#Until I write another drabble presumably.

[crescenthistory]

You and I, We’ve Grown Comfortable Here

Pairing: Lee x Reader

Summary: Two outcasts with nowhere to go decides to go nowhere together. In each other they find shelter, acceptance, intrigue and a bond neither expected to go as deep as it does.

Words: 13.6k

Warnings: not proofread, basically five fics in one (a year of their relationship developing), assault, hints at sexual assault, implied attempted rape, death, murder, cannibalism (bones&all hello), make-out sessions, blood, implied smut(?), panic attacks, implied abusive parents, kicked out of home, living in a car, crying, angst, slow burn, cannibals in love, hurt/much comfort, happy ending, lee's truck being a character in and of itself

A/N: i am so unwell, i wrote this whole thing in the span of ONE day. this man makes me unwell. anyway, if i ever write any other fics or drabbles for lee, unless otherwise specified, presume it is based on this background because i am obsessed with these two.

***

When you saw the headlights, your heart caught in your throat just a little. It was late, too late to be out walking down a relatively abandoned countryroad, too late to even be awake. With only the stars for company, you were dragging your feet as you were walking in the hopes of hitting a camping site soon. You had heard good rumours of one not far away from the town you are putting in your rearview mirror. Metaphorically of course, with no driving liscense or car, all you had to get from one place to another were your shoes and your bravery.

It had been a couple of months since you left home. Whenever you had the opportunity to sleep, you could still hear the shouting and the slamming of doors when your father finally threw you out for good. The home in question had never felt safe for you anyway, you had never fit into the small town cookie cutter they tried to press you into, even when it drew blood.

After all that, you might be best off alone you concluded, and have stuck to that as you made your way through the US. There was nowhere in particular you wanted to go, you just did not want to be tied down anywhere. You wanted to see, explore and feel.

You had been dabbling in hitchhiking over the months, always sending a silent prayer to gods you did not believe in before getting into the strange cars. With a knife always in the pocket of your hoodie, you felt relatively secure that you could defend yourself if worse comes to worse. Yet you knew you can never truly know. You tried to keep your head on you still.

There had not been any cars on the road you were currently occupying for the past two hours. It had, for a glorious moment, felt like yours. Just you and the pavement and the night. So, when the headlights lit you up for behind, you grew a bit weary. Part of you wanted to jump in it, unsure of how long you had left until the campsite, tired to the bone, but you knew you shouldn’t at this hour.

But you were also so incredibly tired.

The rumble of the engine neared closer and the driver dimmed the headlights. On your left, the car drove into view, an old beat up truck, and it was slowing down to stop beside you. Leaning over the passenger seat, a young man peered out through the rolled down window, a messy head of freshly dyed hair shining like a beacon in the dark. He watched you with a face torn between curios and cautious.

“You good?” he called out, trying to be heard over the noise of his car.

You didn’t answer right away. Instinct told you to keep walking, to keep your head down and stay invisible like you’d been doing all night. But something about him made you stop.

You squinted through the light. “What do you think?”

He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that was more habit than humor. "Yeah, didn’t think so." His voice was rough, not unfriendly, but sharp around the edges. He glanced down the empty road and then back at you. "Need a ride or something?"

Every ride so far had been a risk, a quiet leap of faith, and it wasn’t like you had a good track record with trusting people. Your parents had made sure of that, kicking you out like it was nothing, like you were the problem for being too loud, too you.

Still, you couldn’t keep walking forever. And there was something intriguing about this boy, out here alone in the night, just like you.

“I guess that’s where we’re at tonight,” was your response, and he nodded immediately with a halfsmile.

“Fair enough. Where you headed?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Same,” he said, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other across the empty road. Something about him felt different — like he wasn’t just another passerby. You weren’t scared. Maybe that should’ve worried you.

He threw the passenger side door open. “You coming, or what?”

"Depends," you said, raising an eyebrow. "You a serial killer or something?"

He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker in his eyes, something guarded. "Not tonight."

"Comforting," you deadpanned, but you found yourself stepping closer to the truck anyway.

He watched you climb in with a kind of steady calm, like he was waiting for you to make the call. There wasn’t an ounce of threat in him, no leering or weird comments, just quiet, detached curiosity.

The truck smelled faintly of gasoline and something else, something metallic that made the back of your throat tighten, but you ignored it. There was a quiet ease to him, though, like he wasn’t thinking of you as prey – like he wasn’t thinking of you at all, really. He just… was. And it felt like enough.

The silence stretched between you as the truck rumbled down the road. Finally, you turned to him, curiosity itching at your thoughts.

“So, you pick up girls off the side of the road often, or am I just lucky?”

He gave you a side glance, something like amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Lucky’s a word for it.”

There was something raw in his eyes when he said it, a guarded edge you recognized. You didn’t push it. 

“I heard there is a campsite in the town over, I was thinking of maybe staying the night there,” you said, not wanting him to feel stuck with you in the car forever.

“The Meadows Site? Yeah, I was actually thinking of parking there for the night myself,” he said, giving you a curious glance before looking back to the road. “But it is a few more hours off.”

“Wow, I really am lucky you picked me up then.”

He snorted at that, a sound you somehow hadn’t expected to escape from him, but was amused to hear. You didn’t feel a need to chat further at the moment, and didn’t get the impression he did either. It was not uncomfortable though, the opposite actually. The atmosphere in his truck was comforting, to the point where you would almost fall asleep, though you really should not. Still, there was one thing left to ask.

“What’s your name, kind stranger?” you quipped, teasing tone evident in your voice. He smiled fully then, relaxing more into his seat.

“Lee. And yours, lucky girl?”

You told him your name and settled back into your seat yourself, watching the stars blur into the dark as the truck carried you further and further from everything you’d ever known.

***

It turned out you both had nowhere to go. No one waiting for you at the end of the line. No real reason for him to drive off without you the morning after your night spent in Meadows Site. He had borrowed you a blanket to lay on, thicker than the one you had been surviving on for a while now. After eating breakfast at a shop nearby that he showed you, clearly more familiar in the area than you, it just made sense to get back into the truck with him. That’s how you both rationalised it, as your eyes sparked with interest and entertainment whenever they met. Just made sense.

From that day, Lee’s truck became the closest you had had to a home in months. Maybe even years.

The miles between you and the world grew, but so did the distance between you and the versions of yourselves you left behind. You had nothing to offer each other apart from company, and nothing to lose from spending your days with one another. 

It became easy, almost too easy. Long stretches of road, music humming through the truck's radio, filling the space between the two of you. Conversations about nothing that meant everything — favorite songs, old memories that still hurt, silly stories from childhood, tragedies that were so massive it became intrinsically hilarious to you both, Stories you told in the dead of night when the world felt softer, more forgiving. 

Lee felt true in a way no other had. His company was comfortable, natural. A genuine friend that you could tease, maybe even flirt with a little when the mood struck. Nothing serious you would say. All in good fun, teenagers cruising through the Midwestern countryside.

It felt like forever, though it had only been a few weeks. The truck was a much better bed than the thin blanket you had relied on since you left the house you grew up in. You’d sleep in the backseat, sometimes curled up in the trunk with blankets piled up like a nest. On rare occasions, when exhaustion weighed you both down, you’d spring for a cheap motel, a temporary reprieve from the road.

The more you got to know Lee, the more that sense you had gotten about him on the night you met grew. Something was different about him, something you could taste on your tongue, a kind of unspoken understanding that simmered beneath the surface. You couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but there was something in Lee that reminded you of someone else. It wasn’t just the way he moved or the sharp look in his eyes – it was the way he held himself, the way he watched people, sizing them up like he knew more about them than they’d ever want to know.

You had known someone like that before.

Your uncle.

Your family never talked about him, not after he disappeared, but you remembered the day it happened like a movie in your mind. The last time you saw him. He had come to visit, just passing through, or so he said. You were young, but not young enough to forget the blood that stained his clothes, how his face was drawn, pale, like he was barely holding it together. How his teeth were off-white in a way you had never seen before. He had brushed it off when you asked him, saying he had gotten into a fight, nothing serious, but the way he smelled… it stuck with you.

The metallic tang of blood, the way it clung to him even after he cleaned up, how his eyes seemed wild and unfocused in the dim light of the kitchen. You could never explain it to someone without sounding insane. But yet somehow, you knew what he was. You knew.

Your parents didn’t say much about it then. They just watched him with wary eyes, their faces tight with something close to fear, though they never admitted it. When he left, they didn’t even look at that, and once he was gone they removed all photographs. They never mention him again, not even when you asked. It was like he had never existed. Like he had never even been part of the family.

You never met someone like him again, someone you could feel deep in your bones.

Until Lee. The Lee you looked at as he drove nonchalantly down roads, almost too relaxed to be sitting in a driver’s seat. He made all those pieces you had tucked away begin to slot together, forming a picture that put words to your instincts. The way your uncle had looked that night, the way your own body sometimes seemed to hum with something restless, it was all there, just waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You did not bring it up to him, it never seemed natural. And honestly, you didn’t feel the need to. For some reason, the idea of it all didn’t bother you. Lee was just Lee still, your road companion.

One night, you and Lee had parked the truck somewhere far off the main road, the stars stretched out like a tapestry above you. It was late, the kind of late where the world felt quieter, where the darkness seemed deeper, more honest. You were lying on a blanket in the bed of the truck, side by side, the silence between you comfortable but heavy, like something was waiting to be said.

The two of you had shared a lot already, more than you thought you had in you to share. He was still technically a strange man to you, it had not yet been a month. Still, you felt a bond with him you could not explain. His presence brought you peace in a world too large for you to grasp.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his fingers twitched restlessly by his side, like he was working through something in his head. Lee had been quieter than usual lately, more thoughtful, more distant. You didn’t push him – he was always like that, a little withdrawn when he was trying to sort through whatever was going on in his head. But tonight, it felt different. More pointed.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you… know?"

The question caught you off guard. It was so vague, so quiet, that for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. You turned your head to look at him, but his eyes were still fixed on the stars above, his expression unreadable in the dim light. There was something in his tone, though. Cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you would answer. Like he was afraid to hear it.

You swallowed, your heart picking up speed. "Know what?"

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he shifted slightly, still not looking at you. It seemed like he had hoped you would not ask. He was always careful, always measured with his words, but this time, you could tell he was holding something back. He exhaled slowly, and then, without turning his head, he said it again, this time more direct.

"About me. About what I am."

There was no uncertainty in you about what he was referring to. There it was, the thing you had been skirting around, the thing neither of you had spoken aloud. You knew, deep down, that this conversation had been coming for a while, with all the time you spent together, but now that it was here, the weight of it felt like a stone settling in your chest.

Your mind raced, memories of your uncle flashing through your thoughts, the blood on his hands, the way your parents had never spoken about him again. The way it all lingered in you like electricity. 

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet. "Yeah. I know."

Lee didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body seemed to coil like a spring, ready to snap. His fingers drummed lightly against the truck bed, a habit he had when he was nervous, though he’d never admit it. 

You wondered how he knew to ask you, if he had seen it in your eyes. You guessed you could ask him. But this moment hung in the air between you with such fragility. It felt like something had shifted irreversibly between you, and you were not yet certain if it was a good thing or not.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, strained. "And you… don’t care? Or what? You don’t wanna leave?"

You turned to him fully, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at his face. The starlight cast shadows over his sharp features, but his eyes—his eyes were clear, burning with something raw, something vulnerable he never let anyone else see. They were straining to remain trained on the sky.

"I’m not scared of you, Lee," you said softly, your voice steady but firm. "Or of it. I know who you are. And I know you’re a good person."

Lee’s breath hitched, just for a moment, barely noticeable, but you caught it. His eyes finally flickered toward you, the walls he kept up so carefully starting to crack. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. He just stared at you, a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes, none of them quite making it out.

He swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower when he finally spoke. "You don’t even know what I’ve done."

"I don’t need to," you said, your gaze locked on his. "I know you. I’ve been with you this long, and I think I have known all along. And I’m still here."

He stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t believe what you were saying, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. But when you didn’t, when you just kept looking at him like none of it scared you, like you weren’t about to run, something in him seemed to shift. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little, and he let out a slow, shaky breath.

"Why are you not afraid?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, almost wanting to laugh. “You’re just Lee to me.”

Lee looked away again, his eyes tracing the stars, but his mind was far from the night sky. The silence stretched between you once more, but this time, it wasn’t heavy with tension. It felt lighter. Like a weight had been lifted, even if he wasn’t ready to say it yet.

You settled back in beside him, arm grazing his. Comfortable. 

For the first time in a long while, Lee let himself relax. He was always aloof, physically all over the place, but his mind remained alert. Now, he let it fall onto the pillow your words provided. He realized then, though he didn’t say it out loud, that the tightness in his chest, the thing he had been fighting for weeks, it wasn’t just nothing. He didn’t want to think the word, let alone say it. It had crept in slowly, so quietly that he hadn’t noticed it until it was staring him in the face. 

Love didn’t feel safe to him. Love was complicated, messy. Dangerous, even. And yet, here you were, sitting beside him, telling him you weren’t afraid, telling him you knew who he was and that it didn’t matter. That you’d stay.

It was a feeling he didn’t know how to name. Not yet.

He turned back to you, his eyes softer now, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re really not gonna leave, huh?"

You laughed a little at how he shared it like a revelation, shaking your head. "Nope. You’re stuck with me."

Lee let out a breathy laugh, a sound that seemed to ease the last bit of tension between you. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since he met you, he felt something close to hope. He didn’t say it, but in that moment, he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

"I could get used to that," he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

And as the two of you sat there, side by side under the stars, the unspoken understanding between you deepened, solidified. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t afraid. And for Lee, that was enough.

You fell asleep side by side, just you and the stars.

***

Nights passed like that, over weeks and months, with you and him slowly gravitating closer. 

Whether it be in the seats of the truck or the trunk, you always slept near each other. Originally you slept on either side of the trunk, or in each your seat, but as you spent most of your nights talking until either one of you passed out, it just felt natural to be close by.

Waking up with your limbs accidentally having gotten entangled, faces closer than you ever would be when conscious became a norm. The first time it happened, Lee woke first, but did not move until you woke, revelling in the touch of your body against his. Eyes studying your calm face, fully convinced this would be his only opportunity to be this close to you. When you came to, he pretended your movements woke him.

Neither of you spoke of it. There was no need to. Some things didn’t need words.

The more you got used to waking up entangled, the more intimate it became. You would find yourself laying on top of Lee’s chest, or his face would be tucked into the crook of your neck. Once this started happening, you both happened to begin to prefer sleeping in the trunk.

Despite your increasing comfort with each other, the nights were never completely peaceful. Sometimes you would wake up to find him gone, wandering somewhere. It was usually in the aftermath of a nightmare, but you also knew that he sometimes had other reasons for being gone.

You woke up in the middle of the night, the truck’s trunk feeling too empty, too cold. Instinctively, your hand reached over the space where Lee usually lay beside you, but all you felt was the crumpled fabric of his jacket. He wasn’t there. For a few seconds, you blinked in the darkness, groggy, your mind slow to catch up with the situation. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. That was when you noticed the faint sounds of movement just beyond the trees, down near the creek.

When possible, you two tried to park near a body of water, so you had the opportunity to wash up. You had also mentioned to Lee how relaxing you found lakes, and he started planning his routes around it after that.

You could hear heavy breathing and splashing by the water. Without thinking, you slipped out of the trunk, pulling on one of Lee’s hoodies he had discarded beside your blankets, and you quietly padded down toward the sounds. The moon hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, and that was when you saw him.

Lee was crouched near the edge of the creek, his shoulders tense, his hands dipped in the water. The pale light from the moon caught on his skin, but more than that, it illuminated the dark smudges smeared across his neck and arms. Blood.

He had not heard you yet, too focused on what he was doing – trying to scrub the blood away with frantic, almost desperate movements. He was shaking, his body too tense, like he was on the verge of unraveling. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, the material soaked in water and blood. His hair, usually a mess of carefully maintained chaos, stuck to his forehead in sweat-soaked strands.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You just watched him, heart aching at how broken he looked. It wasn’t like the Lee you were used to. This wasn’t the confident, quippy guy who could brush off anything with a smirk. No, this was the other side of him, the side he didn’t let you see. The one that carried all the weight of what he did, of who he was. The one that bled in more ways than just physically.

“Lee?” Your voice was soft, careful. You didn’t want to startle him, but you couldn’t just stand there, watching him like this.

He froze for a moment, his hands stilling in the water. He didn’t look up at you right away, just stared down at his own reflection rippling in the creek. “Go back to the truck,” he said, his voice rough, a little shaky. “I’m fine.”

But you could hear it. He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

A closer look at where he was sitting, you could see that he wasn’t fine physically either, his torn shirt revealing scratches across his upper body, bruises already forming along his arms in the moonlight. Whoever encountered your Lee tonight had put up a fight.

You ignored him, stepping closer, your bare feet sinking into the wet grass near the water’s edge. “You’re hurt.”

He let out a harsh breath, finally looking up at you. His face was pale, a little gaunt under the moonlight. His eyes, usually so sharp and full of something unreadable, were glassy. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning back to the water. “I’m just cleaning up.”

But you could see the way his hands trembled, how his movements were too rough, too quick, like he was trying to scrub the guilt away more than the blood. You stepped closer until you were beside him, crouching down at his level.

“Lee, look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw tightened, and he kept scrubbing, the water turning pink as it mixed with the blood on his skin. 

"Lee," you said again, firmer this time, reaching out to gently touch his arm. 

He finally stopped, his hands hovering just above the surface of the water, but still wouldn’t look at you. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he muttered, voice raw. “You weren’t supposed to—” He cut himself off, his shoulders hunching forward like he was folding into himself. “Shit.”

"What is wrong with me seeing this?" you asked quietly, your fingers tracing the outline of a bruise forming along his arm. "Why do you have to fix it yourself?"

He swallowed hard, still staring at the water. "Because you don’t need to deal with this. With me. You didn’t sign up for… any of this." His voice wavered at the edges, frustration mixing with exhaustion.

You shook your head, biting back the sting in your own chest. "You think I care about blood? About this? I knew what I was getting into, I told you so. If you’re hurt, I want to help."

He finally looked at you then, his expression flickering with something like disbelief. “You shouldn’t have to… see me like this. Like some… fuckin’ monster. No, no.”

“You’re not a monster,” you said firmly, and you didn’t waver. You tightened your grip on his forearm. You could see the bruises, the blood streaking down his neck in shapes that looked like somebody had scratched at him, put up a fight. You saw the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding everything in, trying not to crack open. You saw the way his eyes flickered with guilt, shame, like he couldn’t stand himself in that moment. The same boy that laughed with you in the car, who played jokes on strangers. Who usually tried to seem totally content with this lifestyle of his.

"Yes, I am," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You don’t… understand what it’s like. To have to do this, to –"

"I don’t have to understand everything," you cut him off, your hand sliding up to his neck, gently brushing through his damp hair. "But I know you. And I know you don’t have to do this alone. That is my choice, and I choose to be here for you."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment like he was trying to pull himself together. But when he opened them again, you saw the vulnerability in them, the rawness that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He was struggling, fighting to keep himself together, to not fall apart in front of you.

You sat down beside him fully now, your knees brushing his, your hand still resting at the back of his neck. “Let me help.”

He hesitated, his pride fighting against the offer, but he was too tired to resist for long. Slowly, he nodded, his body slumping in defeat as he let you take over.

You helped him take of his torn t-shirt, leaving him bare to reflect the moonlight, and dipped it into the creek. The cold water soaking through the fabric as you carefully brought it back up to his skin, gently wiping away the dried blood from his face, his arms. He winced slightly when you dabbed at a few deeper cuts near his ribs, but he didn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," you said quietly, your eyes focused on cleaning him up. "You don’t have to be strong all the time."

Lee didn’t respond right away. He just watched you, his eyes following the way you moved, the way your touch was soft, careful. He let out a low breath, something like relief mixing with the exhaustion in his voice. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“Why?” You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re hurt? Or because you’re human?”

He laughed roughly at that, shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t felt human in a long time.”

You paused, your hand stilling for a moment before you continued cleaning the blood from his neck. “You feel human to me.”

He went quiet again, his eyes studying you, the way you didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from the mess of him. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the gentle ripple of the creek as you worked, the soft splash of water as you wrung out the bloody fabric.

“He-” Lee began but his voice broke. You were patient, continuing to tend to him as he seemed to wrestle with whether to continue the sentence. Eventually: “He was a bad guy. I always try to make sure they are.”

It broke your heart to hear the pleading undertone of what he was saying. What he was trying to convey to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what the best response was, but you settled on telling him you believed him.

When you were done, you leaned back slightly, your hands resting on your thighs as you looked him over. He still had some bruises that would take time to heal, but most of the blood was gone, his skin clean again under the moonlight. None of his scratches were in need of any serious medical intervention, but you made a mental note to stop by a pharmacy in the morning regardless.

“There,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Better.”

Lee stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, without warning, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this.”

You closed your eyes, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “I want to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, just stayed there, eyes closed and his forehead resting against yours. His breath slowly steadying as he let himself lean on you, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

You smiled slightly, your hand moving to the back of his neck again, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “I told you. You’re not alone.”

“Not alone,” he mumbled and wiggled his forehead against yours briefly before pulling back and getting up.

He stretched a hand out to you, ready to pull you back with him to the truck.

***

A few states had ended up in your rearview mirror since you turned that creek pink and your hearts slightly softer. The atmosphere between you had shifted yet again, growing deeper and deeper each time. There was no acknowledgement of it, but there didn’t need to be. In the unspokeness, you could grow bolder. The touches, the glances, they took up more and more space in your increasingly small truck. You would yet again wake up in each other’s arms, and it no longer felt accidental.

It was the small things, too. The way his hand would brush yours when you walked side by side, or how he let his fingers linger a moment longer when you passed him something. The way your legs would press together in the truck when you shared the cramped front seat, neither of you moving away. Sometimes, when the truck was pulled off the road and you were both leaning against it, talking under the stars, his knee would bump against yours, and instead of pulling back, he let it stay there.

It felt like you were both waiting for something. The tension was not sharp, it was warm, almost inviting. You both knew what was next, but neither of you had made the move to cross that last, thin line.

You and Lee had spent the evening like you always did—driving, talking, letting the hours slip away into easy silences and the occasional laugh. Planning where to head to next. You had decided to drive to see the silliest places you could find, asking random strangers was the weirdest tourist attraction they have heard of is. On the list is Ben and Jerry’s Flavor Graveyard, the world largest ball of paint and a nuclear waste adventure trail. The night had come over you, and you ended up parked on the outskirts of a town, the lights from them illuminating you even in the dark. The two of you sat on the hood of the truck, your legs dangling off the edge, shoulders brushing.

He was quieter tonight. You could sense it in the way his gaze kept drifting over to you, then back to the stars. His hand rested on the metal beside you, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm, like he was thinking through something he had not decided on yet. But it wasn’t the usual restlessness that seemed to rule Lee’s entire existence. This was something different. Something quieter.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet for a guy who never shuts up.”

He huffed a laugh, his head tilting toward you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your eyes catching the faint light of the stars reflecting in his. It was moments like this that you felt the pull most strongly – the way his face softened when he wasn’t trying to keep his guard up, the way he let you see parts of him he didn’t show anyone else. There was something magnetic about Lee when he wasn’t hiding. It made you want to keep his doors open, to take them off their hinges.

His hand shifted, almost imperceptibly, his fingers brushing against yours on the deck of the trunk. It was barely a touch, just the faintest hint of skin against skin, but you felt it like a jolt, a reminder of how close you both were. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. 

The silence stretched between you again, thick with something unspoken. It struck you how much serenity you felt in your soul in the silences with him, even when there was something brewing in it. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of him, the way his breath had slowed, his body still as if he was waiting for something.

Your fingers twitched, brushing against his again, and this time, you didn’t hesitate. You turned your hand over, palm up, an invitation as much as it was a question. Lee glanced down at your hand, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, like he had so many times before. But instead, his fingers curled slowly around yours, his grip gentle but sure, and your breath caught in your throat.

Neither of you spoke. The understanding that had hung between you for weeks was right there, all you had to do was lean into it.

“Lee,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking. You liked having his name in your mouth. 

He turned his body towards you at his name, shifting closer, eyes locked on yours. You could see the hesitation there, the way his brow furrowed slightly, like he was still fighting something inside himself, still holding back.

But you weren’t. Not anymore.

You leaned in, closing the space between you before you could second-guess yourself, your lips brushing his softly, testing. Just once, enough to give him an out, enough to say I’m here, if you are.

For a moment, nothing happened. Lee stayed perfectly still against you, his breath caught, his fingers tightening around yours. Then, slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned in further, his lips pressing back against yours, soft and warm. Open mouthed, lovingly.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate like you might have imagined. It was careful, deliberate, like he was letting himself feel it for the first time, like he wanted to make sure it was real. His free hand came up, brushing lightly against your jaw, his fingers tracing the edge of your face, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on.

You deepened the kiss further, savouring his touches, the feeling of his tongue against yours. Your hand glided up to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Slow but steady, the tension between you finally breaking in the gentlest way possible. It was like everything that had been building between you – every touch, every glance, every unspoken word – was spilling into that moment, into the way his lips moved against yours, into the way he held you like you were the only thing to hold.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Lee’s eyes were still closed, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if grounding himself in the moment, his lips parted, trying to catch his breath.

You stayed like that for a while, it didn’t matter how long. Few things mattered, you had found. Lee did. 

When he finally opened his eyes, they were unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before. He didn’t smile, but the look in his eyes said enough. He was here, with you, in whatever this was.

He whispered your name, a late response.

You hummed with a smile, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. No words were needed. There were none that could be said, not now, not yet. 

Lee chuckled softly, a sound that felt more like relief than anything else. He slid down from leaning against the truck, to laying on the deck, still not letting go of your hand. You followed suit, for the first time purposefully laying your body half on top of his, head resting on his chest. 

No more waiting.

There was a whole civilisation right before you, just out of reach, but for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the next destination. You were here, together, and that was all that mattered.

***

Once that barrier was breached, you and Lee found yourself stealing kisses of varying intensity more often than not. There was no label on the two of you, with your pasts you both were guarded from being the first to admit the intensity behind your actions. Yet, the need to be close was not dissipating as the days passed, if anything it only grew the more of a taste you got for each other.

One night, you found yourselves at a dive bar on the edge of some no-name town. The music thumped through the walls, too loud and too fast, but it matched the energy buzzing between you and Lee. The dim lights made everything look a little hazy, like the whole world was moving in slow motion. Lee leaned against the bar, his back to the crowd, his eyes fixed on you as you stood close to him, sipping on a cheap cider that barely tasted like anything. He hadn’t drank much tonight, which made the way he was looking at you feel even more intense.

There was something magnetic about him, the way he carried himself, the way his arm seemed to naturally find its way around your shoulders when in public, protective and possessive without being overbearing. You could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes, and you leaned into it, enjoying the comfort of his touch. 

It was late, and the air between you was only magnifying your need for him, his fingers barely touching yours on the bartop like he was daring you to pull him closer. He only moved them to order another round from the bartender, shooting you a wicked grin.

“Thoughts?” he asked you as he handed you your new drink.

“This place isn’t too bad. The guy at the bar isn’t either.” The smile you flashed him was teasing and he all but rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both alright.”

You were about to make some quip about his soft spot for dive bars when a figure caught your eye, and you tensed. A guy had sidled up to the bar a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you, too interested, too familiar. You glanced at Lee, but he was already clocking the guy, his body going still beside you, though his expression didn’t change.

The guy stumbled closer, his drink sloshing in his hand. “You two look like you’re having a good time,” he slurred, his gaze flicking between you and Lee with a smirk that made your skin crawl.

Lee’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from the guy. His look could draw blood, but his voice stayed calm, almost flat. “We were.”

The guy either didn’t notice your discomfort and Lee’s adverse stance, or he just didn’t care. He leaned in a little closer, still grinning like this was all a joke. “Come on, man. Just trying to talk to her.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Lee shifted, his arm moving in one fluid motion to slide around your waist, pulling you against him in a way that felt natural, like he was drawing a line in the sand. “She’s not interested,” he said, voice low and steady, but you could feel the warning beneath the surface.

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Lee’s calm intensity, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Hey, man, no need to get all protective. Just having fun.”

Lee kept staring him down, his grip on you tight, steadying you as much as he was putting space between you and the guy. “Well, you’re done,” he said, still in that same measured tone, like he wasn’t giving the guy a choice in the matter. “Go back to your drink.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off with a muttered, “Alright, alright. Chill.” Slunking back into the crowd, he cast a few annoyed glances over his shoulder, but lacked the bravery to follow up on his annoyance.

Lee’s body was still taut with that lingering tension, eyes scanning the room again before he finally let out a breath. He didn’t pull away from you though, his hand resting on your hip as if he needed the contact to remind himself that you were alright.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice softer now as he finally looked down at you, concern flickering behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered, trying to take in what just happened and how swiftly Lee handled it. Never before have you gotten away from a situation with a creepy man so fast. 

“Are you?” you eventually asked, looking up to see his jaw still slightly clenched.

He nodded, his expression softening slightly as he glanced down to meet your eyes. "Yeah. Just don’t like guys like that."

You smiled a little, leaning into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. "I noticed."

His lips quirked into a small grin, and it felt easy again, back to just the two of you, even in this crowded bar. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against your skin now that you stood so close.

“Think so.” You finished your drink and without another word, he took your hand, leading you out into the cool night air. 

The bar’s noise faded into the background as the two of you walked back to the truck, your fingers still intertwined with his. There was something about the way he was holding your hand that made your heart race. It was tighter than normal, his thumb brushing over your skin.

You stopped by the passenger side door and Lee immediatley closed the gap between you, pressing you gently against the side of the truck. His hands rested on your hips, it was as if he had realised he could place them there now. When his gaze met yours, his eyes flickered with something dangerous, something raw.

"You know," he murmured, his voice rough, "I will always protect you. In any situation.”

You almost didn’t know what to say. It was so simple, yet he poured so much emotion into those words, and you felt them entirely.

“I do know,” you whispered. “I have never felt safety like this before.” The last part felt like a confession more than an answer. 

Lee’s breath hitched and he laid his forehead against yours, leaning more of his body against yours, so you were flush between him and the metal of the car.

“I’ve been trying not to kiss you all night. You’ve made it difficult.” Lee looked into your eyes as he said it, searching your face for a reaction. His pupils were wide, gaze intense.

You felt a shiver run through you at his words, the heat between you burning brighter. "Then stop trying."

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked the breath out of you, one hand sliding up to grip your face while the other remained held your hips tighter, closer. His kisses were always languid, open-mouthed and passionate. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair and pulling at it as you kissed him back with equal intensity, your body arching against his. His mouth was warm and demanding, and when he kissed you, it felt like everything else in the world fell away.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving up under your shirt, the cool air mixing with the heat of his touch. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your neck, each kiss igniting sparks along your skin. You gasped softly, tilting your head to give him better access, your fingers travelling to dig into the skin of his back

"God," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and breathless, like he could barely control himself.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, merging under the stars, the truck a silent witness to the way your bodies moved together, the way you couldn’t seem to get close enough. You lost track of time, lost track of everything except the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your skin. He was beginning to become your Lee.

***

Living with Lee changed you in many ways, but the most important was that for the first time in your life, you felt free. Whether it was the boy’s attitude or his attentiveness to you, or the roads that stretched for miles like ink on paper, you settled into your own body and existence. You owned yourself and your destiny in a way you didn’t think possible.

As you shared more of yourselves with each other, you realised just how repressed you had been, just how much of you had been shut off. In your newfound safety in Lee, you could open up.

Things long locked away were stirring within you. Some painful, some exciting. And some, you didn’t have the words to describe yet.

For the time being, you were on a quest to a museum of the history of cheese that an old lady at a café had been raving to you about. It was another state over, but this sweet woman insisted it was worth it, and as you were the ones who asked her about a recommendation, you felt it only right to trust her word.

On the way there, you were stopping in a typical shittown, the kind where nothing really happens but somehow everyone knows everyone else’s business. Craving excitement after a long day in the car with your feet in Lee’s lap, you asked him to go looking through town for something to do. There was a bonfire party that night, something thrown together by a group of locals, and you figured that would do.

 The fire crackled in the center of the gathering in the middle of the forest, the air heavy with smoke and alcohol. Lee’s arm was slung loosely around your shoulders as you walked through, scouting the place.

"You wanna stay long?" he asked, voice low in your ear.

You shook your head, leaning into him a little. "Nah. Let’s just see how it goes."

He nodded, but you could feel the tension in him, like he was always keeping one eye on the crowd. That protective streak ran deep in him, and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from.

The two of you settled down on a log by the fire, chatting with some locals and getting your kick out of listening to them drawl away about town drama. A man had been circling where you were sat, both you and Lee noticed, but he never approached.

Needing to get some water from the truck, you squeezed Lee’s leg and told him you’d be right back.

He let his arm fall from around you to let you up, but looked at you with concern. “Don’t be long.” You just smiled. He watched you go, his eyes lingering on you longer than you realized.

You were walking back with water in hand, still on the outskirts of the bonfire and shielded from view when you saw the man coming up towards you. He looked the exact same as every man who had been a bother to you since you began life on your own and your stomach soured.

"Hey," the guy’s voice was a slurred mix of alcohol and bravado, his grin too wide, too familiar. "Why’d you leave your pretty boy toy behind? Done with him and ready for me?"

Your skin prickled with unease, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m good. You should head back.”

He ignored you, stepping closer. "Come on, don’t be like that. We’re vibing, right?"

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm, and you jerked back instinctively. “Don’t touch me.”

The grin on his face faltered, replaced with something darker. “You’re just playing hard to get,” he muttered, his voice low and threatening now. "Girls like you always do."

“Back off!” you tried, but he took quick steps toward you.

Your heart raced, and before you could step away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with bruising force. You twisted, trying to wrench yourself free, but he was stronger than he looked. His other hand moved to his pocket, and when he pulled out the glint of a blade, panic surged through you.

"Stop –"

"You’re not going anywhere –"

What happened next was a blur—a clash of instincts, fear driving your body into overdrive. He lifted the knife towards your throat, likely to threathen and not harm in the moment, but you could not wait to see how that would turn out. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your hands lashed out, grabbing his wrist with one and prying the knife away with another. Suddenly the blade was in your hand, and when he threw himself on top of you, you shoved him off with one hand and used the knife with the other. 

It found its home in his neck.

You scrambled away, not yet realising what had just happened. At your hands. You stared at him in shock where he laid in front of you, the sounds sickening, wet gurgle as his throat opened up. Blood poured out in a thick stream, hot and fast, soaking his shirt.

In shock and desperation, you grabbed at the wound as if to counteract what you had just done, but he took that opportunity to grab you by the hair and neck, attempting to choke you. Fear surged through you once more, but his once-hard grip was already weakening and you could wrestle free.

By the time you recovered and looked up, the life had drained from his eyes. All you could hear was your breathing and the pulse in your head.

You could smell the blood. On your hands, on his clothes, still oozing from his wound. It was dizzying, the world becoming distant as you were trapped inside this bubble that consisted of the two of you. You and the corpse.

You realised you had never seen a corpse before, not in person. Smelling fresh blood was different from smelling it once it had harkened on Lee’s skin. Not even the thought of Lee could drag you out of the state you were slowly being pulled into.

Without fully acknowledging your movements, you moved back towards the man, the one who had wished you dead and died by his own knife. Your eyes were fixated on his wound, something building inside of you at a rapid speed. A coil built in your stomach, one you had known was there for essentially forever, without the ability to give it a name.

It snapped. And as it did, you leaned down and sunk your teeth into his neck.

Everything felt right, not the kind of comfortable right you had developed with Lee, it felt like your body was finally getting air after a long period of suffocation, it felt like water after a long run. It felt like a meal after having been starving.

Your face was buried further and further in the flesh, your mind completely void of all thoughts. Just your fingers and teeth, blood and bone. Feral, instinctive, lost in the hunger that just kept building, like it was never enough. 

"Shit."

A switch went off, and you were snapped back to reality. The smell of forest pine and moss, bonfire and smoke crept back in. As you slowly lifted your gaze, you saw him standing at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, his face pale in the moonlight. His gaze was locked on you, and for the first time since you met him, you saw real shock on his face. Not fear exactly, but something close. Something you didn’t expect.

Horror.

“Lee…” Your voice broke, barely a whisper. The reality of what you’d just done hit you all at once, crashing into you like a wave. “Oh, God.”

Your eyes flashed back down and suddenly it was as if you realised you had a corpse at your feet. You scrambled backwards, breathing quickening, horrified and lost. You stared at your hands as tears were beginning to blur your vision, only worsened by how you couldn’t even see your skin’s colour through all the blood. Small curses kept spilling out past your lips as your eyes darted between the man, your hands and Lee.

“I– I didn’t mean to, I–” Your voice broke.

Lee took a step forward, his face still a mask of shock. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the blood smeared across your skin. He’d always sensed something in you, always felt that you and him were the same in some way, but this… this was different. He hadn’t smelled it on you before. He had no idea.

“I didn’t– I don’t know what happened, I just–” You couldn’t make sense of it. Of anything. Your world was turned upside down.

“Hey.” Lee had made his way over to you, sitting on his knees in front of you. His voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, low and firm but not harsh. He closed the distance between you grabbing your arm, pulling you up from the ground. His grip was steady, but there was urgency in it now. “We gotta go.”

You blinked at him, still in shock, the reality of what you’d done slowly settling in. “But –”

“I know, I know, okay?” He pulled on a piece of hair plastered to your skin by blood, tucking it behind your hair. “I get it. But we gotta go. Now.” His voice cut through your haze of confusion and guilt. He didn’t wait for you to respond, didn’t give you the chance to argue. He grabbed you by the waist, practically lifting you off your feet as he dragged you away from the body and into the trees.

The world around you blurred as he pulled you through the forest, his grip firm, unyielding. The pounding in your head drowned out everything else– the sound of the party, the crackle of the bonfire, the smell of blood still clinging to you. All you could think about was what you had just done. What it meant. What you were.

By the time you reached the truck, you were shaking, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Lee shoved you into the passenger seat, his hand still gripping your arm like he was afraid you might bolt. He climbed in beside you, slamming the door shut, his face hard and unreadable as he started the engine.

For a while, there was nothing but the hum of the road, the world outside the truck a blur of dark trees and empty stretches of highway. Lee didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his grip tight on the wheel. Mind racing almost as fast as the car, as he sped down the highway, determined to get as far away from the scene as possible. You sat beside him, leaning your head on the dashboard in front of you as you tried to gather yourself. Your hands still trembling, blood still drying on your skin. 

You could barely breathe, the walls of the truck closing in around you. The reality of what you had done hit you again, harder this time. You had killed someone. Eaten someone.

You choked on a sob, tears already streaking the blood on your face. Your chest was tightening, your vision blurring. “Lee, I–”

There was no way for you to finish the sentence.

With your eyes clenched shut, hidden away, making yourself as small as possible in your seat, you couldn’t see the pained look he gave you. He needed to protect you by putting distance between you and the crime. But all he wanted was to pull you close.

“It’s okay. I will stop as soon as I can. It’s okay.” 

Eventually he caught eye of a discreet sideroad and veered the truck down it as fast as possible. He slammed on the brakes, parking the car on a plot of grass by a river. The engine cut off, leaving the night in a sudden, heavy silence. In the blink of an eye, Lee was out of the truck, opening your door to pull you out as well. You were too out of it, not processing anything that was happening. He ended up scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal style down to the riverside. 

One bloody bride that is.

He sat you down by the water, his hands still firm on your arms, not giving you room to break down yet. "Sit here." His voice was softer now, but still edged with urgency. He knelt beside you, shrugging off his jacket and dipping it into the water. The cold night air hit your skin, but you barely felt it, still lost in the haze of panic.

You sat there, frozen, as he started to clean the blood off your hands, your arms, your face, as carefully as he could when hurrying. His touch was careful, deliberate, the way it had been when you first found him at the creek, battered and trying to clean himself up. But there was something different this time, something softer, more protective, like he wasn’t just cleaning the blood away, but trying to take some of the weight of it with him. Like he was saying, You don’t have to carry this alone. His jaw was clenched, eyes focused entirely on you, like he was trying to fix you, trying to put you back together piece by piece.

“Lee,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Am I–?” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

He paused, his hands stilling for just a second before he looked up at you. His expression softened, something breaking in his eyes. He reached up with a wet hand, brushing over your cheek and simultaneously cleaning some blood off. "You don’t have to be scared of it," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Or of me."

You blinked, tears welling in your eyes. "I don’t understand."

“I’m here.” His fingers remained on your face, wiping away the tears before they could fall too far. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You gave a faint nod. 

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of what had just happened hanging between you. He kept trying to get as much blood as possible off you, making you presentable again both in case someone saw you and to help you feel normal again. He didn’t try to explain it, didn’t try to rationalize it. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “He attacked me, I protected myself and then, then–”

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

Lee made sure your face and hands were free from blood, and then he helped you out of your stained sweater, leaving you in just your top underneath. He discarded it quick and turned back to you, grabbing your shaking hands.

“We need to move again, sweetheart” he said, voice low but certain. “We can’t stay too close.”

He stood up, reaching out to pull you up with him. His movements were quiet, purposeful. He didn’t rush you, but there was a tension in the air now, like he was calculating the next move. You could tell his mind was already working ahead, mapping out the quickest way to get you both far from the scene, far from the mess you left behind.

Your legs wobbled as you stood, your body still weak from the adrenaline crashing out of your system, but Lee’s grip on you was firm, guiding you back toward the truck. He opened the passenger door, helping you in before sliding into the driver’s seat. He tentatively took your hand with the one that wasn’t on the steering wheel, rubbing circles on it with his thumb as a silent comfort. The truck rumbled to life beneath you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of the engine, drowning out the thoughts you didn’t want to face.

"I didn’t know it would feel like this," you whispered once you were back on the road, your voice shaking. "I never… I didn’t think I’d ever be like this."

Lee was quiet for a moment, his eyes trained on the road, like he was thinking carefully about what to say next. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, though there was something distant in it, like he was pulling from his own memories. "First time I fed… I couldn’t stop shaking afterward. Not ‘cause of the blood. It was the way it felt. Right and wrong all at once. Like it was something I was supposed to be ashamed of, but my body just didn’t care."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words hitting you in a way that made your chest tighten. It was exactly how you felt – the rush of power, the satisfaction of feeding, mixed with the horror of what you had done. You had never wanted this, but it was like your body had decided for you.

"I didn’t want to stop," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t even think about it. I just… gave in."

Lee turned to you, his eyes soft but serious, and for a moment, you could see the weight of his own guilt mirrored in his expression. "That’s what it does. That’s what the hunger is." He paused, his jaw clenching briefly before he continued. "It takes over. And once it does… it’s like you don’t have a choice anymore. You just need."

You shivered, wrapping an arm around your stomach, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of the blood on your skin, the taste of it still faint on your lips. "I’m going to need it now,” you said, the realisation setting in. “How do I handle that?”

He exhaled slowly, and you saw the streetlights reflected in his eyes as they grew somewhat glossy. "You learn. Little by little. You get to know the hunger, learn how to control it instead of letting it control you. I will help you with it. You won’t do it alone.”

The tears you’d been holding back started to spill over, and you turned away, trying to hide your face. "I don’t really know what to do with myself now.”

He remained quiet, just held your hand tighter. 

For a long while, you just sat there, letting the silence and the weight of his words wash over you. The night felt vast around you, you realised now that Lee had rolled down the windows for you. Likely to help you breathe better. You should have known Lee would understand, because of course he would. Yet, there had been fear that he would be angry, disgusted. He wasn’t, not even a little bit. If anything, he was calm. Steady. Like this wasn’t something that could break you.

He built a little bit of confidence you, even as you felt your insides caving in.

The road stretched out ahead of you in silence, the dark trees a blur outside the windows. Lee was counting the miles until it would be safe to stop for the night, just a little bit longer. The truck was filled by spiraling thoughts from you both.

Lee had to stop himself from going down a rabbithole of blaming himself. Thinking that he influenced you, that maybe, if you hadn’t met him you never would have discovered this part of you. He wanted to hate himself, he wanted to break down, but with every glance over at you he knew he couldn’t. Your feelings were what mattered tonight. He knew he needed to keep it together to guide you through it. 

You had been crying on and off for the past hour, struggling with too many emotions at once. To process the assault and the intense fear you felt. Guilt consumed you, but not necessarily for killing the man, as you knew you had to, but then you felt guilty about your lack of guilt, and it was a never ending spiral. You felt horrible about feeding on him, about the discovery that you were an eater. When it was Lee it didn’t bother you, because, as you had come to realise, you just loved him. You know he is good. But you? That one was harder.

Then, your mind went to more practical matters. You had killed someone, feasted upon their body and then abandoned it. There were so many layers of illegal in those actions, and a new kind of fear and panic grabbed you.

Lee had seen these emotions develop in his peripheral, subconsciously speeding a bit faster, looking for somewhere safe to stop.

Your chest began to tighten, the panic from earlier threatening to bubble up. “Lee…” Your voice cracked, barely holding itself together. “What if someone finds out?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable. “They won’t.”

“But–”

“We’re not going back. Not to that town, not anywhere near it.” His voice was firm, cutting through your panic with the same intensity he had used earlier. “By the time they realize anything, we’ll be long gone. We’re already long gone.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they didn’t settle the storm in your chest. You squeezed your hands together, spotting some leftover blood around your cuticle. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the air in the truck was too thick, too stifling. The man’s corpse was laying on top of your lungs and you were suffocating.

“Lee… I…” You gasped, scratching at your skin, your vision starting to blur. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t think past the overwhelming guilt, the horror of what you’d done.

He called your name, but you couldn’t register anything anymore.

The truck swerved again as Lee pulled off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulled up to a small clearing, hidden behind a stretch of trees. An answered prayer. 

He immediatley turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Hey. Hey, breathe. Sweetheart, I think you’re having a panic attack."

You tried to speak, but your words got caught and you were doubling over in the space that felt more and more confining.

In a swift motion, Lee had pulled you over the console and into his lap, opening the door beside him to let in as much air as possible. He held you securely, tight grip meant to ground you as he tried to talk you down.

With a hand on your cheek, he made you meet his eyes. "Look at me. You gotta breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Focus on me."

You tried, but the panic had taken hold, your mind spiraling out of control. "I killed him. I killed him, and–"

"I know," Lee cut you off, his voice soft but firm. "You did. But it’s fine. It is fine, you are fine. I know. But you’re gonna be okay. You’re not in danger. Just breathe. Please breathe."

His words didn’t allow for you to argue, quelling your disagreements before you could make them. He cupped your face, stroking his thumb along your jaw, and exaggerated his breathing so you could follow it. In and out. He was so close, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, all you could focus on was him. He was pulling you back from the edge.

"Breathe," he repeated, his voice a low murmur. "That’s all you need to do right now."

You closed your eyes, following his lead, trying to pull air into your lungs the way he told you. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly, painfully, the tightness in your heart began to ease, your breath coming in shaky but more controlled gasps.

When you opened your eyes again, Lee was still watching you, his hand still gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. "There you go." His voice barely above a whisper. "Just like that."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch, your body still trembling but no longer on the verge of breaking. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice fragile and raw.

Lee shook his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong."

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had done something wrong, something unforgivable, but the way he was looking at you – like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t some monster, made the words die in your throat.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "I always got you. You’re good."

The weight of his words, the certainty in them, settled deep in your chest, pushing back the panic, the fear. You weren’t alone in this. You had Lee. You always had Lee.

You stayed like that for a while, just sitting in his lap in the truck, your breath finally steadying as the night stretched out around you. You didn’t notice how hard you were holding onto Lee, clutching his shirt and even some skin, but he didn’t say anything either. He just stayed beside you, his hands never leaving you, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge every time the panic threatened to take over again.

You breathed together. Through it all.

After what felt like hours, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but sure. "Let’s get settled down, okay?”

You nodded, too tired to argue, too drained to do anything but follow his lead. Lee helped you out of the seat, his arm steady around your waist as he guided you down. He went around the truck, gathering the blankets from the backseat, more than he would usually grab, and set up your usual makeshift bed in the trunk as quickly as possible.

Together, you climbed into the softness he had created just for you. It felt odd to do something so familiar when it felt like everything had changed. Lee had not, still watching you, as he leaned back against the cab of the truck. You pulled on one of his sweaters, settling in beside him. He tangled your feet together and grabbed your hand, but didn’t initiate more than that, expectantly waiting for you to process your thoughts out loud with him.

Your eyes were slightly glossy again when you whispered, "Thank you."

He shook his head, immediately softening. "You don’t have to thank me."

"I do," you whispered, your voice catching. "You didn’t have to do any of this. And you did."

Lee’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants. "Of course," he said, his voice low but firm. "You’re stuck with me, remember?"

A small, broken laugh escaped you, something warm flickering in your chest. You looked up at him, tears blurring your vision, but there was a kind of quiet relief there, too. Lee’s gaze was steady, unwavering, like no matter what had happened, no matter how far you had fallen, he was there to pull you back.

"Lee…" you started, but the words caught in your throat, too many emotions swirling inside you to put into words.

He seemed to understand anyway. Without saying anything, he angled himself more towards you, his forehead resting against yours. The closeness, the way his body pressed gently into yours everywhere, was enough to calm the last of your racing thoughts. You let out a shaky breath, your hands reaching up to gently hold his face, your fingers brushing through his hair.

For a moment, you just stayed like that, your breaths mingling, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost to the night air. "You’re safe."

Something in his voice, the way he said it, made your heart clench. He had never said it out loud, but you knew. He tipped your chin up, meeting your lips with a searing kiss, one that felt like promise. 

It felt like forever before he pulled away, far enough to be able to see your eyes, searching your face for more hurt to quench. You could see his bottom lip quivering slightly before he said it.

"I love you.” 

Life stilled in the small clearing, and the weight of the past year came tumbling down on you. All you had done, all that had changed. How painful it had all been. How worth it it all was, to be sitting here in this boy’s arms now.

You took him in, your breath shaky. His words hung in the air between you, raw and real in a way that made your pulse race. 

He smiled, understanding your reaction. His forehead went back to yours, his hands cradling your face gently, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. There was nothing aloof about him now. He was all here, in this moment, focused on you like nothing else mattered. "I'm serious," he murmured, his voice soft, the vulnerability in it something you'd never heard before. "I love you."

Your throat tightened, grappling with the weight of it all. "Still?" you whispered, your voice trembling. 

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your lips. "You think this scares me? You think any of this changes how I feel about you?" His gaze was intense, a burning passion that steadied you, even as your heart threatened to tear itself apart. "You’re still you. This doesn’t make you someone else. So, yeah. Still. Always."

Your heart soared, a flood of emotions you hadn’t expected surging to the surface. You kissed him again, slowly, just lips pressed against lips as you tried to calm yourself.  "I don’t know what life looks like for us now.”

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like there had never been another option. “Part of the fun, right?”

He pulled away just to kiss your forehead and temples, lingering there for almost a beat too long before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "You're not alone in this. I’m not letting you go through it alone. Got it?"

You blinked back the hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill over. The calm in his voice, the unwavering certainty in his eyes grounded you like no else. It felt impossible, but here he was, telling you that you weren’t lost, that he wasn’t leaving, no matter what happened.

"I need you, you know," he whispered against your cheek, kissing it once more. "I don’t think you get that."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. You clung to him. "I do," you said, your voice soft but firm. "I need you, Lee. Desperately."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Then don’t overthink it." 

And before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. There was a quiet desperation in the way he kissed you, like every ounce of the feelings he couldn’t quite say were being poured into that moment. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as though he was trying to erase the space between you.

You kissed him back with the same intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body pressing into his, craving the closeness, the connection. Everything else faded into the background, drowned out by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his hands on your skin.

His lips left yours for just a moment, brushing against your jaw, then trailing down your neck, each kiss soft but deliberate, making your breath hitch. "I’m not going anywhere," he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin. "You’ve got me. No matter what."

You couldn’t find the words, so you kissed him again, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him as though he was afraid to let go, as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. It was just you and him, and the quiet understanding that you were in this together. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead pressed to his, you let out a laugh, more from the relief of having him here than anything else. It made him give you a curios smile, just happy to see you regain some of your usual behavior.

 "So," you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, "are you gonna say it again, or what?"

He let out a low chuckle, his arms still wrapped around you, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "I love you," he said, his voice warm, no hesitation this time. "I love you. I’m not scared to say it, even if you make me say it a thousand more times."

"Good," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, softer this time, but no less meaningful. "Because I love you too. And I’m not letting you go."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he kissed you back, slow and lingering, like he wanted to memorize the feel of you against him. When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

"We’ll figure this out," he promised softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. "Whatever happens, we will be fine. Together."

You nodded, your heart finally settling, a sense of calm washing over you. "Yeah. We will."

And with that, the two of you sank down into the blankets, the night quiet at last. Lee’s arm stayed wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses to whatever exposed skin he could find, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you were real, that this moment was real. 

As you lay there, tangled together, the world felt a little less terrifying. You had each other, and somehow, that was enough.

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year (Discord Drabble) (screw it, I'm writing another New Year ficlet. This one goes out to the lovelies in the guild server.)

"Do it!" Robin stage-whispers in Steve's ear.

He startles, tearing his eyes away from Eddie, standing on the other side of the living room where he is gesticulating widely to Jeff about god knows what. Steve turns to find his best friend sipping from a solo cup that, at this point, seems to be glued to her lips.

Robin belches low, the cheap beer from the gas station practically emanating from her body.

"What about Vickie?" he retorts.

"I will be kissing Vickie, thank you very much!" Robin replies, eyes glazing over and humming into her cup, "Already arranged."

She takes a loud slurp and frowns into the presumably now empty cup.

Steve looks at his watch.

11:59.

Shit.

"It's almost midnight!" he frets.

Robin's wide eyes dart around the room until she spots Vickie, waving about her solo cup and looking just as intoxicated as pretty much everyone else. Steve feels like the odd one out, only slightly buzzed himself as he looks for a clear path to Eddie, his house filled with partygoers like years past.

Robin charges off, pushing past him and running straight into Nancy, who knowingly steers her in Vickie's direction.

"30! 29!" Argyle and Jonathan screech above the music.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Steve takes off, striding across the room to Eddie. Jeff smirks as he steps aside and Steve takes Eddie's hand.

"Come with me," he says, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen.

"Sure thing," Eddie says, downing his own drink and tossing it over his shoulder.

The copious discarded solo cups are a problem for 1987 Steve.

They break away from the crowd into the hall, where only a few people are lingering.

"15! 14!"

"Quick," Steve panics, yanking Eddie into the kitchen and eliciting a yelp.

Eddie spins into his arms, hiccuping in his face.

"Oops," he says, covering his mouth, "Sorry."

"No need," Steve smiles, rubbing his hands up and down the backs of Eddie's arms in a soothing motion.

It's probably stupid – waiting this long. Waiting since Spring... Since hospital stays and visits... After months of Robin's matchmaking and Jeff's meddling and quips from Dustin... After sleepless nights and nightmares endured together.

Holding Eddie like this now suddenly feels so easy.

Like it's meant to be.

"Hi," Eddie says, voice low as he snakes his arms around Steve's waist.

"5!"

"Hi," he smiles.

"4!"

"Kiss..." Eddie mutters, eyes flitting to his lips.

Steve doesn't wait – he can't as he surges forward, kissing Eddie for the first time a second before midnight.

Kissing Eddie Munson well into the New Year...

[foap-enjoyer]

Work in progress for my AI-Less whumptober inclusion series to prove I'm still here and alive I PROMISE

Edit: This is out now: Ouch. - Chapter 8 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

Scar reveal | Interrogation | Presumed dead

Interrogation.

'A mock interrogation for rookie soldiers studying methods. The 'prisoner': Sergeant Mactavish. The interrogator: The Lieutenant Ghost. The rookies are having a field day with this.' I do plan to make this a Ghoap oneshot :)

No trigger warnings for this lil drabble, this is just an intro in the works. The majority of it is finished however but I felt like I've been leaving you guys hanging, I'm sorry

~

“Alright! Alright!” Price barked out into the loud and chatty room, “Settle down, you muppets!”

Soap watched with a lopsided grin as nervously excited rookies snapped to attention, keen eyes following the Captain. They reminded him of jittery puppies being reprimanded by their mother; their excitement overruled any possible consequences. That became clearer when whispers picked up once more, not able to stand the silence as they fossilised where they stood.

He didn’t blame them, not one bit. Actually, he was the exact same when he was in their shoes. This was their first ever interrogation. They were only witnesses, of course, and of course this wasn’t a real interrogation, a simple mock-one for studying, but it was action. Not to mention, from the mutters his old ears caught, they were excited to see the Lieutenant Ghost in action.

These lot weren’t theirs, actually. Not 141’s rookies, at least - these troopers were from another regiment, coming over like it was a school field trip to witness a higher-ranking squadron in action. 

He’d done the same, at their rank too. He can still remember the pure excitement he’d had walking into the one-way glass room. He remembered the poor officer sat in the chair- Staff-Sergeant Redrick, his name was. He’d given one hell of a fight up to the routine, textbook torture, had almost passed. Broke within the last thirty seconds. It was a wild time, and he still remembered it vividly. This is exactly what these lot would be experiencing today. With him in the chair, this time. He’d give them a show alright- he couldn’t wait.

“So.” 

Soap blinked away the memories, focusing back on Price. He should probably listen too, regardless of whether or not he’d already been debriefed about this beforehand. Which he had, of course he had, not that he was allowed to know what kinds of torture Price had given Ghost the all-clear on. The military education system for this kind of thing changed every year, like most systems. They rotated knowledge. It could be waterboarding this year maybe. Or strangulation, perhaps. He wouldn’t know until he sat down in that chair.

What he did know, however, was the information that Ghost was going to be attempting to torture out of him. That was his debrief.

“Sergeant Mactavish here will be the prisoner.” Price gestured to him, and he nodded. The crowd’s eyes snapped to him. “And Lieutenant Ghost will arrive soon and take the role of the interrogator.”

“Give him hell, sir!” Someone cheered from the back of the group, and the rest of them burst out into laughter, clapping their hands. In agreement, rather than mockery, it seemed.

Soap grinned, winking. “Will do.”

Price simply rolled his eyes. “Lieutenant Ghost has been debriefed on the specific methods you are currently studying. Your task, as observers, is to catch those specific methods and write them down on a clipboard.” He nodded over to the doorway of the interrogation room. More specifically, the viewing room. Gaz stood there, leaning on the doorframe. He waved. “Sergeant Garrick has paper and pens. Take one when you go in. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” They chanted in unison.

“Then get your asses in there, kids, we don’t have all day!”

“Yes, sir!” Turns out trying to walk in unison to an already small door wasn’t as amazing as speaking in unison. 

Soap hid a snort as they fumbled and crashed into a line awkwardly, filing in. He turned to Price. “Thoughts on ‘em?”

Price sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, “They’re a bunch of idiots.”

He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Weren’t we all at that age, Cap’?”

“You may have been, Sergeant, but I certainly wasn’t.”

“Mmm, Laswell says otherwise.” He hummed with a click. Price gave him a dirty look as he made his way over to the interrogation room doors. “Oh.” He turned back to flash a cocky grin, “So does Nik’.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“You wouldn’t want to know anyway.”

Price groaned, “Get your fucking ass in there already, Mactavish.”

[decks-writing-blog]

Undertale Drabbles: Alphys & Toriel - Looks Like Fun

Summary: Alphys worries in a Spirit Halloween.

[A/N] It's been so long since I last did a UT drabble that I'm pretty sure I didn't even have a separate blog for my writing last time I did one. But anyway, Halloween drabble, yay!

~

Offense would probably be not only an understandable response but one that would be well warranted too. Humans dressing up as monsters for fun after locking them Underground so long ago, that was rather rude, right? It could easily be construed as them making fun of monsters. But in practice it was all just too silly to stir much rage in Alphys.

It probably helped that she’d known this holiday was coming. She’d studied the old books about humans and it popped up in some of the anime and manga that had made its way to her. But even knowing about it beforehand and not feeling offended by it in general would it still be inappropriate for her to participate? Maybe. Would people get mad at her? Also, maybe. But it looked like fun and she’d already come all this way to the Spirit Halloween to browse.

None of the costumes were for any of the characters she’d be interested in dressing up as. But she was used to scrounging and reworking pieces to make decent cosplay. She could take the cape from that costume and the pants from that one over there and with another piece or two and a few added bits could dress up as Mew Mew. Yes, she still had the Mew Mew costume she’d made before coming to the Surface but Endogeny had gotten to it and at this point just replacing it would be easier than fixing it. More expensive but easier. Could she justify it though? Especially since she was planning on using it as a Halloween costume?

Maybe she should just drop the whole idea. Yeah, dressing up was always fun and doing so with other people more so and adding in handing out candy to kids and carving jack’o’lanterns sounded like a jolly time. But was it worth people being mad at her for? She had enough people mad at her about the amalgamates already. Adding more reasons would only…

She froze as she turned down another aisle. It was the kid’s costume section and thus not useful to her. More than that though… “Queen Toriel!” Of call places to find the former queen, in the middle of a Spirit Halloween was not where Alphys would’ve expected to do so. The only thing that tracked was that it was the kid’s section. Presumably Frisk was somewhere around as well, probably run off to explore.

Queen Toriel jumped a little before snapped around to face her. “Oh, Alphys. Good to see you. I’m not queen anymore though, there’s no need to refer to me that way.”

Alphys shouldn’t have said anything. She hadn’t been noticed until she’d blurted Toriel’s name and former title like an idiot. Turning and leaving would’ve been a better move. Too late now though, they were talking. “W- why are you here, your… Toriel? I wouldn’t have expected you to uh… to go to a place like this.” Even if she wasn’t queen anymore, she was still considered an Important Monster. She was on the ballot for becoming the human-monster ambassador and was very likely to get the position.

“I’m looking for a costume for Frisk. They’re…” She looked up and around, “around here somewhere. But before I head off to find them, Alphys, do you think it’s appropriate for monsters to celebrate Halloween?”

“I… I don’t know. I was just wondering that myself, actually. It doesn’t seem like it, does it? But… but it also… it also looks fun, right?”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s what matters most. It looks like fun and doesn’t have to hurt anyone. The humans of today were celebrating it long before finding out monsters were real. They thought it was all just fun and games.”

“So… so it’s okay for us to participate in the uh, fun and games too, right?”

“Perhaps it’s more complicated than that but I think so. Frisk apparently has never been trick-or-treating. I agreed to take them and came here to get them a costume. I wasn’t going to dress up myself but well… it does seem like fun, huh?”

“Oh, um, I think I’m gonna dress up too and… hand out candy and put up some decorations. So… feel free to stop by. And maybe um, we could all get together and do like a… jack’o’lantern carving party the day before or… or something.”

Toriel’s face lit up. “That sounds like a lovely idea. Call me later today or tomorrow sometime and we can organize it with whoever wants to come.”

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna go… I’m gonna go back to looking for stuff now then. Talk to you later.”

“And I’m gonna go find Frisk.”

Alphys turned and retreated. … Or no, not retreated. She walked away after a successful social interaction. She’d proposed a fun idea she’d had and it had been accepted with delight. They were going to chat later and figure out a plan for a have a fun Halloween event with however many people wanted to come. It was still kind of scary but Toriel was on her side so it should be fine.

[raitrolling]

2023 Drabble Summary

i still gotta do my yearly art summary, but since I did a lot of writing as well, i thought it'd be fun to go back and pick a favourite from each month :]

All links go to their respective Tumblr post, and this post is gonna be long as fuck but I'm not putting anything behind a cut. read my words boy

January - Pedestal [Part 1 of the Pedestal Arc, Velour + Veruco]

[Velour] glanced over at the calm lake for a moment, and politely let go of Veruco’s hand. Then he looked back at her with a smile. Her expression was unreadable, she was always quiet except when she was boasting about her status as Velour’s fan, and he couldn’t help but read into her being disappointed the date was already over, and the sadness that once again she’ll be returning to an ordinary life. It was a little bit pitiful in a way, but nothing Velour could do about it. “Well, here’s where I have to leave it off. I do hope you enjoyed your time, it was lovely to meet with you once again!” He clapped his hands together in his signature cheery way. She hadn’t requested a final hug this time, strangely enough. But, before he could ponder why that would be and then wish her a good rest of her evening, the seadweller suddenly grabbed his arm and then yanked him towards her. He was thrown off balance until she steadied him with an arm around his back, and- Just like that, she had stolen a kiss from his lips.  

February - Peace of Mind [Viltau + Velour]

[Viltau] carefully tugged one of the papers out from underneath Velour, and examined his handiwork. It lacked the finesse of his matesprit’s work: the strokes from the ink pen were unsteady and lacked confidence, there were blobs of ink where the pen had lingered on the paper for too long - presumably from when Velour was referring back to the book to check his accuracy, and it appeared more like his friend was attempting to imitate Jikiro’s work than make something of his own. But, from what Velour had told him of his magic, imitation and deception was (unfortunately, in Velour’s mind) merely the nature of illusion magic.  It had seemed strange, then, that Velour was trying to replicate a ward to repel a particularly powerful form of magic. One that Jikiro had been using to keep that decrepit old bag of a signmate from trying to sabotage his life any further than she’s already done. And, after Jikiro had expressed his concerns to Viltau about Izanam potentially coming back to harm those close to him while he’s away, and Jamie acting unusually rattled recently… He smirked, and loudly cleared his throat before speaking loud enough to wake the other troll. “A new business venture, I see?”

March - Moonlight Sonata [Mikiel]

The ice had frozen a quarter of the lake, reaching the limits of how far his cryokinesis could naturally cover while standing still. Mikiel shook off some stray patches of ice that had started to cling to his legs and threatened to freeze himself in place, and did some quick stretches to keep moving. He then withdrew two blades from his modus, ones that would normally be mounted onto the bottoms of a pair of ice skates, and froze them to his own boots. Always the perfectionist, his psiionics perfectly aligned the blades without him needing to think about it. He breathed in, exhaled a puff of frozen air, and stepped out onto the frozen lake. As he skated towards the centre in a long clockwise spiral, the ice followed him, until finally the rink was complete.  Away from anyone’s gaze, under the twin moons in this silent night, with no one to prove anything to and no one to judge him by himself, Mikiel began to glide around the lake in a way that was reminiscent of the nights he once spent practising his figure skating. 

April - Crossing the Threshold [Velour + Mikiel]

When [Velour] stepped out of the hallway, he felt a familiar chill in the air. One that made his whole body shiver and the muscles in his right shoulder ache. Despite having lived opposite one another in this apartment complex for almost their entire lives, it was very rare for Velour to spot Mikiel leaving his apartment. He locked eyes with his neighbour as they passed in the hallway. Mikiel had changed, not just in the new outfit and the lack of the gang scarf tied around his arm, but the way he carried himself just felt… Different. Less on edge, less likely to fly off the handle (he would have despised that saying if Velour said that out loud), perhaps even a little more mature. He stood up a little straighter than he used to, and while his glare was as piercing as the night their friendship died, there was a slight inquisitiveness to it. As if he was seeing something different about the cuspblood as well. "It’s because of the power that was gifted to him by Gaia’s Patron. He can tell you’re magic now." Of course. That makes sense.

May - Decrescendo [Celise + Vallis]

Ordinarily, Celise would have also left the couch to follow after the seadweller when he was tending to his pets, watching his every move and taking notes of every last gesture, trying to decipher the meaning behind the sea creatures he collected and what kind of personality that would suggest to the audience if he were a character in their movie plots, the ways in which this setting could be utilised in the horror genre. Tonight, for some reason they were slowly piecing together, they had no desire to watch. The more they were granted the opportunity to hang out with Vallis in a casual setting, and the more they noticed the shifts in his behaviour that strayed from their previous observations of him, the more they realised it. They no longer found him interesting. In fact, they don’t think they felt any sort of attraction towards him at all.

June - N/A

July - Cracking Up [Velour + Aiolos]

“Vel, you need help.” Aiolos’ tone was almost uncharacteristically concerned, had he not been speaking to his childhood friend. “Look, I don’t know what that psycho fish bitch put into your head, but-” “It- It’s not that!” Velour waved his hand, attempting to calm the other troll down. “I’ve… Gotten over what happened with Veruco, at least as well as anyone could.” “By what? Playing pretend? Getting really into larping as a wizard? Yeah, real picture of mental health right there, nothing says ‘I got over it’ like telling me you’ve become buddies with Ron Weasley.” The antelope troll scoffed.  “I… Knew you wouldn’t believe me, but I am telling the truth,” Velour attempted to sound more insistent, but Aiolos has never been the type to back down. “Uh-huh. Just like how you were telling the truth about your mysterious urgent client? Is he in the room with us right now?” He mockingly looked around as if he was looking for some sort of spectre, and the cuspblood looked down again in shame. “Look, Vel… You’re falling apart. You haven’t had a break from your own life since you were six, and now look at you. Getting caught getting cosy with your creepy fans and needing to make an apology video for it, believing in magic like a wriggler, hiding away in your hive and dressing like you’re just about to settle down for a sad romantic movie marathon while crying into a tub of ice-cream… As your friend, I gotta keep it real with you. Take a longer break, and get help, or I’ll make you get help.”

August - Second Verse, Same as the First [3 Part drabble, Ashell + Vallis]

“But, well… I can’t speak to you like this, can I? I can, ah… Feel your emotions, and I’m sure you have, well… A lot of questions, but… Are you able to change back? So, well… We can talk again, like old times.” The jadeblood smiled, and extended out a hand. There was a pause, as if for a moment the eldritch horror did not know what to do. This world that has opened up to him was so wondrous, so beautiful, so full of sounds and experiences he could not feel to this extent as a troll! The more he was able to maintain this form, the less he wanted to go back!  But, while he could hear the troll in front of him and recognise his voice - still soft as he remembered it, but his accent had faded over time, - he could not speak back. He could hear the electrical impulses in his brain and the blood cells travelling throughout his body - much quieter and slower than an ordinary troll on account of being undead, - he could not see him. But he could still… Vallis reached out, and wrapped a tentacle around Ashell’s outstretched hand. The song concluded for a brief moment, then exploded into a full chorus in an unintelligible language as all the remaining tentacles retracted in on themselves, twisting themselves into knots and morphing at a sickening pace. Ashell could not look away even if he wanted to. His eyes had stopped functioning. 

September - Re-Animator, See You Later [Part 3 of the Spanner in the Works plot, Lusien + Chryso]

Chryso did not react in the slightest, and continued.  “Fatal traumatic brain injury via a blow to the head, preliminary analysis points to blunt force trauma being the primary culprit-” They stop, noticing the blueblood’s expression of horror, and sigh loudly. “- Is what should be the most straightforward answer. The reality is far more absurd, and, quite frankly, not something any doctor should ever have the displeasure of dealing with.” The lighthouse keeper pauses, snapped out of his spiralling by that strange declaration. He then squints at Chryso in confusion. “Which is…?” “Despite every single test I have conducted since you dragged a literal corpse into my clinic confirming that, yes, there is absolutely no signs of brain activity and all organs have catastrophically failed, they are still conscious and moving. I had to bind the damn frog to their bed after they tried to bite nurse Baliso.”  Chryso sighed a second time at the recollection, and briefly pushed up their glasses to rub the weariness out of their eyes. Lusien could not believe what he was hearing. “I need to see them,” he said, suddenly urgent, and despite every part of his body protesting, he began to attempt to climb out of bed.

October - Soup for the Soul [Part 2 of Desychronisation, Lusien + Vallis]

Two carrots, two stalks of celery, 3 tablespoons of butter, and a quarter cup of cream (much closer to its expiry date than Lusien would have preferred) from the fridge. Four potatoes, one onion, a carton of unopened chicken stock, three tablespoons of flour, and whatever herbs and spices he could find from the pantry. He located a large pot from one of the cupboards, and the cutting board under the sink, and got to work.  He flicked the range hood light on to allow for some decent illumination in the kitchen, and began peeling and chopping up the carrots and potatoes. Ordinarily, Lusien liked to smoke while he cooked. However, it felt somewhat impolite to do so when working in someone else’s kitchen, and he had another idea for how to coax the cuspblood back to his usual self. He cleared his throat, and took a breath. “... Now we are ready to sail for the Horn...”

November - Two to Tango [Sharle + Ropikk]

“Yeah, well, I was just thinking, like. He does all that dancing stuff and gets me to dance too, so, er, I guess I should probably actually learn how to do it,” [Sharle] shrugged. There was a hesitance in his tone, but in that way he usually spoke when he was unsure how to put his thoughts to words. Or that he couldn’t figure out exactly why he wanted to do this for Jamie. Ropikk could not get a read on his intentions in the slightest. That was always the case, it was like thoughts never dwelled in the falcon troll’s head long enough for him to ever consider exactly what he was thinking about. It was all just a series of impulses and orders to him. Something that made it incredibly easy for her to get him to listen and follow her training routines, but also made it incredibly difficult for her to understand him on a personal level. Did he even think about the implication? Of asking someone for a dance? Of giving her the power to share a moment with him that could potentially create romantic tension? Of taking lessons before the 12th Perigee Ball so he could impress another troll? Evidently not, as Sharle was staring back at her, quietly waiting for a response. 

December - Catch Him and Make Him Say [Sharle + Tira]

“Yeah, I don’t get that either. I’d just say there’s nothing happening between us, just like there wasn’t when people tried to say we were secretly pale, or, er, whatever that was.” Sharle shook his head.  “Oof, how cold, you’re breaking all the Shalour girlies’ hearts yet again.” Tira clutched his chest to emphasise his point. “Guess I’m gonna have to hype up team Shamie even more to warm them up to the real ship!” Sharle’s expression could not be any more blank. “Er, team who?” “Team Shamie, duh. Do I need to spell it out for you? You can figure out where in that portmanteau the ‘mie’ comes from, yeah?” Tira repeated with a smirk on his face. While he didn’t know what the word ‘portmanteau’ meant, Sharle was capable of figuring out what the ‘Sha’ and the ‘Mie’ signified. He shook his head with a snort, picking up some pickled ginger with his chopsticks to mix in with the remainder of his rice. “Alright, c’mon man, that isn’t a thing. None of the, er, social media people know about that.” “About what?” 

[peyton-warren]

Writing Questions Tag Game!

Belated, but tagged by @darsynia, thanks, hon!!

What is your absolute all-time favourite idea you’ve ever had?

As cheesy as it sounds, I will have to say Blinded by the Fog is my all time favorite idea to date. Its a perfect combination of my two current fandoms and where I am in life and in my mental health journey. i was kind of wandering through fanfic until i got the prompt that inspired it - "You are the wife of a soldier who is missing in action and presumed dead. His best friend, who survived the war, offered you comfort and companionship, and over time love blossomed. A year later, you learn that your husband is alive and is coming home. Now you must confess to him that you have moved on—or have you?"- and its all my brain wants to focus on right now. its almost taking over my life, and I'm kind of okay with that. I'm trying to stay away from tropes but at the same time embracing the ones that are part of this story organically. The three main characters really keep surprising me with what happens, and I'm not sure how its going to end to be completely honest even though I have started the Epilogue.

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes?

"Why are you cockblocking your own characters?" was a question I got from a fellow writer years ago when she read a draft I wrote and was struggling with the smut portion of it. And because of her pushing me, the completed chapter was some of the hottest stuff I've ever written. I still think of that phrase when I'm struggling with my own brain while writing fic, especially sexy times. I have minimal self-assurance that my writing is any good and often need someone else to validate it before I post or even write an idea I have.

What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

I love putting what I see in my brain down on paper, to see the story and the dialog play out on paper.

The parts I can take or leave is the self worth i struggle with in regards to my writing (it stems beyond that but the question is about writing). I always need validation from someone else its good, worth posting etc, even though I'm the first person to tell someone else to post their writing. Brains are hard and weird.

Another part I'd like to leave is taht the number of reblogs, comments, kudos, recognition of any kind = my writing's worth. Ugh I hate that feeling.

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

I love writing, i love creating, i love bringing to life the lives of these characters outside the stories we already know about them.

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

That writing anything and everything will make me a better writer. That everyone sucks when they start anything. That I dont have to be stellar to have people want to read what I'm writing. And that pushing my characters to fit into an outline I wanted them to follow would result in stalled stories, that wouldn't go anywhere. Its how Two Brothers Walk Into A Bar petered out. I tried to force a relationship that neither character wanted and as much as I loved that story it didn't move forward from that point.

What is your favourite story you’ve written TO COMPLETION? Link it if you’d like and can!

Days of Our Freakin' Camp is my favorite story that I've written to completion. What started out as a drabble grew grew and grew into this 20 chapter story that took me and the readers for a ride along the way. I didn't plan out how it was going to go, it just happened. and I'm so proud of how it turned out.

What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

The drugs he had picked up on Whitefall. The ones he was careful to take for fear the others would notice a change in him. Jayne had no choice. He wanted to maintain that he was indeed human and not the monster he had become long before he came to Serenity. The bear reminded him of the human he used to be. Someone with a beating heart who actually felt emotion. Not this cold hearted creature that sat in his bunk, wishing it would all go away.

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

Merle Dixon was the hardest for me to write, even though I grew up around people like him and have been around folks of the same small minded mind set most of my life. The more i struggle with my own demons to not be a pushover and just let people have their opinions of the world around us, the more difficult it is to write people like Merle.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

that I am an amazing writer who needs to have more confidence in myself and my writing.

No pressure tags (but I'd love to see your thoughts)- @adulting-sucks, @ronearoundblindly, @joannaliceevans-fanficblog, @geralts-yenn, @raccoon-eyed-rebel, and @jvanilly and @sarahdonald87 - even though I know you two haven't published anything yet.

[thegoldendemon-blog]

MELODY.

Hi I’m Kayla and I often have considered deletion or AFKing permanently from Tumblr but I also, on occasion, write things anyway.

    Sia Sunrunner might have been portly, round, and had something of a hobble, but he and all of Gildesgrove knew what he could do with his voice.

    He smiled at himself in the mirror, pressing oil into his hair and wiping a blush in his cheeks. The morning ritual before performance day was always the same: hair back, face red, tweaked brows and a wide, open grin. One two three four. Like chambers of a song. A diddy bounced in his head and he hummed, tapping the flab underneath his chin. One two two three four. He liked how it sounded and let out a quiet ah ah. Perhaps he could even incorporate it into the evening’s fanfare: a lead in melody.. or a send-off? 

    The possibilities chunked along as he twisted his cravat through his collar and puffed it out with a pat of his hand. Whichever he chose, he knew tonight would be absolutely magnificent. Could it be anything less with Sunrunner on the headline placard?

    That merry stayed until a shadow came against the light in the mirror.

    “Ser Sia—”

    “What have I told you about interrupting me when I’m preparing?” His head swung around. “I’m not meant to be disturbed.”

    “Ser Sia,” it started again, chewing a lump down its throat. “I know you don’t like to be disturbed, but it’s important. The Duke of Gildesgrove won’t be attending the performance tonight.”

    Tack. His bottle of perfume thocked on the hardwood of the vanity. 

    “What?” A furnace about to bellow.

    The shadow stood still, waiting to catch the fire, but Sia simply hung up his hair and swiveled on his feet. He was a fair deal faster than most thought of him. Pushed it past and harrumphed to no-one in particular.

    “That’s fine,” he said, voice clipped. That’s horrid. “I’ll be there anyway. I’ve prepared this set for weeks.” Weeks of preparing for the Duke, not this riff-raff! But Sia Sunrunner, lord of opera in all of Demacia, had to remain humble. Serene. The departure of the Duke was a sorry affair, but he wouldn’t mention it to either his fellow performers or the audience. He tightened his tunic and aired out his sleeves, lining his nose nicely with the ruby atop his cravat. He would be himself; it would be the Duke’s loss for being a no-show.

    “Get me my ointment.” He raked nails across his cheek. “I think I might be breaking out.” Even if himself wanted to scream.

    In hindsight, the performance was all-right, even with the frustration of an empty seat on the high-rise of the theater where the Duke and his wife would’ve sat. Sia minded not to look over too often and let himself sing over the anger, hitting notes with an uncharacteristic sharpness that was fine for playing an intense lead character. 

    Tragedy, as always. His character was unprepared for the top and careened to the bottom of his own folly, hero to nothing with only the hope of back again. It seemed near all of Gildesgrove sat up for applause when it was over, Sia staring at the stage as he bowed. Maybe a few years ago his belly would be full of exhilaration, awe at his skill and ability to work up the favor of an audience. Now he felt unwhole, drained, as if he’d donated blood. He hated the sensation and almost ran behind the curtains the instant he could.

    He was opening the door to his backstage room when he noticed someone he didn’t recognize speaking to the ribbon-dancers that introduced Sia’s character at the opening arc. They looked inoffensive, perhaps a regular he had never seen until now (a sad probability). He had trouble guessing if they were a stagehand or an orator. They certainly had an aura of some kind. Then the figure laughed with the dancers and turned, tall enough to almost scrape at the lower arch.

    They stared straight at him. No, not at. Through. Through him. Like he had caught the eye of Death and it sized him up.

    The door slammed shut and Sia all but refused to reemerge until well after the fact, calling only for his retainer and a private carriage to his estate.

    Sia was more overjoyed to be dressed down and comfortable in his bed than to receive what he got at the stage. The day was over— he could rest now and fumigate in the morning.

    He made it… for a few minutes.

    The open windows of his bedroom’s balcony whistled with coldness on the wind. Covered well by his blankets, that was scant to bother him, so he turned over and pushed his head further into the pillow. Then his eyes snapped open when the whistling returned, twice as loud. He muttered something profane and glanced at the moon through the balcony, at once too exhausted to get up. Wrinkles crawled onto his forehead as he lied there, inert. His heart was often troubled at night and sleep was sorely necessary for a man concerned with appearance. He was about to doze through it when a new disturbance prickled inside.

    Ah ah ah ah.

    Sia’s eyes were as wide as oversized marbles and his throat went dry.

    His own voice was calling to him.

    Not a exclamation, not a word, not a brow-beat muttering: a song. A practiced tone that sounded nicer than even what Sia himself had done for the performance prior. It hit every note. Bounced on every melody. 

    His hands clammed up and his jowels sagged. 

    “Who’s there?”

    No reply.

    Sia, against his better judgment, sat up to stare at the empty space in the window. “I don’t want trouble from a bastard copycat,” he said, fear belying the words.

    “Whoever you are, leave or I’ll call my guards!”

    The singing stayed.

    Lips trembled and Sia slipped down to the floor, a rush of inertia pulling him to the balcony. He was red as a beet, certain that whomever this was would be chased out at the sight of Demacia’s finest opera singer in his white knickerbockers. He opened his mouth—      —and bit flat on the railing when the blackjack swung.

     It was far from rosy afterward. The first thing Sia noticed when he gurgled back into the land of the living was the mushy morning dew on the grass he was braced against, then the scratchy tree bark that clawed his back— a quick addendum being that his hands were tied and so were his legs.

     “I hate your face,” an indistinguishable voice said, hefting derision. “You’re a pig.”

    Sia had to squint to start to see what was around him, vision blotted half with unconsciousness and half with the darkness. He saw the beginning of… Maroon? Vermilion? Whichever color boots and worked his way up until he was stopped cold by a ghastly visage that shone uncanny in the moonlight. A maw rife with metal teeth and horns watched him as he squirmed to no avail.

    “Who… what…” Sia stuttered. “What is the meaning of this?! Are you holding me for ransom? I’ll have you know, I was a prize soldier in my time, you rat!”

    “And when you talk, it even moves like a hog squealing.” The voice approached him now, coming within mere feet. It leaned down and bent at an uncomfortable angle to cushion Sia’s cheek with a hand best described as a claw.

    “Ugly.” The claw raked him, blood trickling down Sia’s neck. He would’ve cried out if he could manage more than an emaciated wheeze with his heart racing.

    “Always the ugly ones. Always, always, always, always. Did you know that? It’s as if nature bore herself an aberration when she made man. They’re all fetid. Faces don’t work. Limbs are awkward and jarring. She gave me nothing and I’m forced to make something.”

    The silhouette was sharper now. Sia could make out roughly the shape and size. They… it, he, he could be certain now it was a he, was large but thin. He thought maybe a bandit or some other kind of felon, but that felt wrong. He felt wrong. He sounded wrong and moved wrong. Iciness locked Sia’s spine and he seemed frozen in the relevation. He choked on a dirty line of spit and heaved with everything his lungs could offer.

    “I would love to fix you,” the voice said, “But I don’t have to. You have one redeeming quality. One. Not two. Not three. Not four. One. You made me come out and get it.”

    Something else shimmered in the moonlight. 

    Steel. 

    Sia could brace himself only for a moment before he watched his arm ran through, burning instantly with a pain so thorough it left him breathless and bleary. Whimpering, his tongue lolled and his head drifted. Hurt. Hurt. It hurt so absolutely he couldn’t think as much as whine and choke.

    “Good.”

    It wasn’t long until the other arm joined the first. Eventually Sia was reeling, the skips of his heart so loud as to devour every scrap of noise in his ears. The voice said something else, but it was warbled and indistinct. 

    The only thing Sia Sunrunner heard until his heart finally gave was his voice hitting a high note.

[citrustan]

lovefool [6/6] (jjk)

pairing: jeon jungkook × reader

genre: angst, fluff (sort of), smut

summary: your boyfriend’s pretty girl best friend keeps hogging up your alone time with him.

word count: 5k

warnings: pretty tame mentions of parental negligence, almost smut at the end.

note: yeaah this is it for lovefool !! um 😁 i had fun writing it! i will add to this au through drabbles as i've already mentioned before :D hope you like it! and sorry it's a little longer than the other parts!

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

There are around a little less than three full sentences that you’ve conjured up to say to your boyfriend. In your haste of being quick (and dramatic) after considering Jungkook’s schedule, you were NOT ready for the conversation you needed to have.

One would assume you’re only running away from your problems which would still be okay because then you’d have time. The time you need to spend, sincerely thinking about exploring your options.

Things may seem bleak now but there’s always daylight after a dark night. Unless, you account for the Arctic Circle during summers, then this analogy doesn’t make sense, but you know you have a thing for cliches and the dramatic.

“_____, bloody shower already! Wash your hair so I can dye it tomorrow!” Sana’s screech brings you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not sure I want to dye my hair, Sana, bleaching itself is scary...” - “Bleaching is the only scary part, genius. And I already bought pink dye and purple shampoo for you!”

“I’m sorry,” you frown.

Sana softens at your guilt-ridden demeanour, “Hey, it’s no biggie, it doesn’t expire until next year. I’m sure I can get Jungkook to convince you. You’ll have matching hair colours! It’s fucking cute, babe.”

Sana smiles sweetly. “Now, shower. Now, now.”

“I will! Soon.” You pout.

“Okay! See you in the hall room.” She pats you on your butt before strutting away.

You swear your indecisiveness is genetic. As much as you’d like to blame your family for yet another thing from a really long list of ‘defects’, it’s pointless and a waste of time. All of this was on you. And Yuna. And Jungkook, but mostly yourself.

Taehyung has called to check on you twice now and unsurprisingly, he refuses to disclose any details about what you might have to prepare for. ‘I’d much rather you speak directly to Jungkook, I really don’t want to risk changing your mind for the worse—or better. Just know I will continue being your friend no matter what comes out of this,’ he had said.

And that got you wondering.

Are you truly prepared for the ‘worse’ outcome?

You don’t want to deal with a breakup and you don’t want to deal with Yuna. It’s highly unlikely that you may never see her or Jungkook again after your presumed, hypothetical breakup. It’d kill you to see Jungkook still around the person who kinda sorta pushed you, his presumed and hypothetical ex-girlfriend, away.

Honestly, deep down, you really wouldn’t blame him if he stuck with her.

If you had a relationship like Jungkook and Yuna’s, you’d struggle to ‘choose’ as well. You don’t expect him to throw away years’ worth of a friendship for or at the cost of a two-month long relationship.

At the same time, you would most likely disintegrate if you saw them become more than just best friends. You almost retch at the imaginary scenario.

How funny would that be? Very not.

Instead of getting yourself worked up over what may be, you Rory Gilmore it up.

You make a ‘pro and con’ list.

It sounds unethical to base your decision to date or not to date on a list of whatever reasons, which could very well end up being shallow and more logic based than your emotions and feelings.

Lucky for you, you don’t have a single logical bone in your body. You’re frantic and last minute. The most planning you can do for this ‘conversation’ is this, no doubt, very trustworthy ‘pro and con’ list.

Jungkook communicates with you solely over text and it’s a lot less frequent than usual. It’s awkward because he doesn’t try to push anything on you and you didn’t expect it.

You can’t help but think he may slowly be pulling away from you.

The distance has done nothing but make you miss him and want him more but you’re worried it’s only because you’re afraid of losses and change. You’re scared he doesn’t feel the same for you. You don’t want to be on a different page than him.

Before you psych yourself out over the possibility of Jungkook not wanting to be with you, you prepare for your little list.

The notepad you use to scribble on was on Sana’s desk, out of your reach.

You frown, not wanting to move from the comfortable blanket and throw pillows you were tucked under.

You think about ringing Sana but you had bothered her enough with tucking you in earlier that day, so you forgo it.

Then, you mentally list your cons of breaking up--- you’d miss him, this would wreck you, it would possibly wreck him, Yuna would swoop in, Jungkook and Yuna would form a hate club and then they would kiss. 

The pros would be--- you will not go through an emotional break up that would destroy your routine for a while, Jungkook realises he liked Yuna all along and it’d be harder for him to break it off with you because he is the nicest man you've ever met.

And now, you realise you lack a clarity of thought and all your thoughts are based on your insecurities.

You want to call Dr. Min but it seems a little excessive and spineless to ask him what you should be talking about with Jungkook.

Thought dumping is always an option. You could leave it all up to Jungkook. Whatever his decision is, goes.

This is coming from a very cowardly side of you--- letting other people take control of you and your life. It’s difficult to unlearn something you’re so used to doing. Recognising it is a good first step, though. So says Dr. Min. You owe him your life for the changes he’s making for you.

You confessed to him how grateful you were but he’d insist it was a collaborative effort.

In all honesty, you want Jungkook so badly. You want to be consumed by him, give into him. And if you put your insecurities away, you would stop running from this wonderful man. You can acknowledge his inexperience but it’s not like you’re any better. In fact, you’re more childish than he is. You don’t know any better than he does.

It’s still a young relationship and it’d be such a shame if it ended so suddenly without reason.

The only aspect you need closure in is this inner war you have with yourself.

Again, it doesn’t happen overnight.  ‘Rome wasn't built in a day, but it burned in one.’ (I forget who says this.)

You despise those “self love” mantras--- love yourself, you’re beautiful, you’re perfect, believe in yourself, you’re enough, you deserve better--- it’s all a load of bollocks.

You know relationships are hard work, you know you have a lot to sort out within yourself, you know you have a lot to tell Jungkook about yourself and it’s never going to be perfect. Nothing is perfect.

In a way, you’re grateful for the little bumps because it trains you for future adversaries (?) too dramatic? No?

The little tremors reassure you that you’re on the right track. If it were all smooth and seamless, you’d be more suspicious and paranoid. Ironically, those are factors you experience now as well. For a different reason.

“Hey, doll.”

Your eyes blinked open. Was your brain messing with you or did you actually hear Jungkook?

You crane your neck up from the soft pillows. The pillows and blanket did not aid you in any way, pushing you down further.

“Jungkook?”

“I hope you don’t mind me coming to you first---” He paused at your expression.

Your face was a true index of your mind. Erratic. Disbelief. Confused. You swore you had decided to meet the following day.

“See, I waited till today and I couldn’t stop myself.” He continued.

You establish that he’s here. It settles in.

In a way, this is great, you aren’t overwhelmed by anxiety from waiting and overthinking more than you already have.

For some reason, you aren’t upset that he showed up before decided. After all, you did miss him.  

Sitting up on your bed, you watch him awkwardly shift his weight from one leg to another, debating on taking a step closer to you.

You’re really happy to see him yet you contemplate running into the bathroom to avoid him for a bit but immediately shoot that thought down.  

It’s only insecurity about your appearance. You wished you didn’t look like you hadn’t showered or slept or eaten well in three days.

The silence is so loud when the closing of the front door breaks it, indicating Sana’s leave. She gave you privacy.

“I had begun to forget what you looked like. It’s been so long.” Jungkook almost whispered.

It had been a little over two weeks.

The mention of your looks made you a little self-conscious.

“_____.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about... please. Do you want me to leave? I’ll come back tomorrow; I swear.”

You stretch your legs out on the bed, revealing your thick, fuzzy socks and unshaved legs. It didn’t bother you at the moment because you didn’t notice it.

You point to Sana’s bean bag with your toes, directing him to make himself comfortable. You hope she won’t mind and make a note to wipe it down just in case. He obliges.

Discreetly adjusting your night dress over your thighs under the blankets, you stare directly into his panicked looking eyes.

"_____..." He starts again. Bur you cut him off.

“Honestly?” You begin, “I’m a little annoyed.”

“Because of me?” Jungkook points to himself with his thumb.

You frown, “Kind of? But not really. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I meant--- Jungkook, I thought- I had your word. About tomorrow? Not today.” You stutter, unsure of your tone.

“I know- it’s an asshole move to just, ignore you and force you to talk to me and I promise you, I will leave immediately if you don’t want me here. I just wanted to make sure you’re OKAY. I wanted to make sure you’re still… I don’t know- here, with me.” He looks worried but so well rested. Fresh? And pretty.

You would have no idea he was this worried just by looking at him.

You furrow your brows, “I won’t deny that it was an… asshole move, as you put it, but...“ You struggle to maintain eye contact with him. “I am happy to see you. I missed you.”

Those words came as a relief to Jungkook, who now had a small smile graced on his lips, “You are so important to me.” It was the most random afterthought.

Your eyes welled up at that. It wasn’t supposed to happen this early on?#&!@

“That feels good to hear.” You respond weakly. “But, I have so much to tell you. Ask you. But, mostly tell you.” You pause, “I want you to be prepared to take everything in.”

“I promise you, I’m here. I’m with you.” Jungkook extends his hand for you to hold.  

You restart your sentence thrice before getting a hang of what you’ve half heartedly rehearsed.

“It’s a shame I don’t have a cocktail in my hand right now,” you nervously laugh.

Jungkook playfully scoffs, “Can I sit with you?” You pause, “No, I haven’t showered yet.” “That’s okay.”

You smile at the ground. “I have to start with, like, my upbringing, my family life, relationship- whatever.”

Jungkook tilts his head forward to indicate he was attentive.

“I haven’t had the best role models as a child. I’m lacking in many ways and I doubt I will ever feel completely confident in myself, at least for now. And none of this is-“ You find an object or something, anything to focus on. To compose yourself. Jungkook’s finger tattoos. His hands distract you for a second before you get back on track. “It’s not your fault. And it’s not your responsibility to make me confident. I know, I’m the only one who can change that.”

You can see it on his face that he disagrees with something you said but the floor is yours at the moment. He respects it.

“So, I’ve never really had anyone tell me that I’m doing okay? I swear I can explain this better...“ You scoff to yourself.

“Don’t worry.” Jungkook reassures you. “You’re good.”

Jungkook contemplates whether or not to ask to sit closer to you. He shook his head and let you lead him instead.

“Wow, I hate being this vulnerable. Ahh….” You pause for only a second or two, not wanting to break your flow.

“I have never been sure about anything in my life, stuff most people would find easy to, uh, operate through. I didn’t know where I’d be now a year ago, I could never plan for anything. I don’t have plans. I don’t have a goal or a dream. And, I didn’t know if that was… normal or okay.”

“You know? Things like, do I want to study more or take a break? What am I good at? What can I do that would help me in any way in life? How do I, I don’t know, grow a backbone…? Am I even stable enough to bring another person into my life?”

“Just the usual stuff.” Jungkook interrupts.

You smile a little, “Sure.”

“Up until I started therapy with this really great psychiatrist. Min Yoongi. That’s his name,” You looked up at Jungkook, feeling your lower lip quiver, “And he- I think, I mean I know this is incredibly weird but he has taught me a lot more in months than my parents have in years.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

You try not to let it affect you but fail. It’s a reaction you’re far too familiar with when you mention or even think of your parents. Even in passing.

A sob escapes your lips. “I feel guilty for talking about them this way. They have given me everything they could. I’m not ungrateful. I don’t want you to think I-”

“_____, I understand what you mean. Nothing you say right now will change my feelings for you.” Jungkook attempts to comfort you.

He was lucky enough to have the privilege of being paid attention to and loved. He knows this very well.

Besides, he wouldn’t dare make assumptions about you even if you kicked a child in their face.

You chew on your inner cheek to stop yourself from breaking down, “I respect my parents as people. I really, really do but I can’t go back to them. I can never do anything right for them and they’ve ruined possibly every future relationship of mine- any kind of relationship- I can’t trust people. It has held me back so many times…”

Jungkook switches his place from the little chair to kneeling on the floor next to your bed. Placing your hands in his, he kisses your forehead.

That simple action does it for you.

It’s like a dam breaking open when you finally give into him.

Your nose is warm, probably red and leaky and your cheeks are wet from the tears. His hands squeeze yours tighter than ever. “It’s okay,” he mumbles over and over.

You gently pull away from him. It has barely been a few, ten to fifteen minutes since he got here and you find yourself getting exasperated--- exasperated at yourself, at your inability to stay stable, to come up with non-nonsensical sentences and at the inability to make a decision for yourself.  

You give yourself a minute to breathe. You’re so tired you want to fall back on your bed and go to bed already but you refrain.

Jungkook’s instincts had kicked in.

He’s confronted with a social situation where he’d usually be panicked and confused. But for some reason, he was able to calmly steer through it.

When it suddenly dawned on him; Jungkook wasn’t being his usual defensive self, he didn’t feel cornered by you.

Not like you blamed him at all, he naturally went into ‘dad mode’--- in the most non-creepy way possible. Actually, ditch that metaphor, let’s settle with ‘boyfriend mode’ instead.

He snaps out of his thoughts when you sigh.

“Jungkook, I like you. I can’t help but feel… not enough- inadequate for you. You deserve way better than some childish, stubborn, stupid girl, but I like you so much I can’t navigate--- anything.”

“_____, I wish you could see how perfect you are to me.” He pouts.

“But, I’m not!” You digress.

Grabbing on to his shirt, you sob harder into his chest, “And don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I really, really like you, _____.”

“Stop it. I’ve hidden so much from you.”

He envelopes your tired body with his sturdy arms. It almost energizes you. He has such strong effects on you.

“Well, it isn’t on purpose that it turned out to be this way. It’s your own defence mechanism, I get that.” Jungkook pulls away from you and grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to stare directly into his eyes, “I know you won’t accept it but none of this, anything, is your fault.” He pauses, “I mean it.”

“But, that’s not everything---”

He squishes your face as if to silence you.

“I’m here until you ask me to leave.” He doesn't stop there. “And even if you were keeping these feelings inside you on purpose, I would never- and I mean never, ever blame you for whatever.” He adds.

You secretly wished he would stop being so lenient.

One would argue that it’s the bare minimum but you still think he’s too good for you. It’s just something you aren’t used to.

Yuna’s involvement has not been discussed yet and you’re dreading bringing it up. You don’t know how he would react to her even though it seems to be going well at the moment. The build up to this moment finally ends.

“I appreciate that,” you whisper. “It’s a work in progress.”

You sit in silence for a few seconds. It isn’t awkward. It’s just weirdly serene and cathartic. The moment is possibly about to be disrupted though.

While you contemplate the beginning of your next snag, Jungkook thinks of telling you about Yuna. He hopes you won’t take it too hard.

“Before you say anything, I know how much she means to you and I’d never ask you to choose between us, ever. I can see that bond you have. I know we probably won’t see eye to eye on this.”

You focus on him, “Yuna does NOT like me. At all. I have accepted it, you should too.”

“Hear me out, before you counter attack--- I have learnt to be okay with Yuna, well… it is still a work in process, but it’s still happening! And I understand that she's your best friend!” You exclaim, low-key convincing yourself of it.

“Hey, give me some credit here.” Jungkook whines. “She came over the other day, I sent her away.”

You visibly freeze.

Things had slowly started piecing themselves together in Jungkook’s head. And, oh, how incredibly stupid he felt. The look on your face says it all. He understands that you weren’t expectant of him to do anything about the ‘Yuna situation’. It embarrasses him.

“What happened? Did she say something?”

“Oh, yeah, she said a whole lot. She even dressed like you,” Jungkook laughed. “It was crazy.”

Crazy? :(

“Crazy? Why?” You sadly ask.

“NO! NOt because of the- ok, no, wait.” He gulps, “She had like a floral dress on and she did her makeup like you do yours. And you usually have the glossy lip thing going on, I know because I love getting it all over me,” Jungkook scrunches his face in false bliss, clutching his chest.

You stare at him in astonishment with your mouth dropped open a little. Then you shook your head.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Right, I guess she came to do what you wouldn’t.”

You blink owlishly. You don’t know what this means.

Why was he being so cryptic?

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to sound cryptic, she just… showed me this other side of her that I didn’t know existed. Or, didn’t realise existed, I don’t know.”

That was so freakish, you didn’t even say that out loud. You sigh at him.

“Jungkook, I’m having trouble understanding you,” you rub your eyes roughly to wake yourself.

“She wanted me to break up with you. It… was this whole thing. She spoke of you terribly. She wanted me to choose between you and her.” He smiled humourlessly, “Obviously, I had to shut her up so I asked her to leave. Kindly.”

“Kindly?” You repeat, confused. It’s a weird detail. “Yeah, I mean- I made her leave. I haven’t spoken to her ever since.”

Your expression dulls, “Jungkook, when was this?” “A while ago. It was the day you texted me about tomorrow’s date.” You cannot read his expressions. You don’t know what to feel. He looks determined but then-

You gently raise your hand and bring it to his face and wipe a stray tear on his face.

“I’m sorry, hon. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“It felt wrong. I understood she was part of the reason you and I fought. I should’ve sent her away that day when she yelled at you.”

“You gave her the benefit of doubt. She’s your closest friend. I understand the issue- reluctancy, I mean.” You reason. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

“Hey, this is not on you, not one bit.” Jungkook shook his head.

You accept it, but still argue, “Yeah, I mean if I had told you about it before… I don’t know. I’m just sorry. Have you tried talking to her?”

“No. I didn’t want to,” He sighed, “Not until I’ve talked to you about it. I need to get my shit straight.”

“It’s great timing too.” You allude to his finals, sarcastically.

“Pfft, she sure does have her way of revenge.”

"She who?" You tilt your head in confusion.

"The time." He says it like it was the most normal reference ever.

“The time is a woman?” You pout.

“Of course. Like God. God is a woman, didn’t you know?” His banter lightens the mood by a small percent.

“But, really. Have you been well? I don’t imagine a fight as big as this to have no effect on you…” You trail.

He smiles cutely, “I’m a strong boy.”

“Besides, I only found myself worrying about you rather than Yuna. She scared me a little.” He adds.

You blush at his confession. “I’m sorry,” you grumble.

“Don’t be!” Jungkook startles you, “I like thinking of you.”

You shy away from his gaze.

Jungkook is trying to bring his pathetic self to properly address his role in this whole debacle. He lightly massages your thigh, unconsciously inching his high higher up. The presumed dead butterflies in your belly began to revive ragefully.

In all honesty, he’s afraid of losing you. He doesn’t want this to go badly.

“_____. Seriously, though. I ignored all the horrible things she said to you.”

“You didn’t!” You squeak. Because of both his statement and his hand nearing your centre.

He abruptly places his hand back on his lap, not noticing your embarrassment, “No. I need you to know that I was in the wrong here. Me and Yuna.”

“Jungkook, no. You- she’s your friend for a much longer time than me. I think it gives her more credibility than me. I mean, I wouldn’t have noticed either. I don’t blame you. Please.” You breathe out. “I’m sorry I walked out so suddenly during dinner that day, before your study break. It really set the tone for the weeks that followed.”

Jungkook's jaw clenched, “No, you don’t have to be sorry. I made it uncomfortable for you.”

“It was mostly her.” You point.

“Mostly!” He catches on making you cringe, “You don’t have to sugar-coat for me, doll. I want you to be comfortable enough with me to tell me I fucked up.”

He had mistaken your reluctancy for nonchalance and security when it was the stark opposite.

He really, really, screwed up.

He knows you’d never blame him because you’re the sweetest girl in the world but he wasn’t beneath taking responsibility for what he did.

“Really. I don’t blame you. She kinda called me boring and a drag or whatever on your trip and you agreed so it hurt me a little more than I- I don’t know. It’s in the past!”

His eyes widen in horror, “_____, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she- I agreed?” - “I- yeah. Like, when I begged to tag along, she had said I’d bore you or something? I don’t remember. It’s okay, Jungkook.” You try to change the topic.

“_____, I’m so fucking sorry, I definitely heard her wrong! You aren’t boring! I thought the trip would bore you! Or overwhelm you, my friends are obnoxious for people who don’t know them, that’s all. I promise.” He tucked a few stray hairs from your face behind your ears.

“I know that now.” You press your lips together, making your cheeks stick further out. “_____.”

He lowly whispers, “You’re my favourite girl.”

“You’re my favourite boy.” You look up at the origami hearts dangling from the ceiling, “Although, Taehyung isn’t that far behind.”

Jungkook’s mouth opens and shuts almost instantly. You grin and squeeze his hand in yours.

“Ow. Nails…” Jungkook softly whimpers. You giggle at him, smoothening his palm out, “Sorry.” “Yeah? Kiss it better.” He demands.

You pretend to think, “Hm…. Maybe tomorrow.”

“_____!” Jungkook whined harder, “That’s unfair, I haven’t even hugged you for weeks. Did you know I had to get by hugging Taehyung instead? He always smells like lilies and sandalwood; I’m used to your vanilla and peach!”

“Lilies and sandalwood?” You quiz, genuinely interested. Jungkook suddenly clears his throat, getting off the floor.

“I’m going to spend the night.” He side tracked.

You blush, “Sana would never allow it.”

“Pfft, she helped me set this up, doll.” Jungkook cockily stretches his arms over his head. She did?

Oh? Oh. Oh, no wonder she tried to push you to shower.

“_____.”

You look up at Jungkook who intensely gazed at you. “Yeah…” You whisper.

“Are we better now?” His voice is tainted with uncertainty. You can see fear and slight sadness on his face.

You know he’s still mourning his best friend.

He doesn’t show it out of respect for you but you make sure to remember to bring it up later. You’d hate for him to go through this alone.

“We’re much better now.” You hold his hand.

You never wanted him to come to this. There’s a fleeting thought of breaking up with him so he wouldn’t have to lose such a huge part of his life.

Somewhere, you felt at fault for everything that happened.

If you didn’t exist for him, he would never have to choose. On the other hand, you’re glad he chose you. But you can’t help but wonder what could’ve happened had Yuna been nicer. It’s your insecurity and trust issues speaking again.

And, who’s to say he would really go back to Yuna? You could be taking away his happiness regardless. You make note of the not very subtle self-depreciative thoughts.

You stand up and look up at him towering over you more prominently, “Stop,” you giggle.

“What?” He smirks.

You whine a little, “You’re doing that alpha male thing!” To which he takes great offence. His brows scrunch.

“WHO taught you that word? Taehyung? It was him, wasn’t it? Ahh, what is he doing making my girlfriend laugh?” He exasperates, mumbling off some ineligible words.

He puts his arms around your body and squeezes you close to him, “Don’t ever leave me like that. Except if you want to, I will not invade you. You know that, right?” He backtracks and reassures you.

You swore you heard a shiver in his voice. “I know.” You promise.

Jungkook sweetly smiles at you making you a little aware and conscious about the way you looked at the moment.

You hoped he didn’t focus on your dark circles too much, or at all.

Jungkook cuts your thoughts off by leaning down to kiss your ear. It tickles. Goosebumps litter your skin.

Jungkook sloppily leaves wet kisses up and down your jaw and neck. His hands caressed your waist. He knows it tickles you. You press yourself harder against him, not knowing what to do to soothe yourself.

Jungkook kisses the top of your breasts through the open collar of your dress. You gasp and clench your toes.

He moans like it’s the best thing he ever put his lips on. Jungkook rubs his face in between them and bites and sucks on your semi hardened nipples through your dress.

He groans about how much he missed feeling your tits while your heavy breathing turns into wanton moans.

He takes his sweet time, dragging his wet tongue around your nipples one at a time, giving them both an equal amount of love, before reluctantly pulling away.

You’re eager for him to just pull your dress down and suck on your bare tits.

But then, you hear an annoyingly loud ringing sound.

“Argh, fuck. Whose is that?” Jungkook rasps.

“It’s coming from your phone.” You complain.

“Oh,” Jungkook deeply sighs and let’s his arms drop from around you to find the source of the ringing.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cusses when he spots his phone. You nervously frown, “What happened?”

“Study group. Shit, I didn’t realise that was today.” He shows you his alarm reminder titled ‘STUDY GROUP REMINDER CALL’ in all caps and everything.

Not even a second later, you see the name ‘Jia’ along with a photo of a very gorgeous girl flash on his screen.

“Jia?” You pout. Jungkook stares at you for a second, then at his screen, “AND Chris and Yugyeom and Karina! Study group!” He quickly adds.

You giggle, “You should answer that.”

“Hm? Nnnghh, I’ll catch up tomorrow.” He opts.

“JK, no. Study group comes first. You have people depending on you.”

Also, you really want to shower and shave for him.

“Brat.” He throws at you, playfully sizing you up, looking you up and down.

“That’s YOU!” You scoff.

He licks your cheek, childishly, “I miss my shy baby.”

“Shut upughh, bye.” You blush, pushing him away from you.

He hates how right you are about the study group and kisses your lips briefly before answering his friend’s call while simultaneously setting up his laptop and notebooks on your table.

He wastes no time joining their group call.

And now, you’re left with two funny-looking wet spots on your tits.

[bandaged-writer]

can I request nikolai with a reader that’s also seeking freedom, because maybe she has been caged her entire childhood, and wants to be free? please and thank you :)

i keep writing requests in some sort of fic-format and i hope y'all don't mind 😭 i'll try my best to write more established relationships in the future

genre. idk some sort of drabble

warnings. murder, implied child abuse, mentions of burned corpses

words. 491

summary. but danger was merely a good acquaintance of freedom. one could not be free without facing the dangers of reality.

Nikolai would never forget the day he picked you up from your burned down home, the human remains of your parents stretching out their charcoal hands towards you and your clothes scorched at the seams. Blood trickled from your delicate fingers, face swiped clean of any emotion a human could have.

Did you light up your home? Not that Nikolai cared. All that mattered was convincing you to follow the Decay of Angels.

"Riddle me this, riddle me that. Why do you bask in the mask?" Nikolai was right behind you, his breath tickled the skin of your neck, but you didn't flinch. At your lack of reaction, he nearly thought you were another corpse.

"Mask?," you echoed into the air. Wiping some grime from your cheek and leaving behind blood, a pained sigh slipped your chapped lips. The last thing you needed was a riddle made of pretty words you could never hope to understand. "What do you want, jester?"

"Ouch! For such a cute face, you have quite the sharp tongue! Some people here have feelings, you know?!," Nikolai screeched and smacked a hand to his oh-so-wounded heart. The act was dropped in an instant as Nikolai came to a halt in front of you and grabbed your chin with his forefinger and thumb; he was regarding you, scanning you.

"Tell me. What is it that you desire?"

Your thoughts halted. The people who called themselves your parents never encouraged any desires, never ignited a flame that you could be drawn to like a mindless moth. Always, they kept you in the safety of their four walls that they liked to call home, but no, for you it was a prison. You did as they said so you would fall in their favor, but what did they do to you?

Under wraps they kept you. The villagers barely even knew of your existence. You never got to experience a genuine friendship, a relationship, the sorrow of loss and the despair of death's icy fingers. None of that was ever given to you until you decided to burn the house down while your parents were deep in their slumber. Now, they would slumber for an eternity.

"I want to be free..I guess." Your words came slow and mumbled. The stranger was weird, you thought, but nothing ever taught you the meaning of danger, what it was like to avoid a man of this caliber.

But danger was merely a good acquaintance of freedom. One could not be free without facing the dangers of reality.

Nikolai smiled at you much like he had found a rare gem that was waiting to be polished. "As free as a bird, I presume?"

"More than that. My desire is a desire to be free of desire."

Nikolai wrapped his coat around your less than sightly appearance and laughed into the nothingness. "You're just like me and this will be your rise and fall!"

[taechaos]

No More

from Textbook Love drabble series

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: dark romance, college au

synopsis: Perhaps love isn’t all you need to be with Jungkook. Maybe it's a sign you and him weren't meant to be.

warnings: fluff, daddy kink, public sex, degredation, mild angst

word count: 6.7k

a/n: dedicated to a good old gemini, known as pretzel anon. happy birthday! this was shit! 💞 can someone let me know if i made a stupid mistake i was really high while writing this lol

If every couple goes at their own pace, how does one know if the relationship is rushed or a slow burn? What is considered a date, and how many do you have to go on to stop calling it a date? Maybe there’s a book called Dating for Dummies.

Jungkook has taken you out once: a fast food meal on the curb across your campus. Romance is subjective, so you thought it to be very romantic when he fed you a french fry under the streetlights while you were too stuffed to finish your food. “I paid for it,” he’d said, “so you have to eat it all.”

“I’ll eat anything from your hand,” you’d replied bashfully. He got a bit awkward after that, and you regretted saying it until he began feeding you and even holding your drink to your mouth. It was a successful first date, but you wanted it to last longer; feel your heartbeat out of rhythm with every smile he threw at you until the sun came up. Unfortunately for you, he walked you to your dorm a little after dinner.

Luckily for you, you know that wasn’t your first and last date. You’re going to ask him out for the second one because it’s a beautiful day outside and you’ve studied all morning for your finals to clear up your schedule for Jungkook. A walk in the park sounds nice, then a picnic, maybe he’ll even hold your hand! Is it too soon for another date though? It’s only been less than a day… 

You’re wearing your favorite outfit for the occasion: a pale blue floral dress that has a rectangular collar on the chest—without cleavage, God forbid—and sandal heels to match. You even styled your hair, and hopefully dressing to impress works; you don’t want him to say no. The current issue is finding Jungkook, and you don’t want to be that person, but you’re avoiding calling him in case you bust him with another girl by searching instead. It makes you guilty for having trust issues, but infidelity has its impacts.

Regardless of your internal concerns, you’re happily humming as you skip on the sidewalk, checking every corner for a certain someone. So far no such luck, and if he isn’t in his dorm, and if he doesn’t go off campus on Sundays, where could he be? In someone else’s dorm…?

“Stop,” you scold yourself with a roll of your eyes and continue your hunt. Next location: the back of the building. The front is cleared out, so is the dorm; what’s happening in the most secretive area? “God,” you sigh. Is this how your thinking process has always been? You hope it is.

The beat in your steps has gone missing when you’re rounding the exterior of the building because of your reluctance. You’re contemplating calling him until you see the back of a man with a girl in front of him by the benches, presumably kissing from the smacking noises. You clench your phone in your dress pocket as you watch them, hesitant to find out who the guy is.

“Jun–” Your voice goes quiet when you see the tattoo of a dragon on his shoulder, peeking out from his black loose tank top. It’s not Jungkook’s tattoo. You bite your lip and ignore the relief in your tight muscles; he’s dating you now, that’s what he said. It’s different, so there’s no point in worrying about his loyalty. 

You shake your hands off and walk faster to the taboo spot. There’s no point in worrying, there isn’t, not when he told you he would make it up to you. There’s no reason for your heart to race from expecting the worst when you make the final turn.

A shaky breath leaves you and a small smile follows when you see him smoking with his friends by the back exit. There are four people with him, Taehyung included, who is sharing a cigarette with him. He notices you first because he’s facing you whereas Jungkook is facing the clear forest across. He waves you over with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up.

“I see a pretty girl at 9 o’clock,” Taehyung says and Jungkook turns his head, the rest following his lead. You take tiny strides while approaching them and bite down on a shy smile.

“Hi,” you greet in a small voice. Your eyes immediately lock with Jungkook’s, who looks baffled.

“Hey yourself,” Taehyung greets back. “Care to share?” He holds a burning cigarette out to you with a slight bow, as if offering you a rose.

“She doesn’t smoke,” Jungkook answers for you without looking away. Is he displeased?

“Have you ever tried it?” he persists before inhaling the stick and blowing it in your face. You cough and hold a fist to your mouth, shaking your head. Jungkook slaps the back of his head before taking the cigarette from him and putting it out on the wall he’s leaning against. “You owe me a whole pack now.”

“Care to introduce us?” a guy you don’t know asks curiously. 

“Oh, right–”

Jungkook cuts him off before putting names onto the three strangers’ faces, Namjoon being the one who asked for the introduction, and when he comes to you, he says, “Meet… my girlfriend.”

“Thought you said she was a lousy nerd, Taehyung,” Yoongi comments before chugging from his flask. “Doesn’t look like it to me.” Taehyung chuckles uncomfortably before rubbing the nape of his neck as you tilt your head at him, the glint in your eyes never fading at Jungkook’s words.

“I didn’t get a close look at her before, didn’t know she was a real beauty,” he recovers with a flirt. Another slap on the back of his head. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seokjin diverts the topic. He appears very nice and seems to be the only one not smoking. His friendly smile puts you at ease and you politely tell him, “The pleasure is all mine.” Good first impression on all of Jungkook’s friends: check.

Your boyfriend ignores the interaction and stares at you until you gaze at him as well. “What are you doing here?” You can’t read his expression.

“I wanted to ask you…” you play with your fingers nervously, “if you wanted to go to the park with me?”

Jungkook quirks a brow as Namjoon and Seokjin wiggle their brows, Taehyung frowns, and Yoongi smirks. Quite brave of you to ask him out in front of his smoker friends, and it’s impressive that you play into such a role of textbook love: only caring about what your crush thinks. When Jungkook peeks to see their reactions, more or less weighing their judgement, he’s satisfied when he realizes none of them give a flying fuck about him being with a girl next door; someone outside of his type of rather than a free escort, really. 

He doesn’t care about what they think when he smiles down at you and says, “Let’s go.” You bounce on your heels when he swings his arm over your shoulder and walks away from the scene. The unsteady heartbeat is back for the same reason as last time, but you’re waiting to request something else.

The park near the university is peaceful with groups of friends hanging out; couples sitting on benches; the sun shining down on the trees and grass as you aim for the ice cream stand. You try to muster up the courage to ask him first, but you’re feeling courageous as you pull away from his arm and instead latch onto his hand and intertwine your fingers. You glance at him with a blush to see his reaction, but he doesn’t look at you and only squeezes your hand nonchalantly. His grip is tighter than yours. Maybe it’s from the heat, but his cheeks are tinted in a light pink shade. 

You stumble on your heels when you stare at him for too long, but you recover from a fall last second. He holds onto you anyway, furrowing his brows at your shoes. “High heels? Are you trying to reach my height?”

“You like them,” you giggle and continue your struts more carefully. When he frowns, you worry, “Do I not look good in them?” 

“Why would I like them if you can’t walk in them? You look pretty in flats too.” 

After a whole afternoon of eating ice cream, blushing at anything nice Jungkook said, listening to his music while sitting under the sun, the evening has come. Throughout the day, you were dreading the end of it because every second with him is so enjoyable. The warmth of his hand when you play with his fingers is a feeling you never want to forget, and you didn’t notice the little smile on his face when you were lying on his chest as he watched you do the most endearing and innocent thing one could think of. 

“So precious,” he’d thought. It makes the argument from yesterday feel all the more terrifying when he remembers how close he had gotten to losing this moment. It’s nothing he’s ever experienced or even seen before; plain jackpot.

You’re off the school grounds as you walk on the streets passing cafés with Jungkook, hands locked and feeling perfect. You wonder if he has ever done this with anyone before, but then he’s never been in a relationship. Who are the people that comment in his Instagram posts then? A question strikes you, and you admire his side profile as you ask, “You don’t like it when people call you– Ah!” Your balance wavers as you stumble again, this time falling on your knees after your ankle bends. With the pain tolerance of a baby’s, your eyes instantly water and you let go of his hand as you hold onto your ankle. It’s sprained.

“Shit, are you okay?” He crouches down and picks you up bridal style before sitting you down on a nearby chair. The café’s lights allow him to see the scrape on your knee and the bump on your ankle. “Hey, hey, don’t cry now,” he rubs your injury soothingly as he cringes at your tears. He doesn’t know how to comfort you as you whimper and sniffle. 

“Damn these heels,” you cry quietly. 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at your wording. “This is my second time hearing you swear. Swearing apparently helps with pain though. Say ‘fuck’.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth, but you decide to try it anyway; the throbbing muscle hurts too much. “F-Fuck.”

“Fuck these heels,” he encourages.

“Fuck these fucking heels,” you level. Maybe the theory is correct, because it feels slightly better when he laughs at your rare vulgarity. A minute passes with you trying to keep your tears at bay while he lightly massages your wound.

When he notices you calm down, he asks, “I don’t like it when people call me…?”

You sniffle and rub your eyes before saying a few seconds later, “Daddy.”

He blinks, stares at you, and his heart skips a beat. With your soft pout and red nose, you look so little to him. “... Yes?”

“Huh?”

“Oh,” he smoothly snaps out of his shock, “I don’t have that kink… Um, say it again?”

“Daddy?” 

It sounds different hearing it from you. Without the drawn out whine or the eggplant emoji next to it, and with your voice, it actually sounds cute. “What does that word mean to you?” he shifts the conversation with a subtle blush.

“I don’t know. You call a fatherly figure daddy, right? A man who takes care of you. People say it during sex too. You’re being a daddy right now.”

“Stop,” he warns lowly, “we’re in public.” He stands up from his kneeling position and picks you up in his arms again. “Have you ever called anyone that?” 

You clasp your hands behind his neck as he walks with ease, as if he isn’t carrying anyone in the first place. “No. My dad walked out on my mom when I was little, and I haven’t met anyone who treats me like you do.”

“Wait, you… think of me as your… daddy?” His eyes are wide and he’s gaping at the path in front of him with knitted brows. He looks so intimidating when you scrutinize his features, but you know he’s just flustered. You timidly nod against his shoulders. “Christ. Why?”

Your answer isn’t immediate because you don’t want to come off as too strong, but he’s impatient as he squeezes your waist. “I know you don’t want people to call you that,” you whisper understandingly, “but you’re so mean to others, and you hurt anyone who upsets you.” He rolls his tongue around his cheek uncomfortably. “Whether it be with words or actions. But you’re so sweet to me… You can be really rude, but you care a lot too. You don’t even smoke around me,” you laugh lightheartedly. 

“I mean, you are a baby. You make it difficult to not treat you like one,” he jokes with a hint of truth. You snuggle into his neck with a lopsided grin and your breath fans his tan skin. “I don’t like being an asshole to you, but I’m not exactly a nice person either.”

“You’re carrying me to my dorm,” you point out as a counter.

“I’m only nice to you; somewhat. And… I don’t like being called daddy by horny women, or men for that matter. I’ve never liked it, so I’m not exactly sure why I’m hard right now.” You tense against him. “Something about your sweet, innocent voice calling me daddy is really fucking hot.” He sighs to collect his thoughts; he can’t wait until he’s in your room. It would just be torture. “Did you get on birth control, baby?” He keeps his volume low in case of someone eavesdropping.

“Yes,” you mumble and grow nervous at what he’s thinking.

“Good girl,” he exhales and swiftly enters an empty alley between two restaurants. “Quite the slut too, telling me all this in a crowd.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe as he presses you against the wall and has you wrapping your legs around his waist. He’s so thoughtful, carrying you even when he’s shaming you so you don’t put pressure on your injured foot. The shadows casting from the walls in the narrow space limits your vision, but you don’t need to see anything when he’s doing all the work by rendering you immobile from the press of his hips.

“Good choice with the dress,” he says while pulling out his belt and releasing the buckle. You hold onto him tightly without the security of his hands. He pushes his jeans down and has you towering over him by adjusting your position from the back of your thighs. Your breathing is quick and shallow from the anxious anticipation of the raw stretch, but he’s so nice to you today: he shoves your panties to the side and rubs your folds to collect your arousal as lube. He’s being thoughtful by relaxing your walls with his fingers first, and you bite down on a moan at the sensation. He’s still taking care of you by silencing you with a bruising kiss. 

“Thank you,” you sigh against his lips. His two knuckles are deep inside you as they curl and scissor. As nice as he is, he’s also very impatient and it’s not long before you feel his tip lightly poking at your entrance. 

“Ideal for a quick fuck.” He flashes a dazzling smile before it falters in order to concentrate on positioning himself. He closes his eyes and bites his lip as he slowly enters you, a lot more gentle considering the setting and knowing how vocal you get. A hum rumbles in his throat as you gasp when he’s halfway inside. When he bottoms out, he waits a few seconds for you to adjust before his rough nature returns. “You gonna stay quiet for me, little girl?”

“I’ll try.” Your heart is pounding in your chest when he leans in your ear, his breath tickling your neck. 

“You know that’s not what I wanna hear,” he whispers. He isn’t going to fuck you until you say what he wants, and your diffidence doesn’t make an appearance when his fingers are digging so hard into your thighs, his breath is hot on your skin, and he’s completely nestled inside you.

You lean into his ear as well, and meekly say, “I’ll try my best, daddy.” You can feel him shiver under your hands and hear him grunt, “God,” before he starts moving. Fast. You’d think he’s in a rush from how his pace picked up so quickly—roughly—but he may have just discovered his new kink. 

There’s no point in being quiet when the slam of his cock is enough noise deep in the alley, and he realizes that before you do. You’re bouncing in his arms, mouth open in a silent scream with only huffs leaving to not expose your doings, until he growls, “Say it again. Again and again.”

The chilly breeze from the night weather doesn’t affect you when he has you flush against him, and heat creeps all over your body not only from his hard and impatient thrusts but also from his words. “Daddy,” you whine, the same drawn out whine that he used to hate hearing; it makes his abs contract and clench now, a groan catching in his throat. He sounds almost animalistic, and your eyes screw back in pleasure. 

“Quiet, you fucking slut,” he reminds with a following moan. 

“I-I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper in a strained voice. You can’t keep your vocal cords steady when he’s knocking the breath out of you every time he hits your cervix so deliciously. Jungkook’s a total paradox when he’s being so aggressive yet sweet at the same time, but it feels too good for you to complain. Your head is in the clouds when he bites on your shoulder to practice what he preaches: being quiet. 

“Do you love me?” Maybe that’s not the way you should go on about asking to hear his sweet nothings, because he bites you so hard that you feel his teeth break your skin. 

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he snarls. He licks a drop of your blood off of his lips when he faces you, but the bruising pistoning of his cock doesn’t differ; maybe slams into you even harder. “Hm? Answer me, dumb little slut.” He pinches your thigh cruelly, emitting a pained gasp from you.

 “I just want to hear you say it, please daddy,” you mewl. “I love you so much.”

“Keep fucking begging.”

You initially thought Jungkook became more honest and affectionate when you’re being intimate, but it seems that one word brings out a different side to him: wild and sadistic. Perhaps there are two sides of him being a daddy, one not so much of a fatherly figure. Controlling, dominating, and violent. You’ve received too many bruises in one night.

“Please, please, please, pretty please,” you comply in a cry and hug him tighter.

“Missing something,” he tuts with a breathless laugh. “I love you, stupid girl, more than anything.” He stops ramming into you, and the drag of his throbbing length loses its pace but not its strength. “So, so fucking much,” he strains before slamming into you one last time for his release. With him stuck brushing against your sensitive spot and his shaky moan, your lashes flutter and you clench down on him with the intoxicating wave of your orgasm coursing through your trembling figure. You whimper his name as his cum fills you, the warmth coating your walls while you lose your sense of awareness. 

“Stand on one leg,” he breathes. You know he’s referring to your safe foot, so you disentangle your legs from his waist and stand. The only sound aside from the drown out dialogues from the restaurants nearby is your panting. Though he’s just as drained of energy as you are, he adjusts your dress and underwear for you, even fixing your hair before he pulls up his pants and lifts you. “Don’t call me that around others by the way– especially Taehyung.”

“I promise,” you assure with a chuckle.

The next day, a dreadful Monday, is not so bad when you get to link with your boyfriend and other friends by your usual spot on the benches. You don’t have a lot of lectures throughout the day, and you sit next to Jungkook who’s chatting with Taehyung and Yoongi after your long morning lecture in the afternoon. You peck his cheek as a greeting with a lovesick grin, and the former annoyed look on his face vanishes when he sees you. Soyeon and Minnie are close by, and thankfully there’s no tension between anyone. You’re forgiving, but you aren’t going to forget.

“So you two are actually back together, huh?” Taehyung says with a mocking smile. “What goes around comes around, Kookie.”

“Taehyung, you’re not making this any easier on yourself,” Yoongi murmurs.

Jungkook scoffs and rolls his tongue around his cheek—an irritated habit. “Well then Tae, I’m going to be polite and ask you to not be a homewrecker.”

“I have been hanging around Soyeon too much lately…” he jokes with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t turn this on me,” she says with a quirked brow, tone as soft as Jungkook remembers. You sit back and sigh at their bickering. “I didn’t know his name, you have no excuse to be flirting with her.”

“He isn’t–” You can’t get a word in when Jungkook agrees, “She’s fucking right, you know. Stop tailing around me to get a look up at her skirt.”

“I am not–"

“Oh for God’s sake,” Yoongi sighs like you do. Both of you share a guilty look, apologizing on each other’s behalf. It’s only when you start tracing the tattoos on Jungkook’s arm that he finally looks at you.

“You like it?” he asks, a bit smugly. You nod with a tiny smile. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he pecks yours, and says, “I’ll add your name to the collection. Thinking of inking my knuckles.”

A blush from his kiss, and a bashful smile from his idea graces your face when you cutely pout, “No…” He laughs at your very obviously fake denial and closes in on you, teasing in a whisper, “Yeah? You like that?”

“Look at you two being so adorable,” Taehyung interrupts with a dreamy sigh, “but I want ice cream.” He holds his hands up by his elbows on the oak table and leans his face on them with fluttering eyelashes. “Kookie? Ice cweam? Pwease?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jungkook winces at the disgustingly cutesy face he makes, and you release a humoured breath at the friendlier banter. “Go buy it yourself, moron.”

“I don’t have money and I want her tea on how you two made up,” he flutters his lashes again with his fingers intertwined; begging so silly. “Pretty please.”

“Now I’m definitely not going to leave you alone with her.”

“Baby,” you interject, and his eyes widen at the nickname. “I want ice cream too.”

He flashes a quick glare at Taehyung, easily giving into your needs with a sigh. “You’re paying, fuckface.” He snatches his wallet the moment it’s out of his pocket and walks off while spinning it between his fingertips.

“He stole my fucking wallet,” he frowns without offence. “Oh well. So…” his eyes trail to you with a mischievous glint, “you never smoked before, right?”

You shake your head, a bit curious—albeit amused—as to where he’s going with this. 

“You wanna know something? Jungkook reeeaaally likes smokers,” he stretches his hands for emphasis. It piques your interest, and you raise a brow. “I can teach you. We have to do it fast, before he comes from the store. Okay?”

“Um… okay,” you laugh as he switches seats from across you to Jungkook’s spot. 

He takes out his pack where his lighter is also stuffed as he speaks, “So what I’m gonna do is teach you how to shotgun.”

“You can’t do that with a cigarette,” Yoongi states in boredom, a plain contrast to Taehyung’s hyperactivity. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lying to you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck– okay, sorry, didn’t mean to say that.” He turns to you with glimmering excitement, “It’ll be easier on you if we do it with a shotgun.” You merely shrug because you don’t even know what that means. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth before holding up a hand to his lighter, inhaling until the tip burns. Smoke flies past his lips as he explains, “You inhale from the filter, but don’t inhale too much. You’re going to cough, maybe feel a little lightheaded since it’s your first time, but try to hold it in, okay?” 

Taehyung peeks behind Yoongi before shifting his attention to you. He takes another drag from the cigarette but doesn’t exhale. “Okay,” you say with a nod, sharing his excitement at a new experience that Jungkook could potentially approve of. You can rely on Taehyung’s honesty, though the bad memory from before leaves a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you’re ready to create better memories with him. He flips the stick until the filter is between your lips.

He wraps his lips around the tip and your eyebrows shoot up at the proximity. He holds your face between his large palms, and the cigarette is hidden behind his hands. He leans closer and nods at you, and you take the cue to inhale. You hear Yoongi blow out a deep breath just as you take in a shallow one. The urge to cough strikes you instantly, and you hold it in the best you can; your cheeks puff out as you slightly wheeze, and smoke leaves from both your mouth and nose. That’s when Taehyung pulls back, the intense eye contact gone, and you hear Yoongi scoff and the heavy footsteps of someone else. You cough into your hand when Taehyung slips it out of your mouth and holds it under the table.

“What the fuck?” Jungkook asks incredulously and throws three wrapped popsicles on the bench. You feel slightly dizzy when your small coughing fit ends, and you grow confused as to why your boyfriend is glaring at you with such intensity as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Taehyung.

“Had to take you up on the homewrecker offer–” Taehyung’s sentence is cut off when Jungkook pulls him up by his collar, hesitates with his fist flying midway, then forcefully pushes him onto the pavement instead. He’s also confused– frantic, and doesn’t know what to do.

You’re semi-conscious of what he’s doing, but consuming nicotine for the first time leaves you feeling quite strange. You feel like you’ll stumble if you try to stand up, and slur if you speak, so you just wait it out.

“What– Why are you just sitting there?” he asks you with violent gestures. “What the fuck?” He holds onto his head, and all of your friends are quiet as they watch him. They must have missed you smoking for the first time. Yoongi waits for him to stop pacing.

“It’s not what you think, Jungkook,” Yoongi calmly tells him. What is he thinking though? “I know it looked–”

“The fuck it did! Right fucking in front of me? How the fuck are you so calm?” he yells. 

“Hm?” you say. He watches you in astonishment: bottom lip jutting out and brows scrunched. If he didn’t see you shamelessly kissing Taehyung out in the open, he would be doubting his own vision because of how unbothered you seem. It bewilders him; why aren’t you reacting at all?

“They weren’t–”

“It took almost one fucking week of dating for you to resort to this?” Taehyung is still on the ground as he sends you a warning glance, Yoongi is unbothered by the ordeal because he’s constantly interrupted, and Jungkook is fuming at you while you just sit there.

“I was just curious,” you relate to the cigarette that is still lit beneath the grass next to Taehyung.

An astounded laugh is his only response as Taehyung smiles at you, but you’re only looking at Jungkook. “And here I thought, like a fucking idiot, that you were the only girl unlike my mother. And you,” he looks at his old friend with menace, “show your face around me, and I won’t hold back again. God, I need to kill someone,” he sighs before storming off. So he doesn’t like cigarettes?

When the fog in your mind begins to clear up, you stand to go after him just as Taehyung blocks your path. “I need to tell him I won’t smoke again,” you try to push him aside, but he doesn’t budge.

He laughs. “It’s not about that. He thinks you and I kissed because I made it look like it.” Just as you’re about to confront him, he clarifies, “Listen, I just want his reaction on this, okay? Don’t you want him to feel how you felt when he kissed your friend?”

“I’m over that.”

“Are you though?” No, you aren’t. “Aren’t you paranoid? All nervous when he’s around other girls? Or even when he’s just not around you?” Your silence prompts him to continue, “You’ll truly forgive him if you take revenge. You know he won’t do it again if he feels the same way you felt.”

“But that’s cruel…” you try to reason.

“And what he did wasn’t?” 

Like the little devil on your shoulder, he enters your mind and reads it for his own agenda. What is his intention? Do what he couldn’t do with his ex? Is he… helping you? What he did was bad, so why aren’t you calling him out for it?

“What do I do?” you dodge his question. He knows the answer anyway.

He smiles with satisfaction. “Let’s talk it over a few cigarettes, hm?”

Back to square one– no, square zero. At square one, you could at least interact with Jungkook, do his homework and have him kiss you when he was satisfied; you don’t have anything to do with him now. Taehyung warned you of this, told you Jungkook would start seeing other people and avoid you unless he wanted to hurt you. How he knows him so well is beyond you, because that’s exactly what happens in the next four days.

You watch him from afar like before, see that scowl on his face that you haven’t seen in a long time after you met. Only two aspects have changed: the eye contact and Taehyung’s lack of presence around him. Jungkook’s eyes are always on you, filled with so much disdain and hatred, even when he’s kissing another girl. Smoking stops you from crying because of how dizzy you get, and Taehyung is always with you – waiting. Both of you are waiting for Jungkook to do something, and it’s a surprise Taehyung still hasn’t been beaten to a pulp for just talking to you.

Maybe it’s a sign that you and him weren’t meant to be. In the span of a short while when you were together, only problems have surfaced. So much misery and anger in a relationship isn’t normal; it’s toxic. But you wait anyway.

“Look at him glaring at you with a girl on his lap,” Taehyung chuckles before lighting up his cigarette. He’s leaning on the wall next to the campus entrance with you.

“Nothing new,” you croak and take a drag from yours, coughing again. It’s déjà vu, if anything. One has to learn from their mistakes to reach success, right? This situation is just one of them for the better of your relationship. Has to be. 

“Worldstar,” he sings with a laugh. “I kind of miss hanging out with him, though; and the rest of my friends.”

“Yeah.” You can’t exactly pay your utmost attention to his words when you’re having a staring contest with Jungkook, who is practically devouring the unidentified girl’s mouth. It doesn’t sting as much as long as he has his eyes on you because you know what it means now: he’s trying to make you jealous. You didn’t know that before, but you didn’t know Jungkook as well as you do now before either. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“You somehow always do.”

Your reply humors him. “You want to go up to him, tell him what I did. But you know I’ll stop you.” His eyes squint as his cheeks hollow to inhale the nicotine. It’s a Marlboro Red, not exactly fit for a starter like yourself. You hate that you can’t even stand without using the wall as a leverage, but the effect is a necessary distraction.

 “Why are you… so invested in this?”

He shrugs. “It may not seem like it, but it’s going to help strengthen your bond. It also gives you enough time to stop liking him and fall for me instead, but that’s just a plus.”

“What?” you slur. The cigarette is hanging on for dear life between your fingertips because of how weak you feel.

“We should kiss– for real this time,” he blurts. “He’ll talk to you sooner. God, I really want to kiss you.” He drops his stick before grabbing your face and softly crashing his lips against yours. You don’t close your eyes, you don’t really do much of anything while he does what he wants. It goes on for twenty seconds before he slowly pulls back. “He’ll talk to you tonight,” he exhales. “You’re welcome.” He pecks you again.

You finally close your eyes and your head hangs limply. “You’re the real problem,” you murmur, “you keep tearing us apart. The villain.”

“That kiss was on me,” he admits, “but I’m just making you face reality. Sometimes you have to be the bad guy, right? Only reason I can smoke with you is because Jungkook cares a fuckton about me. I’ll make it up to you as well, when your relationship isn’t a fucking lie.”

Couples go at their own pace, don’t they? Maybe this is how long it’s supposed to take for you to be one with your betrayed boyfriend. This is the real beginning; Taehyung is just the catalyst. 

You see it when Taehyung is gone and Jungkook isn’t kissing back anymore. He isn’t even glaring. He’s just blank.

Perhaps love isn’t all you need to be with Jungkook.

It’s late in the evening and the nicotine still hasn’t worn off. You haven’t moved an inch from your spot and neither has Jungkook from a distance, still on the same curb across. The girl left when she didn’t receive any responses from him for a minute straight. An emotionless “fuck off” was enough for her to angrily storm off.

You have no idea where Taehyung went and you’re sitting on the ground with your knees to your chest and hands on your sides. Jungkook is staring at you from the bench. You just need to wait because he’s going to approach you like his friend told you.

People aren’t in the yard so it’s mostly empty in the open space. The lights from the streets and inside the building you have your back against don’t allow you to see your boyfriend clearly enough. He doesn’t have an issue with making out your features though. That kicked puppy expression on your face is drawing him, but he hasn’t been cruel enough.

It’s been difficult treating you like shit, so he doesn’t bother. It’s pathetic anyway, more pathetic than having smeared lip gloss on his mouth that he hasn’t wiped off. He knows he shouldn’t be so immature – he’s twenty years old. He’s old enough to be able to communicate, but no one’s been making it easy for him.

He has to decide whether he wants to be with you or just end it all before he feels any worse. 

As the saying goes, no pain – no gain.

Jungkook slides down the wall and sits next to you after trudging in your way. It’s silent at first, and he doesn’t return your gaze when you look at him. You wait, and so does he. But he’s more impatient than you are; more hurt. 

“What did you see in him, for God’s sake?” His voice is tired; words merely a sigh. You stay patient. “I mean, right after I opened up to you? Why?”

“I was paranoid,” you croak quietly, as if you’re about to faint, “terrified of you being with someone else. Maybe if you felt what I felt…”

He lightly shakes his head. “No, you didn’t think of that on your own. You didn’t kiss him either.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “You didn’t want to smoke, didn’t want any of this to happen. What are you doing, my love?”

You sigh. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t do anything.” The issue is that you let yourself be manipulated and molded into anything Jungkook likes, but he’s never told you what he likes. “All I know is loving you. That’s it,” you shrug tiredly, “that’s all I do. Everything I do, I do for you.”

“I’ll ask you for one thing– okay, two. Scrub your fucking lips and never talk to that piece of shit again. I’m not friends with good people,” he turns to you, “I don’t want you around them. I’m stuck in a constant cycle of toxicity and you’re the only good fucking thing in my life right now. I don’t want you to smoke or talk with my friends.”

“Then why do you?”

He stammers, “I-I’m used to it, I don’t fucking know. I know how to protect myself, but you’re too… untainted for them. Look at us, we don’t even fucking dress similarly. You and I have nothing in common.” He huffs to himself and looks up to the sky. “If you know what’s good for you–”

“You are good for me,” you interject.

“Don’t fucking lie to yourself,” he scoffs at you, “I’m anything but good for you. Do I give a fuck though? No. I’m selfish, and I don’t want to lose you. But if you–”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Another moment of silence passes. He’s the one to break it again. “I don’t want to have an issue like this ever again. No more infidelity, or whatever the fuck, no more silence. Communication, right?”

“Right. And no more getting involved with your social life.”

“Thank you,” he bows his head and licks his lips with a sigh. “I can’t deal with this again. I don’t want to leave like my dad, whore around like my mom; I just want to have normal fucking relationship problems.” His anxiety translates to his body language: nibbling, knee bouncing, cracking knuckles. He doesn’t like to talk about his family, friends or even you. You’re calmer in comparison. “Tell me… we’ll start over.”

“I’m not resetting my love for you,” you playfully nudge him.

The corner of his mouth curls. “Not like that. Let’s go back to you doing my homework.”

“Really?”

“I missed a fucking assignment today, okay?” he laughs. “I want to forget about all of this sad shit, you ever meeting my friends, Sooyen or whatever, all of it. Just you and me, okay?”

“Set our own pace,” you add with a nod. “No one interfering with our… bullshit.”

“Don’t fucking swear,” he puts a hand over your mouth and pushes your face with a wide grin. You giggle with him. 

Now that Taehyung and Soyeon’s over, there’s nothing left to chance with the involvement of someone else. Trust blooms instead, and it’s not so bad when Jungkook shares a cigarette with you as you take tiny puffs per his instruction. You are safe with him; not dizzy, lightheaded, manipulated, nothing. 

You’re happy, and so is he. Maybe that was the intention, but it means nothing. Taehyung sought vengeance through your relationship, and that’s that. No one can hold Jungkook against you when he’s in the palm of your hands, ready to tell you more than anyone else can offer. 

Jungkook’s love and trust: check.

When he flicks off the ash of his cigarette, you snuggle into him and whisper, “I love you daddy.” His ring glimmers under the moonlight as he pets your hair.

“Love you more, babygirl.”

[lilithgrax]

Seeing In Color

Summary: Jungkook decides karate is better than boxing and takes you to Dragon's Gate, where you meet the Boy With the Dragon Tattoo.

Pairings: Yoongi/Reader

Rating: G, but will be explicit later my lovelies

Warnings: None for this 552-word drabble

A/N: I had this idea in my head that won't leave so here is a tiny prologue. Most things I write are like one-to-three shots of smut so this is the first time I'll actually try writing something with substance.

This was a good idea, right? There were a lot of ways to get in shape, and going to the gym was boring. You definitely did not want to spend thirty minutes? An hour? Staring blankly at a wall while you walked on a treadmill. The embarrassment of walking on the treadmill while everyone else was running put you off enough. Why not do something fun, right? Life has been stressful. It's close to midterms, cold and rainy and you want nothing more than to go back home and get back under the covers. The sky is grey threatening yet another rain shower after three rainy days in a row this week.

And that's how you ended up on the sidewalk, staring up at the Dragon's Gate sign, written in ornate cursive with an angry green dragon circling around the letters.

Karate.

You had wanted to do boxing, but Jungkook insisted boxing sucked, karate is way better! and you didn't exactly have anything to say to that. You were only going boxing because he was there, after all, and he'd tried it already and knew better than you.

"Any day now, Jay Kay", you mumbled to your phone as you took it out of your pocket. No missed calls or texts. He was supposed to meet you here for the 10am beginners class and he was cutting it awfully close. Sighing, you crane your neck forward a little to see what's going on from the dojo's front window. The class seems to be dispersing, everyone giving bows and saying goodbye to eachother as they clear away for the beginner's class to start in a few minutes. A few 'excuse me's' pass your ear as students exit and walk by you into the parking lot.

And then you see it.

A gorgeous, angry, red and gold dragon tattoo adorning a man's back. He has silver hair, but you surmise it can't be from old age because you see black roots peeking out. As he turns to bend and pick up his gi off the floor, you can see the tattoo flow over his right shoulder and end with a fierce gold-bearded face over his pectoral. It's so bright.

And beautiful. You're swallowed temporarily in this moment in time, goosebumps forming and your lips part in awe. Everything is heavy, and so bright, and suddenly the sky doesn't seem cloudy anymore as your eyes drink in the sight in front of you.

And then sees you through the window and gives you the slightest smirk, the barest of upturns at the corner of his mouth, and walks away out of view with other men to what you'd presume to be the locker room. Just the smirk sets all your senses on fire and you feel alive, for just a second, like there's no midterms and no rain and only your desire to see this man from closer than twenty feet away.

And beautiful.

The smell of coffee in the air from Milani's Bean Shoppe a few spaces down in the strip mall perks you up and you sigh. Your chest burns from the breath you'd been holding.

You need this. It'll be good to release all this stress and energy into the cosmos.

You keep giving yourself a pep talk until Jungkook arrives.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Do you think you’ll continue with the lawyer Nessian fic. It was so amazingly written I’d love to read more! I love all your writing anyways I’ll be happy with anything❤️

Ok not *technically* a Drabble request BUT I’m not ready to commit to a full lawyer AU that happens in order however I did just drum up a part 2 that we’ll say is several years before the previous lawyer AU. Nessian teasing in a bar and Rhys being a dumbass.

FYI the lawyer Drabble I’m talking about can be found HERE.

“I’m in love,” Rhys slurred. Cassian, a decent bit bigger than his brother and two drinks behind him, had a gentle buzz so he could only surmise that his brother was well passed sober.

“Congratulations,” Cassian grinned, clapping his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “May I lay eyes upon the future Mrs. Dumbass.”

Rhys stared at him flatly. Blew a laugh out of his nose. “She’s not marrying you, brother.”

Cassian snorted, casting his eyes around the elegantly decorated little lounge they’d stepped into for the night. Lounge, not bar. Because they were mature adults now looking to take the edge off after a long day of work, not college students looking to get fucked up.

It was different.

It was different because the cocktails cost $20 and were served in actual stemware instead of red solo cups. They were evolving. Growing. Cassian was a lawyer now and Rhys was supposed to be doing actual work for his dad’s company so… no more dive bars.

Now they frequented little lounges where accountants and lawyers and bankers sat in tailored suits and discussed… adult things.

It was all very civilized.

And yet here was his brother. Every bit the horny college student they were trying not to be. Oh well, old dogs and all that.

“End of the bar.” Rhys jerked his head to the left and Cassian grinned.

“Might be a little old for you, champ.”

Rhys wrinkled his brow and turned to look at the grandmother doing a crossword puzzle on the far left side of the bar. A martini glass in front of her. Good for grandma.

“Other end of the bar!”

Cassian smirked. He didn’t need to turn his head, since he’s noticed her the second she walked in, but he still did. Just so he could look some more.

“Ah, you mean the deliciously dishevelled leggy brunette with her suit jacket on the chair beside her who just ripped the pins out of her hair like they personally offended her and then laid them in a neat little pile beside her Kobo?

“Mmm,” Rhys grinned, “I’d like her to rip those fingers through my hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Go for it, brother.”

Rhys grinned wider. “I think I will.” He straightened up, ran a hair through his artfully mussed hair, and pulled on the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket until they were even again.

Cassian snickered into his Old Fashioned. Rhys could straighten his jacket all he wanted. He could pretend he wasn’t drunk all he wanted. It wouldn’t matter one bit.

Not with Nesta Archeron.

Nesta Archeron who hated men that stunk of trust funds and privilege more than anything else in this world.

This would be fun to watch.

Watch her try to ignore him at first. Eyes glued to the page of her book, hand reaching up to wave through the air like Rhys was an annoying fly she could swat away.

Rhys, to his credit, was a clever little bastard. He asked the bartender for a refill of her drink and set it down in front of her then sat himself one stool down from her.

He didn’t move her jacket to sit next to her, which would have had her going feral. He just sat there, waiting.

After a few moments Nesta let out an exacerbated sigh that Cassian could hear from across the room. There was his girl.

Well, not his girl. Not even a little bit his girl, but… someday.

Cassian decided that he was going to Marry Nesta Archeron the first time she kicked his ass up and down a negotiation meeting. It was a couple years ago now. He’d been young and new at his firm. She was young and new too, but the words learning curve were not in Nesta’s vocabulary. Everything she did, she did with perfection.

Including getting rid of men she didn’t want hitting on her.

She said something to his brother that made Rhys’ half drunk, cocky, smile fall halfway down his face.

Cassian would’ve given his left eye to know what she said in that moment. She had a knack for jumping at the jugular and Rhys… oh Rhys. So obvious.

After a few moments and the continual fall of Rhys’ face, Cassian decided it was time to intervene. He knocked his drink back and straightened out his own suit jacket. Armani, still overpriced and designer but not so obvious or try hard as Mr. Up On The Trends with his Gucci. Nesta appreciated classics.

Simple. Clean lines, solid colours, classic. Which was why it was so fun just how attracted she was to his half wild self.

Unlike Rhys, Cassian plucked Nesta’s light grey suit jacket up off the stool beside her and reached over her head to hang it on a coat hook at the end of the bar. Settling himself into the chair beside her like it was exactly where he belonged. Which it was.

She turned around with an indignant shriek and a fire-breathing snarl that narrowed into just a hard glare when she realized it was him. Touching.

“This guy giving you trouble, Nes?”

Rhys choked on his whiskey and Cassian fought his hardest to keep a straight face.

“I so don’t need your saviour complex right now, Cassian.” Nesta scoffed.

“No,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She was doing perfectly well scaring off everyone in a 10 mile radius all on her own.”

Nesta smiled sweetly, “I was just playing your game.”

Rhys sputtered again. Looked up at his brother. “This devil woman that you apparently already know,” he glared, “is all yours. I’m going home.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water!” Nesta sing songed after him. Rhys flipped them both off on his way out.

“What’d you say to him?”

Nesta smiled. A pretty, feline little thing. “He said he wanted to chat. Suggested 20 question, which is the lamest, oldest, crustiest line in the book. So I went first. Asked just how small his dick was that he felt the need to overcompensate with the swagger and the gratuitous displays of wealth. He thought he was quite clever to use his question to ask if I wanted to check for myself how not small his dick was and then I asked if his daddy never loved him and that’s where all of that machismo masking painfully obvious and deep seeded feelings of inadequacy and insecurity came from. I was going to offer him my friend’s number before you showed up. She’s an excellent therapist.”

Cassian laughed. Hard. For a very long time. He loved Rhys, but sometimes the kid could use a nice set down. It was always sweeter when delivered by a beautiful woman. Not to mention, Cassian himself had gotten the same ice cold rejection the first time he met Nesta. When he asked if she wanted to get a coffee and she looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. That Rhys was chased off so easily just proved he couldn’t take the heat.

“You know the walking trust fund, I presume?” Nesta boredly sipped the drink Rhys had bought her. And even that was somehow amusing.

“Only for the last couple decades or so,” Cassian grinned. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Your insults are more impactful when you clarify which person is being insulted.”

“I was going for the two birds one stone method.”

“In that case, consider me wounded, sweetheart.”

Nesta scoffed, “Unfortunately not mortally.”

“Oh Nesta, if I weren’t here you’d die of boredom and you know it. No one else can run you up and down the courtroom like I can.” Now. Cassian grinned as he watched the word flash across her eyes. He’d never live that first blunder down.

Nesta rose an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you present any challenge whatsoever.”

Cassian signalled for another drink and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who in this entire city can give you more of a run for your money?”

“Vanserra.” Nesta looked him dead in the eye. And managed to keep a straight face. As if that wasn’t the funniest fucking thing he’d heard all day.

“Oh yes, Nepotism and Nepotism LLP certainly has us all shaking in our boots,” Cassian blew out a breath. “What are you working on now?”

“I’m working on upholding attorney-client privilege.”

“So, the Suncurser merger.”

Nesta looked up. “How did you-”

“Helion and I are old friends. I checked the zoning on the lots he was buying before the merger went ahead to make sure the expansion was even feasible. But, as you know, M&A isn’t my thing. So I may have… given him a referral.”

“Are there any rich playboys in this city that you aren’t friends with?” Nesta finished off her drink and pointedly didn’t signal for another. “And if you think I’m going to be grateful to you for sending this my way you’ve got another thing-“

“Helion is my friend.” Cassian repeated, cutting her off. “He believes in this merger and he wants it done right. You’re the best, Nesta. Why wouldn’t I send him to you?”

“It’s not just to get in my pants?” She narrowed her eyes.

Cassian laughed again. “Oh no, sweetheart. When you invite me into your bed it will have nothing to do with work. It’ll be because you’re tired of denying how much you want me.” Cassian leaned in closer, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Tired of denying the thrill that shoots through your whole body when we lay into each other. In the court room or out.” His nose brushed against hers, just a little, and Cassian felt Nesta tense up. He smirked, mouth just inches away from hers. “Tired of denying how right this is.”

Nesta’s voice was rough, husky. “So your plan is to wear me down?”

Cassian smirked. “My plan,” his hand came up to stroke the silk covered expanse of her upper arm, “is to marry you, Nesta Archeron. But sure, we can start with wearing you down.”

***Feyre and Nesta look physically similar so you can’t tell me drunk Rhys wouldn’t hit on Nesta in a bar before realizing he’d made a terrible mistake and running away thank you***

Also tags yourself, I’m the grandma doing the crossword puzzle with a martini. She’s an icon and she is the moment.

[itsclydebitches]

OFMD Party Drabble #8

Prompt: Literary Devices (Symbolism)

A/N: Team Black has a bit of a romance novel theme going on for our final day and though I definitely can’t draw, I can offer something in the way of a ficlet :D

“Really, mate, you know I trust you with my life—”

“Just not your books.”

“I do! It’s just... fuck. Isn’t it a little cliché?”

Ed sat with socked feet propped up on his desk, toes just shy of knocking over a now cold cup of tea, papers everywhere, pens scattered, his poor laptop screen sporting a new and mysterious crack. He always worked best with a little chaos, but right now a literal tornado might have blown through and he wouldn’t have noticed. All Ed’s attention was on the cover mockup for his latest novel, Never Left.

On the other line was his illustrator, Stede—sounding very much like he wished to reach through the phone and strangle him.

“Ed,” he huffed. “I don’t know how to say this other than to just say it: you are an erotic romance author. Everything you write is a cliché.”

A bark of laughter escaped before Ed could snatch it back. God, but he’d been so pissy this morning, arguing with his editor over the latest addition to chapter seven. The man could pull even his rambling nonsense into the tightest prose, but he was so repressed he wouldn’t know a good sex scene if it sauntered up and bit him on the ass. Izzy was a fucking handful at the best of times and tended to leave Ed with a migraine and an impulsive desire to leave the business for good. Meanwhile, a single insult from Stede could brighten his day, no matter how fucking bonkers that was. This final stretch was always Ed’s favorite part of the process, probably because Stede was involved.

“Alright, alright, point taken. But a lighthouse, Stede? Really?” Ed shifted the mockup a bit, trying to see it through a reader’s eyes. The protagonists of his long-running series—the fearsome Blackbeard and his refined co-captain, the Gentleman Pirate—were wrapped around one another in a passionate embrace, almost, but not quite, reaching their kiss. Behind them the lighthouse illuminated the moment, waves breaking, sea-foam spraying, a rather curious seagull eyeing them from afar... like all of Stede’s pieces it was stupidly detailed. Sometimes Ed would look at books he’d published years ago and suddenly spot a feature he’d never noticed before. Like some hidden pattern in the lace of a sleeve, or an obscure, queer reference in the colors of a sunset. The man definitely knew what he was doing, and yet... “There’s not even a lighthouse in the book, mate.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I took a little artistic liberty.”

“Sure, but...” Ed blew out a breath. He was having trouble articulating what the problem was.

“Author at a loss for words?” Stede quipped and Ed could hear that fucking smirk all the way across the island.

“Haha. It’s just... hmm. This one is a little edgier, right? More danger than the previous books. I just figured the cover should reflect that. They reach this point, sure,” Ed flicked Blackbeard’s smitten, agonized expression, “but not until the very end. They’ve gotta work for it.” Again Ed considered the mockup, frowning. “Suppose the lighthouse is good for that in some ways. Can’t get too close to them you know, risk hitting the rocks, but it still needs something else.”

Silence on the other end. Stede was considering.

“Very well,” he said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Ed cleared his throat. “Well, I was... kinda thinking a kraken?”

“A kraken?”

“Uh huh.”

“Ed, there’s no kraken in your story either!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He waved aside his own hypocrisy. “But it’s symbolic, Stede. Of Blackbeard’s inner turmoil, his former nature, and... some other, fancy-pants shit, I’m sure.”

Stede snorted.

“Plus it would look rad as hell.”

There was a groan and the distinct sound of a teapot being set on the counter. Oh, Ed was really pushing his luck today. He grinned as more sounds of tea-making filtered through until finally, with what was presumably a calming blend in hand, Stede said, “I suppose I could have the kraken attacking the lighthouse?” Then, much more softly, “It would certainly be phallic enough.”

Ed grinned. “Yeah, that sounds great! And, uh...” He hesitated, wiping his sweaty palm on the edge of his jeans. “We should work out the details later. Over dinner.”

“O-oh! Really?” Ed caught the fumbling of the teacup and prayed that was a good kind of panic. “We’ve never—this is—like a business meeting, or—?”

“Like a date.”

He had the phone held out now like it was some deadly snake poised to bite him. Head bent, all his fingers and toes crossed, Ed waited in agony to hear—

“Yes. That is, I’d love to. Go on a date, I mean.”

Fuck but he could hear the blush in Stede’s voice. Ed surged to his feet, giving the air a silent, enthusiastic punch.

“Great! Fucking A, man. I’ll email you, yeah? Date, time, and uh, restaurant.” He’d need to research that one carefully, make sure he took Stede somewhere nice. Somehow, Ed didn’t think his local bar & grill was going to cut it. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Stede agreed, voice soft. “I’ll talk to you later, Ed. I’m... looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Later, gator.”

Ed winced at his stupid mouth, but he caught the beginning of Stede’s laugh before he hung up, so he hadn’t totally ruined things yet. Doing a happy little dance he threw himself back into his seat and picked up the mockup again. Ed decided than and there that he’d frame it. No matter what the final version looked like—or even if this whole, terrifying attempt fell apart—this illustration was worth saving.

After all, it was partly Stede’s work that gave him the courage to ask. Ed couldn’t help but notice that, over the years, his version of Blackbeard had begun to look more and more like Ed, whereas the Gentleman Pirate looked suspiciously like Stede...

Grinning, Ed wondered if Stede had noticed that his writing had started including some rather telling details too.

With a laugh and a healthy dose of hope for the future, Ed started outlining the final installment in the series, the one where Blackbeard, the Gentleman Pirate, and the rest of their motley crew finally got their happy ending.

[a-series-of-whumpy-events]

Oh, I missed this series so much! This was my most popular series in its first incarnation. I love this series, I love working on it, I love the characters…this is my baby. And I finally get to repost it! I’m going to be reposting a piece every two or three days from now on.

Just like I did with the first upload of this piece, I’m going to tag @deluxewhump and @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi to credit their posts that inspired this series (here and here.) This wouldn’t exist without your lovely ideas!

Same deal as before: I only have this version of the taglist, so if you already reblogged/liked/commented/whatever on the first incarnation of this post, feel free to just ignore it until I get around to posting new stuff.

Taglist: @winedark-whump @whumpers-inc @pepperonyscience @redwingedwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @stab-the-son-of-a @caspia-writes @kim-poce @zipadeedooda-drabbles @screechingqueenmentality @nine-tailed-whump @worstcasescenariolullaby @newbornwhumperfly (I forgot to add you, sorry!)

Warnings: verbal and physical abuse, drinking, gambling for a person

Gamble

“Hallooooo, the castle!”

Sir Myles shifted on Johara’s broad back, glancing up at the ramparts. A face appeared, leaning over the wall. “State your name and present your shield, sir, that I may carry your name and coat of arms to my master!”

“Sir Myles Peregrine of Castle Forêtcolline,” he called up, raising his shield and angling it towards the man on the ramparts.

A moment’s wait, and then- “Sir Myles Peregrine of Castle Forêtcolline, stand and await permission to enter!”

Sir Myles reined Johara back a pace or two. She snorted, and he leaned down to pat her shoulder.

The portcullis drew up into the gate, like some dragon’s maw opening wide. Sir Myles nudged Johara forward and across the drawbridge. The portcullis dropped down again, closing the castle’s beastlike mouth.

A man in blue and white livery- presumably the castle steward- stopped him a few yards in. “What is your business here?” he said, not quite coldly, but in a stern tone.

“I’m returning to my home at Castle Forêtcolline,” Sir Myles answered, “and the journey has taken longer than I expected. Would the owner of this castle be willing to grant me permission to stay the night?” Inwardly, he grimaced at the overly flowery, formal court language expected in this sort of situation.

The steward relaxed. “Sir Robert is currently training in the practice arena,” he said, gesturing to a wooden door at the left side of the courtyard. “I’m sure he would not refuse hospitality to a fellow Knight. Shall I have someone hold your horse for you?”

“My thanks,” Sir Myles replied, dismounting. “Will Sir Robert mind the interruption?”

“Coming from another Knight? Not at all.”

Somewhat strange answer. Sir Myles nodded, gave Johara one last pat, and headed for the door to the training arena.

This castle seemed…odd. He could tell at a glance that it far exceeded his own small castle, and yet its buildings seemed compressed, forced to stretch upward instead of outward. Towers and spires jabbed the sky like knobby bones. It made sense, for a castle built high in the mountains like this one. But to Sir Myles, it felt as if the whole castle was a skeletal dragon, perched on the side of the cliff and ready to leap down after some hapless prey.

He pushed open the door to the training arena. His castle was too small for one- he trained in the courtyard, so he was curious to see the arena. His feet hit sand, which distracted him enough so that for a moment, he did not hear the shouting.

“Jackanape! Simpleton! Blockhead!”

Sir Myles frowned at the loud, angry voice. Is that Sir Robert? Who is he berating so harshly?

He found Sir Robert in the center of the training arena. The man’s weapons lay in the sand at his feet, and he finished boxing the ears of a trembling boy standing before him as Sir Myles approached. “Clumsy little fool!” Sir Robert snarled. “Are you half-witted, deaf in one ear, or simply stupid?”

Sir Myles felt his eyebrows rise at the barbed words. I think this has gone on long enough. He cleared his throat.

Sir Robert looked up, surprise in his face, and turned back to the boy as he saw Sir Myles. “Get out of my sight,” he hissed, and the boy fled.

When he next looked back at Sir Myles, all the anger had drained from him, replaced with a pleasant expression. “Welcome, sir! I shall have to have a word with my steward about not announcing you. What brings you to Castle Drakehold?”

An appropriate name. Sir Myles mirrored Sir Robert’s friendly expression. “Just passing through on my way home,” he answered. “May I ask your hospitality for the night?”

“Of course, of course!” Sir Robert leaned down to pick up his sword, buckling it around his waist. He waved a careless hand at the rest of the scattered weapons. “My Squire will collect those later. Pardon my ignorance, sir, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Sir Myles waited for him to reach the edge of the arena, holding out a hand. “Sir Myles Peregrine of Castle Forêtcolline.”

Sir Robert clasped his forearm in greeting. “Well met, Sir Myles. Sir Robert Drake, at your service. Now that I’ve heard your name, I do recall hearing it before…”

“Was it perhaps mentioned in tandem with that of the Lady Isabeau of Avignon?” Sir Myles questioned.

Sir Robert’s face cleared. “Ah, yes!”

Sir Myles smiled. “She is Lady Isabeau Peregrine now, and has been for three wonderful years.”

“Congratulations!” Sir Robert returned the smile. If it were not for the display of anger he had witnessed in the arena, Sir Myles thought he would quite like this Knight. But the venomous words and blows he had seen Sir Robert hurl at whoever that boy was…it ate at him. He would never have raised a hand to the lowest scullion in his castle. His Knight’s Oath forbade it, even if his own conscience did not. Sir Robert, however, seemed to have abandoned chivalry when it came to his servants.

“Do you have any children, Sir Myles?”

The question jolted him out of his thoughts. He coughed. “Ah, no, I don’t. Isabeau…it’s out of the question for us, I’m afraid.”

“My apologies,” Sir Robert murmured.

“What about you? Is there a Lady Drake, or any young ones?”

“There is, on both counts. My Enid and I have been married nearly twenty years now. We have a son, Geoffrey, who is eighteen.” Sir Robert frowned suddenly. “Where are my manners? Please, let me get someone to show you to a room. Can I expect to see you in the great hall for supper?”

Sir Myles made a little bow. “It would be my honor.”

—————————————————————

Later that evening, Sir Myles sat on the bed in the guest room he had been shown to. His thumb ran back and forth over his closed fist, a motion he had the habit of doing when he was troubled. And currently, he was very troubled.

Sir Robert was the problem. The man was drunk on power, using his authority and status as a whip to keep those beneath him in line. Supper in the great hall had been much more extravagant than at Castle Forêtcolline, and from the way Sir Robert had spoken, either this was usually the case or he was putting on a show of wealth for Sir Myles- and was a very talented liar.

Sir Robert had been nothing but friendly to his fellow Knight. Sir Myles even thought he might like the man- if it hadn’t been for one small problem.

The boy from earlier had appeared at Sir Robert’s elbow a few minutes into the meal. Sir Myles had barely managed to keep his smile up, his heart knotting painfully, as Sir Robert hurled a never-ending stream of insults and criticisms at the boy, accompanied by more than a few blows. Once the boy had come close enough for Sir Myles to see tears shining in his eyes, but not a single one fell, even when Sir Robert backhanded him hard enough to send him crashing into the wall. The boy simply picked himself up and tried again.

The biggest shock of all had come near the end of the meal. Sir Robert had angrily dismissed the boy to the kitchens, and Sir Myles had taken the opportunity to ask- casually, as if it meant nothing to him, as if it was a mere curiosity- who he was. He had expected the boy to be one of Sir Robert’s many servants.

He had not expected him to be Sir Robert’s Squire.

That unsettled him. The boy was small, and skittish as a rabbit- certainly not suited to the rigorous training expected of a Squire. Perhaps that had been the cause of all the commotion in the arena. Sir Myles had no Squire, but he had seen several other Knights with theirs, and none had been treated nearly as harshly as Sir Robert’s. Sir Myles had never even seen one of his fellow Knights strike their Squire before.

What made it worse was how the boy did not shrink away from the blows. He braced for them, expected them. It told Sir Myles that this was no rare occasion- Sir Robert had been mistreating the boy for some time.

Sir Myles sighed, switching to his other thumb and fist. An idea simmered slowly in his head- a ridiculous, half-baked idea that Isabeau would surely not approve of. But he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

A knock at his door, and Sir Robert entered, smiling. “Just come to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said.

The perfect host. How long has he been keeping up that flawless facade? Sir Myles returned the smile, standing up. “I’m perfectly fine, Sir Robert. Your castle is one of the best I’ve seen- not that I’m much of a traveler, by any sort. My comforts lie closer to home.”

Sir Robert nodded. “You seemed troubled when I entered just now- is something the matter?”

Now’s my chance! Sir Myles bit his lip, laughing sheepishly. “Ah…truth be told, I have another reason for stopping here, Sir Robert.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My wife does not know this, and if she did she would certainly put a stop to it, but…well, I’m rather fond of a good dice game, especially over a tankard of ale. Would you happen to care for either pastime, Sir Robert?”

Sir Robert laughed loudly. “I happen to care for both! And how Enid would scold if she knew!”

That was all it took. In no time, the two Knights were back in the great hall, at a small table in the corner by the fire, with dice between them and ale being served to them by a young maid who was rather obviously trying to catch Sir Robert’s eye. Sir Myles couldn’t blame her. The man was handsome- black curls falling almost to his shoulders, a carefully trimmed beard, steely gray-blue eyes…but the anger still lurked beneath his perfect, friendly mask, seeping out on occasion. Sir Myles had not met Lady Drake, but he hoped she was strong enough to withstand her husband’s outbursts of temper.

Although, from what I’ve seen, he already has a favorite target. The little Squire had not returned, which Sir Myles thought for the best. He wondered where the boy was.

Their game of dice was one of the fiercest he’d ever played. The smitten maid kept the two Knights well supplied with ale, and their betting grew more and more reckless as a result. A small crowd started to form as Sir Robert lost a hefty sum, and soon the dice game had become the main event of the night.

Sir Myles waited, winning and losing and carefully seeking his opportunity. When Sir Robert began to slur his words just a bit, Sir Myles threw the next round. He scraped by the next one, lost the one after that, and then came back with a vengeance, winning the pot- all carefully designed to keep Sir Robert playing recklessly.

Sir Robert reached for his tankard, drained it, and slammed it down on the table. “Another go,” he demanded.

“I won’t say no to that.” Sir Myles laughed. “Shall we heighten the stakes for this last round, give your good servants something to see?”

Amidst the uproar of cheering and clapping, Sir Robert stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Very well, then, Sir Myles. What’s to be your final wager?”

Sir Myles gave a resigned sigh. If this goes wrong, Isabeau, forgive me. “My palfrey, Johara,” he answered, to gasps from the assembled audience. “She’s not worth as much as a warhorse, but she’s a good, steady mare.” He reached for his tankard and drank. “Your wager, Sir Robert?”

“I’m afraid I have no horse I’d be willing to part with- I breed warhorses, more valuable than your palfrey, as you said. Hmm…and it would hardly be sporting to wager something you could not transport to your own castle…”

Sir Myles pounced on the opportunity. “I could always send a few of my servants back to fetch my prize,” he offered, and then frowned. “Of course, I am rather short-handed at the moment.”

Sir Robert tapped his chin thoughtfully. His face broke into a broad grin. “Well, perhaps your luck will change, if you win our little game. I’ll wager my Squire- the young lad you saw at dinner. Mind you, he’s quite a lazy little thing, and rather an idiot. I fear I’m not quite matching the value of your horse with him.”

Sir Myles waved a hand. “Consider the difference settled. You’ve given me hospitality for the night- that more than makes up for it.” I cannot believe that worked. It all comes down to the dice now.

The crowd hushed as the game began. Sir Robert, though now visibly drunk, still played sharply. Sir Myles felt a cold lump of worry settle in the bottom of his stomach. Isabeau would be very upset if he lost Johara, and on something as trivial as a game of dice.

But he had to at least try to pluck the little Squire from Sir Robert’s clutches. It hurt his heart even thinking about the small, bruised face at Sir Robert’s elbow and the frightened, tearful eyes that had glanced at Sir Myles for just one fleeting moment. That moment had convinced him to try and help, as had the fact that Sir Robert was even willing to gamble with the boy’s life.

Sir Robert cast his last throw, grinning as the dice turned up snake eyes. “That’s my win, then,” he said, slapping his hand down on the board.

“Ah, perhaps not, Sir Robert. I still have to make my last roll.” Please, give me something. Something to keep the game going, at the very least.

Sir Myles shook his two dice in his hand, breathed in sharply, and turned them out onto the table.

The dice showed twelve.

Sir Myles exhaled, the cold lump in his stomach dissipating. “I win.”

———————————————————————

Read the next part here!

[outofangband]

For the writing prompts, could you possibly do a warm drink for maedhros?

Sending virtual hugs 💙

thank you nonny <3

from this prompt list here

I hope this is ok! I did two double drabbles or a little longer than that! Let me know if you want anything else 💙

The Fortress of Angamando in the Iron Mountains

“Make sure it drinks all of it,” the orc grunted with the effort of restraining the thrashing elf. The liquid bubbled within the confines of the glass container, spilling over the side against Maitimo’s tightly closed lips. The pain was not the searing agony he had perhaps been expecting but it nonetheless elicited from him a yelp which created the result that the guards had presumably been hoping for.

His lips parted and the scorching liquid was tilted forward, filling his mouth and trickling down his throat. They hold him in place for as long as they can, forcing the concoction upon him. It burns his mouth with its bitter, acrid taste as well as the heat.

A final cry is strangled by the last of the liquid as a sharp blow to the head sends Maitimo crashing back to the rough ground beneath them. His hair is gripped tightly, painfully at the back of his neck.

“If you lose that back up, you will be very, very sorry, little slave,” the orc captain snarls at him, digging claw like nails in

Another strike to the side of his head cuts into the metal embedded into his ear and Maitimo feels his vision blur as nausea overwhelms him.

“That should keep him quiet until the draught kicks in. The Lieutenant has orders from the High One. Something in store for this one.”

(This is actually going to be a prequel to something I’m posting soon 💙)

...

The Fortress of Himring in the March of Maedhros, East Beleriand

Nine months prior to Dagor Bragollach

Steam rose gently from the two mugs, a warm reminder of the cold mist ever coating the windows of the fortress. Even in high summer it was not uncommon for the higher glass of the tower to remain condensed throughout the night. But the hearth was lit and the material of the mugs had been tested time and again to retain the much needed warmth and so the bitter outside could not be the present concern of Maedhros.

“I will depart on the morrow,” Nolofinwë breaks the comfortable silence between them albeit softly. They were alone in Maedhros’s chambers and the only light present came from the embers in the hearth and the sole lantern hung upon the wall by the oaken doors.

“All roads should be clear, not accounting for the snowfall that can come so suddenly before the breaking of winter,” Maedhros says, “Though I daresay you will not take the main paths should you travel alone.”

“I shall travel as I came, with none save Lithuirîf. We may depart on the main road but I take your counsel and we shall not linger on them while we may be easily seen.”

“You should take your rest then, I shall wake early to break fast and aid you to ready your horses. Is that agreeable to you?” It is not any more brusque a dismissal than is typical for him and it had been many years since such a thing might cause offense between the two.

Nolofinwë nods but says nothing, finishing the last of his drink and carefully picking up the mug to take with him.

Maedhros has become so adept at reading the expressions of his half uncle but the scrutiny Nolofinwë currently fixes him with, while not malicious nor even critical, is completely alien to him.

Nolofinwë stands from the table and strolls past the high window on his way to the door, letting his ungloved hand hover over the glass, touching it briefly. His fingers leave prints in the condensation that take minutes to fade.

author’s note: I tend to use more common grammar for the servants of Angband to indicate a difference in the several main languages of the fortress, talked about here

Second author’s note: I talk about the metal in Maedhros’s ears several times including here

[peyton-warren]

Blinded by The Fog Series

How the loss of the love of your life led you to the arms of the man of your dreams.

Summary: Reeling from the loss of your husband in a tragic accident in Bolivia, you throw yourself into caring for the other women left behind, avoiding your own care. Along the way you meet another Army Captain who helps you see you should be cared for too. You grow closer to the new man in your life only to find out a few months later that your husband is actually alive but in hiding.

Fandoms: Sand Castle & The Losers (Also Henry Cavill and Chris Evans Characters)

Characters: Jake Jensen x f!reader, Syverson x f!reader, Franklin Clay, William Roque, Cougar, Pooch, Jolene and OCs.

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI, grief, loss of spouse, loss of found family, insecurity, self doubt, guilt, pregnancy, infertility, miscarriage, cheating (if unintentional), male on male violence, military-style violence, sexy times, age gap (male early 30s, female early 20s) Each chapter will have specific warnings.

Chapters

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6 , Part 7, Part 8, part 9

Part 10 Coming soon

Asks

Director's Cut- Behind the Scenes I - Syverson's perspective during Parts 4, 5 and 6. Playlist

Drabbles

(Mostly about Reader and Jake's lives, in chronological order, not posting order)

High School

Starry Night Drabble

Jensen realizing he’s in love

Reader realizes Jensen is her goober

Scarf Drabble

College/Military training years

Baking Drabble

Cookies Drabble

Established Relationship

Silence Drabble

Hot Chocolate Drabble

Who Stole My Homework?

Author's Note:

Original prompt from an online plot generator -

"You are the wife of a soldier who is missing in action and presumed dead. His best friend, who survived the war, offered you comfort and companionship, and over time love blossomed. A year later, you learn that your husband is alive and is coming home. Now you must confess to him that you have moved on—or have you?"

I mean who else was I going to put into that prompt??

Playlist Songs that remind me of this series and/or I've been listening to while writing it. Will update occasionally until the series is done.

Masterlist

Asks are always open. Click here for all posts related to this tale.