He doesn’t want another night of this - of you alone, of him holding back and missing you so badly. And like that string that constantly tugs on his heart to do something, he follows.

Jungkook calls his brother. “Move tomorrow’s meeting to lunch. I’m driving home tonight.”

The drive back to Seoul on a Friday night isn’t the best for someone who’s rushing to get home to his wife, but Jungkook still tries his best by speeding when he can and taking all the shortcuts he knows. It’s almost 1AM by the time he arrives, and he takes a deep breath as he opens the front door, knowing that he has to be as quiet as possible so as not to scare you, even if he wants to run up to your bedroom and kiss you crazy.

This whole week has been such a roller coaster of emotions for him, and from his brother’s words, to the call with you earlier, and all the moments in between, he’s left at the top - full of love and affection for you and he just wants to be able to tell you, show you.

Junghyun didn’t ask any more questions after the call; he just knew, and it’s the kind of support that Jungkook is grateful for.

He tiptoes up the stairs and turns on his bedside lamp, spotting the flowers that he sent the other day on your night table. You’re lying comfortably, sleeping soundly, wearing one of his loose university shirts. You’re on your side, your leg and arm around his pillow, and he smiles to himself; that’s how he sleeps when you’re away, too. 

He whispers your name. “Hey, babe. I’m here. I came home early. Can you wake up for me?”

He repeats the words a few more times before your eyes slowly open. 

You blink repeatedly as if to make sense of what you’re seeing, and when Jungkook says hey and shows you that smile you’ve missed so much, you realize it’s real. He’s real, and he’s home.

“Kook?” You ask, sitting up, taking in the work attire you just saw on the screen hours ago. “What are you doing here? You… you have a meeting in the morning.”

“I know,” he replies, sitting on the bed to face you. “I had it moved to lunch so I can drive home tonight. So I can be with you.”

“Why?” You croak. 

Your eyes are swollen, crusty. “Because I didn’t want you to cry alone.”

You’re caught off guard but you try to lie, even if you know he won’t buy it. “I… I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn away and that’s when a tear falls, one of many that you shed this whole week, and you’re not even a crier.

But Jungkook catches it, wipes it with his thumb and then cups your cheek as he moves closer to you. 

“I hate it when you cry,” he says, “even more when it’s because of me, and especially when I’m not around to hold you.”

You close your eyes and savor his touch. “I hate crying, too,” you whisper. “Please, Kook, please just hold me.”

“Baby, come here.”

He pulls you by your waist and onto his lap, and with his strength, he shifts to lean against the headboard so he can hug you even tighter. You find refuge in his neck and you take him in - his scent, his warmth, and the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. They’re what keep you from crying even harder, and both of you just sit there for a while, savoring being in each other’s arms again.

You finally pull away, wanting to see his face. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not calling, for the things I said, for being—”

“None of that, Kook,” you interject. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who does.”

“We both do,” he says. “We won’t be able to move on if you think it’s all on you. And I’m not perfect either. But it’s never just on one person. We share the burden, right? We share the responsibility, so that’s what we’ll do. I apologize and you let me, you apologize and I’ll let you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

You sit next to him on the bed with his arm still around your waist. You look at him as his free hand traces patterns on your bare thighs. 

“I’m sorry for the things I said and how I said them,” he starts. “I’m sorry for not listening to you and not trusting that you’d tell me the truth. I’m sorry for being distant. I just didn’t know what to say. I had these mixed emotions, you know? I love you so much but I was so upset and I couldn’t seem to get over it. Hyung told me that it’s normal, and I guess I’m new to this, you know? Obviously being married but also…” he trails, intertwining his fingers with yours now. “Just loving someone. I’ve never done it with anyone; I’ve never truly loved anyone before you. I always copped out when it got hard and tense, so I’m sorry for letting all that affect me, for letting it affect us.”

“Okay, Kook,” you reply, your eyes softening at his words. You kiss his hand before you speak. 

“And I’m sorry for keeping things from you, for not trusting you enough that you’d put me first,” you say. “It’s just my default state, I guess, but you’re my husband and these are things that I should be most honest with you about because my sickness doesn’t just affect me, it affects you, too. I’m sorry, for sometimes not being more forward about how I feel, for letting things just fall away because I don’t like confrontations. Those things scare me but I need to be braver, more honest, more trusting.”

“Okay,” he says this time, kissing your hand as well. “I also want to apologize for what I said, about us having kids. I didn’t mean for you to take it that you’re not ready because we haven’t gotten our communication skills all figured out yet. I don’t ever want you to think that you’re not ready because of that, because of what I said. Do you still feel that way?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It was a bandaid idea, I guess, agreeing with what you said just because I believed it would help us. I thought about it more and no, I don’t mean what I said.”

“Good,” he smiles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek. “Can we do that every time? Not dismiss what we want to apologize for and then talk about things openly? With trust and love?”

You nod, savoring the feel of him again. “And then we can kiss and make up?” 

“Of course,” he smirks. “That’s the next order of business.”

He pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, hot and heavy, turning needy in seconds. You both sigh into it at the same time, definitely missing each other’s tastes, having been without it for days. Your tongues fight for dominance and he wins, digging deep into you before exploring further and nibbling your lips as he enjoys the playful yet desperate way you both take each other in. 

It’s your turn to dominate after, pulling on the long strands of hair that frame his face, as if you want him closer than he’s physically able. You climb back on his lap, wanting nothing more than to eliminate the clothing in between. You hold onto kissing him for longer, even as you slow down once you start to lose breath, and he nudges your nose to get your attention.

“Hmm, needy wife things indeed,” he teases. 

You sit up and pout. “You didn’t mind me for days. I think I deserve to be needy.”

“Baby, you don’t need a reason to be. You know I like it when you are, it makes me hard.”

You snort, shifting a bit to feel that he is, indeed, semi-hard.

“So, then is making love to your needy wife the next order of business?”

“It is, but…” he says, making you pout again, and Jungkook has to restrain himself from taking you right then and there. He knows that just like him, you want to express things through your bodies, and he wants it to be perfect. “I’ve been out all day and I smell like yakiniku because that’s what we had for dinner.”

“You smell perfect,” you shake your head, already unbuttoning his top, slowly revealing his toned chest and immediately kissing it.

“Thanks for the ego boost, babe, but seriously. I need a bath so I can be all clean and take you until we fall asleep. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Fine,” you sigh, facing him then getting off his lap. You know he’s right, though. His stamina would let you go on all night until you both fall asleep, and you know he likes his bath. It’s a good thing he looks best after it.

He chuckles as he gets off the bed, smirking when he sees you bite your lips the moment he undoes the rest of his buttons and removes his polo. With his messy long hair, tattooed arm, and bare torso against his black slacks, Jungkook looks like the perfect husband. 

“Don’t miss me too much,” he teases, stealing another kiss before running to the bathroom.

You laugh at his antics, and much as you want him right now, you also welcome the bit of time you have to process what happened, to take everything in, and let go of all your worries.

He came home, drove 4 hours from Busan to get to you so you wouldn’t be alone, so he could apologize, so you don’t have to wait until tomorrow to see him. The way he loves you is so sure, contrary to what he may think. The way he loves you is the only way you want to be loved. 

You hear the shower turn off and you call out to him. “Kook, are you done?”

“Coming!” He yells, and you feel like a giggly love struck girl as you lie on the bed. 

He exits the bathroom and stands before the bed, wet hair pushed back with droplets of water still hanging on his body. He’s completely naked, and you squeeze your thighs at the heavenly sight.

“Why is this still on?” He asks as he hovers over you and tugs your - his - shirt. 

“So you can take it off,” you smirk, and the way the playfulness in Jungkook’s eyes turns to pure desire is hypnotic. 

His hands start on your lower legs, his fingers ghosting over the skin before he reaches the hem of your top. He grips it then pulls it over your head, taking in the sight of you bare underneath him. His eyes map your body, and you feel the shiver as they do. His effect on you is immediate, something that he feels himself once his thigh slots in between your legs and you can’t help but jerk and rub against him.

“Wet already?” He smirks.

You nod in response. “It’s been a while.”

“I know. There’s a lot of stored energy now.”

You gush over his teasing. Typical of him, including sounding like it’s a threat. 

His hand moves to your cheek, cupping it before his thumb traces your lower lip, teasing you even more. 

You slowly lick the tip before taking his digit in your mouth, sucking like you know he wants you to, and you can’t help but moan at the act. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls. 

He retrieves his wet thumb and then uses it to trace circles on your pert nipple. You close your eyes as you feel the tension slowly build, and you can’t wait for what’s to come.

Liking your reaction, he hums, then goes ahead to attack your neck, nibbling and licking as he wishes. He knows just how to work your sensitive spot there, causing you to grind harder against his thigh. You feel it tighten, bracing itself for your beating.

Jungkook moves to your shoulder, softly kissing the skin there, and then trailing down your chest. He gazes at the tiger lily tattoo in the middle like he always does, humming once he makes it to your free breast. With his fingers on one and his mouth on the other, you feel like you could explode any minute. Once your grinding gets erratic, he slows down.

“Wait, baby. You can’t do strenuous activities, right? Is sex considered strenuous?” He furrows his brows. 

“Well, that depends on the sex. I have the stamina of a normal person, I don’t know about you,” you chuckle. 

“I’ll go slow, then.”

“Or… you can go however you like and I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” you counter. “Trust me?”

“Trust you,” he smiles, shifting his body now as he continues to kiss down your torso. 

He feels the shivers on your skin and the way you’re panting, and he’s barely even done anything. The wet patch on your silk undies makes him hum in satisfaction, and much as he wants to tease you further, he also can’t wait himself - to taste you, to feel all of you. 

Jungkook slowly removes your last piece of clothing. You meet his eyes the moment he licks a strip on your cunt, and you see that familiar look of lust and adoration. 

He repeats his movement with a bit of variation each time - swirling on your bud, sucking, licking the lips, teasing your hole. You slowly get lost in the feel of his tongue on your skin, and you know you want more.

“Inside me please, Kook,” you pant, eyes closed as he now licks the back of your thighs while he thumbs your aching clit. “Want you so much.”

He removes himself from your pussy, facing you now with his slick-stained mouth and chin. He makes a show of wiping your essence off his face then licking his fingers. “Don’t want to waste it,” he always says. 

Taking your cheek in his hand, he kisses you again. There’s this fervent way he does it, like he gets completely lost when his mouth is on yours. It’s messy and needy but loving just the same. 

You feel his incredibly hard dick against your tummy, and you whisper once more. “Please.”

He removes himself from you and gets on his knees. He spreads out your thighs, presenting him with a view that sends shockwaves through him once more. You’re glimmering and throbbing, and he can only hope he doesn’t go too hard and hurt you in the process.

Lifting your ass a little, Jungkook puts a pillow underneath and finds the perfect angle with you elevated like this. With your legs bent on the side, he slowly makes his way in. You both watch in a daze as his cock slides perfectly inside your cunt, disappearing before he pulls back and pushes against you once more. 

You feel him so deep within you, and with this angle, he’s hitting the exact spot you want him to. But as you look up at him, you see the view that makes you go absolutely feral. 

His damp hair has slightly curled. It gets to his face so he combs it back. With his head tilted, you see the sight of his gorgeous neck, down to his chest and his pert nipples that you can’t wait to nibble on. Your eyes move to the line in the middle of his torso, his abs taut and so pronounced; the way his hips move shows his v-line in action, and you moan when he pushes deeper after he sees where you’re focused on.

“Like that, baby?” He smirks.

“Yes. Keep going, please.”

He follows, gripping your thighs tighter to secure your body as he pushes with more fervor this time. He tilts his head back again and bites his lower lip, clearly liking the feel of you as he mouths curses every time. 

The tattoos decorating his one arm is beautiful. The colors pop out and they come to life when he moves. It’s contrasted by his other arm - fair, smooth, dotted by beauty marks. The lines that form when he flexes makes you lose it even more, and with his rough hands spreading you apart and his moans of how tight and perfect you are, the tension slowly builds until you’re reaching your peak.

“Close, Kook. I’m close.”

He heeds your call and knows exactly what to do. He removes the pillow and lays you flat on your back, your legs now flushed against your chest as Jungkook comes closer. His mouth meets yours once again as he thrusts even harder, deeper inside of you. You moan into the kiss and you’re hypnotized. There are tears in your eyes as you take all of him in, even more when his lips move to your neck, and he licks and kisses your sensitive spot that has you keening. 

You rarely curse but the words echo in your head. It’s filled with him and his touch and his moans and you feel that familiar coil in your belly. You’re so close, and when your mouth opens with no sound coming out, Jungkook knows it, too. So he drags himself inside you, letting you feel all of it. 

“You’re so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re so good,” he groans. “Keep taking it, yeah?”

You moan your yes but you don’t know if any sound comes out.

Jungkook feels you tighten around his cock, so he lifts himself a little so he could fondle your breast, knowing it gets you even more going. You feel the sensation intensify, and with his movements combined, you let out a scream that accompanies your release. 

It’s so good, and it feels like it’s not ending. You feel yourself get wetter and wetter, and the journey after the high feels slower. 

“Kook, honey. Come for me, please,” you heave. “I want to feel your cum inside me. I want that, baby.”

Jungkook goes feral at your words, as you plead for him to empty himself inside you. So he thrusts even harder, faster, losing his rhythm as he just follows what his body wants. He’s reaching even deeper, and you pull on his hair to get him to come closer.

You know what gets him going, so you make sure your voice reaches his ears. 

“You fuck me so well, baby,” you pant, knowing that the rare times you’re vulgar turns him on even more. “You feel so good inside me, so hard and so good. You’re mine, baby. And I’m yours.”

“Fuuuuck, baby. Fuck, you sound so good,” he whines. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Just keep going, I can take it. I can take all of you,” you moan again. “I want all of you, want to feel your hot cum inside me.”

His thrusts are sloppy, and you feel his body quivering as he nears his peak. You lick his mouth before whispering, “I love you, Kook. I love you so much.” Then you kiss him, let your tongue explore inside him, and it’s when he tightens his hold on your body that you know he’s reached it.

You feel the spurts of his essence inside you, hot and thick as he keeps going. He slows down his thrusts as he comes down, breathing heavily.

“I love you,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. There’s all the love and adoration and care that you’ve missed. 

“Say it again, please,” you whisper back.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you. So much.”

You hold his gaze before you ask for the last time. “Again.”

He searches your eyes briefly before he answers once more, slowly this time. “I love you.”

You find yourself in Jungkook’s arms once again. He’d just cleaned you up and he pulled you close to him right after lying back in bed. For the past weeks of barely kissing you, he’s making up for it now, as he pecks your lips every few seconds, as if he wants to fall asleep doing exactly that. 

He cradles your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek and you, smiling as you savor his touch. 

You’re so beautiful like this, he thinks to himself, when there’s just love and adoration in your eyes. He doesn’t think he fully deserves it after the way he’s treated you, but honesty and forgiveness are so powerful, he’s realized now. It’s how you got to face each other again; it’s how you got to bare yourselves once more and show how much you love each other way more than words. 

But the way you told him to say he loves you sticks with him. So he asks. 

“Did what happened make you doubt how much I love you?” He whispers. “Did I do that?”

“No, Kook,” you smile. “I just wanted to hear it. It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouts. “I wasn’t sure I could say it wholeheartedly when I was still upset.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. 

“No, it’s not. That’s when you need to hear it the most,” he says dejectedly. “When we aren’t in a good place, that’s when I need to tell you. That even if I’m upset and hurt, I still love you. Because I do. I know that now. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” you say softly. “We have to learn how to talk and say what we feel, ask space respectfully if we want it. And assure each other all the time.”

“We will,” he hums. “I… I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t want you. I’m so sorry for that, baby. I promise you, I won’t do that ever again.”

You nod, falling short of words. So you kiss him deeply to let him know that it’s okay, that you forgive him, and that you’ll both be alright again.

It’s a kiss that says so much more, and Jungkook knows this. He returns it just as passionately, until the moans come and both your hands travel to places, mapping out each other’s bodies once more. Your lips draw patterns on his chest, on his torso, leaving marks all over his neck. 

Jungkook takes you again, much gentler this time, with nothing but soft moans and your heaving breaths echoing in your moonlit bedroom. You both keep your eyes open as you meet each other’s thrusts. You hope he sees in your eyes all the adoration and forgiveness and promises that you see in his. 

Jungkook’s eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen. 

And everyday you thank the universe that it allowed you to live long enough to see them gaze at you with so much love. 

“Baby,” he calls out after settling down from both your highs. “I know you’re tired but… would you like to go to Busan with me tomorrow? It’s a long drive for a lunch meeting and I want to be with you as much as possible.”

“That sounds nice, honey,” you perk up. “I think lunch by the beach is what I need. I’ve missed the ocean so much.”

“Okay, then. We need to leave early, though. Let’s pass by your favorite cafe for take out breakfast,” he smiles.

“Okay,” you say, kissing him. “Goodnight, Kook.”

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

Busan at this time of the year is beautiful. There’s something about the cold air and chilly breeze from the ocean that oddly makes it feel warmer for you. It reminds you a lot about growing up - hanging by the beach while you watch the other kids play, smelling the flowers that you see, drinking warm drinks while the seagulls call out to each other. 

You rarely come home but when you do, it’s nostalgic, especially as you recall a little Kookie running around, restless and always looking for something to do. 

You lean against Jungkook’s chest as he sits behind you, watching the mid-afternoon sun over the water. You walked here after he dropped you off at a nearby cafe, and you’ve been glued to your book since then. Your husband had just finished his meeting and he came here right away.

“I missed home,” you say, closing your eyes to savor the surroundings. “Everything almost looks the same but we’ve changed. It’s nice to be back here.”

Jungkook hums and gets lost in his thoughts. He remembers growing up and running around the beaches, playing all the water sports he can, getting lost in the side streets, and rollerblading through the alleys. 

He remembers avoiding you, although he admits the few times that he tried to get your attention secretly, quietly. It was weird then, he thinks now. You broke his heart at 4 years old when you rejected his offer to play at the playground and he thought of stopping trying to be your friend. He succeeded most of the time, but a small part of him still wanted you around somehow; a part of him wanted your attention, wanted you to know what he was doing, what he was good at - whether it’s drawing, playing soccer, or making friends. 

It’s funny to think that over a decade after moving away, he’s back here as your husband. And you’re right. Not much has changed but both of you have. It’d be nice to revisit all those places of your childhood. You did mention wanting to create new memories, after all.

“We should spend a week here, then. What do you think?” He says. “I’ll negotiate with Father. Maybe spend a day or a half at the office, get some work done from home while you’re painting or something, but we can visit our grandparents, our school, the places we used to go to. What do you think?”

“Ah, I like that, Kook,” you turn to him with a smile. “Let’s come back here and make new memories.”

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[ririya-translates]

Soshiro Yonaga's Story

For his birthday on May 15th, I translated Sou's pre-release short story (original) written by Shin Towada (lead scenario writer) with concept art by the artist Lownine. No real spoilers as it takes place before the newcomers' performance as usual. I opted to keep some honorifics in this one between Sou and Kisa just because I couldn't find a good solution around that in the time I had for this. Hopefully it doesn't read too out of place.

That day we shared a dream together, and even now I'm still in it. --Where is this? His field of vision opens abruptly. Warm rays of sunlight fall gently at his feet. Unable to grasp the situation, he looks around at his surroundings. A single torii gate beckons him. Beyond the gate lies a sleepy shrine nodding off to sleep. Memories come to Soshiro Yonaga's mind at the sight of it. "Sou-chan!" As soon as he connects this place to his memories, he hears the voice of a child ring out. Yonaga's body jumps inside as it takes in the sound of that affectionate nickname again. Reliving it in his mind, he sees three kids racing towards him. The one running in the lead is a wide-eyed adorable girl. And right behind her is a boy a couple years older. A boy with a refined beauty who quite resembles the girl. Trailing behind them is the sort of typical boy you'd find anywhere, running with all his might. --That's me. Yonaga instinctively takes in a breath. And with that breath comes a deep understanding. This is a dream. He's watching a dream of the distant past. "Sou-chan! C'mon hurry up, let's play pretend!" The girl takes the young Yonaga's hand. --…chan Yonaga calls out the girl's name, but the voice does not come out. The kids pass him by, dashing through the gate towards the shrine. --Hey, wait…! Trying to chase after them, Yonaga also passes through the torii gate. The moment he does, the figures of the three kids go dim, as if being mocked by his own mind. Not just the kids, but the gate, the shrine, even Yonaga himself starts to disappear. "Okay, you play the lead today Sou-chan!" The only thing left is the children's playful voices. --Wait. "Please, wait!!" Yonaga shouts. He realizes he's in bed with his hand stretched up into the air like in the beginning of a story. "Ah…" Light shines through a crack in the curtain. Vrr, vrr--his morning phone alarm urges him out of bed. It's morning. "Ugh…" He rubs his eyes to avoid facing it, feeling a bit embarrassed about his hand stretched towards the empty air. He's at Univeil Drama School as one of the new first-years of the Quartz class. "I've gotta get out of bed." Another day begins.

He sluggishly finishes getting ready, shoves down some breakfast from the dorm cafeteria, and then heads off to school a little late. "Um…." At Univeil, the mornings consist of rigorous study of a wide variety of topics pertaining to theatre under the expert faculty. Students are permitted to choose their own courses, meaning that those in the same class wouldn't all study the same subjects. Knowing this, Yonaga scans the classroom thoroughly. (Ah…) There's a student of short stature with a delicate frame who demonstrates a strength of will like no one else. It's the same person from the dream, the childhood friend he used to play pretend with. And now they're assigned to the same class in the same grade. "Morn-" "Class is starting now" Unfortunately the teacher appears before he can hardly open his mouth. Despite his interest being on his friend, the class mercilessly continues. He rushes in to take his seat, stealing one last glimpse before focusing on the lesson. After the morning lessons crammed full of new things to learn, time moves into the afternoon. Quartz class rehearsals start from this point onwards. Students from all years gather in the rehearsal room. They're practicing for the newcomers' performance planned for the end of May. "Okay, okaaay, now let's run through everything again so far!" (Neji) As a place that recognizes independence, Univeil Drama School has come to revolve around its performances and students. Kokuto Neji is the class leader directing Quartz. He's a genius, handling everything from the scripts to the stage. "All you older students, watch the first-years carefully to help them out." Neji energetically gives out directions. "Okay then, all the Jeannes come over here," says Quartz's Al Jeanne, Sarafumi Takashina, as he steps forward. He always acts friendly towards everyone, but the overwhelmingly brilliant flowering aura he radiates makes Yonaga nervous just standing next to him. And Fumi isn't the only one like this. There's also Kai Mutsumi, the Jack Ace with a diligent expression who leads the Jacks, and Mitsuki Shirota, the tresor who gives out his opinions on songs without an ounce of intimidation from Neji. And then there's Neji who brings everyone together to propel them further and further forward. Just these people alone make quite the impression. Yonaga's anxiety reaches a point where he questions if it's even okay for someone like him to be standing here right now. And he seems far from the only new student feeling the pressure.

"…Okay everyooone, let's take a break!" The second after hearing Neji's order, the first-years collapse to sit down with worn-out expressions. Yonaga also takes in a big breath as if trying to quench a dry throat. But there's a few in the group acting differently. "Hey, Orimaki's dancing with someone." Suzu Orimaki. Yonaga instinctively searches the room for a certain person. The noisy pounding in his chest gives him a feeling of who it might be. (Ah…) The one facing Suzu as a dance partner is Yonaga's same childhood friend. Suzu likely asked her so they could try out what they had practiced in rehearsal. She-- That's right, she's a girl. His female childhood friend is here at Univeil, the school where boys play all the male and female roles. She enrolled at the all-boys school while hiding her gender. "All right, let's do it!" "Yeah!" She and Suzu exchange words then she takes his hand to begin the dance. The two of them have no stage experience so there's a lot of rough patches. Yet even so, there's something about them that captures people's attention. "Hmm, these two stand out." As their class lead, Neji watches the pair with great interest whilst muttering to himself. Fumi standing next to him agrees and says, "They sure do. I haven't had a chance to see Orimaki dance yet, but he really stands out in whatever he does. Doesn't he, Kai?" "…It's because the other one is so good at supporting him." Kai's eyes focus on the girl dancing with Suzu.

"That's typically a Jack's role," Shirota grumbles with an exasperated expression. Still, the third-years seem to have come to a consensus. "Well…the two of them do have good chemistry though." These words stab Yonaga deep in the chest. They're sharp at first before turning into a dull lasting ache. (I need some water.) Giving himself an excuse to leave the practice room, he starts chugging water like it's his job. But no matter how much he drinks, it's never enough to quench the thirst.

Practice continues as the sun quietly sets and the lights on the school grounds are lit. Neji finally declares that practice is over. The trio of Yonaga, Suzu, and the childhood friend all leave the practice room together. "Whew, I'm beat!" Despite his words, Suzu still seems full of energy. A single nod takes everything for Yonaga to muster, both his legs and his eyelids feeling heavy. "But the upperclassmen are amazing, aren't they?" Suzu says while thinking back on their practice. "The perfect way they sing, dance, and act…and them guiding us. When I see that sorta thing I think…." Suzu's face becomes suddenly determined. "I think there's no way we can lose!" Suzu's burning excitement chills Yonaga's body to the point of shivering. This guy just started here on the same day, at the same time, and should have the same amount of experience yet he seems to live in an entirely different world. Yonaga reflexively steals another glance at his childhood friend. She has a gentle expression as she listens intently to Suzu. He doesn't know what she's thinking but she's definitely in this other world too. He thinks back on the dream he had today. That distant memory where he once stood by her side in the story's lead role. The girl walking by his side now is still living within that dream. "…Sou-chan, what's wrong?" She asks after seeing Yonaga's expression fade and go silent. "Oh, you all right? Practice sure was tough today huh?" Suzu turns his head and looks at Yonaga with concern. "Oh uh, I-I'm okay! I'm just hungry, that's all." "Yeah I feel ya." Their conversation continues meandering along. It's more comfortable like this. As he listens to Suzu talk, Yonaga looks at his friend in a way that's become a habit. "….!" And as he does, their eyes meet. Perhaps she's still feeling concern for Yonaga. He manufactures a smile to try to hide it. Then questions if he's doing it right.

[syn4k]

So what you're saying... is that... it gets better? Please?

bro. Bro. Look into my eyes. I am putting my hands on your shoulders. Let me tell you something:

It gets so much better.

those three words go from a prayer, a desperate promise you whisper to yourself over and over at night when all your worlds are collapsing around you and you're curled up in a shaking ball under the blankets to something that you can see, something you can touch with your fingers and press yourself gently against as a soft proof.

at the start, that proof arrives in little moments, little beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds. everything is tedium and fear and ragged monochrome survival until you perk up at the smell of cinnamon floating from the kitchen one morning and with that little bit of increased awareness you notice the softness of your shirt and the familiarity of the room you kept yourself pent up in like a feral tiger in a cage. it doesn't quite feel real, nothing really does at that point, but still you linger on it out of habit if nothing else. you keep your eyes open for the next little bit of color, find yourself yearning for it, and that yearning and the glimpse of a kinder world right beyond your fingers (so close!) keeps you going until the next one.

and the next.

and the next.

until you're in the middle of hell again and you realize with a small burst of surprise that over time, you've memorized the patterns of attack your brain takes against you. you start to think about the why and when of it instead of the how. and with that knowledge you sidestep and dodge out of there before you're left bleeding and broken on the floor again.

it's kind of like that, you know? it's a complicated process. it doubles back on itself and it snarls and it bites and it's annoying and it's brutal. but its progress and a necessary evil, and you know it for what it is, so you keep stubbornly going on in time after time, chasing after that one hope: it gets better.

and then eventually you blink and it's been months maybe years and the things that used to come hard to you, the fighting and the forging on, have become as easy and natural as breathing through time and practice. the bandaid's come off and the wound underneath- still raw, still aching, still healing- is far less tender than it used to be.

and you no longer have to make the conscious decision to be gentle to yourself. and the sunrises that you used to hate because they meant that you had to suffer through another day shine a whole new color of gold- did they always used to be that bright? and when someone laughs you take that little molten kernel of joy and eat it hungrily piping hot like a star and find that it's part of a new constellation you've been piecing together inside of yourself out of scraps and spare wire and tears and blood and spit and desperation. and when you are tired you lie down to rest and let yourself be gentle.

its not a sudden thing. in fact, 98% of the time you spend getting better you're too busy focusing on everything else to realize it. but you start to live it and become it instead of just holding onto it as a lifeline. and when you finally see it, or a glimpse of it, you have to laugh despite everything because damn, it's been there the whole time! it's been there for months!

you know how in the start of the wizard of oz in kansas dorothy's whole life is in greyscale and when she opens the door and steps out suddenly the whole damn world is in color vision? it's like that. everything is so bright that it almost blinds you and its so much joy out of nowhere that you really just go around picking it like flowers before you really start to settle into this strange new life and get to know the place. the softness of a blanket. laughing like an idiot over something stupid with friends. the way the wind smells when you go out for a walk, so fresh and pure that when you inhale through your nose it makes your lungs ache. little things like that.

so yeah i can tell you with certainty that it gets better and it is fucking BEAUTIFUL.

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 11 - I REALLY THOUGHT I LOST YOU

Synopsis: Thranduil lost his Queen. Now they all have to deal with it.

Word count: 2k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: Dealing with loss

Additional stuff: This is a super sad chapter and it took me a very long time to write it. Sorry. BUT. In honour of me finishing my degree, here you have it. There are 4 more chapters coming your way. Maybe there will be smut again.

Link to the chapter overview

That was the night I nearly lost you I really thought I lost you - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

After finding out what had happened, Celebrían did not talk to Elrond for weeks. If he had known it all along, why hadn’t he done something? Celeborn did not talk to Galadriel for months, remaining behind in Lasgalen alone while the Lady and their army returned to Loríen. She had been their daughter. Galadriel could have stopped it all. Why hadn’t she done anything? Thranduil did not speak a single word to either of them for many years. In fact, he barely talked to anyone. He did not leave his chambers for days. Did not eat, did not sleep. The king just laid there all alone in the darkness, his face pressed against the pillow on which his wife’s head had rested just such a short time ago.

Anarríma had been dead for a week when he thought he could not take it any longer. Why her? Why his Anarríma? “You are a cruel God, Ilúvatar,” he cursed amid the tears, “what monster would take a mother away from her child?” Thranduil dragged a hand over his face. Her blood was still all over him. “Take me. I beg you, take me, I cannot live without her.” The king fell to his knees sobbing violently. If the Valar had allowed Beren, a mere mortal, a second chance at life with the one he loved, even at the cost of immortality, why would they not grant it to her? “Bring her back. Take me instead if you must but please. Please. Bring her back.” Soft skin brushed his cheek. “Meleth nin. You know it does not work that way.”

Thranduil’s head whipped around. She stood there, shining like sunlight amidst all his darkness. As she always had, smiling down at him sadly. “Ana,” he whispered almost inaudibly. “Thranduil I need you to promise me something.” He tried to reach for her hand but he could not move. Was this what dying felt like? Had the gods answered his prayers? “Anything my love. Anything.” “You have to take care of Legolas. He needs you. You have to be there for him, you have to raise him and you have to tell him that I loved him. With all my heart I loved him.” Thranduil tried to get up, to go to her, to wipe the tears off her face, but he could not. “I can’t do this without you, Ana,” he confessed. She walked towards the door. “I know. But you have to.”

Thranduil awoke on a sunny morning, curled up on the floor. The pain in his entire body had dulled somehow. He sighed. The gods would not let him go to her. She would not let him go to her. ‘Fine, I will play your game,’ he thought to himself and rose from the ground with a loud sigh. He dragged himself to the bathroom daring a glimpse in the mirror. He had never looked worse. Thranduil could not possibly face anyone in that condition. He bathed. He washed his hair. He got dressed. His guards immediately stood at attention, startled by their king’s sudden appearance outside of his chambers catching them by surprise. Thranduil did not know where Legolas was or who was with him, having closed himself off from the entire world for over a week, but he knew that he would find him. And he did.

Celeborn was cutting up a slice of bread with butter into smaller pieces for the little Prince in the garden whilst Legolas was running around barefoot on the grass trying to catch a butterfly. Thranduil said nothing. He just sat down next to his father in law, who offered him a chunk of bread. Thranduil took it. “Is she still here?” Celeborn shook his head. “She returned home with her army.” “Her army?” Celeborn huffed a laugh. “I don’t know if there is an ‘us’ anymore after what happened.” Thranduil reluctantly ate the bread.

When Legolas noticed his father he ran up to him immediately. “Ada!” he jumped into his father’s arms so forcefully he knocked them both to the ground. Thranduil landed in the grass, Legolas on top of him, holding on to his father as much as his little hands allowed. “Ada I missed you,” he said. Thranduil choked back the tears. He had failed his son. ‘Forgive me, Ana. I will try to be better,’ he thought to himself. “I am sorry my little leaf, I was not feeling well. But I am here now and I promise I am not going away again.” The King of the Greenwood sat down next to Celeborn again, Legolas still in his arms. “Were you not feeling well because of Nana?”

Thranduil was glad his son could not see his face at that moment. He looked over at Celeborn, helpless. His father in law did not look much better than he probably did, swollen red eyes and a deep sadness that would never really go away. How had he managed it? How had he been able to care for Legolas amidst all this grief when Thranduil had not even managed to sleep? ‘You don’t get to lie to him,’ his eyes seemed to say, and Thranduil agreed. He owed it to his son. To his wife. To Celeborn. “Yes little leaf. Because of her.” “I miss her too, Ada. So much. But she will come back to us! Grandfather said she could!”

“She will be free to return to us,” Celeborn took over, “one day. But that day is still far in the future, Legolas. Your mother fought very bravely and now she needs time to heal. It will take many centuries until she is well enough to leave the Halls of Mandos. The next time you see her, you will be all grown up.” “But that is too long!” Legolas complained. “Why can we not visit her in the Halls of Mandos?” Thranduil tried to fight against the tears in his eyes. A battle he lost. “My little leaf, that is simply not possible. We have a duty to our people. I am their King and you are their Prince. Even if we were able to reach the Halls, we could never leave this place.”

Thranduil would remember little of this conversation and those days of grief in later years. But he would never forget what Celeborn had done for him. Would never forget his own failure. From that day on, no matter how great the pain, he pushed through. For his son. For his people. For her. If she returned from the Halls of Mandos one day, tens of thousands of years in the future, how could he possibly face her? He went to Celeborn one day and said to him “it does not matter what she did. She is your wife and you love her. Cherish the time you have together.”

The night before he was supposed to leave Lasgalen, Celeborn slept fitfully. He was anxious about his reunion with Galadriel. The Lord of Loríen did not know how he would react to seeing her again. A flickering light in the corner of his eye woke him up in the middle of the night. She was sitting on the bed with him. He could feel the weight of her hands in his. Celeborn stared at his daughter in disbelief. “Hello Ada.” She smiled softly. “Anarinya? What are you doing here?” Celeborn wanted to sit up, to hold his daughter in his arms once more, but he could not. “I have come to thank you for taking care of my son. And to say goodbye.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “Anarinya how is this possible? How are you here?”

A playful smile crossed her face. He remembered that smile. He had not seen it in a long time. “Let’s just say the Valar now know who they are dealing with.” “I don’t understand,” Celeborn looked at her in bewilderment. “I will explain it to you one day. Give it a few thousand years, Ada.” “Anarinya what are you talking about?” How could she know the future? She rose from the bed and kissed him on the cheek. “We will meet again, I promise. Please try to forgive Ammë, she had no choice. Goodbye Ada, I will miss you.” He tried to catch her hand, stop her from walking away but he could not move. “Anarinya?” he called after her as she walked towards the door. She stopped and turned. “Will it be worth it?” The Queen of Lasgalen did not answer his question. “Things are now in motion that cannot be undone,” she said solemnly and disappeared.

“Legolas.” A whisper, nothing more. The little Prince stirred in his sleep. “I love you so much my little leaf. I will love you until the stars go dark and the ruins of Numenor rise from the seas.” The woman bent down to kiss the little boy’s forehead. “Your path will not be an easy one, Legolas. But I promise, it will all be worth it in the end. Namarië my little leaf. Namarië.”

several centuries later

“Legolas!” Thranduil called from the balcony. The young elf walked hastily towards his father. “A beautiful night, Ada, is it not? The stars have not been so bright in quite some time.” He was right, they seemed to shine twice as bright tonight and there were no clouds in the sky. “Especially those over there,” the Prince continued, “what constellation is that, Ada?” Thranduil followed the direction his son was pointing in. He downed the remainder of his wine before answering his son. “Anarríma.”

Legolas squinted his eyes in thought. “That name,” he mused, “I think I have heard it before. It sounds so familiar but I can’t quite place it.” Thranduil looked at his son. The older Legolas got, the more his hair turned from the silvery blond he got from his father, into the warm golden locks of his mother. He had her eyes too. A constant reminder to Thranduil that he had failed to protect his wife. She had been a formidable fighter, but ultimately not good enough. Thranduil turned to leave the balcony. “I expect you to attend your archery training tomorrow morning. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Good night, Ada.” Legolas stayed there, leaning against the wall staring up into the sky. Thranduil turned his gaze once more toward his son, who was deep in thought trying to remember. How could something be so familiar and yet so distant? Anarríma felt like destiny. Like comfort. And yet every time he reached for it, it was gone. Replaced by a seemingly infinite darkness he did not dare touch. Thranduil sighed. It broke his heart to see him like this. He had made the decision a long time ago. Try to forget, so Legolas would not miss his mother so much. Maybe he had been wrong? “Legolas,” he called out once more, “she was your mother.”

It came back to him then. Falling asleep in his mother’s arms, his head tucked under her chin. Chasing her through a meadow with flowers so bright it seemed unnatural, her laughter. And how much she loved him. Until the stars go dark and the ruins of Numenor rise from the seas.

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[innerpalaces]

THE PRINCESS WEI YANG - 175 PART 2

CHAPTER 175: Glimpse

The visitor had an elegant and handsome appearance, wearing a four-piece serpent robe, with a string of dragon jade tokens tied with ruyi tassels around his waist. In the sunlight, ten eastern  pearls can be seen trembling slightly on his crown, shining brightly. In the midst of the wealth, there was also a refined and elegant air, making it clear he came from a famous family. He seemed to have arrived in a hurry, with beads of sweat hanging on his forehead. Despite this, he did not lose any of his natural nobility and grace. He saw tears all over Madam Guo's face and in an instant, he felt as if he had been stabbed through the heart. His face became extremely pale. He strode in, supported her and said, "Madam, what are you doing? Why are you here?" As he spoke, he stared at Mother Song angrily, "Madam is not in good health, who allowed you to take her out?!"

Mother Song was obviously very afraid of the visitor, so she knelt down and said: "My lord, your servant ... this servant has no choice"

"Humph!" They were all useless. They can't even take care of his wife! Guo Su, Duke of Qi, was extremely worried about his wife. He hugged her tightly in his arms and looked at her with concern. However, Madam Guo seemed not to have seen him and just stared at Li Wei Yang. Only then did Guo Su notice that there was a young girl sitting opposite his wife, with a delicate appearance and elegant temperament. A thought suddenly appeared in his mind, and he said: "Could it be that you--" What could make his wife lose her composure like this? Yes, could it be... He almost didn't dare to think about it anymore, but there was already a faint excitement in his eyes.

Li Wei Yang was afraid that there would be another misunderstanding, so she immediately said: "Sorry, Madam Guo seems to have misunderstood that I am her daughter. It should be because of this string of beads..." She said, about to explain clearly. Unexpectedly, Madam Guo broke away from Guo Su's arms, stepped forward and pulled Li Wei Yang 's sleeves, and begged: "Jia'er, go back with your mother, okay? Don't talk that nonsense again -"

Who is talking nonsense? Li Wei Yang has never encountered this kind of situation. If it were in the past, she would have thrown away this crazy lady and turned around and left. But the other party was the wife of the Duke of Qi. If she didn't want to cause more trouble, she had to explain the matter clearly.

"Madam! Let go first!" Guo Su saw Li Wei Yang 's embarrassment and whispered, "She has already said that she is not our daughter, so what's the use of being so entangled? You will scare people. Let go, okay?" The voice sounded like pleading. However, he turned around and shouted angrily at Mother Song: "Have you given madam her medicine today?"

Mother Song said tremblingly: "Madam took the medicine before she went out early in the morning..."

Guo Su frowned. He twisted his wife's body hard and said loudly: "Xianglan, this is not our daughter!" Madam Guo turned to look at him, her voice was extremely sad and hurt: "I don't care! She is Jia'er, she must be Jia'er! I saw the Buddhist beads with my own eyes, she is my daughter! You owe me, this is what you owe me. If it weren't for your negligence, how could we have lost Jia'er? Give me my daughter back!"

Guo Su's face suddenly turned pale, his pupils flashed with light, and he stood on the ground like he had been nailed in place, silent and motionless...

"I will never let anyone separate me and Jia'er!" Madam Guo shook him off and grabbed Li Wei Yang hard, almost scratching her arm. The force was so strong that Li Wei Yang suddenly frowned. Guo Su looked at this scene sadly, unable to say a word.

Mother Song quickly came up to coax her: "Madam, please let go of young miss first. She won't leave, right? Miss, you will always be with Madam!" 

Mother Song winked at Li Wei Yang. Li Wei Yang frowned, but seeing the frighteningly persistent look in Madam Guo's eyes, she nodded slightly and said, "Yes, I'm not leaving." 

Madam Guo's brows relaxed, and Mother Song quickly continued: "Madam, did you hear that? She's not leaving. Come on, let go, her arms are all bruised by you!"

Madam Guo glanced blankly, then suddenly let go of her hand as if she had been burned, and murmured nervously: "Jia'er, I'm sorry, mom didn't mean it - does it hurt?"

Guo Su said nothing until Madam Guo fainted in Mother Song's arms due to excessive fatigue, and then he said dejectedly: "I'll help Madam Guo to rest first."

Then, he looked at Li Wei Yang seriously and said, "Miss, we need to talk."

"Madam Guo was fine just now, why did she suddenly-" Li Wei Yang was puzzled. Madam Guo was gentle, beautiful, generous and noble. She didn't look like a madman in any case, but her behavior could not be called normal at all.

Guo Su sighed and said, "I'm sorry, it must have scared you. In the past eighteen years, she has had no peace day and night. She often said she heard her daughter crying in the middle of the night. I accompanied her to every place in Yuexi and searched everywhere, but there was no trace of our daughter at all. Eventually, I found that something was wrong with her. She was fine on most days, but when I mentioned Jia'er, she seemed to be greatly stimulated. So I never let her go out. I just hoped that she would gradually forget about this incident, but I didn't expect that something like this would happen today..." In the past, Duke of Qi's words and deeds were all calm and unhurried, with the air of a royal nobleman. However, his expression at this moment was extremely lonely. Then, he raised his head, looked at Li Wei Yang solemnly, and said: "Miss, please tell me where the beads came from."

Li Wei Yang gently recounted everything roughly. She didn't know if the Duke of Qi would avenge her after hearing Xiaoman's tragic death, but she felt that as Xiaoman's biological parents, they had the right to know this fact.

When the Duke of Qi listened, tears rolled down from his eyes like beads.

"Xiaoman didn't know the secret of these prayer beads before so she gave the to me. She just wanted to leave them for me as a token of her gratitude before escaping, but she didn't expect that she would encounter misfortune." After Li Wei Yang said the last words, Guo Su seemed to be extremely cold, and huddled over. Unable to hold back anymore, he burst into tears. Knowing that there had been no news from his daughter for many years, he had already been mentally prepared. Suddenly, he heard Li Wei Yang say that Xiaoman was in Dadu and was killed under his nose. They had been searching for eighteen years, but it was too late. He couldn't help but feel miserable in his heart, and almost didn't want to live. The sound of howling was like that of an injured wolf in the empty night.

Mother Song's heart suddenly palpitated, and she couldn't help feeling sad for her master. She knelt down again with trembling hands and feet and a sallow complexion.

Li Wei Yang looked at him in shock. A powerful duke could not hold back his tears in front of an outsider like her. He cried bitterly. The pain of losing his daughter seemed to have crushed him all at once... For a long time, she couldn't say a word. She only felt her eyes were hot and her heart was sour. Xiaoman, you are still fortunate after all. You see, Wen Xiaolou is desperate to take revenge for you. Your parents have been looking for you everywhere and refused to give up even after eighteen years. When they know about your death they are so sad.

Maybe she has always been used to Li Xiaoran, a father who is ready to betray his daughter anytime and anywhere. Now seeing the Duke of Qi's grief, Li Wei Yang felt shocked and ridiculous, and then there was silence. Li Chang Le died, and Li Xiaoran did not do anything for her, not even shedding a tear. If she, Li Wei Yang, died, I'm afraid that person would clap his hands and cheer...

Li Wei Yang said slowly: "Master Guo, I don't know if you will take revenge for Xiaoman, but I believe that if she knew that Madam Guo was so sad, she would not be at peace. Please take good care of her. It's time for me to say goodbye."

 As she said that, she walked out, but Guo Su suddenly said loudly: "Wait a minute!"

Li Wei Yang turned around and said: "I have returned the Buddha beads to you, is there anything else?"

the Duke of Qi looked at Li Wei Yang and said, "Do you have parents?"

Li Wei Yang frowned and shook her head.

Duke Guo of Qi clenched his teeth and said, "Do you have any other relatives?"

Li Wei Yang still shook her head. In her heart, she suddenly had an epiphany about Guo Su's strange questions. However, when she actually heard Guo Su's next words, she was still very shocked.

"Can you stay in the Duke of Qi's mansion and be her Jia'er?" Guo Su opened his eyes for a moment, closed them again, and then opened them again suddenly, "If you have nowhere to go, can you? Can you stay and be our daughter?!"

Li Wei Yang was stunned, as if she did not expect that the dignified Lord Qi would make the same request as Wen Xiaolou. She turned her head subconsciously, glanced at the pale and unconscious Madam Guo, and said lightly: "I'm sorry, I can't do that. Please ask someone else to do it."

the Duke of Qi stepped forward and stood in front of Li Wei Yang . He thought that Li Wei Yang would eagerly agree to his request, but he did not expect that she refused without even considering it. Glancing at his wife's face, he couldn't help but feel like someone was hitting his heart with a whip again and again. The painful sweat all over his body soaked his under robes and stuck it tightly to his body. He shook his heart and solemnly said: "We tried it before. I personally went to find a girl of similar age to pretend to be her. I even found someone to imitate the prayer beads, but she saw through it at a glance. She said that she recalled those beads day and night, and there was a needle-sized hole on the 30th bead ..."

Seeing Li Wei Yang 's surprised expression, the Duke of Qi smiled bitterly, "You see, even though she's unstable, she still understands a little. But the doctor said that she is mentally and physically exhausted and does not have many years to live. Now that she has identified you, it will never change again. Please have kindness and help us!"

Finally, Li Wei Yang explained to the Duke of Qi that she still had a young brother who needed to be taken care of. The Duke of Qi immediately assured her that he would ask someone to take care of Minzhi and send him to a safe place. When she was settled in the Duke's mansion, she can bring him to live with her, and then she only needs to explain to everyone that this is the child of her adoptive parents, and everything will be solved. Li Wei Yang knew very well that to fake Guo Jia's identity, she needed a reasonable past. If she fabricated this past herself, it would be easy to expose it, but if the Duke of Qi did it for her, everything would be easy.

It was already the early morning of the second day when everything was settled. Li Wei Yang re-dressed, but in the mirror, she saw that her face was even paler. She lightly applied rouge, and in the mirror, she saw Zhao Yue's hesitating to speak: "What's wrong?"

"Miss, if you really don't want to enter the Guo Mansion, let's leave now. Why should we be forced..."

Li Wei Yang suddenly laughed, the smile was secret and slight: "Oh, who told you that I was unwilling?"

Zhao Yue's body trembled, the tip of her nose was slightly sweaty, and she couldn't help but be even more surprised: "Miss, what are you..."

Li Wei Yang looked into her eyes, almost looking into her heart: "From the beginning, I made up my mind to enter the Guo Mansion."

"But you clearly said... you can obviously not tell Madam Guo..." Zhao Yue couldn't help but become confused. If Li Wei Yang wanted to enter the house, there was no need to tell Madam Guo the truth! Just follow what Wen Xiaolou said and pretend to be Guo Jia to enter the mansion, wouldn't it be enough?

Li Wei Yang smiled firmly and calmly, and said: "What kind of a place is the Duke of Qi's Mansion? If I pretend to be Guo Jia, it will only bring endless trouble. But now, the Duke of Qi knows everything, and he will definitely try his best to hide everything for me. He will even answer everyone's questions for me."

"This slave doesn't understand..."

"Silly girl, the Duke of Qi is not a fool. He may have been impulsive at the time, but when he came back to his senses, he would carefully inquire about my identity to see if I had ulterior motives. However, from the first day I arrived in Yuexi, I was a rich girl with no relatives or connections. Everyone thinks that I am here to see my relatives, so I live here temporarily. What can he find? In order to appease the crazy Madam Guo, he will arrange everything so that I can enter the Duke's Mansion without any worries, isn't that good?"

"But...but, what if they didn't keep you at that time?" Zhao Yue did not dare to say that Li Wei Yang could not have predicted in advance that the Duke's wife was crazy——

"Silly girl, I have already told them that Xiaoman and I are like sisters, and I am her savior, and I want to avenge her. What do you think, if you were Madam Guo, how would you treat me? You must repay me well. When the time comes, I will naturally be able to enter the Guo family, but I will just change my identity." Li Wei Yang held on to the hairpin on her bun. The texture of the jasper felt slightly cold in the palm of her hand, and she smiled faintly. 

In other words, regardless of whether Madam Guo is normal or not, she is determined to take advantage of the Guo family. Zhao Yue looked at Li Wei Yang and was speechless for a moment. She had been frightened by a series of changes today, but the young lady could still be so calm and even planned everything...

"What, do you think I am taking advantage of Xiaoman and the Guo family?" Li Wei Yang looked at Zhao Yue, as if she had guessed what she was thinking, put away her smile, and said in a steady tone: "I am Li Wei Yang , I came to Yuexi for revenge, no matter how despicable the method is, I will use it."

She did not agree to Wen Xiaolou because she did not want to deceive the innocent Madam Guo, but more importantly, that would be too dangerous and too stupid. It was better to tell the other party everything directly and try every means to arouse the Guo family's desire for revenge and seize the opportunity. Of course, after forming an alliance, it was later discovered that Madam Guo was not sane, so she had a new idea, not to pretend to be Guo Jia, but to truly become Guo Jia! It must be with the acquiescence of the Duke of Qi! Even if the Duke of Qi didn't keep her today, she would let Madam Guo come to her door again!

Yes, she is such a despicable person who can climb up by stepping on everything. She is even more cruel and cold-hearted than Wen Xiaolou. But, only in this way can she approach the enemy step by step and defeat them completely.

"Okay, the carriage is waiting outside, let's go." Li Wei Yang 's tone was cold, but her voice was firm.

After getting on the carriage, Li Wei Yang opened the curtain and looked outside. It was already dark now, and there was a constant flow of people coming and going. She watched the house where she had lived for a month gradually disappear from her sight, but a smile slowly appeared in her eyes.

The carriage jolted into the inner city, the most prosperous area in the entire metropolis, where the real high-ranking nobles of Yuexi gathered. It was completely different from the outer city where she originally lived. The entire Duke of Qi's Mansion, facing south, covered an area of ​​more than 80 acres and was divided into three parts: the main courtyard, the residence, and the garden. The east side of the house is the residence... Mother Song softly explained to Li Wei Yang as they arrived, her expression very respectful. In her opinion, although Li Wei Yang was not the real young miss, since the Duke of Qi had adopted her, she would be her  true master from now on.

Li Wei Yang listened intently, as if she was very serious, but in fact, her mind had already flown elsewhere.

Outside the carriage, pedestrians were no longer visible. Occasionally, a luxurious carriage would pass by. It was obvious that this was no longer a place where ordinary civilians lived. At that moment, she saw a young man leading a group of people and galloping past her carriage, kicking up a cloud of dust. Li Wei Yang 's heart trembled. She could only vaguely see that the handsome face in the distance had a sense of familiarity that caused her heart to palpitate. It's him! She actually saw him here?! How is this possible - Li Wei Yang thought for a moment that she was dazzled or hallucinating.

"Miss? What are you thinking about?" Mother Song saw Li Wei Yang hadn't spoken for a long time, and found that she was looking outside, seemingly stunned. She quickly took a look and smiled, "Miss, did you see someone you know?"

That handsome face is rare in the world and often lingers in her mind. How could she not recognize it? However, Li Wei Yang twitched her lips and said with a bit of coldness, "No, I don't know him."

Saying this, she looked at the group of people who were gradually disappearing in the distance, and said secretly: Yuan Lie, have you actually returned to Yuexi...

At this moment, Yuan Lie didn't know that he had passed by the person he had been searching for...

－－－－－－Digression－－－－－

Xiao Qin: Originally, I was going to brush off the family recognition incident, but everyone kept asking why, and they all felt that Li Wei Yang must tell the other party the truth. Well, actually I think there is no difference at all. The final purpose is all the same, and it's a waste of pen and ink==

Editor: Sure enough, you have no morals!

Xiao Qin: There will be many perverted or twisted new characters throughout the Yuexi part of the story. Everyone feels that the plot is slow to come out, so you can watch it in a few days (^__^) Hehe...

Get up to 30 advanced chapter parts on Patreon

[guardian-angel12]

Experiment: Flame and Ash

Chapter one

Prologue

When you were young, you used to dream about fires And scream into the night To find me standing barefoot at your side I used to whisper it will be alright And lay down at your side And take your tiny hands into mine

And how was I to know I'm not strong? I should have saved you And oh, I hope you know That you're my home But now, I'm lost, so lost

"Get down!" 

Peter's yelling voice broke through the rest of the chaos, he practically crashed to the ground to land, rolling behind a fallen chunk of debris. 

Gamora had ran and jumped behind with him just in time, Peter covering her with his shoulder as the ground exploded from a crashing ship hitting it moments later. 

"What the hell did you do?!" Rocket snarled, moving his arm away from his face, his large gun tucked to the side from his cover. 

"If we get them outta the sky we have a better chance!" Peter yelled back. "We need someone in the air! Where is Kraglin?!" 

"Should be here any minute!" Tess yelled to him, backed up against a wall, dirt splattered over her face. 

This mission wasn't supposed to be this bad, when they'd received the distress call that there had been violence breaking out in the city never once had they thought it would result in a small battle. But things always seemed to go that way. 

"There's no time to stand waiting," Drax growled, standing and drawing his knives from his boots, he started walking briskly from their cover, heading straight towards the fallen ship. 

"Drax!" Peter yelled after him, but he didn't listen. 

A few thugs came running down the street, remaining civilians had already dispersed by now, a good thing, considering they opened fire. Drax yelled and ran at them, knocking a few to their backs easily, his daggers stabbing with abandon. 

Tess growled in her throat and ran to help him, wrists shining in the sunlight as she pounced and disarmed the closest thug. 

Groaning, Peter drug himself from his hiding spot, activating his mask to go and help. "Rocket, cover me!" 

He did as Peter requested, jumping out and blasting relentlessly as his Terran friend ran out into the street, Gamora following soon after. 

Another ship flew loudly through the sky, dropping lower and lower as it got closer, heading straight for the Guardian's, it opened fire, peppering the street with red blasts. 

Tess cursed violently and looked up, Peter and the others already turning back to outrun it if possible. 

Rocket bared his teeth and raised his blaster upward, its barrel spinning wildly as blue shots flew from it up at the small pod attacking the others. "Hurry up!" he snapped at them as they ran, but Tess caught a glimpse of a vessel she recognized as she looked up, and a small wave of relief settled in. 

"Comin' in hot here." 

Kraglin's voice was over their comms as the M-ship roared through the sky, taking out the pursuing ship easily, letting Peter and his team stop their attempt to escape the blaster fire on the ground. 

"We got another couple incoming," Quill yelled through the open link, Gamora and Drax still tearing down the onslaught of thugs dressed in all black. Sakaarans, no doubt, but he wondered why they continued to show up on random planets lately. 

"On it."  Kraglin answered, his ship swooped down and curved, blasting through another vessel. 

Tess squinted as she looked up, sweat coated her face from the sun already, but only worsened when she saw her brothers risky attempts. 

Kraglin's ship swerved again, three more black-iron ships roaring in the sky. Thanos had been working for a while on his unknown quest, but Ronan's fall had thrown him back a few steps, still, his forces seemed to be ransacking every planet that seemed to have any sort of value or wealth or rumored supernatural presence.

The ships blasted at the smaller M-ship, forcing it banking right to avoid the fire, Peter looked up and grimaced, Black Order ships, for sure. 

"Krag, get out of there, now!" Tess yelled at him through their link. 

His ship twisted and banked right, avoiding a hit to the wing, but the next shot found the underside, destroying it enough that smoke billowed and it started spinning downwards. 

Kraglin grunted with effort as he pulled the ship up as much as possible, trying to avoid too hard of a crash, but despite his efforts his ship still hit the ground hard, smashing into the ground and skidding to a stop. 

Peter and Tess ran towards it, covered by Rocket and Gamora. Tess ripped the top hatch off with one hand and Peter hauled his older brother out by the arm. 

"Are you crazy?!" Tess gasped, yanking him towards her to asses the damage. 

Kraglin didn't seem hurt too much, only dazed a little with a trickle of blood running from his temple. "If we don't take 'em down before they land that's only dozens more soldiers on you!" he snapped right back, drawing his blaster from his thigh and his knife from his back as Peter joined the others once again. 

Tess would've retorted, but he stopped her with a gesture to the oncoming Black Order soldiers. "Look, you can yell at me some more later but for now, focus." 

She gave it only a second more before running back into the chaos, breaking bone and shooting what she could. 

"We gotta keep this contained and away from the rest of the city!" Peter shouted to his team. "Drax, keep them occupied!" 

His friend was more than enthusiastic to comply, daggers slashing as Peter ran for a nearby fuel tank. "Tess, over here!" 

She ripped her way away from the fighting enough to make it to him, kneeling down to his crouched level to see what he was planning. 

"Punch this right here," he told her, pointing the end of the tank that the ships attached their tubes to. 

"I hope you know what you're doing..." she muttered, slamming a fist into the thick metal and making it start spraying out in the direction of the enemy. 

"This stuff gets in the air with just its chemical energy, set in on fire and the whole area goes up in flames." 

She nodded, understanding what he was planning, and watched him slide a detonator from his belt, attaching it to the tank. 

"Now, run." he said, taking off back towards the others. "Rocket, Gamora, let's go!" 

They jerked their attention to him, breaking from their fights to run like he'd said. 

"Drax! Now!" Gamora was yelling at him, Tess, Peter and Kraglin already making it to cover as she and Rocket made their way to them. 

Drax seemed almost like he wouldn't listen, then grunted in frustration and joined the others, ducking behind the fallen Black Order ships and rubble far from the fuel tank Tess and Peter had set to blow. 

"Get ready!" Peter shouted, on his knees and pressed against the debris with his arm over Gamora's shoulders to push her closer. 

Rocket clicked the detonator and the entire area was suddenly up in flames and smoke and flying rocks, dirt and shrapnel, a shaking boom rattling the entire planet it felt like as the fire shot upward into the sky and lit on the air, engulfing the ships and soldiers. 

Kraglin turned to cover Tess from the flying objects of the explosion, even as she had turned her arms to steel in order to take the blunt of the shrapnel instead of it hitting him, the shaking lasting for a few moments after the blast. 

Peter turned to look, panting and looking down at Gamora between him and their small barricade between the explosion, she gave a small, relieved sigh when they saw the city looked clear, Drax and Peter walking out onto the street first, Rocket close behind to check for survivors. 

Tess looked up at Kraglin, silent and observing his tight, focused gaze, then he walked straight over to a moving body in the street, shooting one blast from his gun into them and the  movement stopped. 

She followed him, but kept watching, feeling his anger fueling him. Sometimes his silence worried her, never knowing exactly what words were storming behind his eyes. 

The street was mainly empty, quiet and seeming like Peter's blast had ended it all, but Tess felt something in her bones the same moment she saw Rockets ears perk to the side, a deep rumble coming a moment later. 

"Move!" Tess snapped at the others, but too late, and a huge blast broke the ground in front of them before the word finished coming from her mouth, all she knew next was a high pitched whining in her head and a dark swirling in her vision as dust and blood coated her lips. 

A Black Order ship landed just a little bit away from the blast, soldiers filing out quickly. 

Peter rolled to his side groaning, Kraglin pushing himself back up and spitting blood into the ruined street, searching for his sister. 

Tess felt the boots of soldiers nearing, and forced herself to turn her head and move her elbow to brace herself, aiming her blaster as they raised theirs. 

The others fought back as the soldiers began firing, having no choice but to find cover after taking the force of the blast and becoming disoriented and weak. 

Gamora hauled Tess up and stood beside her while they both shot, making their way back to the safety of the fallen ships. 

"Quill, there's too many!" Rocket yelled above the rest of the noise, but Peter didn't reply. 

"Just go!" Gamora screamed to them, Drax and Kraglin hesitant to back off, but there was no choice. 

"She's right," Peter finally said. "Run! Now!" 

"Peter," Tess protested at him, eyes wide. "What about he city?!" 

"We can't help if we're dead!" 

"But—"

"He's right," Kraglin grabbed her arm and pulled her back with him. "We're outnumbered and outgunned. We gotta go."

She was panicking softly, something about this situation felt all too familiar and had her nerves pulsing faster as imminent danger came closer, blaster fire barely missing them. 

"Tess, run!" Kraglin was suddenly pushing her forward, making her snap out of her thoughts and forced her to focus. 

"What-" she barely got the word out before he was blocking her from the rest of the street, his blasters aimed and shooting to protect the both of them. 

Jump the ship, Tess. 

Her heart shuddered into her throat at the memory, everything bringing it back too fast.

She didn't give it much more time to think, and shoved herself past him to land both her fists into the ground, causing a reverberation to go through and shake the path the Black Order ran with trembles and pulses. Then she was shoving him to run together. Never again would she flee alone, not when the last time she had she'd been scared enough to leave the only family she had, a choice that haunted every waking moment since. She'd never even gotten to see Yondu again... and wondered if she hadn't left, would he still be alive?

Peter was waiting for them at the edge of the street, Rocket standing on the platform of the Benatar already aiming his gun for the incoming soldiers. 

"Come on, Come on, Come on!" Peter yelled, waiting until the two Ravagers had made it up the ramp before turning his neck towards the cockpit. "Now, Gamora!" 

The ship jerked with takeoff, leaving them to grab the sides and steady themselves as the ramp finished closing. 

Tess turned to Peter and shoved him lightly in the chest. "I can't believe you're willing to leave that city to be pillaged just to save your own—"

"Never said that." he answered, making his way to the cockpit and Rocket joining them. "Have it ready, Rocket." Peter called, dropping into the co-pilots seat and jerking the controls to bring the ship spinning back towards the largest of the Black Order ships. 

"There's your mothership." Kraglin turned to tell Peter, seeing the huge black vessel come to view. 

"Then that's what we're headin' for." 

Rocket was snapping together a few small devices in his hands, a cord hung from his contraption and he looked it over with a keen eye, tightening one last thing before making it back to the ramp. "Quill, make it fast." 

"Yeah." 

"Tess, activate the sealing mesh as soon as I drop this out." Rocket told her, the ramp going back down while they were almost out of the atmosphere, sending harsh winds slamming into the ship. 

Tess nodded and put her hand on the lever, trying to hold herself still against the wind. 

"Almost in..!" Peter called again, then him and Gamora jerked the steering handles in unison, sending the Benatar nearly upside down over the Black Order mothership. 

Rocket dropped his device on time, and it seemed to magnetize itself down to the mothership. 

Tess activated the mesh like he'd told her to do, and saw his small hands clasp around a device and the next thing she knew the whole mothership was blowing apart from the inside, crashing down through the sky but at a rate where nothing but black dust would settle on the planet. 

Drax laughed triumphantly. "You did it!" 

Rocket's cocky grin was his only response as he made it to take over flying for Gamora, Tess and Kraglin watching the demolition as the hatch closed again. 

"Told you I wasn't leaving them." Peter said, his eyes turned enough that Tess knew he was addressing her. 

She nodded silently, glancing at Kraglin and sparing a weak smile. 

"They won't try to take the city with what they have on the ground," Gamora said. "Most of the army would have been on that ship." 

"Good, because I am beat." Peter said, obvious satisfaction in his voice nonetheless. "I say we stick around the polish off that army, what do you think?" 

Gamora nodded, hands on her hips, and the rest of them knew the decision was made once she agreed with Peter. 

"Alright then," Peter said, looking at the pilots seat at Rocket who wasn't looking at anything but the sky beyond the window. "Let's find someplace to land, get some shut eye while we wait for things to cool off a bit then head out at nightfall." 

"And get a shower." Gamora pushed his shoulder softly, a fond smile playing on her lips. "You're filthy." 

Peter instantly jumped at her words, jerking around to her. "Does that mean—"

"Don't start, Peter." she quickly shut him down. "Stay focused." 

Rocket rolled his eyes silently, the other three pretending they heard nothing, Drax probably not even giving it much attention anyways. 

"Let me look at that..." Tess said softly, moving around Kraglin to address the half-dried blood that had come from his temple. 

He held his hand out to her and shook his head. "I'm good. Get some sleep if you can." 

She sighed and shut her eyes and he gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze, leaving to his own shared bunk with Peter, Tess sharing with Gamora when they used the small ship while her and Peter were in one on the Quadrant. 

While Rocket was assigned the one with Drax they all knew he slept where he fell down and that was it. 

"Tess," Gamora's surprisingly gentle voice was behind her in a moment. She turned to look at her and found her waving her to their bunk. Tess put her hand on Drax's arm as she passed him as both a parting gesture and a silent 'good job' and followed Gamora. 

"Don't think I'm not aware he's been tellin' you stuff." Tess said as soon as she sat down on her bed, bracing her hands on either side of herself. 

Gamora shut the door and looked at her, eyes soft but concerned. "Your brother worries for you, that's why." 

"Yeah, well, why can't I worry about him instead? There ain't no helping me and he seems like he's trying to slowly kill himself." 

"Peter was off the drinking within a few weeks, give him time, Tess, it'll be alright." 

"Will it?" she looked up at her friend—sister-in-law, in some ways, she supposed. 

"It will." she walked over to her and made her stand, pulling her filthy coat from her shoulders and tossing it on the ground. Then pushed her hair off her face. "Give it time." 

"Don't you start trying to coddle me, too, Gam." 

"I'm not. You're just calling any sort of care anyone shows you something negative." Gamora moved her head to be looking into Tess' eyes. "Why?" 

Honestly, she knew why, after years of dealing with Nebula she was used to this kind of stubborn refusal to accept care or sympathy, not that Gamora could claim to have given much, but, in the quiet moments when no one was looking, she'd tried. She knew it had been the same with Tess and Kraglin living with the Ravagers for those years, seeking the clipped opportunities to show a love to each other that they had never received from anyone else. 

But Nebula had pushed away from Gamora the same way Tess was now, she supposed maybe with her sisters refusal to stay with the Guardians and seek revenge against Thanos maybe she'd tried to spill her sisterly urges and instinct out over Tess instead, but was receiving much of the same result. 

"I'm not." Tess mumbled. "But everyone worrying about me... I just don't see it as important." 

Tess moved to walk away, and Gamora grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "It is important. To me, to Peter, to Kraglin. It is." 

Tess nodded but she knew it was just her way of trying to end the mostly-one-sided conversation. "I have watch. I'm gonna go."

"Rocket has first watch. You need sleep." she said unmovingly, then pushed Tess towards her bed. "Now try and get some. And when you wake up, I think you need to go talk to your brother and figure out what it is going on with you two," Tess just stared silently at the taller woman as Gamora pushed something into Tess' hands. "Don't forget where you came from." was all she said. 

Tess waited for her to go to her own cot and stood there, slowly looking down at the flame insignia in her hands and swallowing her tight throat.

Then she laid down despite knowing what always happened, not for herself, but more of for peace of mind to the others. 

                                       - - -

"Told you we could handle this one." Peter sighed as he laid back on his cot, crossing his arms beneath his head. 

"Yeah, still gotta deal with the aftermath." Kraglin said, not looking at his younger brother from where he stood at the small water basin made into the wall. 

"You never were an optimist." 

"Just keeping things how they are." 

Peter chewed his lip and watched as Kraglin scrubbed at his face with with the water, feeling the odd sense that the man he'd known for nearly his whole life was not the same one. 

It was strange, really, because Peter had never thought he'd be sleeping in the same room with him again, and especially not with the entire crew of Ravagers they used to live with dead in space—and entire faction lost. Half to traitors and half to loyalty. 

Peter still felt sick when he thought of it, thought of Yondu... 

Hope you're finally at peace, old man. 

He sighed through his nose and sat up, while he'd found a way to be more at ease with what had happened, he knew it had destroyed Kraglin, changed him, maybe just simply broke him, even if he was holding it somewhat together for Tess still. Peter couldn't help but feel guilty. Like maybe if it wasn't for him...

No, he couldn't feel sorry for himself now, not when he had all these new things come up, an older brother and two younger sisters, plus his relationship with Gamora and leading his team on top of that, there was no time to sit and pity himself. Not right now. 

"I think Mantis and Groot should be alright for a little while longer," Peter said as he flipped his covers back and grabbed his Zune from the bedside, his fingers wrapping around it with the care he'd always held his mother’s Walkman. "If all goes well we should be heading back to the Quadrant by morning." 

Kraglin only nodded, but Peter knew that was about all the acknowledgment he'd get. Even though he knew the bigger talker had always been himself, it had only become worse since the last few months after they'd brought Tess home again. But Peter guessed it was because he'd done what his mother had always told him: Just keep moving ahead, my little Star-Lord. 

Kraglin had seemed to become a lot like Yondu on the things that haunted him, and stayed quiet about them until they either leaked into his drunken words or poured out in an angry rage pent up from too long of holding it. 

"Hey," Peters voice came soft, taking everything he'd learned from Meredith and putting it to use. "You know... if you ever need to talk about it, I'm here... Bro." 

"I know, Pete." he said with equal softness, walking to the cot and putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know." 

                                       - - -

She woke up to the sound of whimpering below her, then a knock on the bottom of the bunk like from a limb hitting it. 

Gamora was groggy as she sat up, but knew what she was hearing. "It's alright, Nebu—" she blinked to fully wake herself in surprise, and a little pang of sorrow went through her when she realized her sister was not the one below her. 

She shook from her thoughts and quickly made it down, seeing Tess twitching in her sleep, her hands jerking every few moments as if to mirror whatever was happening in her head. 

"No... I can't—no..."'

Tess was barely mumbling her words but Gamora understood, she'd seen it happen to Nebula countless times and knew what to do. 

"Hey..." she whispered, sitting down on the cot and slowly taking Tess' hand to wake her up. "Tess, it's alright, wake up."

She was panting in her sleep, her head jerking from one side to the other as she continued to murmur frightened, desperate words. Gamora bit her lip and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little after her first louder cry. "Tess! Wake up." 

Her quicksilver eyes were suddenly bursting wide open, full of tears as she let out a gasping scream of 'no', pushing Gamora away roughly, forcing her to stand up quickly. 

"Hey, it's me, it's me," Gamora tried her best to keep her voice steady and calm, putting her hands out towards Tess, who she wasn't sure was even grasping what was going on as she sat up hyperventilating and shaking. 

The door swished open and Gamora spun around at Rocket, gun raised and stance set to kill, his eyes darting around in search of the danger. "What the hell—!" he began, lowering his gun down.

"I don't know," Gamora cut him off, waving a hand at him. "Just get Kraglin." 

Rocket cocked his head a bit to be able to see Tess, and he actually felt horrible seeing her like that, then left before Gamora yelled at him again.

Tess was inconsolable, shaking violently and crying, little screams coming when Gamora tried to reach for her. She'd been through a lot of bad nights with Nebula, even had some herself, but never had they been this bad. Maybe because of fear of what would be done to them if they were discovered, or because they'd been trained to not fear, she didn't know, but it broke her heart that there was nothing she could do and obviously Tess didn't understand who she was, the surroundings of the Benetar probably too foreign to her and fueling her panic.

Gamora heard the footfalls behind her, and spun around at Kraglin, followed closely by Peter entering the room. She couldn't see Rocket but knew he was most likely there. 

"She won't let you near her?" Kraglin asked, worry in his voice and his eyes never leaving his sister, curling up as far into the corner as possible, balled up into herself. 

"No, I tried, she just—" Gamora stopped talking as he neared Tess, reaching a hand out to her slowly, Peter came up behind Gamora and took her by the shoulder, making her back up. "I can't tell if she's awake." 

"Not completely." 

"This happens a lot?" Peter asked softly, but didn't get an answer. 

"It's ok, Tess..." Kraglin whispered to her, and Peter had a tiny flashback of him saying the same to him, both of them children, and it having to be done in secret. "You're not there, it ain't real." 

She jerked her eyes towards his voice, and he slid next to her with his hand extended, finally resting it gently on her cheek. "You're safe, it's over." his voice was barely audible, but clearly she heard it because it was obvious how much she was calming down, her eyes flicking over him before she suddenly uncurled from the corner and pressed herself against him, as if he was the only familiar, comforting thing in her world amidst everything else foreign and terrifying, her hands grasping at the front of his shirt as she hid her face in his neck, gasping out little sobs. 

"Shhh...don't cry..." he put one hand firmly on the back of her head and the other between her shoulders, stroking slow, gentle sweeps. "I'm here." 

"I'm sorry—" she gasped, now fully awake and her voice strangled from her shaking and heavy breathing, and muffled with how she pressed her face into the soft spot where his neck and chest came together, eyes squeezing shut as if to block out the images she'd seen. 

"No, hey, you're alright." 

Tess sniffled and cuddled herself against him rather than cling as if for dear life, her breathing coming easier.

Kraglin laid his head on top of hers and looked over it at Gamora and Peter, giving them a tiny nod that told them it was alright now.

Gamora stood and watched with an unreadable expression, something like sadness in her honeyed eyes before Peter coaxed her to leave. 

"You alright?" Kraglin's eyes turned down towards her to softly ask. Tess gave a tiny, shaky nod. "You told me this stopped..."

"I—I didn't want you to worry."

"Tess..." 

"I'm alright." 

He wanted to argue, but her voice sounded so small he knew she was barely even awake, and she just tightened her grip as her eyes drifted shut again, feeling bad that the only way the nightmares didn't come were if he was right there, with his warmth and his scent and his voice right beside her to keep her grounded. 

But he was willing to do it for her every single time she tried to sleep if she let him, knowing that he woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath  and clawing at phantom chains on his neck every time he fell asleep, too. 

"I love ya." he whispered to her, pulling her blanket over her shoulders, and no response came from her but her soft breathing. "I won't let anything hurt you again. I swear." 

And he hoped—like the promise he'd made when he was twenty years old, standing on the bridge of the Eclector, 'I'll always be loyal to you, Captain'—that this time he didn't break it. This time he wouldn't fail.

[fateinthestars]

Star-Crossed Myth Fluffbruary Fanfic May Catch-up (25th Feb Prompt): Nature's Messenger (Scorpio/MC)

Title: Nature's Messenger

Fandom: Star-Crossed Myth

Genre: Fluff

Rating: T

Pairing: Scorpio/MC (MC’s name left blank so you can fill it in with whatever you wish in your head)

Word Count: 1,059

Written for Prompt: February 25 : fox | twilight | sweat for @fluffbruary

A/N: This is set after Scorpio's promise of infinity story. Spoilers for his path. Last of the February fluffbruary prompts I needed to catch up with.

February 25th: Nature’s Messenger (Scorpio/MC)

It had only been a few months since ___ and Scorpio had got married. There were times when ___ felt like she was still catching up with the thousands of years she had missed but she had settled into the Heavens with relative ease. 

One day she was taking a stroll through the palace gardens whilst Scorpio was busy with Punishments’ work. She stopped as she saw something out of the corner of her eye. It was fast and she barely caught a glimpse of it but it reminded her somewhat of foxes on Earth. Frowning, she slowly moved forward and tried to see whether she could work out where it went.

“What are you doing, woman?”

Startled, she turned around at the familiar irritated tone of her husband. She forced an uneasy smile at him. “Maybe I’m imagining things…”

Scorpio scowled and moved closer to her. He put a hand against her forehead. “Well you don’t feel like you’ve got a fever or anything stupid like that. You’re not even sweating.”

___ sighed softly. Because of how the King had used them both, Scorpio was still understandably concerned that she wasn’t one hundred percent yet, but a worried Scorpio often made for an irritated Scorpio. She smiled softly at her husband regardless of that, touched by his concern. “I thought I saw some sort of animal. It looked like a fox.”

The scowl on Scorpio’s face vanished to be replaced with a look of surprise. “A fox?”

“Yeah… I don’t think it was the same colour as one on Earth. It may even have been black but it seemed to be… I dunno… shining I guess? Maybe it’s just the sunlight here in the garden…”

Scorpio then smirked at her. “You really do attract trouble, woman. That was a twilight fox.”

“Huh?” ___ asked him, now rather confused.

“Very few Gods can actually see them. That annoying sleepy goat can cos of his unique divine power being able to control animals and don’t damn well ask me how this works but from what Zig said once I think his shadow can but he himself can’t.”

“Is it a problem that I can see them?”

“Tch, when I say trouble I mean more that sparkly bastard will likely insist you take some form of job in the palace now,” Scorpio answered with a frown. He took her hand in his own, his eyes widening as a thought of hers streamed easily into his head.

I wonder whether Scorpio can see them?

Scorpio rolled his eyes, though now he was smiling a little. “That’s your main question in all of this? Whether I can see the blasted things? Like I’d care about that either way.”

“Scorpio…”

“No, I can’t,” Scorpio muttered, “so even if it was still around now I wouldn’t be able to help you.”

“Are you sure?”

Initially startled, Scorpio then glared at her. “What the hell do you mean, am I sure? I think I’d know if I could see a fox that mimics the night sky!”

But Scorpio’s divine power used to only be able to hear negative thoughts, if there hasn’t been one nearby since his power was fully realised…

Scorpio frowned and let go of her hand.

“Scorpio?” ___ asked with worry. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Scorpio tried to reassure, emotion creeping into his voice. “It’s just this is reminding me why we fell in love in the first place. Your ability to always look at the positive is infuriating and yet…” he put a hand up to her face, brushing her hair gently back, “Without you I would still be trapped in a world of negativity.” He then smirked at her. “You may be a Goddess now but your thoughts are still as clear to me as ever. You really should get a handle on that.”

___ smiled lovingly at her husband. “What if I said I didn’t want to?”

Scorpio’s eyes widened a little, then he blushed and averted his gaze. “You… you’re saying you’re deliberately letting me read your mind now?”

Before either of them could say or do anything further, the twilight fox returned and sat down on the path quite a way in the distance from them but clearly there.

“Scorpio, can you…”

“Yeah,” Scorpio mumbled back, taking her hand in his own once more, looking at the fox with surprise. 

The twilight fox then slowly made its way over to the both of them. As it got closer, ___ could tell the fur really was like the colour of a twilight sky. 

I wonder why only some Gods can see these creatures…

Scorpio sighed softly to himself. “___, these foxes, they…” He trailed off as the fox looked in his direction. He nodded in understanding and turned back to his wife, this time wrapping an arm around her.

“Scorpio?”

“They represent the balance of the Heavens. If anything seems amiss they have a way of letting us know. The reason why only some Gods can see them is because they have to be certain that who they are giving a message to is trustworthy, that the God in question would mean no harm to the worlds.”

___ smiled softly. “So they’re like messengers for the nature up here?”

Scorpio smirked at her. “What a sickeningly poetical way to put it, but, yeah.”

“What does…” she trailed off, glancing around suddenly, frowning as she realised the fox had vanished once more. “Oh. I guess I should ask what did that fox want then?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Scorpio snapped back, heat rising to his face.

___ looked at him, puzzled. “Of course it matters, you just said they’re to do with the balance of the Heavens. Is something wrong?”

“No, quite the opposite,” Scorpio mumbled in way of response. “Do I really have to spell it out to you?”

“Please, Scorpio…”

Hearing his wife’s pleading tone, Scorpio sighed softly and returned his gaze to her once more as he pulled her close. “He was here to reassure me that we have nothing to worry about regarding your transition.”

___ blinked with surprise. “So… are you saying he was here to welcome me to the Heavens?”

Scorpio smiled softly before pulling her into a brief kiss. “I suppose in a weird way, I am.”

[truearchangel]

send IMPRESSED for a scene from my muse's past in which they tried to impress someone, successfully or not

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. Scene: Michael & Samael Word count: 1,715 and I did not cry.

   “Sam I–I don’t want to do this, it seems like a bad idea.” 

   “Come on, Mike! It’ll be fine! You need to live a little, haha!” 

   While normally he might agree in part to what Lucifer was saying, that he was stressed and he worked a lot, that he was drowning under the weight of everything He wanted him to do, this didn’t feel right. They weren’t supposed to play around in Eden, they were supposed to go down there to work and that was it. Their Father was very clear about that, since the humans were supposed to be something they were watching, guiding, studying. They were meant to see if the plan could work how He wanted it to. Going down to Eden to just ‘see something and do stuff’, Samael’s exact words, was not something they were meant to do. 

   He already knows his twin spends more time down here than he’s meant to, that he sneaks around when he thinks they’re not watching, when he wants to do whatever makes him happy. He sees that, he understands it, and as much as he wants to lecture and scolds Samael for it… he knows he’ll continue to do it anyway. 

   Curiosity, he was something they shared. He just had his under far more control than Samael did. 

   It was easy to get swept up in the force that was his twin, that bright and happy personality that he had, the joy on his face. He was a bubble of light, of stardust and encompassed that title he earned so fully. The Morning Star. For as bright as he shined, there are days that Michael wonders if he was designed to be the opposite of that. The shadow to the light that burned inside of his twin. And often enough the light outshines the shadow. Absorbing it into them and dragging him along. 

   How easy it can be to give into Samael’s antics should worry him, instead he just wanted to see his brother continue to smile. To be that person he was. He never wants to be the one who has to take away that light in him. 

   “A few minutes…” 

   Eden was the ‘promised land’, the place of no suffering, or happiness and life. It was created by all of them and God to hold the humans and give them everything they could need. The amount of greenery, of animals and sunlight was a bit suffocating. There was just so much that it was fairly easy to lose your way when you were walking around. The dense forest was annoying to navigate, as was each branch that snagged on his robes or poked him in the face. 

   Samael apparently had no problems making his way around here though, given the way he tugged Michael behind him as if he knew exactly which direction he wanted to head in without having to fly up and get a vantage point. This, when he noted it, was tucked into the worry category. If he’s spending enough time down here to walk around and know exactly where he needs to be? That was too much time.

   He shouldn’t be down here this much. He should be leaving his work in Heaven on Michael’s plate to constantly be down here. 

   “Over here!” 

   Whatever he wanted to show him was apparently within their reach. He let Samael tug him through the bushes into the open area that he wanted. It was one of the many rivers they had crafted together, one that ran through most of Eden into the larger body of water at the very end. It was shallow enough that when Adam walked into it, the water would reach his waist. He knows that they often used the rivers to bathe and hunt fish in. That was one of the reports that were sent up to Heaven on what the humans did daily. 

   The tug on his arm draws his gaze over to his brother, falling in step with him as they make their way over toward the waters edge. When they reach it he feels Samael let him go and his twin kneels down in front of the water, excitedly waving for Michael to join him. He casts a confused look at the water before slowly following suit, kneeling down beside him and fixing his robes neatly into place. They got dirty once down here before and their father had been incredibly angry, though that probably had more to do with the mudslide than  it did the dirty clothes. 

   “It’s a very pretty river, Sam, I don’t know–” 

   He hears the sigh his twin heaves, the roll of his eyes, without having to look at him. “Mike, relax, you’re too tense. We’re alright, we’re not doing anything wrong, you–” Samael’s lips press together and he turns his head to look at his brother finally. His twin seems to consider his words carefully, which wasn’t something Samael did often, and then he spoke. “I’m worried about you. The more you take on… the more it seems to hurt you. There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. But you treat it like it’s a crime.” 

   Oh no. Was he upsetting him that much? Michael didn’t mean to make him feel bad. Samael spent so much time down here that he didn’t think his brother noticed anything in Heaven anymore, forget whatever was going on with Michael himself. He thought his brother’s only concern was the humans, that he didn’t notice anything in the clouds anymore. Apparently he noticed just enough. As Michael watched and inquired about him, Samael was doing the same thing. 

   They’re twins, that bond was a force. 

   No matter how far apart they might be, the other will always be on their mind. 

   No matter how distant Samael might seem from him, he was still a fundamental part of Michael’s being. He’ll always care about him, always worry about him, always wish to see that bright star burning inside of him. That’ll never change, and perhaps to some level it was just as true for Samael. He wanted it to be. He wanted his brother to always care about him and to know that Michael will care for him too. 

   “I’m alright.” He finally replaces quietly, leaning into Samael’s space and bumping their shoulders together. “I have you, don’t I? When I forget that there is more outside of the office and what we have to do, you’re there. I lean on you Sam, and I hope you remember that you can lean on me too. You’re my brother, my twin, and we’ll always have each other. Right?” 

   The smile he earned was definitely worth it, the bright and blinding one, the joy on his twin’s face. “I’ll always keep you being suffocated by that stuffy office, Mike. It’s a promise!” 

   A soft laugh slips from him, the edges of a smile tugging on his lips as he shook his head at his silly brother. “Sure, and I promise to always be by your side, alright? We take care of each other, Sam. No matter what.” Leaning against his brother again he pressed his forehead against the side of Samael’s head. “I love you.” 

   “I love you too, now look at what I wanted to show you.” 

   Pulling back a bit he turned to the water and watched his twin reach out into it. There was a swirl of his own golden magic, the power of creation flowing through his veins as easily as it did Michael’s own. He breathed physical life into the river in front of them and then when he stopped there were three little yellow creatures beneath his palm. Samael picked one of them up, cradling it in his hands as he turned back around to face Michael. The tiny creature blinked up at him and he blinked back at it. 

   “You made yellow moss? Why is it alive?” 

   “No!” Samael laughed, bright and cheerful. “This is a duck! Well, I want it to be a duck. That’s the name I picked. Aren’t they adorable?” 

   Ah. He was messing with his magic again. Granted, these are far more adorable than the other things they’ve created to fill Eden with under God’s watchful eye and demand. “I see. They are very adorable, yes. They don’t seem as if they’ll provide much food for the humans. Do they get big–” 

   “Michael!” The look of horror that stretched across his twin’s face had him raising his brows at him. “They’re not food! They can’t eat my ducks!” 

   A snort actually slips from his lips and Michael falls to the side, laughing bright and freely at the look of sheer audacity on Samael’s face. He looked as if he wanted to gather all his ducks up, hide them inside his robes and run away with them. It was adorable, so horrified at the mere suggestion that the ducks might not be worth much because they had no meat on their bones. Michael laughed and laughed until he was choking on his own breath and coughing to try and keep breathing. 

   He gets himself under control and pushes himself back up, smiling widely and warmly at his brother. “Alright, not food. Here.” Reaching his hand over he picked up one of the ducks that were in the water. He cradled it in his hands, tilted his head to the side and then nodded slowly. Spreading his own magic over this one he changed its shape, watching the magic change the color of the feathers, make it bigger and widen the shape of it. Grew it. “All things must develop, all life must grow up, all creatures have an end. As adorable as your ducks are, they must grow as you once did.” The duck finally stopped changing and in the little yellow one's place now was an adult duck. “This one will guide the others and protect them.” 

   Leaning over to the side he placed the duck back into the water and watched it start to swim away with the little yellow ones that his brother made. Satisfied he fixed this he turned back to his twin and caught the warmth and happiness in his eyes. 

   “You did good, Mikey. Real good.”

[megarywrites]

find the word

tagged by @thewriteflame and I'll tag......... @pinespittinink @daisywords @zmwrites @coarsely @at-thezenith and your words will be stagger, stoic, straight, and strong.

my words were rush, rule, rage, and reflect and I'll be pulling them from what I have rewritten so far of Parts I and II of the second draft of Seafoam.

rush - from Part II: Split, Chapter 12, "Ugly Truths"

The moons’ light sliced through the shadows, cool and as calming as the sound of the rush of the incoming sea. Squinting, I stepped into the patch of light streaming in from the first of the windows lining the wall, and headed down, taking care to try to steady my breathing with each passing step.  Had he—the Diamo…and the captain, I suppose—genuinely expected me to just…let him touch me? Without warning? Or provocation? Or, had I perhaps done something that made him think…No, nothing. I had done nothing.  Why had he thought that that was an acceptable thing to do to someone?  Had he no daughter nor wife?

rule - from Part II: Split, Chapter 10, "The Haven of the Gods"

Stretching far above, a dizzying dapple of colored light from the sun shining through the stained glass towers and turrets. The shimmering dust caught in the sunlight streaming through the vast expanse of glass was iridescent as it filtered gently down. Candle-lit chandeliers lined the beams criss-crossing over the benches filing the atrium.  All around, more candles flickered in the many indents carved in the marble walls and the bowls of water beneath them caught their glittering light and projected them in ribbons inside the indents. Elaborately carved panels of the same red wood as the doors and the beams filled the spaces between the depressions, showing an even more extensive history of how our religion Isotrei came to rule our land, compared to the simple, thin beams at the latridom back home. Even from here, I could pick out the depiction of Isolios, Tiegira, and Vaceli’s benevolence as they helped our ancestors with their crops back when the gods used to walk among us—before Nyari ruined everything with her wanton selfishness. Gold accented the carvings emanating from every iteration of Isolios himself, who seemed to be shown in every single display around the auditorium.  And, below, the floors framing the center aisle was made of the same marble as the walls and the steps outside, but the center aisle itself…the floor was made of glass as a window to look into the rushing Smara—the green, enchanted river of legend.

rage(d) - from Part I: Tremor, Chapter 6, "Sealed Fate"

The storm did keep us inside, just like I thought it would. It raged against our shutters for two days, and I braved the wind and rain to get some buckets from Ma’s potion shed to collect the rainwater that seeped into our home. We stayed wrapped up in our blankets and cushions, sitting as close as we could to the fire while Ma worked on her embroidery in the flickering firelight while I leaned against the hearth, using it as my counter as I made Ma’s flower crown.

reflect(ion) - from Part I: Tremor, Chapter 1, "Homecoming"

Glimpses into other lives—of the baker and his daughter preparing the next day’s wares, or arguments unfolding, of fathers entertaining their children while their wives were preparing supper—flashed before my eyes as I glanced through the windows of the passing homes. Then, further in, the darkened shop windows showed only my fleeting reflection.  A sweeping beam of light drew my gaze up to the tallest tower of Psari’s latridom, and I stopped in my tracks to watch it revolve over the land before it shone back out at the sea. The latridom was lit from within as well. For what, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe the Stoli were preparing for tomorrow’s service, but… My attention drifted to the three circular stained glass windows adorning the face of the ancient house of worship with a bright kaleidoscope of colors against the gloom of the night.  They painted the surrounding mist and the wet cobblestones in gleaming reds, pinks, blues, yellows, greens, and purples. My skin and clothes, too, as soon as I stepped into its light.

[storytimewriting]

Weight of the Universe

This short story is vaguely inspired by a good friend of mine. I wish her nothing but the best life has to offer.

I think when people are young, they feel as though it is them against the world. Every emotion feels overwhelming, and when you feel yourself struggle when no one else visibly is, you feel alone. However, it is important to remember that everyone struggles in one way or another. No one is truly alone.

This is quite a sad piece, that alludes to some dark undertones, so be cautious in your reading.

Also, this piece, as well as all others, are posted first on my Patreon! Subscribers to my Patreon are given first access to all my writing, as well as special access to exclusive pieces! Here's the link:

patreon.com/WritingRequests

I appreciate you supporting my writing journey.

I hope you like this piece! Let me know what you think.

If you like this piece, you should read its sister story:

Wasted Potential

(word count: about 2.4k)

Enjoy :)

xx gwen <3

________

Weight of the Universe

She looked like the perfect girl-next-door. She had long, blonde hair. Not bleach blonde or platinum; it was softer than that. The kind of blonde that gets lighter as it falls and glows golden when the sun hits it. Her hair bounced and swayed with her movement as she walked. I couldn’t help but admire her as I trailed slightly behind my best friend.

I always tried to talk myself out of being jealous of her. I know it isn’t healthy to be jealous of someone I love so dearly, but I can’t help it. She had everything I’ve always wanted and is everything I’ve always wanted to be.

Aurora is an angel. She always has been. The room glowed golden when she was born with a halo above her head and wings growing from her spine. Her hair absorbed the warmth of the sunlight and has shined the same color ever since.

I didn’t have that same luxury. I was born in the darkest part of the night. My hair grew from the darkness, black coating my head. My eyes shared the same lack of light. Though, the blackness didn’t stop at surface level; it seeped into my skin and touched my heart, my soul. I have been tainted by darkness from the moment I was born.

I think that may be why I always found comfort in the dark when I was young. I grew up in a loud home, but I didn’t like the noise. The crashing, the banging, the breaking- I would do anything to escape it. My favorite place to be was on the floor of my closet. Lights off and hands over my ears, I found peace in the darkness.

Around this same time was when I found a light- when I met Aurora. The ray of sunshine and her family were new to town, and she was new to my school. She was smiley and bubbly, and didn’t give me much of a choice in being her friend. I can’t help but think it was for the better.

She would take me to her house after school and we would play together. We’d pretend to be mermaids, longing for the ocean and bonded to the moon. Though, I was too young to stay with her after dark. When I’d leave the comfort of her, she’d tell me to look at the moon.

“Don’t forget the moon is watching over us!” she’d yell from her front door.

Sitting alone in the darkness of my room, I opened the blinds to get a glimpse of the moon. I’d convince myself the crashing in my house was simply the crashing of the ocean waves. The banging on my walls was that of a ship, being knocked around from a storm. The breaking was that same ship, falling victim to the ocean. And I was a mermaid, untouched by the chaos surrounding me.

Though, I couldn’t be untouched by the chaos forever. I should have known better than to think I could be awarded peace. It wasn’t what I was made for. The stories I told myself were harder to believe when I was caught in the middle of the storm. I could no longer believe the noises were the cause of the powerful ocean when I would witness and experience them first hand.

Red cheeks and black eyes painted from the back of a hand coated my face. Pressing questions were brushed off with white lies, until it became second nature. Honesty was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Even to Aurora. I refused to taint her light with my darkness. Even as a child, I knew better.

We were playing mermaids when she asked about the marks on my face again. “Are there monsters in your home?” Her blue eyes, the eyes that shined the same color as the sky on a sunny day, looked at me so sadly. I was tainting the light of the sun.

“There were pirates in my ocean last night. I had to fight them off. They may have got me a few times but I defeated them!” I proclaimed proudly.

She giggled, seemingly happy with my answer. Or at least, distracted enough not to question it further. Aurora would never press an issue for too long if she knew it would only serve to upset people. From the moment I met her, I could tell she valued making other people happy. She was good at it, too.

Her home quickly became my favorite place to be. She was kind to me, her parents were kind to me, and her house was quiet. As a young child, it was so easy to envy her. Every night I was back under my own parent’s roof, I would sob into my pillow, begging whoever was listening to let me trade lives with her.

When we started to get older, Aurora only got more beautiful. Boys and girls were drawn to her, wanting to be her or be with her. I was not immune to her charms, either. I fell right in line with everyone else. The only difference was I had already been there for years.

When Aurora started using makeup, so did I. She would darken her eyelashes and paint her cheeks a rosy pink. I, on the other hand, was figuring out how to cover bruises and handprints. She learned different ways to do her hair: growing her golden locks long and curling them perfectly. I, on the other hand, cut my hair short. I think short hair suited me better.  

We were polar opposites. From head to toe, from skin to soul, we could not have been more different. She would walk beside me, a beaming ray of light with her dark and gloomy shadow. I felt silly next to her.

A boy had come up to talk to her- to flirt with her, rather. His smile would falter when his eyes flickered briefly from her to me. I was the storm people would brace themselves for after a beautiful, sunny day.

I learned to leave Aurora alone when boys would flirt with her. I would walk away, and she would always come and find me after, questioning why I left her. I wanted to scoff in her face, but her eyes looked at me so softly, and I reminded myself that it is not her fault she is an angel. She didn’t know what it was like to be friends with someone who had and was everything you could ever want and want to be.

I tried so hard not to be angry. I tried so hard not to be resentful. I always tried so hard but it never seemed to matter. I was always going to feel this way. I was always going to be this person. I was destined to live my life in the darkness and the noise.

I distanced myself from Aurora for the next few weeks. It was exhausting and pointless to keep fighting the darkness, and I didn’t want her dragged down with me. At first, she fought it. She was pushy and clingy, but even I knew the right words to keep her away. It killed me inside to hurt her, but I convinced myself it was justified: a little hurt now saved her from unbearable heartache later.

It only took a few days for her to be surrounded by new people. I told myself it didn’t bother me to see her happy without me, but it was hard to ignore the twisting feeling in my stomach. I figured the feeling would be easier to ignore if I ignored the sunshine altogether.

The next few days felt monotonous. Wake up, go to school, come home, hide in my room, fall asleep. Life felt pointless. Hopeless. Was I truly destined to live a life of misery? I preferred the boredom to the noise, but I didn’t feel any different. I was still filled with nothingness. I had never realized emptiness could be so heavy. I had the weight of the universe sitting on my chest and yet no part of the universe wanted to be a part of me. I was alone. Truly alone.

Without a light, I knew I would be consumed by the darkness. With one, I feared the darkness would consume us both. There was no winning this fight.

In the nights that violence made an appearance, I would revert back to that same scared little kid. I would tell myself the broken furniture were pieces of wood fallen from a shipwreck. The glass bottles littered around the living room were actually floating in my ocean, after drunken sailors would toss them overboard. The pushing and slapping were simply a wicked part of being a mermaid; the ocean grew wild and powerful during tough storms. I just had to wait out the storm.

After one particularly rough night, I didn’t go to school the next few days. The marks that lingered on my skin were not easily covered. Uncovered marks led to too many questions I wasn’t willing to answer.

I got back into the habit of hiding in the dark on my closet floor. I yearned for the silence. When the chaos of my home would finally settle, I’d leave the safety of my closet to sit on my bed and look at the moon. The beauty in the sky seemed to only shine brighter the darker it got around it. I longed for the days I could convince myself she was looking over me. The days I could convince myself the haunting noise was that of a storm, and wreckage that could cause no harm to me.

I couldn’t help but blame myself for the destruction of my life. I knew I was dealt a bad hand, but I was the one who threw away every Ace I was handed. I left the matches I was given out to drown in the storm, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever find them again.

I wanted to go back in time and fix everything I had broken. But even if I could pick up all the broken pieces of my life, I’d still never be able to make a home. Besides, a home was never meant to be built within a person.

Still, I longed for a home. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone in the dark. I missed the warmth of the sun on my skin and having to squint when the light was too bright. Even if my soul is tied to the blackness of the night, I want to enjoy the beauty of the day.

When I finally returned to school, Aurora was still surrounded by the same group of people. I watched her laugh and smile and find happiness in others. I couldn’t remember if she had ever found that same happiness in me.

I spent weeks watching from a distance. It was almost humorous that I could long for the same life I once yearned to leave. The more time I spent watching, the deeper the hopelessness would sink in. I couldn’t help but wonder why I allowed myself to live a life so unwanted. Unwanted by friends, unwanted by family, unwanted by myself.

It was almost too easy when I finally decided to leave. A bag packed with the few things I cared about hung on my back. I didn’t think of food or money or realistic items I may need. They didn’t matter. It was hard to care about anything. I didn’t even really care if I lived or died. I knew I would die if I let myself relive this cycle of misery again and again, so I may as well have seen if I could survive escaping it.

Alone at the bus stop, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Too many emotions consumed me, but most of all I was angry. I was angry at my parents. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the universe. I was so angry that I was the only one who wanted to tear their skin open to escape from themselves.

No one else seemed to be screaming inside their own mind. No one else seemed to be haunted by darkness. No one else needed to run away from the only life they’ve lived in order to keep from dying. I was alone. I was always so alone and the reality was finally breaking past the surface.

“Lilith?” I was convinced my eyes and ears were deceiving me when sunlight appeared in the middle of the night. “What are you doing here?”

I wasn’t sure Aurora had ever seen me cry before. I rarely let the darkness break the surface, and I especially tried to shield her from it. She looked concerned. With shaky hands and a knot in my throat, I could barely speak. My mouth opened to explain myself but only a broken sob left my lips. She held me then, while I cried. It was so warm within her arms I almost forgot we were in the cold of night.

“I need to go,” I sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She held me tighter. “I know,” she whispered. “But I’m here, and you’re okay now,” she assured me. “You’re safe.”

The bus came and went. I stayed sitting on the cold bench, engulfed in the warmth of her arms. I had every reason to leave, but I only needed one to stay. She held me, spoke to me, comforted me long after I had stopped crying. She told me the world was bigger than the house I grew up in; that I was worth more than the perception of others. She promised me a better tomorrow, and made me promise I would be here to experience it.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, but I would have died in that spot if she let me. It had been weeks since I had felt safe. It had been weeks since I had felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, and I wasn’t so easily going to let it go this time.

Looking back, I should have known Aurora would be the one to find me. I should have known she would be the one to talk me off the ledge. Though, overwhelmed with emotion, I never thought to ask what she was doing there in the first place.