#chaos and contempt

[thecoldsoldiers]

(For the touch meme)

Loki is gentle as he wakes Bucky up for breakfast, surprised he isn’t already up for a morning walk - and surprised in general since he’s using the bed. Perhaps Helmut had convinced him the night prior.

He takes a light seat on the edge of the bed, and cards through his hair to first brush it out of his face, then to pet him until he stirs from the small, tender disturbance. In his other hand, he holds a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage, and once he blinks his eyes open, Loki smiles and guides his hand to the plate with his own.

“I know you don’t typically get hungover, but I thought you might be hungry anyway.”

@kissedbymischief

Touch my muse. Be descriptive or simple, tender or violent, fond or hateful - anything goes.

Last night had been nice, sweet. After his shower with Zemo, Bucky had slipped back into his own bed to sleep in peace, it was a late night and so Bucky didn’t mind if he slept in, which he did.

As Bucky stirred in the morning the first thing he noticed was the weight on the mattress. Someone was here with him, touching him, something that was historically a bad thing. He didn’t think, he just reacted. Bucky’s metal prosthetic shoved at the man with full force, trying to send Loki as far away as possible as he scrambled to get up. Bucky’s heart was racing as he looked around wildly.

[lanwangjihouse]

[tiredmoonslut]

I think I get why the writers chose to make Nynaeve sort of underwhelming in the Power in the second season, but it does irritate me nonetheless that they've equated her not being able to channel unless angry to...not being able to channel at all. Something I loved in the books that I feel the show is sleeping on is that Nynaeve is angry so much of the time. She channels all over the place in the books because she just has that much residual rage in her. She learned how to break the damane collars, heal, use telekinesis, throw fire and lightning, make balefire, create whirlwinds, and reverse stilling before ever dissolving that block. And I feel like the show's writing is robbing us 😭 I wanna see my girl tugging her braid and getting pissed and kicking ass all at the same time

[devilledeggz]

chonny jash is making a will wood power hour

i am going insane wacky one may even say crazy im losing it its happening they locked me in the rubber room with rats boys its over for me sorry

[bijoumikhawal]

Okay I've read the main body of SVSSS. I think it's really good as a meta parody and gives some interesting insight into MXTX's mind- I think some of the criticism of her work is unfair and this book is a pretty good example in parts (the running commentary about misogyny in stallion novels is a lot more unambiguous than her accurately depicting misogyny in others wirks like MDZS, though I don't understand why the latter gets read as an indication of her as a person).

However I don't think it works well as a romance story. There are main two problems; one,that while all of MXTX's main characters are people that have gone through the wringer and lashed out on others because of it, sometimes in really grusome and reprehensible ways, we get to see who they are not just before it goes to shit, but after they've acted in a such a way and either by intentional choice or just the passing of time, behave in a kinder and more upright manner. SVSSS's main story ends right after LBH isn't being an antagonistic force driven to the pits. Additionally, LBH is (understandably) a very misanthropic character which makes the way you'd show him learning how to be a person not driven by grief, fear, and anger different.

The other point is SY/SQQ's internalized homophobia is handled in a way that distracts somewhat from his feelings for LBH, and this combines with a lot of the things taken as romantic by other characters being misinterpretions of his internal world. Some of the latter seems to be him bullshitting himself though- "I'm not crying because I'm facing down my beloved student who I've failed horribly and hates me before I off myself without knowing for sure if my contingency plan will work, the sun's just in my eyes", sure Jan. Given how WWX acts its clear that MXTX now knows how to balance internalized homophobia with the character falling in love even if he doesn't realize it, and TGCF doesn't really have internalized homophobia on the protagonists part as far as I've read, he's just a sworn virgin. (However one could argue HC had some issues when he was human depending on how you read the Land of the tender scene).

SVSSS is short compared to her other works, and while I'm not sure how one would do it, having us spend some time with LBH and SQQ after they've gotten rid of his evil sword and SQQ is helping him work through his misanthropy, desire for control, and abandonment issues would improve their relationship from a story perspective, especially because of how obsessive and unhealthy LBH has spent... 8 years of his life regarding SQQ. There's already a foundation with LBH taking SQQ back to his home peak to be taken care of after his near death experience and leaving alone when he gets chased off, and SQQ choosing to go with him with no pressure on him to do so other than LBH's wellbeing (which is no longer tied to things like the apocalypse). I just think there needs to be a bit more between that and what I'm reading in the extras so far.

And it is needed because of how much LBH's dark behavior was directed at SQQ. WWX's dark behavior wasn't so targeted, LWJ's had an instance of targeting but a large part of the novel has been about him doing his best to respect WWX's boundaries and not repeat his parents relationship. I'm not up to snuff on what happened after XL's first banishment yet so I'll keep quiet on that. LBH is so desperate for this one person's affection that he almost destroys the world to ensure he has no other choice but him (and they have terrible fuck or die sex that no one enjoys about it). Evil sword possession making him decide this was a good idea or no, to work as a satisfying romance story, you need to after of all that. Especially because the evil sword had the ability to push him that far because of how chaotic and wrecked his mental and spiritual state were. They're still wrecked.

[cooltrailblazer]

"I hate you, but I love you"- Why those you hate most are often the ones you love most!

Love is mysterious …and perhaps the most lasting one. One most shocking truth about this ‘see more see less’ passion is how quickly you can go from loving someone to absolutely hating their living guts?  The person for whom you’d have died for nothing suddenly becomes the ‘Most Abhorred Person’ in the World. Failed love somehow begins to look like the beginning of war! Curiously unpleasant?…

[regal-bones]

SWORDTEMBER DAY 6: ENTANGLED

The Red Eye of the Cosmos, of galactic prophecy and some stuff that got caught on it when it was in my tote bag ⭐️💀 A distant echo of thunder rolls over the Infinite Plains. There, in the distance, a speck of blue light stares you down. The so-called “hero”, a name chosen by the feeble Uprising. You spit on the ground, and watch as the saliva sizzles to steam on the hot rock below. Do they not know that under your watchful eye, the galaxy will flourish? That this Uprising sows nothing but chaos and contempt through your perfect, unified kingdom? The speck of blue grows closer, a bright blade illuminated in the dust storm. They only listen to one language - one of burnt flesh, cauterised muscle, and clashing sabers. Wait, you did remember your saber right?? You put your hand to your belt and feel your heart skip a beat as you notice it’s absence at its sheathe. You do a little emergency pat down of your outfit before you remember how you spilt that sauce on the sheathe - the sticky red one - and that it’s back at home drying from the wash. That means… The saber, you sense its presence. It’s in your little tote bag, aaah, okay. You reach in and feel many things in the bag, your phone, water bottle. There’s so many old receipts and bus tickets in here why don’t you just throw them away, and, no way, there’s a rice crispies square in here. How did you forget about that? That’s a little mid afternoon pick me up is what that is. This is such a small bag how could you lose an entire energy saber there’s only so m- there it is!  You pull it up and grimace. It’s all tangled in your headphones and - oh my god no it’s your embarrassing pink hair bobble with the knock off plastic sanrio charm. Your keys are caught up in the whole thing too, the key ring is snagged on the wires of the saber, oh my god this sucks. This sucks absolute ass. You're about to duel for the fate of the galaxy and, yeah, these headphones are really stuck on there, huh. You’re gonna have to unknot them before you can even begin to untangle the rest of this. There’s no time, you’re just gonna have to own it. This is your vibe now. You feel your face flush hot red as the hero begins his monologue, while side eyeing your bedazzled blade. You shift your stance, ready to strike, and take solace in the fact that least nobody will be left to tell this story.

A silly one for this prompt :3c featuring real life accounts of what’s in my bag

Yesterday’s sword!

You can support me on Patreon for £1 and help me make stuff like this!

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (10) - A New Way

Chapter summary: Astarion always find a way back to you even in the midst of all the chaos.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Sexual frustration. Jealous Astarion. Protective Astarion. Fingering. Masturbation. Cumplay. Innuendo. Body worship.

Word count: 7.3k

Author's note: Tumblr isn't allowing me to reply to comments ever since I changed my @... already contacted support. I am not ignoring you guys *deep sigh*

Ao3

Series Masterlist

Rivington had its fair share of taverns and inns sprawled across its busy and lively streets. It was surely a welcome change from the grim and daunting sense of dread that loomed over you when travelling across the shadowlands. 

As such, the group had split to indulge in some brief moments of well deserved and welcome repose before finally reaching Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion sat across from you, subtlety eyeing his surroundings as you happily sipped your apple juice. 

The sun had yet to reach its peak but the tavern was already crawling with drunkards and unpleasant crowds. 

“We shouldn’t linger.” Astarion mused with arms crossed.

You nodded. “I’m nearly done.”

As much as you wished to forget about the troubling matters that haunted you, it was evident that your presence was earning some unwanted curious stares from a few onlookers. 

He suddenly reached for the pouch at his hip, withdrawing a piece of fabric before extending his hand to you.

“Here.”

You took it in your hand, briefly admiring its silky texture of the handkerchief as shades of teal and green swirled together in mesmerising patterns.

Then your fingers found golden letters sewn along one corner. 

Your name.

Your heart was clenched tight as you traced each letter in absolute awe.

“Astarion, this is…”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, think nothing of it, darling. You’re often covered in blood and sweat and Gods know what other fluids,” he said with a curt smile. “I figured you might as well look stylish whilst wiping that pretty face of yours.”

There he was.

So easily crawling under your skin with his words and now with such a thoughtful gift that fully displayed his artistry and exceptional needlework.

A lump in your throat held your words back.

Maybe he didn’t consider this gesture all that relevant or even worthy of a lingering thought, but you did.

This was a silent extension of him.

Now you’d have him by your heart at all times.

But the moment was cut short as a loud bang rippled across your table.

A man reeking of cheap mead cackled loudly at you. He was swaying so violently it was an incredible feat that he was able to stand on both feet without losing balance.

“Oi! Aren’t you that gal from a few years ago who did magic tricks?”

Your blood ran cold at once and your insides twisted into several knots.

“I don’t think so.” you said, focusing your gaze on the drink in front of you.

You didn’t recognise him, but you silently prayed he would just drop the matter and leave.

Instead, he hiccuped. “N-No! It is you! I would never forget such a face.”

Your eyes met Astarion’s momentarily as he narrowed his crimson eyes at the loud drunkard, and you reckoned he was close to intervening. 

You mustered your strength. “No. It’s not me.”

But the man was insistent as he was drunk.

He banged a hand on the wooden surface once more. “What? You are the one whose mother–”

The flash of a dagger pierced through your field of vision, landing right between the man’s fingers, the blade pressed menacingly against his thumb.

“She said ‘no’,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes flaring with contempt. “Should I teach you the meaning of the word?”

The man shuddered and cowered in fear as he strolled away as fast as his wobbly steps would allow.

But Astarion had overdone it and had simultaneously caused many heads to turn your way, voices whispering as people tried to make out what the fuss was all about.

“We’ve overstayed our welcome,” he said, sheathing his dagger as he stood up.

You remained frozen in place, still taken aback by the words the man had spewed at you.

Your mind had been kept too busy to dive back into the memories of your mother, and to dwell on what had happened so many years ago.

A shudder spread across your entire body as the sense of dread gripped you.

You felt his hand nudge your shoulder. “Now’s not the time for daydreaming, sweetheart.”

And he quickly tugged at your arm, pulling you up on your feet before the two of you scurried along the tavern and earning heavy glares.

You made it out just in time as two Fists crossed paths with you on their way inside, trying to disperse the crowd that had gathered around the entryway.

“What was that all about?” Astarion asked as soon as you were able to blend in with the passers-by. 

“Nothing.”

Your mouth had gone awfully dry even though you had downed most of your apple juice, replenishing your hydration level. 

He stared at you, raising a brow inquisitively. “He did actually know you, didn’t he?”

You met his gaze in a silent warning. “He must have had me confused with someone else.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, but I will not pry. We all have secrets to bear.”

You nodded, thankful for his understanding remark.

There was no point in lying to him. He could always see right through your silly attempts at deception. 

“Just know that you can come to me should you need to air them out,” he added. “I know all too well how buried secrets always find a way to crawl to the surface – one way or another.”

It was a glaring testament to how he had come to terms with opening up to someone else.

He had come far in that regard and you felt proud of him.

A faint smile settled on your lips, but it faded just as quickly once realisation hit you.

“Wait!” you said, gripping his arm. “The handkerchief – I left it there. Let me–”

He patted your back. “Leave it, darling. Unless you fancy starting a tavern brawl, that is.”

Your heart dropped.

“But…”

“I will embroider you a new one.”

But he never did.

There was no point in lying to Astarion.

You were very well aware of this.

He would spot your deceit faster than a hawk could tail its prey.

But the dreadful sense of impending doom had rooted you to the sofa.

This couldn’t all just be a coincidence. 

By the time the two of you had reached the room, Gale and Lae’zel had already vanished through a portal to Waterdeep to assess the situation. 

“All we can do for now is wait.” Astarion said, adjusting his shirt. 

Shadowheart scoffed. “This is all very odd. It’s as if something is at work against us.”

You nodded. “I agree.”

“Are the two of you in some competition to see who’s the most dramatic?” he said with a click of his tongue. “Honestly, we know nothing about what happened. Maybe his contact succumbed to self-inflicted boredom – a running theme amongst wizards.”

His sense of humour would have been welcome under different circumstances, but you were on the brink of freaking out.

“Maybe I could cast Arcane Gate and help out…” you said in a restless tone, feeling nauseous.

But the mage slayer outside kept your magic levels too low for you to successfully cast a level six conjuration spell, so it was not even an option.

Astarion immediately snorted as he joined your side. “Perish the thought. I don’t think it’d be wise to do such a thing given your condition. You might open a portal to some place infested with murderous creatures, and then I’ll have to jump in to rescue you.”

Shadowheart, who had been pacing worriedly across the room, came to an immediate halt. “What condition?”

You rubbed your temples as if it would magically dissipate the gnawing headache.

“I had too much to drink last night.”

Shadowheart’s accusatory stare immediately landed on Astarion. “What did you do?”

He scoffed dramatically. “Excuse me? I am well aware that pinning the blame on me is a recurring activity in this group, but I had nothing to do with this.”

You groaned with a wince. “Please keep your voices down…”

Shadowheart rushed to lower herself by your feet until she could eye-level with you. “Are you all right?”

No.

And it had little to do with the aftermath of your alcohol consumption.

Ava.

Your intuition was pounding ceaselessly in your mind and you just couldn’t bring yourself to ignore it any longer.

Yes, she had told you she would talk to Astarion, but your nerves were being eaten raw and time wasn’t something you could afford to spare.

“I… think I need to talk about something…” you began as a shiver tore through your body.

Shadowheart gripped your knees, her face twisted in alarmed worry. “What is it?”

You exchanged a glare with Astarion who eyed you in confusion.

“I met up with Ava last night and…” You paused briefly, pondering your next words. “She made an offering.”

His brows furrowed together. “What offering?”

You felt sweat coat your palms as your heart rate quickened in distress. “She’s under the impression someone is after us,” you said, clutching your hands together. “That whoever it is might be responsible for that dead body and us getting wrongfully arrested.”

Shadowheart was now gripping your knees firmly. “And what did she offer?”

Your leg was visibly shaking now as you were finding it harder to keep your composure.

“Apparently, when Astarion feeds on me, our blood mixes together and…”

As far as you were aware, Shadowheart wasn’t aware of his deal with Ava, so you decided to hold that information.

“She’s interested in that… mixture and wants access to it in exchange for information.”

The effect your words had was nearly catastrophic. 

Shadowheart looked positively scandalised and Astarion immediately gripped your arm, snarling, “ What? ”

He was instantly on his feet and you followed suit.

“How would she even have access to that in the first place?” she asked in awe.

Astarion spoke before you could, “I’ve been giving her some of my blood as she researches ways to counter the effects of vampirism. But I wasn’t aware of this!”

“ Astarion! ” Shadowheart let out in sheer outrage. “What in the Hells is wrong with you?”

He ignored her remark, eyes fixed on you.

He was mad.

No.

He was furious.

Up until this point, you had only ever witnessed him protect Ava and vouched for her integrity, but it seemed that he was no longer interested in upholding his defence. 

“She told me she would tell you of this as she only recently found out about it.”

“To Hells with that!” he snarled. “Did you agree to that arrangement?”

Silence

But that was answer enough.

“You should have told me!”

You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat. “You never listen to me when it comes to her!”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This is different!”

“How?!”

Crimson eyes locked with yours as he scowled deeply. “She involved you!”

His admission stunned you into silence.

It wasn’t all that common nowadays to witness Shadowheart succumb to her protective instinct to the point of no return.

But you could tell she was close to snapping when she approached Astarion, yellow flames dangerously swirled across her palms.

“Give me one good reason not to blast this Ava into oblivion,” she growled with ire. “Or you, for that matter.”

He gave her a mocking scoff. “Darling, I’d love to see you try.”

She smiled deviously and you knew it was time to intervene. 

You carefully placed your hand on her arm. “Shadowheart.”

She glanced at you almost in disbelief. “‘Shadowheart’? He’s out here dealing with dodgy people and putting us all at risk! Now she’s also involved with murdering people in Waterdeep?”

Astarion let out an exasperated groan. “What connection is there between the two, then?”

In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure.

Not yet, at least.

At this point, you were allowing your gut feeling to guide you, and it could very well blow up in your face if she turned out to be innocent in all of this.

However… the warning signs were too loud to ignore.

“I… don’t know yet.”

Astarion was glaring at you with pursed lips, and you vaguely wondered if he was upset with you, or if he was actually upset that his judgement had failed him when it came to Ava.

“You can bleed yourself dry if you wish, but not her ,” Shadowheart pressed in a low voice.

“I know .” he shot back.

She took a step forward, her face dangerously close to his. “Then you’d do well to remember that my respect for you has its limits. Do not cross them.”

You tugged at her arm again, trying to put some distance in between them.

“Well, this conversation isn’t going anywhere,” he said after a while with a scoff before turning around to leave. “I’ll be in my room.”

You tried to go after him, but Shadowheart held you firmly in place. “Let him go.”

It was hard to do so, but you nodded as you sat on a nearby chair.

“I know you care deeply for him, but this is beyond ludicrous.” she said with a heavy sigh.

Her voice was that of reason, so you couldn’t fault her for being so apprehensive.

“He would never harm me.”

And you would always stand by this as sure as the sun is to rise.

“Not consciously, but by dealing with this woman, he might have opened a door to great peril.”

You nodded, avoiding her penetrating gaze. “Wyll is running a few checks on some information she gave me. I guess we’ll find an answer soon enough.”

Shadowheart’s face softened every so slightly.

“Please exert caution with Astarion,” she said, grabbing your hand. “And I’m not talking about this in particular.

Oh.

“I don’t doubt for a second that he cares for you, but I don’t want to see you bound to nightmares,” she said in a whisper. “That is no way of living.”

You took a deep breath. “Things are fine between us.”

Unexpectedly, she let out a chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure. My room is next to his and… well, let’s just say that I may have overheard him mumbling your name a few times…”

“What do you…”

Oh.

“So, just… be careful,” she pleaded as she gripped your hand fiercely. “I trust your judgement, but not his… especially not after this.

You felt your heart swell with affection for Shadowheart and you pulled her into a tight embrace, almost tearing up as you did so.

“Thank you.”

She rubbed your back affectionately and whispered, “I adore you.”

“So do I.”

It was becoming more and more apparent that standing outside Astarion’s room was almost part of a routine now.

After a few more seconds, she finally pulled back with a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell the Fists outside to inform Wyll of what’s happened.”

And it was also unnecessarily hard to reach out for that first knock.

You had waited a couple of hours before deciding on what to do.

Wyll hadn’t shown up yet and there was still no word from Waterdeep.

So, you took a deep breath and as you were about to rasp your knuckles against the door, a charming voice was heard, “I know you’re outside.”

Of course he did.

“Can I come in?”

A brief pause.“Be my guest.”

You turned the knob and rushed inside, clicking the door shut behind you.

As expected, the room was plunged in a candle-lit dimness as the curtains draped over the window kept the blazing sun at bay.

Astarion lay on his bed, resting against the headboard as he threaded his way along a piece of cloth with a needle, his eyes solely focused on the task at hand.

Your stomach turned and twisted in knots, and you realised you weren’t quite sure how to start the conversation.

A low chuckle was heard. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to simply stare at me, darling.”

The lightheartedness in his voice made you feel slightly at ease and you shook your head. “No. I suppose not.”

This time, he did meet your eyes briefly and your heart skipped a beat.“As dashing as I am, I’d rather hear what you have to say instead.”

Right.

You cleared your throat, taking careful steps towards him before taking a seat at the feet of his bed, mindful to keep a certain respectful distance.

“I should have told you about Ava earlier on when you asked me.”

“Indeed.”

He didn’t sound upset in the slightest.

If anything, there was a faint hint of strange calmness to his voice.

“As for Shadowheart…”

He let out a snort. “Please. The day she stops worrying about you is the day I’ll find her in a casket.”

You couldn’t help out a short chuckle as he was absolutely right. 

Still, you laced your hands in your lap, absentmindedly fidgeting with your fingers. “I…” you began, before drifting off as uncertainty took place. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Astarion paused altogether and his crimson eyes were on you again.

“See, I do understand that reasoning,” he said, tugging at the thread that curled around one finger. “But considering the nature of your conversation with her, you should have told me right away.”

You nodded.

“As fruitful as my connection to her might prove to be, I cannot accept the deal you made with her.”

Your heart raced in your chest at how determined he seemed in his resolve. 

However…

“If what she says is true and someone is after us, this feels like a small price to pay.”

Astarion snipped the thread with a pair of scissors before setting his handiwork on the bedside table.

The look on his face could easily make the bravest men cower in fear.

“Nothing that involves you is a ‘small price to pay’,” he said, voice low and heavy. “It’s one thing for me to willfully provide my blood, and another for her to take advantage of you so blatantly.”

You frowned deeply. “She is also taking advantage of you, then.” 

“I can deal with her.”

Astarion had this tendency to sell himself short in terms of self-worth. At times, he was as confident as one could be, but the centuries of robbed autonomy and lack of genuine bond to others would often slip in and take hold.

He was probably not even aware of how easy it was for you to catch on to this, but you knew him well enough by now. 

“You don’t have to.”

He rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

It nearly shattered you to hear him put up his defences around you so unbelievably fast.

There was no need for that.

“Don’t ,” you nearly pleaded. “Please don’t assume I am trying to tell you what to do.”

Just as rapidly, his features softened ever so slightly. “I apologise.”

You vehemently shook your head. “I also apologise if my words came across as condescending.”

An unsettling silence took place.

His eyes roamed across your face and you felt more exposed to him than you had ever been even when fully naked in his presence.

Even though you felt comfortable and safe with him, there were times when you wondered if it was reciprocal.  

“Ava is not your concern,” he eventually said. “I will deal with her.”

You had no doubt he would.

It just saddened you that… “I know she was helping you out in more ways than one, even if I don’t particularly agree with the… method, so to speak.”

“Yet here you are, thinking that whatever bond I share with her is significant enough,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “I am using her as much as she is using me. But I never allowed for that to extend to you. Ever .”

You swallowed as his harsh words hit you.

“That was her first mistake – involving you.”

“I took the deal freely.” you said.

“You didn’t have to at all,” he retorted impatiently. “She needs me more than I need her. So, if she knows anything about someone coming after us, she will tell me and I won’t be kind when I ask her to.”

Fair enough.

“Will you still give her your blood?”

“It depends.”

You blinked. “On what?”

“On how the conversation goes,” he said with a shrug. “Though what I do know for certain is that I will not give her blood after feeding on you.”

An impending sense of dread rose inside you and you vaguely wondered if you had just fucked up.

Information was power, and you worried that she might not take it well now that Astarion was openly against her proposal. 

But to be fair, she did mention she would let him know about all of this. So, it wasn’t truly your fault that he didn’t take it well, was it?

In fact, it was very much on brand with Astarion.

His sense of loyalty to you was unwavering and transcended any arrangement the two of you had agreed to.

And that was a bond not easily severed, probably much to Ava’s dismay.

“You are off limits.”

It wasn’t a subtle warning by any means and it made your heart swell with warmth somehow. His protectiveness nearly rivalled that of Shadowheart, though you wouldn’t dare tell her this.

A faint smile curled his lips. “I have to thank you.”

You arched an eyebrow. “For what?”

He hesitated at first. “I know you mean well. I do know that.”

Oh, Astarion…

“You’re a better friend than I could ever have hoped for – or even deserve,” he went on. “It is hard at times to be vulnerable. I was never allowed to. For centuries I equated being vulnerable to being weak… even pathetic.”

You were unsure of how to respond, but you felt each word tug at your heartstrings in a way that you had only felt when he had confessed his feelings for you back in Moonrise Towers. 

“I’m still getting used to this…” He paused abruptly as if pondering his next words. “Allowing myself to feel all these emotions, I suppose.”

“You are more deserving than you think,” you said truthfully. “Give yourself some credit. You used to be bound to your selfishness when we first met. You didn’t care for others because no one ever cared for you.”

His face held an expression akin to hurt, but it was the good kind of pain. Breaking one’s protective shell didn’t come without discomfort, but it was worth it in the long run. 

Unconsciously, you shifted along the edge of the bed as the overwhelming urge to embrace him took over you at once. 

Still, you didn’t want to push it, so you halted once you were sitting right next to him, which earned an amused smile from him.

“I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He reached his hand to grab the piece of cloth on the nightstand. The very same he had just been embroidering moments ago.

“Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he tapped his thigh twice. 

Noticing your hesitancy, he repeated the motion until you gathered yourself, feeling a rush of heat pool at your cheeks.

“You do have a thing for keeping me waiting, darling.” he remarked playfully.

A chuckle made its way past your lips as you moved to settle on his lap, careful not to sit too close to his-

“Here you go,” he said, proffering what resembled a kerchief of some sort.

You took it in your hands, admiring its silky texture and mesmerising fusion of different shades of blue that swirled beautifully together until your eyes spotted the yellow-threaded embroidery sprawled along one corner.

Your name.

The needlework was impeccable as always.

Your eyes widened in sheer bewilderment as you remembered the last time he had offered you such a gift.“I – this is beautiful,” you managed to say. “The other one was a masterpiece as well.”

He chuckled tenderly. “The timing of my offering was rather inopportune on that day – I should have waited until we were back in camp.”

His words were sweet and caressed you like a lover, and you could feel yourself drawn more and more to him.

“May I?”

You nodded as he took the kerchief from your hands only to have it drape around your neck, his fingers tugging gently at both ends as his eyes met yours.

Oh.

Fuck.

You only had time to hastily hold on to the headboard with both hands for support as he pulled you in closer. “May I kiss you?”

It was an uncomfortable position to be in since you were trying to avoid his crotch at all costs.

“Where?”

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“Friends don’t do that.” you teased, but still inching closer to him.

“Darling ,” he began with a click of his tongue, rolling the edges of the fabric around each finger. “We haven’t been friends for quite a while now.”

And then he kissed you.

It was a hungry and urgent kiss and his tongue quickly slipped past your lips, causing you to instantly melt into him.

The softest moan escaped your throat as you felt a single fang nip teasingly at your lower lip.

Driven by pure instinct, you shifted along his thighs until you were pressed against his crotch.

He broke the kiss to let out a strained groan and you immediately lifted your hips, alarmed that you had gone too far.

But his hands immediately dropped to your waist, holding you in place. “Don’t.”

You met his lustful gaze. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t. Please .”

He didn’t push you back against him, but you felt his fingers tease the waistband of your trousers. 

“Astarion…” you said, unsure if this was a good idea.

He tugged again, but more gently this tme. “We don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with.”

Oh, you were more than eager to carry on. In fact, you were desperate .

You bit your lip, torn between listening to reason or giving in to the moment.

The latter won by a landslide. 

You nodded and he masterfully undid the buttons and laces with one hand.

“Do you trust me?”

What an odd question from him. “You know I do.”

His thumb traced your jawline before grazing your lower lip and earning a sigh from you. “Can I trust you not to scream?”

“Scream? Why would I-”

Realisation hit you like a tidal wave and your eyes widened as words died in your mouth.

Oh.

Astarion smiled cheekily, patting your thigh, clearly urging you to slide off of his lap.  “Lock the door.”

You were still taken aback and didn't move an inch, staring into his crimson eyes instead as your heart drummed rapidly in your chest.

“Lock the door .”

It resembled a plea, which caused you to clench involuntarily from how desperate he sounded.

Swiftly slipping off his lap, you hurried across his room to turn the key below the doorknob until a click was heard.

By the time you turned around, Astarion had removed his shirt and you were rooted in place, utterly speechless.

He was a work of art. 

No words of praise would ever do him justice.

Your mouth had dropped slightly open and he chuckled deviously. “You’re free to stay there and gawk, but I’d rather have you on top of me.”

His teasing snapped you out of your trance-like state and you felt a stronger wave of heat flare across your face and rush down your body.

Your legs felt weak all of a sudden, but you found your way back to him as you always did.

In the end, all roads did lead back to him.

As if driven by an outside force, you quickly slipped out of your trousers, only leaving on your underwear which was already gathering a growing wet spot.

His stare was fixed on your lower half and you spotted the familiar outline of his cock strained in his own trousers.

He eased you back on his lap with a firm grip on your waist and a boyish grin on his lips. Your hands settled on his bare shoulders, still mindful to not lower your hips too much.

“So, my dearest friend… ” he said, adjusting the kerchief around your neck. “How often do you indulge in such activities with your other friends?”

You smirked playfully. “Not often enough.”

He mirrored your expression, fingers slowly undoing each button of your shirt. “Oh? I wonder who crosses your mind, then.”

You.

But he already knew that as his hands travelled down your chest, each breath allowing your shirt to part wide enough to expose your heaving breasts.

“Is it Wyll?”

“You and your obsession with Wyll,” you laughed as he slowly pulled the fabric to the side, exposing each breast at a time. “I’m starting to think you want him for yourself.”

His eyes left yours to gaze at a perky nipple. “The question is: would you be willing to share?”

You whimpered softly as his thumb traced the underside of one breast and you felt too tempted to press down against his erection just so you could comfort the throb in between your legs. 

“Of course… I’m all for sharing friends.” 

Once he began grazing your nipple, you had to grip his shoulders tighter to anchor yourself.

Your body undulated instinctively, earning a hum of approval from him.

“Would you let Wyll do this, then? As a friend, obviously.”

You were about to arch a brow at his question when you felt one finger pulling your underwear to the side, exposing yourself to him.

It was almost comical how soaked you already were.

You reckoned it was enough to take more than just his fingers.

“Would you let him, darling?”

“I–”

But your voice died in your throat as he ran a single cool finger along your folds, carefully avoiding the swell in between them much to your agony.

The shift in temperature was always something that took some time getting used to and you occasionally flinched as your body adjusted to his touch.

“Can I do this, then?” he asked in a low growl as he teased your entrance. “As a friend.”

You rolled your hips out of reflex and he sank into you with ease until he was knuckle-deep. 

“Gods…” you moaned in sheer relief, instinctively clenching around him.

He then pressed his thumb between your folds, causing your hips to jerk as he teased the pulsing swell. It wasn’t long until you began to slowly ride him, your eyes nearly fluttering shut.

“You can take more, can’t you?” he cooed, moving his hand to tease your other nipple. “I remember how eager you used to be for my cock.”

At this rate, he would make you come from his teasing words alone and with a single finger buried inside you.

“Astarion… don’t…” you moaned as you rolled your hips, urging him on. 

He needed to shut up…

You needed him to stop talking before-

He suddenly slipped a second finger and you lost your balance, pressing your breasts against his bare chest while seeking support from his shoulder as you buried your face in his neck.

“You have no idea how I longed to be inside you again,” he sighed, his fingers gripping your waist and guiding your sloppy rolls, eventually setting the pace. “My hands can never feel as divine as you do.”

Gods…

You shuddered violently as your moans quickly turned into sobs and whimpers, the wet lewd sounds filling your ears.

He pressed the heel of his palm against you, the delicious friction causing you to rake your  hand down from his shoulder and along his chest until he caught your wrist, pressing your heated palm against his hardened nipple.

Astarion immediately groaned and you felt him arch into you.

“Darling…” he moaned, pumping his fingers faster inside you. “Please look down.”

You were so out of it, that his words didn’t register at first, so you kept on riding him in between sobs, further teasing his nipple under your touch.

“Look down,” he repeated more firmly, nearly slipping out of you. “I want you to see the mess you’ve made.”

“ No-no-no … please…” you nearly cried in exasperation, moving your hips desperately against him.

“Then look down.”

You growled in pure frustration, somehow managing to pull back enough to have your eyes land on the hand in between your legs.

It was soaked down to his wrist, and you could see some of it beginning to drip, staining his strained bulge.

You felt an overwhelming wave of embarrassment wash down over you and tried to bury your face in his neck again, but he gripped your chin with his fingers, halting you.

“Do not hide from me,” he said, slipping his fingers back inside as he stared into your half-hooded eyes. “This is one of the highest praises you can offer me.” And he proved his point by planting the softest kiss on your lips.

You immediately melted into his praise, realising just how lovely he could be…

The pent-up sexual frustration was at an all time high and you could feel the familiar coil in your lower abdomen reach the point of no return.

You wished you were strong enough to fight him back with snarky and witty replies, but your concentration was broken. 

“What about a third one?”

You didn’t care anymore.

You just wanted release.

It had been too long since he had made you come and you'd take anything he gave you at this point.

“Just…” you began, chasing after that high relentlessly. “ Just… ”

He had the nerve to chuckle at your frustration and you felt a third finger prodding at your entrance.

You could take it.

You would take it.

The fullness would most surely remind you of his cock and you needed it.

You were wet enough to accommodate him as he pushed through, earning a gasp from you followed by a shudder and a strained groan.

“I don’t mean to brag, but I highly doubt dear Wyll would get this reaction from you.”

“Gods… stop talking about Wyll as you’re inside me,” you managed to string coherents words together in between your moans. “Just… please…”

He pressed a kiss to your flushed cheek. “You always take me so well.”

How you wished it was his cock instead, stretching you even more and filling you deeper.

You were nearly there.

“Don’t scream, darling.” he teased as you rode him desperately. “We wouldn't want dear Shadowheart to overhear your wanton cries.”

Well, Shadowheart was already privy to the nature of your relationship with Astarion thanks to him and how he clearly didn't shy away from taking care of himself with others around.

Your mind was about to blank and you slid the kerchief from your neck, feeling the need to bite down on something as you reached your peak.

A few more hip rolls did the trick and one last stroke of his thumb along your folds managed to push you right over the edge.

Your contractions were so violent and strong at first you thought you might die from how hard you were clenching around him, your legs wobbling dangerously as you were drained of lifeforce with each blinding wave of bliss.

The piece of cloth in your mouth didn’t do much to muffle you as your climax tore throughout your body, but it was better than having nothing.

Astarion only slid out once you had slumped into his chest, barely able to keep your breathing steady.

Your knees gave out and you sank down against his crotch, earning a guttural growl from deep within him.

Shit.

You instantly slid off of him, worrying you had accidentally gone too far. “Astarion… I’m…”

He shook his head, the hand that was soaked in your wetness clawing at the front of his trousers as his eyes were pressed shut.

Oh.

“I’ll take care of this…” he let out a pained hiss.

Oh.

“I can just leave,” you mumbled. “I’m…”

His trousers were now undone and you could see his clothes cock faintly throbbing.

And he shook his head once again. “You can stay – you can watch… if you want to.” His words were coated in urgent lust. 

Your eyes widened at his proposition and you thought you might implode right there and then.

You had barely come down from your climax and the throbbing that had begun to subside was already about to match your quickened heartbeat.

“Or you can leave…” he said in a low and strained voice.

Oh, he was truly holding back…

“I… can stay.” you offered at once, sitting next to him and trying to ignore the lust that was building inside you once again.

This wasn't about you.

He quickly nodded and with a swift tug he freed his cock and you had to bite down hard on your lip at the mesmerising sight in front of you.

A single strand of precum dangled from the tip, already pooling on his lower abdomen. 

“Gods above…” he let out a sigh of relief, hips lifting from the mattress as he wrapped the hand drenched in your wetness around him. 

This was too hot to witness and you curled your hands into fists on your lap, wishing nothing more than to touch him again.

But you knew he needed this.

He needed to feel at ease with his body first.

His eyes met yours briefly before dropping to your chest and to your breasts as they heaved from your laboured breathing.

You removed your shirt, not wanting to obstruct his view and Astarion growled .

The pace was slow at first as he squeezed his cock, but he quickly picked up, mixing your wetness with his with each stroke.

He looked positively ethereal as his handsome face twisted in pleasure, lips parted and razor-sharp fangs peeking through. 

Should you say something? Should you praise him? Encourage him? Or would it be too much?

From what you remembered, he seemed to revel in your teasing words in moments of shared bliss, but how much of that was an act back then? Was he ever able to fully enjoy being with you?

In doubt, you chose to remain silent as you watched him bring himself closer to his own climax.

It didn't take him long to start mumbling your name in between heated pants and there was no way back now.

You were throbbing hard again, wetness spilling from you with each involuntarily clench. 

Your body was so ready for him… it was almost painful.

A thicker string of precum bridged his tip to his abdomen, and you nearly moaned, remembering its sweet taste.

He rolled his hips languidly, eyes never leaving you as he gripped the bedsheets under him with such force you reckoned me might tear right through the fabric.

That sparked newfound curiosity inside you.

Slowly, you leaned forward, shifting closer just to have your hand next to his without quite touching him, but close enough for him to feel your warmth.

I'm here… I'm with you, you wanted to whisper, but only heard the words echo in your head.

He groaned in response and, much to your surprise, he released the sheets and his fingers found you, intertwining them in yours as he held on to you. 

Your heart might have skipped several beats, you were no longer sure at this rate.

You had seen him reach his peak a handful of times before, but there was something different about the way he toppled over the edge this time.

He threw his head back against the headboard, straining his neck as his mouth dropped open, your name being the only intelligible word you could make out in the midst of hisses and groans. 

Your heart was hammering so fast in your chest that you feared you might not make it as he reached his peak.

His hips still momentarily and he covered his swollen tip with his hand and the first spurts of cum began to slip through his fingers before dribbling down to gather at the base and across his lower abdomen.

You held his hand formçy through his climax. Perhaps the first genuine one you had ever witnessed, which invoked an odd feeling of… delight?

For the second time in just a mere couple of days, the two of you held hands albeit seeking varying degrees of comfort and relief.

Beads of sweat rolled down his temple and covered his bare torso as he descended from his high and that was when his eyes met yours.

Your stomach turned and you felt the throb between your legs begin to ease with each passing second.

“Will you kiss me?”

His request took you by surprise, but you promptly shifted next to him until your face was close enough that your lips grazed his.

Only then did he let go of your hand and merely because he meant to hold your chin as he kissed you softly.

It carried neither urgency nor lust.

Just a pure display of silent  intimacy that strummed at your heartstrings more effectively than any other praise he could ever offer you.

You melted into his sweet touch and allowed your kiss to express the unspoken words you had yet to tell him.

I love you…

Whichever form of love it was, all you knew was that it felt right and love overdue.

You could feel him occasionally smile against your lips and there was not a single drop of doubt in you.

I love you.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled away, already mourning his touch.

“Shadowheart knows.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You had to hold back a chuckle. “She heard you – well, when you were… handling things after feeding on me.”

The most mischievous of smiles settled on his lips. 

“I thought you said you were quiet…”

“I was, darling,” he said before pecking your cheek. “For the most part, that is.”

You giggled and then stared at him in awe as his beauty increased tenfold from where you sat.

He was impossibly handsome.

“You’re so…”

“Charming?”

You rolled your eyes as he pressed his cool lips to your other cheek.

“Beautiful?”

Another kiss.

“You’re so… you.” you blurted out almost feeling embarrassed from how basic your praise was.

But it drew the biggest smile from him, and you mirrored it instantly.

“Well…”

You watched as his eyes dropped to his lower half and yours widened slightly at the obscene amount of cum was now dribbling down his sides in thick beads. His hand was still holding his now softening cock, fingers drenched in his own spend.

“That’s a lot…” you said.

He nodded, looking almost as perplexed as you were. “I don’t think I’ve ever…” and his voice trailed down.

And you knew exactly what he meant.

With a warm smile, you extended your hand, offering him the kerchief he had gifted you moments before.

He visibly winced. “No, darling. It would be nigh criminal to use such delicate fabric on this .”

Your smile widened. “Can I fetch you a towel then?”

“Please,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “It’s rather messy here.”

You pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before sliding off the bed and hurriedly slipping into your shirt and trousers and crossing the room.

The key turned in one swift move and you quickly left the room.

You were only able to take a few steps before a silhouette startled you.

Shadowheart.

She was leaning against the railing by the top of the staircase with folded arms and a quirked brow.

“Gods! You scared me,” you said, clutching at your chest. 

“Glad some of us are able to enjoy ourselves in such times.”

You swallowed hard. “Uh… we were just talking.”

She snickered humorously. “I suppose it’s a form of communication.”

An overwhelming heatwave spread across your face. Had you been that loud? Or had he? 

Then her expression turned serious. “Pull yourself together. We have visitors.” 

TBC

[k-rising]

7th house

What's the 7th house?: This house is ruled by Libra and represents alliances, partnerships, legal matters, diplomacy and serious relationships. This house also tells us about how we are when it comes to relationships, especially with our spouses and enemies.

𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people are sociable and find themselves when interacting with others. They do not want to have fleeting loves and they want to find a person who loves them just as they are.

If the Sun is well aspected, their relationships will be loyal, favorable and happy. On the other hand, if the Sun is poorly aspected, there will be a tendency toward dominance in relationships.

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

They are sentimental people who need to receive a lot of affection to feel satisfied with others. They tend to have turbulent relationships, since they are volatile. People with Moon in the 7th house have constant mood swings and always seek to attract the attention of their partners. They also tend to change partners constantly. They may marry at a very young age or have a hasty wedding.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

They like teamwork and seek to share their opinions with others. They do not tend to get very attached to people, as they prefer to have superficial relationships. They may have several partners with a different variety of thoughts, since they are attracted to intellectual people who can talk about various topics. Marriage is often delayed, as they are afraid of commitment.

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These are naturally charming people who crave compromise and harmony in their relationships. They tend to become very attached to their partners, they can even change their personality to adapt to them. They have a great need to be in company and it is very difficult for them to spend time alone. When conflicts arise, they tend to ignore them and pretend that nothing happens.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people are passionate and curious. They have a lot of sexual energy and communication is important to them. They tend to create a lot of chaos in their relationships, so they have to learn how to avoid conflict and promote harmonious relationships. It is possible that others threaten their public image. This position also indicates that they may end up having a rich and popular spouse.

𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

They are sociable and enthusiastic. They have many interests in different areas and love teaching others about different topics. They tend to be so optimistic that they sometimes have a hard time recognizing red flags in their relationships. They are also usually very good at business. This position indicates that many opportunities come through others. Cultivating close and rewarding bonds is important for them.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Love can be hard to find with this position. People with Saturn in the 7th house tend to attract indifferent or even abusive people. These individuals tend to be very distrustful of others and tend to feel a lot of self-contempt. Although they seek to be valued by others, they themselves build barriers when it comes to relationships. They take relationships more seriously than most people. Some may marry later in life and others will simply marry someone older than them.

𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people often have unstable bonds and sudden separations. They generally reject having the role of submission and prioritize mutual freedom in relationships. They want their spouse to not only be their partner but also their best friend. Communication and intellectuality are important for them.

𝐍𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These people often confuse expectations with reality in their relationships. They excessively idealize their partners and romanticize everything that others do. They are faithful to their partner and give themselves to them with great passion.

They have to learn to accept others as they are, not as they want them to be.

𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Magnetic and temperamental. These people form deep and transformative bonds on various levels. Trust and loyalty is something that is not negotiated with these people. They may attract dominant people into their lives. If the person is insecure, they can become quite controlling. There is a tendency here to be emotionally dependent on their partners.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔! 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

[angelbwrry]

let me in. toji zenin. 7k.

cw ᯓᡣ𐭩 nsfw links, choking, slapping, mouth-spitting[oops,not sorry] , unprotected sex, oral male + female , dirty talk, a little bit of ass eating, fingering, creaming, multiple orgasms, cream-pie, dirty talk ummmm i think that’s all! oh, toji is an emotionally unavailable boxer and you’re his project partner . . .

a/n ᯓᡣ𐭩 love this idea, might turn it into a bookkk.idk tho, anyways enjoy!

crimson droplets trickled down his pink lips, creating a stark, almost artistic contrast against the paleness of his skin. his breath is ragged, each exhale a testament to the raging fight within him.

his heart thunders against his chest, a relentless drum driven by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. his new white compression shirt, once pristine, now bore the scars of confrontation.

blood had seeped through the fabric, staining it with irregular patterns. the once clean shirt clung to his broad frame, damp with sweat. he could feel the sting of a split lip, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

a grin spread across his face, teeth coated with blood.

“you call that a punch? my grandmother packs harder than that.” toji sneers, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of red across his bruised knuckles.

“you think you’re tough shit zenin, let’s see if you talk that talk when you’re picking up your teeth from the ground.”

“i’m standing right here,” he smirks, voice laced with contempt as he takes a left lead stance.

just as expected, his opponent's face flushes with anger, muscles tensing at toji’s taunts.

his plan was working; he knew that anger clouded judgement, made moves sloppy and predictable.

“oh, don’t be shy.” toji’s grin widens as he continues picking.

his opponent charges with a roar, fists swinging wildly. toji remains calm, eyes never leaving his opponent. wait for it . . .at the perfect moment, toji executed a swift, calculated move,kicking his feet from underneath him with a precision that spoke of countless hours of training.

the ring seemed to tremble as his opponent hit the ground with a resounding thud. toji laughed, hands on his hips.

what a loser. he stands over the man, his plan had worked flawlessly, turning his rage into his own downfall.

for as long as he could remember, toji had been a fighter.

he vividly recalled the way he’d broken a kid’s nose on the first day of kindergarten, the shock and thrill of that first punch still fresh in his mind.

fighting was his way of releasing his pent-up anger against the world. every time he stepped into the ring, he felt a surge of power, a way to channel all his frustrations and rage into something tangible.

he enjoyed the way he could take all his frustrations out in the ring. the raw, unfiltered aggression that surged through him with every punch was intoxicating. the way his knuckles throbbed each time he threw a punch was a reminder of his own resilience.

every failure, every heartbreak, every whipping from his father while his mother watched, he let it all out in the ring. it was a catharsis, a way to purge the demons that haunted him.

he reveled in his own resistance, the way he could take hit after hit and still stand tall. the money was a nice touch too, a bonus that came with the thrill of the fight. but it was never just about the money.

it was about the chaos, the pain, the sheer physicality of it all. he fought because he wanted to, because he needed to. the truth was simple and stark: fighting was his way of surviving, of staying alive in a world that had always tried to break him.

"ugh, fuck," toji curses as he snaps his nose back into place, clenching his fist to stop himself from punching something. it's the aftermath of the fight, and toji's in his small apartment patching himself up.

he wasn't an amateur, but he had to admit that guy had the best of him for a second. he's sporting a bloody nose and deep bruising under his left eye. nothing major, but he knew his body would feel it in a few hours now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

he tosses the bloody tissue in the sink, staring at himself in the mirror, a fresh cut on his lip still oozing. he pulls his eyes away after a few seconds, unable to face the reflection of his battered self any longer.

"fuck, i'm gonna be late for class," he mutters, glancing at the clock. professor brown was already down his throat for all his absences, and he knew he'd get yet another talking to as soon as he stepped into the classroom.

he quickly finishes patching himself up, slipping on a black hoodie and sweats. he grabs his backpack, the weight of his textbooks feeling like a burden he couldn't shake.

♡︎

every step towards the lecture hall felt like a march towards another round of disappointment. as he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of the fight, the adrenaline, the pain.

he couldn't do this forever. eventually, it would catch up to him.

but for now, he had to keep moving, keep pretending that college was the answer. society had drilled it into his head from a young age. get a degree, get a good job, live a good life.

but what if that wasn't his path? what if he was just wasting his time?

he sighed, pushing the door open and bracing himself for the inevitable lecture from professor brown. one step at a time, he reminded himself. maybe one day, something would make sense.

“nice of you to join us mister zenin.”

“pleasure to be here,” toji mutters sarcastically, finding his usual seat in the classroom. mr. brown shakes his head before continuing the lesson, his bored voice like nails in toji’s head.

the older man’s voice drones on, a stack of crisp papers in his hand.

"alright, everyone, we're going to be working in teams for this project. i'll be assigning the pairs, so listen up."

you groaned inwardly. you hated group projects, especially when you didn't get to choose your partner. you glanced around the room, hoping for a miracle.

“y/n and toji," he announced, looking up from his list.

your heart sank. you turned to look at toji zenin; he was already staring at you with those steel dark blue eyes, his expression unreadable. he looked like shit—his eye was bruised underneath, and his lip sported a jagged cut.

"great," you muttered under your breath. "just what i needed." toji zenin could barely make it to class on time, how the hell did your professor expect you to work with someone so. . . incompetent.

toji wouldn’t know the meaning of academic achievement if it smacked him in the face, and you refused to let your grade suffer at the hands of him.

toji scoffed, catching your words. "don't sound too excited, princess."

"oh, i'm thrilled," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "i can't wait to do double the work because you can't even show up to class on time." you knew your words were mean, but you didn’t care.

"hey, i show up. . .sometimes," he said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin.

“besides,you might learn something from me.”

"like how to get into fights and skip class?" you snapped.

“thanks but no thanks.”

god, toji hated stuck-up females. and that’s exactly what you were being—stuck-up. the two of you had never really interacted, and you had nothing in common. you were an a-list student, and toji was the complete opposite.

he wasn’t thrilled to be working with you, not when there was a stick lodged up your ass. his jaw clenched as he held back the urge to say something snarky.

every time he looked at you, it was like a reminder of everything he despised: perfection, arrogance, and that holier-than-thou attitude. he couldn't stand it. but there you were, thrown together for this project, and he had to deal with it.

the thought of breaking through that icy exterior, seeing you crack, was oddly enticing. maybe, just maybe, there was a different side to you, one that wasn’t so damn perfect.

he wondered if he could fuck the attitude out of you. something stirred deep within him. the idea of seeing you vulnerable, of breaking through that facade, was almost. . . sexy.

the teacher cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "i expect you both to work together and contribute equally. this project is a significant part of your grade. details will be sent to everyone’s emails so keep an eye out.”

you sighed, knowing you were stuck.

you glanced at toji again, trying to read his expression, but it remained stoic. this was going to be a long semester. you were relieved when the bell finally rang.

gathering your things, you couldn’t wait to step into your hot shower and let the day's worries wash away. you pushed your way through the dense crowd making it outside, humming in bliss as you felt the warm sun beaming down on your brown skin.a stark contrast from the cold,plain clsssroom.

your face scrunched in disdain as you heard his voice. you peered over your shoulder, watching him shove his way to you with a raised hand in the air.

“shit, you walk fast. shouldn’t we exchange numbers? if we’re partners.” he huffed, trying to catch his breath.

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, “i’ll do it, i’ll put your name on the paper.”

he steps closer to you and you can’t help but hitch a breath, you never noticed how menacingly tall he is. he’s at least six-foot-three, broad, he’s a damn giant. you gulp thickly as his cologne catches your nose, a mixture of vanilla and musk. fuck, your weakness for a good smelling man is surfacing.

his eyes gaze at you, and you’ve never noticed how beautiful they are up close, a blue and grey swirling together in harmony.

now that you’re up close you can see his injures better too.you want to question it, but decide not to.

“i want to help,” he demands, crossing his arms across his chest. you try to ignore the way your stomach churns at the tattoos peeking from underneath his hoodie.

you don’t feel like getting into yet another squabble and decide to just hand over your number, “only for project related things, toji.”

he laughs, it’s deep and guttural and you try to ignore the heat growing between your legs. you know toji is no damn good, his entire aura screams danger.

but damn, he was a sight for sore eyes. maybe having him around for the project wouldn’t be so bad, you’d enjoy the eye candy. but that’s the only thing he was, eye candy. you refused to let yourself get sucked up with whatever toji zenin had going on.

you���re surprised he even wants to pull his weight with this project, most people would’ve snatched up the offer without merely a second thought. his large hands hold your phone, making it look like a toy as he types his number and contact in.

“there,” he hands your phone back and you muster out a thanks.

“so,” toji buries his hands in his pockets, “how’re you getting home?”

“my roommate is gonna pick me up, what’s it to you?” you quip an eyebrow at him.

he shrugs, “can’t a guy be curious?”

“hm, i guess—“ the vibration of your phone interrupts you. it’s probably your roommate, ren, announcing her arrival.

ren<3 im soooo sorry, i won’t be able to pick u up

fuck.

toji can feel your mood shift.

“everything okay?”

you puff, “no. my fucking friend bailed on picking me up.”

“i don’t mind taking you home, where do you stay?”

you peer up at toji through your eyelashes, biting the inside of your cheek. you weigh the pros and cons, it’d take you an hour and a half if you walked, and the summer heat was sweltering. the pros outweighed the cons and you find yourself nodding. . . what’s the worst that can happen?

“right off of drury lane.”

toji can’t stop the mischievous smile that plays on his lips as you follow him to the parking lot. you’re surprised when he stops in front of a sleek black motorcycle. of course he’d have a bike, he’s practically a walking bad-boy cliché.

you eye the bike warily, you’ve never actually ridden a bike. partly because you never had the opportunity, the other half because you didn't want to become roadkill. toji notices you staring at the bike, he nudges your shoulder gently with his.

"don’t tell me you've never ridden a motorcycle," he teases, a playful challenge in his tone. you chew on your bottom lip, adjusting your book bag on your shoulder, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"don't worry, it's not as scary as it looks," he offers you a warm smile, handing you his helmet. "just hold on tight."

the helmet is heavy in your hands, toji makes it look so damn light.

“what about your helmet?” you ask.

“well, wasn’t planning on having another passenger so i don’t have one.”

“toji, that’s dangerous, what if you get hurt?”

he smiles, eyes gleaming. “look at my face, do you honestly think i’m worried about getting hurt? get on the bike y/n.”

sucking in a breath, you nodded and placed the helmet on. god, please don’t let this man crash with me on his bike. as the motorcycle roared to life beneath you, you pressed yourself against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his solid frame.

the vibrations of the engine sent a thrill through you, but it was the feel of his abs, taut and defined under your fingertips, that truly set your heart racing.

your cheek resting against the helmet as you rested your head on his back. each muscle seemed to ripple with every slight movement.

you couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between his tough exterior and the vulnerability you’d seen in his eyes moments ago.

focus, you reminded yourself, trying to steady your breathing. but it was impossible to ignore the intoxicating mixture of danger and excitement that came with being so close to him.

the wind whipped past you, and you tightened your grip, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin barrier of your clothes.

as the motorcycle sped down the winding road, toji’s thoughts were a whirlwind of sensations and emotions. this is freedom, he mused, feeling the raw power of the machine beneath him. the roar of the engine, the rush of the wind—it’s like nothing else.

but then there’s you, pressed so closely against him, your arms wrapped securely around his torso.

he could feel your heartbeat, he realized, a small smile tugging at his lips. the way you clung to him, it was both a comfort and a distraction. fuck, your touch messed with his mind, his cock pressing against his boxers uncomfortably.

focus on the road, he commanded himself, but it was hard to ignore the warmth of your body and the way you fit perfectly against him.

the familiar scenery of your quiet neighborhood eased your nerves, you’d made it back home in one piece. maybe toji’s driving wasn’t as ass as you thought. a part of you was sad the ride was over, don’t get involved with this man y/n.

the bike comes to a halt, though still shudders with vibrations underneath you. you notice your arms are still wrapped around toji and you quickly retract, feeling your neck warm as you slide off the bike. you hate how he makes you feel like a school girl all over again, your clammy palms pressing against your flared denim jeans.

toji watches you shift under his gaze, he can tell he makes you nervous. he can’t help but grip the handles of his motorcycle as you remove his helmet, your messy hair fumbling across your shoulders. shit, you look so pretty. were you always this pretty? your honey blonde highlighted hair swishes with the wind, and he picks up the scent of cinnamon.

“t-toji, your nose is bleeding.”

confusion etched on his face. he swiped a hand under his nose and stared at the blood on his fingers. “shit,” he muttered, shaking his head as if to clear it.

why now, he thought, of all times?

your concern deepened as you saw how much blood was pouring out. “come inside, i have a first aid kit,” you offered, motioning towards your apartment.

he shook his head vehemently, pinching his nose and tilting his head back. “i don’t need your pity. i’m fine,” he snapped, his tone suddenly harsh.

you were taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. for a moment, you considered walking away, but then you saw the pain in his eyes, masked by his bravado.

ignoring his outburst, you stepped closer. “it wasn’t a fucking question,” you snapped back, grabbing his keys from his motorcycle engine before he could react.

he grunted in annoyance, glaring at you. “fine,” he muttered, clearly irritated but too exhausted to argue further. he hated how stubborn you were, how you wouldn’t take no for an answer. but somewhere, deep down, he was grateful.

as you walked towards your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. his tough exterior was starting to crack, and you were determined to find out what lay beneath. he, on the other hand, was torn between wanting to push you away and the strange comfort your presence brought.

the bathroom was cramped, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. you stood over him, your hands gentle but firm as you cleaned his bloody nose. the sink was full of crimson-stained tissues, and he cursed under his breath.

“don’t be such a baby,” you said, rolling your eyes. easy for you to say, he thought, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted with you so close. the sweet scent of cinnamon from your skin stirred his senses, making it hard to focus.

as you leaned over him, your breasts were practically spilling from your v-necked crop top. he could see the edge of your brown nipple peeking out, sending his mind into a spiral. he wanted to fuck you so bad.

“what’s the deal with all these injuries anyways?” you asked, examining his busted bottom lip.

you quirked an eyebrow at his silence. “you in the mafia or something, zenin?” you joked.

he couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at his lips. “maybe, maybe not. guess i’ll have to keep you on your toes,” he chuckled, shifting uncomfortably on the toilet seat.

you hummed, clearly not satisfied with his deflecting answer but deciding not to push further. you threw the bloody tissue in the trash bin before washing your hands.

“so, how do you even know how to properly tend wounds?”

“my mom was a nurse, taught me a lot. would’ve chosen it as a career, but, i can’t stand seeing people hurt. guess i’m too much of an empath, so i chose business.”

he’s quiet, soaking in the information.

“you know, you could at least try to be more careful.i don’t know exactly what you do but it doesn’t seem safe,” you add.

“who’re you to tell me what to do?” he shoots, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“calm down. i’m just tired of seeing you come to class looking like you’ve been through a fucking meat grinder,” you snapped, crossing your arms.

“you should mind your business,” he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

you glared at him, your jaw clenched. “really? is it such a crime that i’m worried about you?”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “look, i- it’s just... complicated.”

“right,well i’m done. your keys are by the door.”you muttered, turning away from him.

you thought you were getting somewhere with the closed-off man, but clearly, you were wrong. you didn’t know why you even cared about him. he pushed past you, and you could hear the roar of his motorcycle a couple moments later.

working with him was going to be impossible.

♡︎

your fuzz-covered sock feet were tucked underneath you as you sat on the floor crisscrossed, writing notes for your project. it had been about two and a half weeks since toji stormed out on you, he’d apologized a day after. you wondered if he had bpd, had to with the way he was constantly shifting moods.

the pink gel pen glided across the paper effortlessly, the soft scribbles droned out by brent faiyaz. you brushed a strand of hair from your face, grabbing your chopsticks and taking a bite of your hibachi noodles.

“i can help, y’know. i’m not a total jarhead,” toji spoke up, nursing a cup of rice in hand as he looked at you, a playful glint in his eyes. he’d been so quiet you forgot he was even here.

“really? could’ve fooled me.” you muttered, ignoring the way his eyes burned into you.

he quipped an eyebrow. “wow, you think that little of me?” he pressed his hand against his chest, feigning to be hurt.

“yep.” you popped your lips on the p,sketching out a picture.

you were initially hesitant when toji had first asked if he could come over so you two could work on the project, especially after his last outburst. but, you didn’t really have a choice. if he decided to be petty and tell your professor you were refusing to let him work on the project that’d be your ass. he didn’t strike you as a snitch type, but you didn’t put it past him.

so every weekend, he would come over and work. scratch that—watch you work. you’d given up on actually trying to read him; he was so damn cagey. maybe he actually was part of the mafia. surprisingly, he’d been to class on time lately. much to your annoyance, he’d sit next to you every day. a part of you thought he was warming up to you.

he never would tell you where the bruises came from, no matter how hard you’d press him. it seemed like a regular occurrence where his nose would bleed and you’d be patching him up, a part of your weekend routine now it seemed. you’d mentioned you were hungry and he’d dashed some hibachi; it was a sweet gesture, but your guard was still up.

you peer up at him as he stands to his feet, stretching. the way his muscles ripple under his black compression shirt is almost hypnotic. you can't help but feel a growing heat between your legs as you catch a glimpse of his sharp v-line. the sight is so tantalizing that you quickly snatch your eyes away, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

he plops down next to you, his legs brushing against yours. the contact sends an unexpected shiver up your spine, making you hyper-aware of his presence.

“i said i’ll help.” he grabs the pen from your hand with a swift motion. you glare at him, reaching out to reclaim the pen. curse his long ass arms; he's holding it just out of your reach, teasing you with that infuriating grin of his. he seems to relish watching you struggle, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“toji, quit!” you huff, stretching again to grab the pen. in your effort, you lose your balance and fall against his chest. your breath hitches as his scent envelops you, a mix of something woodsy and masculine that makes your head spin. your heart is pounding in your chest now, each beat echoing in your ears.

fuck, why’re are you feeling like this?

“do i make you nervous y/n?” his eyes peer into yours as you finally sit up,flustered.

“n-no.”

“your heartbeat says otherwise.”

he can tell he makes you nervous, from the way you're always shifting under his gaze. he has to admit, you're a beautiful woman—extremely stuck up, but beautiful nonetheless. your hair, usually styled to perfection, is down tonight, framing your face in soft waves. you're wearing a matching two-piece set that hugs your curves in all the right places, and his eyes can't help but ogle your breasts, which threaten to spill out with every breath you take.

he notices the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, a clear sign of your nervousness. the delicate fabric of your outfit clings to your skin, accentuating your figure. his gaze lingers on the swell of your breasts, the way they strain against the fabric, almost as if they're begging for release. your beauty is undeniable, and even though he finds your attitude infuriating, he can't deny the magnetic pull he feels towards you.

as you shift uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, he smirks, enjoying the effect he has on you. it's a game to him, watching you squirm, knowing that despite your aloof exterior, he's getting under your skin.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare.”

in a swift motion, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards him. before you could protest, he pressed a firm kiss against your lips, silencing you.

for a moment, the tension melted away, replaced by the raw, undeniable connection between you.

your mind screamed for you to pull away, but when he hooked his fingers into your face and pulled you deeper into his embrace you couldn’t help but drape your arms around his neck.

you knew there was no going back after this, toji fucking zenin was trouble and now you’d been sucked in.

you gasp in shock as toji lifts you up, your legs instinctively hooking around his waist. it takes you by surprise; you weren't exactly built like barbie. your arousal grows, finding this extremely attractive as he kneads your thighs through your pants.

"so damn thick, i've been dying to do this," he murmurs against your tingling lips.

you shudder as your back collides with the wall, the sound of a glass frame falling and crashing against the floor.you don’t care, your head is light with the way toji kisses you,hungrily against the wall, fingertips digging into your skin.

his tongue sought entrance and you immediately parted your lips, allowing him to explore your mouth feverently.

you can’t help but moan as his tongue dances with yours, each movement like a shock.your hands find the nape of his neck and then his hair,stomach clenching at the whine as you tug.you can feel your pussy dripping with arousal as his cock presses against you.

"please, i need you," you whine breathlessly into his mouth.

a smirk tugs at his lips. "you like to act all high and mighty, yet i've barely touched you and you're already begging me to touch your pussy." he lowers you, fingers deftly pulling at the hem of your pants.

you swallow thickly, watching as he pulls the fabric down your thighs. you shiver as he kisses your thighs, fingers looping around your underwear and pulling them down.

his mouth waters at the sight of your arousal seeping down your leg. he can't help but run his tongue along the sticky trail, making you moan softly as your head falls back against the wall.

"lay on the bed, ass up," he commands, tapping your thigh.

you waste no time getting on the bed, stomach pressed against the sheets as you arch your back in anticipation. you can feel the bed dip with his weight and your stomach flips; fuck, you're so horny it's unbearable.

"oh my fucking god," you whine out, feeling his tongue press flat against your throbbing clit. you want to scream as his tongue moves over you slowly, lapping up your juices, savoring the way you taste.

you're so damn tasty, and he can't help but pull his throbbing dick from his sweats. one hand strokes himself while the other digs into your ass, holding you in place as he eats you out.

your moans are like music to his ears as he slurps, airy and light, making his cock twitch in his hand.

"mm’nn, o-oh," you mewl in pleasure, feeling his tongue flick over your throbbing bud. it's been so long since you'd been touched like this; toji knows, he can tell by the way you're shaking.

"look how you're falling apart." toji murmurs against you, pulling you deeper into his face by your ass. he moans into you as he strokes himself, large hands sliding up and down his veiny cock. he sucks you with the same rhythm he's stroking himself, his moans vibrating against you.

he doesn’t mind the way you’re dripping down his face; if anything, it makes him harder. he has you in the palm of his hand and knows it—hell, even you know it. your eyes squeeze shut as his slick tongue pushes past your lips, exploring you further. you curse softly, back arching as you grip the sheets.

he’s devouring you like a starved man, knots filling your stomach as he swirls his tongue inside you.

the room is filled with the wet sounds of his ravaging. he can’t help but lose himself as he massages his swollen tip, jaw clenching with each lick of your throbbing pussy.

“eating me s-s-so good,” you cry out, spurring him on. he tucks himself back his pants and grasps your round ass with both hands, groaning at how soft your brown skin is under his calloused hands. he pulls your cheeks apart, admiring the messy sight. you’re so damn wet, and he loves the way he can see your pussy pulsating.

he braces his arms further onto the bed, tongue now swirling over your center quickly. you cry out, feeling his fast movements over your sensitive pussy.

"grind on me," toji husks, reveling in the way your pussy lips drag across his face. tears brim your eyes as you move slowly, mouth agape in pleasure at the sensation. his slight stubble has your stomach twisting as it pricks you.

"mm’fuck," you sob as toji explores you, his tongue dancing around the rim of your asshole and it’s hard to ignore the way your stomach is tightening.

"let’s stretch this pretty thing out,hm." he hums,sliding his pointer and index finger through your folds.

tears finally spill from your eyes as toji moves roughly, "your fingers are s-so l-ong," you whine, feeling them against your cervix.

“you’re so tight, hope i don’t break you. ” he grins, pressing a wet kiss on your quivering thigh.

you shudder at the sensation, “m’not fragile,” you shakily breathe out, body jutting forward each time toji pushes his fingers back into you. his hand is coated in your juices, your wet cunt pulling at him enticingly.

“oh yeah?” he challenges, curving his fingers at your hilt and attaching his lips to your asshole. your eyes snap closed, enjoying the way the knot grows in your stomach as toji pushes you towards the edge.

“you gonna cum?” toji asks, and you can hear the cockiness in his voice.

you whimper, “n-no,”

“liar,” he grunts, “tell that to your greedy pussy clamping down on me.”

one last swirl of his tongue, and a prod of his fingers, and your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. toji’s fingers don’t let up; he’s still working you roughly, not ready to pull his fingers out of your wetness.

“s-sensitive, please—“ you gasp out, finding it hard to grasp your words at the sensation.

“thought you weren’t fragile,” toji sneers behind you.

“m’fk off,” you sob, fisting the sheets.

“cumming on my fingers yet still so damn feisty,” he mocks, a smirk evident in his voice.

you’re seeing stars as toji fucks you, you’re so damn sore that your cervix is crying. you whine as toji finally pulls his fingers out, he can’t help but pop his fingers into his mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue.

he could eat you for hours.

your eyes feel heavy as your orgasm dissolves. “unt unt, not so fast, sleepy,” toji’s hand cracking over your flesh. you wince and meet his gaze, his face soaked in your juices, your clit throbs at the sight. you need him buried inside of you, immediately.

you slide off the bed, trying to ignore the way your legs feel like jelly. damn, this man is a certified munch. he smiles in amusement, watching you struggle to walk.

“you gonna undress me, baby?” he teases.

you nod, fingers playing at the hem of his dark shirt before pulling it over his head. you could drop to your knees now. almost every inch of his toned body is inked, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. he’s so damn built, you’re sure every muscle has a muscle.

why the fuck does he always hide behind hoodies? he’s gorgeous.

“you’re so pretty,” you mumble, dropping to your knees and pulling his pants down. you can see his bulge pressing against his underwear, a slight wet stain from his pre-cum.

you hook your fingers beneath the band and pull them down, his cock smacking you across the face. he’s huge, and you’re regretting your remark about not being fragile. he’s at least eight inches, thick girth making you clench your legs shut.

“you scared?” he hums, hands finding your hair.

“no.” you lie, yet again.

“right, open your mouth, pretty.”

you obey.

toji groans loudly as he sinks into your mouth. you struggle to take him and grip the back of his thighs.

“fuck,” toji breathily whines, hips slowly rocking into your mouth.

“so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he grunts, pushing back his hair from his face. you can only gurgle as he thrusts into you, soft strains of curses fumbling from his pretty lips.

your nails dig into the back of his thighs as he picks up speed. he’s so fucking deep in your throat you cry out, but it’s muffled by his dick.

his hands rest on the side of your head as he moves it to his own pace. he tilts your head back and groans as he feels himself hit the back of your throat.

the wet sounds emanating from you as he rocked his hips were incredibly lewd, making him twitch as he heard you struggle to accommodate him.

“fuck,” he swallows thickly, resisting the urge to go berserk on your mouth. your tongue swirls over his veiny dick each time he pulls out, you love the way his thighs tremble each time. you also love the way he’s vocal; not a lot of men are.

but toji’s not afraid to vocalize the pleasure he’s receiving.

he groans each time he feels his tip prod against the back of your throat. fuck, if he keeps going, he’ll nut in your mouth.

you gaze up at him, stomach clenching at the sight. his thick eyebrows are furrowed over rolled-back eyes, his mouth slightly ajar as you suck him.

he’s so damn beautiful.

his balls smack you each time he pushes back in. you let one of his thighs go and massage them between your fingers.

he cries out, legs threatening to buck from pleasure. your face is a saliva-covered mess as toji continues to fuck your face; you probably look like a slut, but you don’t care. you only care about making him cum.

he’s holding your hair in a clenched fist, watching in admiration as his spit-covered dick slides in and out of your mouth. he throbs at the sight, you’re so fucking sexy ugh.

“sucking m s’good.” he watches as you pop him out of your mouth, hands gliding vertically over his base as your mouth works his tip.

the wet gush of your hands on him is music to your ears, your hands now cupped in an ‘o’ shape. his inked abs glisten with sweat as he bucks his hips into your embrace , lips caught between his teeth.

your eyes catch his, they’re filled with lust and praise. his usually gray blue eyes are so dark they almost look black. his dick twitches in your hand, clearly loving the eye contact.

“such a pretty face, i wanna nut on it.” toji gasps softly, head lulling back as you jerk him faster. he’s full-on moaning now, he can’t hold them back anymore. you’re stroking him at the perfect speed.

a smirk plays on your lips,”so close already?”

toji’s jaw clenches and he pulls you to your feet immediately.

“so tired of you.”

“so fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, sporting a cheeky smile.

before you can comprehend, toji’s man spread on the bed and you’re in reverse cowgirl. a hiss fumbles from his mouth as you grip his base, “fucking teas—“ his words catch in his throat as you glide your slick pussy across him. his head suddenly feels heavy, and he aches at the idea of being inside of you.

your pussy is sticky and warm, the heat making him moan. you love the way his thighs shake each time you push his tip into your entrance and pop him back out, a trail of fluids glistening on his flushed tip.

your lips curl inwardly as you slowly sink down on him, sucking in a deep breath as he stretches you out painfully.

“it hurts,” you shake, shifting at the unfamiliar feeling.

“just a little bit more to take,” he coaxes, hands rubbing your back tenderly. you nod and sink onto him fully, mouth falling agape as you can practically feel him in your fucking stomach.

it takes a few seconds to let yourself settle around him. once you’re adjusted you begin moving.

“shitttt,” he drawls out, watching your brown ass bounce on him. you clutch the sheets for better grip, riding him with agility. toji can only moan as you fuck him.

it’s supposed to be the other way around. he’s supposed to be fucking you, but the way your greedy pussy is latching onto him . . .mmm.

“good ass pussy,”

he watches as your lips suckle around his cock as you slide up and down, his toes curls. you can feel his tip prodding into you deeply each time you descend, and it’s hard to keep from sobbing out.

his dick is so fat and your poor pussy is being pushed to its limits, but you don’t care.

“s-so deep,” you yelp, trying to keep your head up as you steadily move onto him. your back is slick with sweat as you move, a soft plap plap plap sound filling the room as your ass bounces against him.

“guess you’re not fragile after all, m’fuck,” toji grunts deeply as you twerk on his tip. if you keep it up he’ll be cumming in no time, it’s something about the way your ass bounces . . . mm mm mm.

you moan at his moans, quickening your pace as you ride him. your legs shake with each thud of his dick and you chew your lip to keep from shrieking.

your body is going to hate you tomorrow.

“look at that, creamin’ on my cock,” toji hums in contempt, watching the white substance build on his dick and stick to his pubes.

“c-creaming just for you,” you choke out, you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice. you’re in so much bliss you don’t care about the mess you’re causing , you’ll be embarrassed later.but,for now you’re desperate to cum.

your back arches in pleasure, eyes watering as you roll your hips on toji. his large hand delivers sharp smacks to your ass, eliciting cries from your lips with each hit , head finally drifting forward in a state of euphoria.

“mm, s-so good,” he hisses through clenched teeth, watching as you raise your hips up just enough that his tip stays in,before pushing his length back into you, pussy visibly gripping his dick each time you raise your hips back up.

“look at you taking all of me like a big girl. you’re so fucking sexy,” toji appreciates.your stomach flips at his gratification.

your arms shake underneath you, struggling to hold yourself up as pleasure racks your body. you endure, focusing on toji’s moans as you slam down on him.

you’re so drunk off his dick.

“o-oh my g-god,” you mewl, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach. you hate that you’re close so fast, but the way he feels against your walls is driving you insane.

“so close already?” toji bites down a moan, using your own words against you. you want to say something snarky, but the words won’t leave your mouth; you can only grind your hips against him, desperately.

“let me finish you off,” he mutters breathlessly, you nod,and he curses softly as you slowly pull off of him, his hard cock bouncing off his stomach. he gazes at your gaping hole, cream trailing out as your pussy pulsates.

toji has you in missionary before you know it, pounding into you at inhuman speed as he holds your calves over your head. his silver chain swings enticingly in your face.

you look so pretty to him, eyes screwed shut as he drills into your quivering cunt, hair clinging to your face, lip caught between your teeth as small whimpers escape.

your legs shake with each deep thrust , ass lifting off the bed with each movement. spots intrude your vision as toji thuds into you. “mm’ so wet,” toji drawls out, enjoying the sounds you’re making.

toji slows his thrusts, continually pushing into you deeply but slower. he lowers your legs and you take the opportunity to hook them around his waist, pulling him deeper into you.

“fuck,” he whines, lowering himself down to kiss you. your lips meet his passionately, arms draping around his neck.

your moans are soft in his ear, between your ass clapping against his thighs and the feel of your nails in his hair he’s in bliss.

“you feel so good,” you gasp as toji begins to lift his hips slightly so that he can feel you deeper, a breathy "shit" uttering from his lips. whenever he speaks in that deep voice you want to suck his dick,yes again. it’s so sexy and guttural.

“you like when i'm deep inside you like this?” he whispers, hands spreading your cheeks causing you to gulp down a groan. you nod, a whimper leaving your lips.

he moans at the sultry whimper, your square acrylic nails scratching at his back now. tears spot your vision as you try to pull away from him, overwhelmed by the pleasure. toji shakes his head,pinning you in place.

“unt unt, take this shit.”

a loud slap across your round ass.

his hand wraps around your throat, and you feel a slight pressure as he chokes you gently. your breath quickens, and a wave of pleasure washes over you, making your stomach clench.

"you like that, don't you?" he whispers in your ear, his voice husky and filled with desire.

you nod, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. his hand moves swiftly, delivering a light slap to your face. it’s not hard enough to hurt, but the sudden sting and the unexpectedness of it make your core throb with excitement.

“so fucking sexy.”

he puckers your mouth, holding it open as he leans in closer. you feel a mix of anticipation and curiosity, your heart racing. then, he spits into your mouth, and to your surprise, a surge of excitement rushes through you.

your eyes widen slightly, and you swallow, feeling an odd thrill that you hadn't expected. the act is strangely intimate, and it ignites a fire within you. he watches your reaction closely, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the effect it has on you.

"good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. the words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself wanting more, completely captivated by the intensity of the moment.

you can feel that familiar tingling sensation in your stomach and know you’re close. you want to scream when he pushes into your g-spot,his eyes glisten.

“got you,this is where you’re weak right?”

he drills into that spot until you’re coming undone. he wraps his hands in yours, teary eyes meeting his as he encourages you.

“it’s okay, cum on me. it’s yours.” he husks, burying his face in your neck as he squeezes your hands through your high. you’re exhausted, as toji fucks you through yet another orgasm.

he’s nearing his end, and another push of his hips sends his trembling dick over the edge. thick ropes of semen decorate your pink walls, thick creampie oozing out. he curses and shudders, hands pulling out of yours.

the mattress dips as he lays beside you, chest heaving. he stiffens when you cuddle into his side. it seems like forever as he lays there with you, you’re still curled into his side and he can’t bring himself to embrace you.

he’s relieved when he hears your soft snores.

he feels like an asshole when he gently slides from underneath you, praying you don’t wake up as he pulls his clothes on. he can’t get attached to you, he corrupts everything he touches and he doesn’t want that for you. he knows he’s a mess, he’s trouble.

he also knows you’ll be pissed when you wake up and see his text message,

sorry, but you’ll have to find a new partner.

he tells himself it’s for the best as he starts his motorcycle, besides, he barely knows you.

but the unfamiliar pang in his chest says otherwise. he can't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s falling for you.

@ CINNN4MON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.DO NOT STEAL OR MODIFY. MWAH, BYE

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥

Summary: Your husband has been deeply troubled as of late. In an attempt to guide him from his distress, he brings a concern of his to light that only serves to tip you into your own fears.

Warnings: Nonsexual nudity, AFAB implied w/ usage of "breasts," the title "wife" is used. Angst and some fluff. Small hints of morally gray reader. She's simply in love with her demented husband.

Notes: 5.6k words. Just something short and sweet; I had to write a comfort fic for our favorite, pretty war criminal after the season finale. But I may have just made it worse actually. Not proofread.

It is all teetering into chaos. Suspended along the edge of a great precipice. The depths of which you cannot spy the bottom of. The worry, the agitation looms heavily over the castle. Over the entirety of King's Landing. Buzzing and constant like the bothersome scattering of flies. And where there are flies, death is near. You see the dread in their eyes. The fearful whispers that are passed between the bowed heads of the servants as they work; the horrified, faithless gossip casted about by the socialites and bureaucrats as they traversed the halls in secretive conversations that are much louder than they believe. 

The tensions have only been mounted with the news that the Blacks have come into the resources of new dragonriders, the scales are looking as though they are tipping in their favor. It has all strained and on edge. With the order of the city's gates having been closed by Aemond's decree, the smallfolk have been up in arms against the order. Cries of outrage chanting and rising up from the masses in pleas against their Prince Regent. Protests that warn of starvation, proclaiming that he is cruel and uncaring. Not even the assured decimation of Sharp's Point by the scorching breath of Vhagar's fire has done anything to calm the storm brewing. 

The tides are still swelling. Churning and tossing to soon lift from above and collapse down upon all of your heads. The toll of it weighs heavy on all of you like the promise of damnation. Hope is dimming. The support it once offered giving underneath itself, curling in on its own body like a beheaded serpent. But it is the man who bears it all who is in the throes of violently crumbling underneath the burden of this war. 

You see it tearing at him. Pushing down on the once prideful set of his shoulders, pressing down upon the crown of his head so that it no longer sits perfectly high in unwavering confidence. The light of the zealous fire that once blazed within his eye has dimmed. Starved and suffocated; reduced to smoldering flickers light that mean to lash out in his near crazed attempts at preserving what little footing his still has in this war. 

It is almost as though he is dying right before your eyes. The final wild struggle of an animal caught between a set of fangs, claws and teeth lashing in the hopes to wound its bigger opponent. You have never seen him in such a state. The vulnerability that bleeds through the thin cracks in his armor worry you; unlike any sort of raw emotion that he has ever displayed before. It is fear. And it is almost unsettling to see on the face of your fearless husband. 

He is breaking directly before you, and now the only optimism you have of keeping him whole comes from the pressure of your own hands. 

His own mother has turned him away. You see it in the way she stares at him. Observing him as though he is a stranger, a monster wearing the flesh of her child - as though her name is not marked on this war just the same. It makes your skin prickle. Body flushing from heat and contempt as she silently disowns the very man who raises her banner, and fights in the name of his house. No one else will offer him solace as he labors underneath the crushing weight of the kingdom. Not his mother, not his sister, not the advisors in the king's counsel. It pains you to see him breaking. To see him scrambling to orient himself and find a way to victory with hardly an ally to assist him. 

So utterly lost. 

That is how you find when you slip into his apartments in the night. The candleflames flicker about the dim space in drops of amber, serving as your only guide to traverse the room in search of him. His bed and his writing desk are vacant of his presence. The latter cluttered and askew with parchment and documents, quills, vials of ink, and seal stamps strewn about its face. But it is the empty goblet of wine is what concerns you the most. He does partake in spirits quite casually, at supper and often when he evaluates the latest strategies before turning in for bed. You have yet to ever see him lose himself to the influence of the drink. Only indulging as a means to relax himself; a subtle rosy hue to dust his cheeks, but not enough to become untoward or dull-witted by its effects. 

But the circumstances now are so much different. You can only hope that he has not turned to it in the attempt to drink himself into a stupor or allowed himself to become sloppy from the sway of the spirit. 

"Aemond?" It is both a question and a call as your vision darts about the space, flickering back over to his bed to see if you might spot the impression of a body tucked underneath the drape of its blankets but they are flat and perfectly lain along the mattress. "My love, are you here?" 

It remains deathly silent. The only bit of noise belonging to the low whisper of the flames softly darting about their wicks in the draft that drags along the room; the delicate billow of the breeze drifting through the columns of the open windows, gliding into to the room from the guide of the wind that calls outside. Most of it sneaking in through the open threshold that conducts to the balcony. 

A low breath puffs from your chest. Hardly a sigh, but it dares you to feel relief as you step towards the entry way to near the stone platform the projects from the side of the castle. You notice the stars first. The bright, cosmic glimmer of them as they hang from their place within the silky black cradle of the darkened heavens. The faint lights of the city below nearly blending with the night sky, though the oily sheen of the lantern fires can hardly compete with the star dust above. 

In your observations, it does not take you long to spy the form of the prince, standing along the banister as he stares down at the city, bare hands gripping onto the rough barrier. You can see how tightly he clutches onto it from the tension in his fingers, stretched and taut along it so tightly that you fear the stone may crumble and break beneath his palms. Relief floods you at the sight of him, though it is quickly dulled and banished by the worry that replaces it. Snuffed by the rigid way he holds himself, as though he is only moments from snapping and giving in on the pressures of his own mind and collapsing upon the stone floor beneath his feet. 

He becomes hard on himself in times like these. No matter how indifferent he tries to project himself, the opinions and thoughts of others often swarm over him like a cloud of angered hornets, and it can be a trouble for him to shake. It is never easy to guide him out of his thoughts. You know that he is aware of your presence, but he has been caught too tightly within the chaos trapped within his mind to respond. The deluge of emotions that he often refuses to outwardly show too great. And knowing him, he has willingly turned himself in to the anger and the bitter spite that wars within him, finding solace in its familiarity. He is too stubborn for his own good, but that will never be enough to keep you from trying draw him out of it. 

Your feet seem to cross the stretch of the floor that separates you, silently carrying you to him with the soft patter of their soles along the chilled stone. He does not give you any indication that he is aware of your approach. Not the tilt of his head or a single murmured word in greeting, but he does not startle when your hands lift to sweep up his back. The leather of his doublet is tepid with the slight cold in the air and the warmth radiating from his body, smooth and buttery underneath your palms as they sweep around his torso to press him against you in an embrace. You let your cheek to rest along the flat of his shoulder, the silky strands of his hair tickling your skin; your lungs pulling in the subtle spice and musk of his scent. 

"You should come to your bed; it is getting late." You suggest, allowing your fingertips to toy with the metal clasps on the front of his garment, tracing the engravings in their shape. You nearly expect to get no response from him. For him to continue to wallow and torture himself alone in his silence. But then you feel it almost more than you hear it, thrumming along your hands from the depths of his chest as his voice rises out in a hum. The only verification that he has acknowledged your words. 

It is better than silence. A response from Aemond is better than naught in these circumstances. It gives you some hope that you may be able to usher him from the fog of his oppressions. 

"Come," you urge softly. "You have fretted yourself enough." 

"Have I?" It comes from him in that serene tone of his but the bite at the edge of it is more than apparent. You know that it is not aimed at you. Not directly, at least. In his mind, and on the battlefield, he has been backed into a corner, and like an animal it causes him to lash out and bare his teeth, even at things that are familiar. "That seems to be everyone's judgement as of late. I suppose I should listen then, hmm? Roll over and brandish my belly for Rhaenyra's dragonriders to feast upon. Would that satisfy you then?" 

"It would not, and you know that." Your voice comes out much firmer than intended, though you do not feel guilt over it. For someone so logical, Aemond is often swept over by his emotions and the voice of reason is easily drowned out. "Look at me, please." 

He makes no attempt shift from his stance, continuing to stare out along the horizon. Watching the city in its slumber, and you have to wonder if he is imagining it in a state of ruin. Preparing for the worst already. Bracing for the destruction that has yet to come. Picturing the roofs and spires lit aflame in a blaze so great that it would turn the night into day, smoke twisting up to the heavens to brush against the stars. 

You loosen your grip around him, giving yourself enough separation just to stand along his shoulder so that you are able to look upon his face. He refuses to meet you vision with his own. The pale glint of his eye now dark underneath the cover of the night as he peers ahead. But already you are able to spot so many different emotions reflecting within it. A confused storm: anger, bewilderment, sorrow, loss. You know that he must feel as though he is drowning. Caught and strung along by his responsibilities. Pulled between the pressures of his duties and the rejection casted by his mother. So many conflicting obligations with no way to properly juggle them. You know that you have no true way of guiding him through the blood and fire of this war. Of the strategies that it requires. But you can hope to be some kind of support. A beacon breaking through the thick wall of an oncoming tempest. 

You lift a hand up to his face, sweeping your fingers past the shape of his jaw to cradle his cheek, feeling the texture of the scar underneath your palm. You are gentle in your direction when you guide him to look at you, and despite his earlier remark, he allows you shift his head to you willingly. Leaning into the weight of your hand as his eye darts to meet yours. The confusion and torment burn inside the pale hue of it, glinting far brighter than the traces of light reflecting along the angles carved into his jeweled eye.  

You are nearly surprised that he has not removed the sapphire yet. You know that it often ails him. When the precious stone absorbs the chill around it, or the dull edges catch along the sensitive flesh of its cradle. Rattling about his socket and causing the tender tissue within to ache and swell with irritation. Another punishment for himself it seems. Intent to burry down inside his own suffering. 

"You must stop this insistence on driving yourself towards your own destruction. You will find no answers by forcing yourself awake at night, ruminating over the criticisms of your mother. Of the council."

Something venomous passes through his expression, but it is quickly traded out by what looks to be exhaustion and a diluted sense of irritation. A subtle furrow pinched between his brows; lips lightly pursed.  "What would you have me to? Laze about all day on my bed. Stuffing my gullet with wine as my brother would while our enemies close in around us?" 

"No." You reply promptly, allowing your hand to drop from its place, running your thumb along his cheek in a final caress as it falls to your side. You do not miss the way that his head nearly bends to follow its wake. "I would have you rest. An eased mind is a sharp one. " 

"Rest." He echos in a murmur, allowing the word to roll off his tongue as though it is a foreign one. "Rest is not something that I am afforded. Each moment of "rest" is another second allotted for our enemies to draw closer."  

You understand his reasoning. His anxieties are not unfounded. But that does not make them any less frustrating. His intellect, the determination that fuels him and wit of his tongue have always been some of his most endearing qualities to you. It drew you towards him like a siren song. But all of those traits are currently making you feel as though you could bludgeon your head against a thick wall. You fear that he will collapse underneath their breadth.

"They will draw near regardless of your slumber or not. " That stubborn expression on his face remains undeterred. Still fully unconvinced it seems. Or perhaps he seems to be resisting against your wishes because he is merely in search of some sort of victory, no matter how measly in spirit it is. And as much as you would like to indulge your husband in his efforts in feeling vindicated, this is not a battle you can allow him to win. Not for his sake. "If you will not do it for yourself then do it for me. Comfort your wife. That is too apart of your duties is it not?" 

You notice his nostrils flare, his chest rising suddenly as he draws in a deep breath. Likely to ground his own irritation. His eye shimmers lowly in the dim cast of the candlelight projecting from the confines of his room, spilling out past the threshold to dance along the dark blue of the sapphire. Like sunlight scattered about the shifting face of an ocean. He is angry. That much is and has been apparent. Left astray to dangle and thrash along the fraying support of a rope. You only wished that he would allow you to catch him instead of treating you like the ones who have tied him to the line. 

But you notice something waver in him then. The breaking of a dam. The thawing of ice. The vulnerability displayed could destroy you if you allowed it. To cause you to fall apart underneath the sheer sense of raw loss and uncertainty. He is so troubled. So lost. Forced to display a facade of unwavering poise and resolve no matter the dangers that prevail ahead. Constantly trailing after the role that he was not allowed to fulfil despite being better suited and now left to stand alone as the support of his own house falters. Superior enough to be wielded as a trump piece in combat, in council, but not benefitting enough to bear the title of king in the eyes of the advisory and his family. An injustice you can hardly stomach yourself. 

"Come," you urge once again. You voice much lighter than before, softened by the distress in his gaze. There is still a hesitance in him. The reluctance to relinquish what little control he still has over himself, but that control seems to snap when your hand closes over his, fingers threading to join them. It only takes a slight tug for him to follow. The fight in him absolving to trail after you, allowing you to guide him back into his chambers and away from the open, chilled air of the night. 

The atmosphere within the safety of the apartment walls is much warmer. Almost balmy along you skin, perfumed with the scent of wax and ink. Another reminder of the documents and worries that he tirelessly toils over. The bloodshed and the possibility of dragonfire. But you push it all to the recesses of your mind. Burying it all deep in favor of escorting him to the side of his bed. It is only then that you allow your hand to remove from his, and you mourn the loss of his warmth against your palm. 

"Remove your clothes," you order gently. You notice just the faintest hint of amusement nudging at the corner of his mouth. The possibility of a smile, though it does not fully come. You can still see the traces of his mirth. Of lust as well. Even while he does not properly convey it, you allow your delight to grace upon your expression. Your lips lifting upward as you shake your head to admonish him delicately. "Not tonight." 

He makes no complaints as he begins to unfix the clasps of his doublet. Unhooking the fine metal rungs with lithe fingers to shed the garments, uncaring as it lands along the floor. He is just as nonchalant about the rest. Shedding and discarding his undershirt and his breeches just as quickly after tugging of his boots. Baring his nude form to you. It is a state that you have seen him many times before, but still, you are unable to keep yourself from tracing the agile shape of his body. Admiring the swell of strength in his arms, the defined cut of muscle along his torso, the flaccid condition of his cock hanging between his thighs. 

The spike of heat that rushes throughout your being is tempting, but currently unwelcome. On any other night you would have basked in it. Pursued after the warmth and hedonism, but this is not one of those nights. When you manage to will yourself to meet his eye, you are forced to notice the smirk that lifts at the curled edges of his mouth. Satisfied and preening underneath your salacious attentions. 

"Not tonight, ābrazȳrys?" His inquiry is teasing and arrogant. And finally, for the first time since you have sought him out you see the man that lies beyond the pain and distress. The man that strides about the kingdom with his head lifted high. A head deserving the weight of a crown. 

"Not tonight, my love. " You answer, both a playful jab and a truth as you pluck at the neckline of your shift to allow it to join his clothes along the chilled stone beneath your feet. He only offers a velveteen hum in response as his eye sweeps over you. Just as gluttonous as yours had been as you move to climb astride the bedding, making sure to toss the blankets aside before shuffling to rest the flat of your back along the cushion of his pillows and the embellished headboard behind them. You sit, unfaltering underneath his focus. If anything, the crude nature of his observations only emboldens you. Even past the reasonings of lust. He views you as though you were crafted just for him. Sewn together by the gods and animated by stardust and earth to be worshipped and praised by his sight and hand. 

You like to believe that he was born for the same purpose. A god amongst men built by fire, wind and blood. Designed to be revered by your voice and mouth. He is beautiful beyond compare. Fierce in his loyalty and cunning. Unrelenting in his determination and ferocity. Like a deity of war. 

He does not wait for a cue as he follows after you, climbing along the bed and into your waiting arms to lie himself within the cradle of your hips, draping the length of his body along yours as he settles his head against the cushion of your stomach. He allows himself to go pliant against you. Indulging in your warmth just as you do with him. The heat radiating from him making you turn lax. The both of you melding to each other. You observe him at his place tucked into you. Admiring the pale fan of his lashes resting against the sharp contour of his cheekbones, the proud rise of his nose. He is gorgeous like this. As though he had been sculpted from a fine marble. The statue of a great god - a king - come to life. 

You glide you fingers through the silken, silvered strands of his hair. Combing your nails along his scalp and you are all but rewarded by the way that he seems to melt even more, the tension leaving his body. Going slack and supple; his nose daring to nuzzle along at your breasts as he attempts to burrow himself closer like he wants to bathe in your warmth. That stubborn furrow is still hitched between his brows. Immediately letting you know that his troubles have yet to be fully evicted from him. His mind is no doubt just as frenzied as before even though his body relents to the comfort of his bed and the weight of you. 

"You truly do stress yourself too much," you murmur. Your fingertips skirt downward, tracing along the nape of his neck, sweeping your thumbs along the sensitive skin at the edge of his scalp. A shudder trembles softly down his spine. "It does not suit such a pretty face." 

His lips twitches again, though that furrow comes back with a vengeance. His brows cinching close in the guise of annoyance, and if it were not the fleeting appearance of that brief smile then you would have truly believed him to be angry. "I have no ear for listening to your jests, lady wife. " 

"Not a jest," you promise playfully. "I wouldn't dare. " 

Another low, rumbling hum rises up from his chest in the semblance of a response. His chin tilts back just the slightest, baring his throat to you. Offering it to you as you move your hands downward to cradle the sides of his face, fingertips gliding along the edge of his jaw. The contented noise he makes nearly reminds you of the purrs that leave Vhagar as she lounges along the forest floor. The pleased growl of a dragon. A tranquil silence drifts along the room, as though it is brought in by the tepid breeze that glides in through the threshold of the balcony. It is calm. Peaceful for once. It feels as though it has been years since an hour without fear or dread has haunted you. And finally, it is simply you and your husband. Free to relax and just simply exist. To lounge within the warmth of each other as though you were lying under the sun. Untouched by war and bloodshed. 

You continue to massage your fingers along the shape of his skull, combing them through his hair and lightly scratching your nails along the sensitive skin almost absentmindedly as you allow your own head to rest against the board of the bed. The lull of sleep is already calling. Inviting and comforting in its beckon as the influence of it threatens to take ahold of you, but a part of you resists. Insistent on enjoying the dulcet pleasure of this moment. Intent to stretch it out for as long as possible before it slips away from you and the both of you must return to your duties. To the horrors of the world. It is here that you are safe. He is safe. 

"We should make contingencies in the event of my death." 

The quiet sound of his voice, the words abruptly registering in your mind feel as though they gut you once they are fully understood. Just the prospect of it has your heart skipping, fluttering wildly within your chest and your hands are forced to pause; smooth tresses caught between your fingers. Your eyes snap open as you head bows to look down upon him from his place against your torso. He is already watching you, the sapphire gleaming sharply in the firelight but the pale hue of his eye is soft despite the sobriety of his words. You see clearly without asking that this is not some sort of twisted attempt at morbid, tactless humor. He is well and truly serious. A dull wave of nausea wells up in the pit of your stomach as you watch him. 

"What has brought this about?" You ask sharply. There is a raised edge in your tone. Defensive and unsettled, but your vulnerability is also apparent. Easily heard with the way that your breath snags in your throat. 

"It is only an honest concern. " He answers, but it is clipped. A bear explanation and it gives way that he is dodging the question. Offering scrap to appease you. "One that I should have prepared for long ago, when this war was little more than a whisper on a gossips lip." 

"I won't hear of it." 

"You are my wife," he insists. But with each utterance it only drives a slash of phantom pains into the depth of your heart. You swear that you can hardly manage to pull in a single lungful of air. "That does not shield you but make you a target. And we cannot expect to win this battle with Vhagar alone. If I were to be slain, they may very well come for you. A trophy of this conflict-"  

"Aemond, that is enough." It comes out as a warning. Or perhaps a plea. It is so difficult to know. It is impossible to tell when you feel as though you are breaking in half even while he rests safely inside your embrace, confronting you with the single thing that you have always feared. The single terror that gnaws and bites and lashes at your heart and spirit every time that he sits astride Vhagar and lifts into the air for battle. The horror that he may never come back. It had eaten at you when he had snuck off to Rook's Rest without your knowledge, only to return hours later smelling pungent of dragonfire and the acrid sting of smoke. 

His lip's part, a rebuttal no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but it is quickly snuffed out by the desperate plea of your voice. A final beg of mercy.  

"You are my love, Aemond. Without you I cannot live." You nearly hate the sound of the raw emotion that pitches from your chest, but you are unable to control it. The intensity of it far too great. Welling up within you until it seems as though you may drown in your own trepidations. That your lungs will be squeezed in its grip until you suffocate on your own anguish. Your fingers thread around his hair, seeking out the warmth that lies underneath as though your mind requires confirmation that he is still here with you. Safe in your bed. "You are not allowed to die. Promise me, Aemond. Promise that you will return to me."

His eye skirts along your face, as though committing your features to memory. You can tell exactly where his vision lands from the weight of the concentration in his gaze as he studies the structure of your lips, the sweep of your cheekbones, the shade of your eyes. It is awful how much it feels as he is staring at you as though it will be his last. 

"Please," you whisper once more. 

A plethora of emotions flicker along his countenance. Time seems to be frozen when he lifts himself from your grasp. Your hands leave him reluctantly, clutching onto the sheets alongside you to stave off the urge to reach for him. But you are stopped when he rises to nudge his head to your own to meet your eyes. It gives you no other options but to meet his eye. To face the intensity and adoration that burns within it. The flecks of violet and azure seeming to blaze with his fervency. 

"I promise, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys, I will return to you. Be it a thousand years in this life or the next, no man nor god will keep us apart." 

A sob could have torn itself from your throat had you not a better grip on yourself. Though you do not have enough control to manage in articulating a response. You can only nod, lifting your hands once again to grip at the junction of his neck and shoulders. Needing to feel the warmth of his flesh underneath your palms. His lips are soft as they press against yours. Simultaneously gentle and hungry as they coax yours into a kiss. It is languid. Unhurried but no less passionate. 

It is like a balm on the tearing placed upon your soul. Soothing and mild. You sigh into his mouth, drawing each other's air inside of your lungs in between the starved presses of your mouths. Holding scraps of the other within the pocket of your chests. But just as quickly as it had begun, he pulls away from you. Though he hardly gives you time to voice your complaints or to mourn as he guides you both to settle along the bedding. Mapping out your face with the fleeting brush of his lips, scattering them along your face until you both lay side by side to gaze upon each other. 

You cannot bear to look away from him now. The mere idea of it sounds akin to death. You are not sure how long you remain in that state. Simply beholding each other. Counting the breaths that he takes, how they puff across your face in warm brushes along your nose and cheeks. The candlelight has lightened his hair with glows of burning amber, as though molten gold has been spilled upon the pale strands; highlighting the contours of his body. Like a deity of light. Of fire.  

There is a peace in his expression now. And you are not certain if that concerns or alleviates you. The corners of his mouth have perked into a content smile, his eye unblinking in his admiration as though he is at peace. Sweeping over the shape of your breasts and rise of your hips down to the length of your legs. But it is untouched by lust. It is simply observing. Peaceful in his exploration of a body that he has touched many times already. As much as you would like to remain that way, fixed beneath the worship of his stare, you are unable to keep yourself from nudging yourself closer. Too weak to hold yourself back from returning him back into your arms where he is safe. Untouched by the war he wages. Protected from the consequence of dragonfire and sword. 

You rest you nose along the crown of his head, drawing in the scent of spice and wind that clings to his hair in the hopes of calming yourself. Of ripping yourself from the influence of your own worries and escaping the control of sleep that threatens to possess your body despite your terror. You want to focus only on the weight of him. The heat of his skin. The steady rise and fall of his breath. The press of his face tucked beneath your chin. 

"Sleep, ābrazȳrys." His voice thrums against your chest. It seems that even when he is not watching you, you are unable to escape his perceptiveness. That you cannot hide from the from him. He knows you too well; he feels the tension in your muscles, in your silence. Still, despite the urge to fight his tender order and to resist the weight of sleep, it is growing difficult. The urge to slumber is heavy on your eyelids, nudging them to close. And the comfort of his scent in your lungs only goads you closer. "I will be here when you wake." 

It sounds like another promise. And the assurance rings heavy in your ears, giving your mind the permission that it seems to have needed in order to welcome the blanket of rest. But all the while, as you descend into your slumber, you can only give yourself the solace that he is still here. As of now he is safe. Guarded from blood and death under the shield of the night. Drawn into an embrace while you both sleep as pair of lovers. 

[thecoldsoldiers]

“I don’t know why I get the blame for that. I just went to see Zemo, asked about the weird book he was reading and then the man just so happened to break himself out of jail.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Him and I

Summary - Bound by a passion that thrives on violence and chaos, they eliminate anyone who dares to cross them. Their love becomes both their greatest strength and their most dangerous weapon, a perfect match in their shared madness.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Arryn reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), violence (mentions)

Word count - 2044

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

He's out his head, I'm out my mind we got that love, the crazy kind.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. 

The expression settled on his face as he rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, slick with blood, which seemed to meld with his hand as though it were an extension of his very being, a dark instrument of his will.

The man's life had drained away at his feet, but Daemon seemed untroubled, as if violence was as natural to him as breathing. A crimson pool spread slowly beneath his boots, the thick blood glistening under the flickering torchlight like a river of molten rubies, each drop a silent witness to the carnage.

I flinched, a fleeting reaction to the brutality that had just unfolded before me but then, a slow smile crept across my lips. My gaze found Daemon's, his eyes already locked onto mine. 

There was no need for words between us. We understood each other in ways that transcended language, our bond forged in the crucible of blood and sharpened by the steel we wielded.

I licked my lips, savouring the metallic tang of blood, his blood. The fool had dared to speak ill of me, and now his life was nothing more than a bitter taste on my tongue, a reminder of the sweet vengeance.

I raised my thumb to wipe away a crimson smear, aware that the rest of my face was likely speckled with droplets, but I found I couldn't care less. 

This was the price of our love, a love that thrived in the shadows of violence, a love as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

The King had decreed that anyone who questioned me, the sister of his late wife, regarding the mysterious death of one of Alicent's ladies-in-waiting would lose their tongue. Daemon, ever the enforcer of our twisted justice, decided that wasn't enough. 

He wanted blood, and he had taken it without hesitation.

"Your Grace," Otto Hightower's voice cut through the tension, thick with anger as he turned to face the King. 

The man's indignation was palpable, his eyes flickering between the lifeless body on the floor and the King who had allowed this to happen but even Otto, with all his political manoeuvring and cold calculation, knew better than to challenge Daemon directly. 

Not when the bond between us was so absolute, so terrifyingly complete.

He saw the madness in our eyes, a madness that could not be swayed by reason or threats, and I could sense his hesitation, a fear born not of cowardice, but of knowing he was outmatched by a love that defied logic and thrived on chaos.

Daemon kills for me, I kill for him. We're both out of our minds, lost in a love so consuming it leaves no room for fear, no space for mercy. 

We've got the kind of love people whisper about in dark corners, the kind that burns too brightly, too fiercely, and leaves only ashes in its wake.

"This matter cannot be ignored," Otto declared, his voice edged with disgust as he turned his gaze toward me. His eyes bore into mine, seething with contempt, but I simply bit my lip to keep from laughing. 

He was so predictable in his self-righteous indignation, so easy to provoke.

"What would you have me do?" Viserys snapped, his frustration bleeding through every word. 

The burden of the crown weighed heavily on him, and Otto's relentless prying was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

"It is common knowledge that Prince Daemon's wife was present when the body of Lady Elia was discovered," Otto pressed on, his tone growing more insistent. "Merely a day after the lady had slandered Prince Daemon's name."

Viserys ran a weary hand over his face, his patience thinning, frayed by the constant tension between loyalty and fear, between the brother he loved and the monster that Daemon had become. 

I clenched my teeth to keep from lashing out. The accusations were nothing new, just more whispers and rumours in a court that thrived on such poison.

"Prince Daemon's wife has a name," I spat, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Otto turned to me, throwing his hands up in exasperation, clearly irked that this was the only part of his condemnation I had chosen to acknowledge.

"There is no proof that my sister-in-law killed Lady Elia. These are merely rumours," Viserys said, his voice calm but resolute as he met my gaze. I offered him a small, knowing smile, and he continued, "She would do no such thing."

"You say this only because she is your late wife's sister," Otto retorted, his voice sharp with accusation.

"Precisely," Viserys replied, his tone softening as he spoke of my sister. "Aemma would never have let it get this far... my Aemma."

Otto turned back to me, his eyes narrowing in disdain, but this time I didn't hold back. I allowed a proud smirk to spread across my face, mouthing a single word "Oops." His jaw clenched in response, but he had nothing left to say.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to continue this conversation," I said, feigning an upset tone as I glanced at Viserys with wide, innocent eyes.

"Of course, my dear," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. His affection for me, the last living reminder of his beloved Aemma, was a powerful shield against Otto's accusations.

"There will be no further discussions regarding Lady Elia's death," Viserys declared, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. His gaze shifted to the lifeless body at Daemon's feet, the head severed cleanly from the shoulders. "Let Lord Tarly be an example."

With those words, the matter was settled. Daemon, with a flicker of something dark and satisfied in his eyes, turned to me. 

Without a word, he took my hand, pulling me from the throne room and through the winding corridors of the Keep. His grip was firm, and possessive, as if he needed to feel my presence.

We moved in silence until we reached our chambers. The door closed with a solid thud, sealing us in our private world, away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares of others. 

The moment the latch clicked, Daemon pulled me to him, our bodies colliding with a desperate intensity. My chest pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping through his clothes as he held me close.

"The blood of my enemies looks absolutely beautiful on you," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, smearing a trace of dried blood. 

The touch was possessive, reverent as if he were admiring a work of art.

"Your enemies?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

"Any man who speaks ill of my wife is my enemy," he replied, his tone firm and unwavering. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently as he rested his hand on the nape of my neck, holding me in place.

"That's exactly what I like to hear," I whispered, my fingers slipping beneath his tunic, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

I began tracing the contours of his muscles with a feather-light touch. Feeling him shudder beneath my fingertips, the tension in his body turning to something darker, more primal.

In truth, those words were my lifeline, the assurance that no matter how deep we descended into darkness, he would always be there with me.

"Lady Elia?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble. There was no fear in his eyes, only a dark curiosity.

I smirked, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Rising onto my tiptoes, I leaned in close to his ear, my breath hot against his skin. 

"She insinuated that you were aggressive and unpredictable," I whispered, biting gently on his earlobe before pulling back to my given height. "I don't like it when people talk ill of my husband, so I killed her."

The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our shared madness. Daemon's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked smile. 

Without another word, he crushed his lips against mine in a kiss that was hungry, fierce, and unyielding. It wasn't a kiss of tenderness but one of raw passion, a fire that consumed us both. 

We stumbled backwards, our bodies entwined as we lost ourselves in the moment, in the shared understanding that we were unstoppable together. 

"Tell me what you want, darling," I murmured against his lips, already knowing the answer but craving the sound of his voice. 

His hands were impatient, already tugging at the fabric between us, desperate to feel skin against skin.

"You," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. His lips moved to my neck, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down my body, each one sending shivers of anticipation through me.

"Then have me," I whispered, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as I surrendered to the inevitable. "Take me."

His hands parted my legs, spreading them wide as he positioned himself. When he began to push inside me, the sudden intrusion made me gasp, my body reacting instinctively. My walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper, as that familiar, aching need built in my core.

He moved with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I arched against him, meeting his movements with my own, our hips colliding in a primal dance that spoke of love, possession, and the insatiable hunger we had for one another.

"Yes, just like that," I murmured, my voice breathy with pleasure as he adjusted his angle, the tip of his length grazing a spot deep within me that made my entire body shudder.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense.

"You feel so perfect," he growled, his voice thick with the kind of desire that bordered on obsession. "I could stay buried inside you forever."

It wasn't just lust, it was a desperate need, a hunger that could only be sated by knowing that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

A shiver ran through me at his words, my heart pounding in sync with the fierce rhythm of our bodies. 

"Then don't stop," I breathed, my nails raking across his back, leaving red marks in their wake. "I need you, all of you."

Each movement was precise, as though he were playing me like an instrument, drawing out the sweetest music with every thrust, every deep connection between us.

"You have all of me," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of prolonging the pleasure for both of us. "I'm yours, always."

I could feel the climax building, an unstoppable wave that threatened to crash over me, to pull me under and drown me in its depths. My grip on him tightened, nails biting into his flesh as I rode the edge of oblivion, his name spilling from my lips in a fervent chant.

"Let go," he urged, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. "Let me feel you come apart for me."

His words were my undoing. With one final, deep thrust, he pushed me over the brink, and I shattered. Pleasure exploded within me, a white-hot blaze that consumed every inch of my being. 

My body convulsed around him, my voice breaking into a cry of ecstasy as the world shattered into a million dazzling pieces. He followed me into that abyss, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside me, our bodies locked together in the throes of passion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, we clung to each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, a contrast to the wild passion that had consumed us just moments before.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a vow in the quiet aftermath.

"And you're mine," I replied, my voice full of contentment as I nestled closer to him, our bodies still intimately connected.

In that moment, we knew that this was where we belonged—in each other's arms, bound by a love that was as dangerous as it was beautiful.

I am his, and he is mine. In the end, it's him and I.

A/n - Is somebody gonna match my freak (listen to Him and I by Halsey and G-eazy)

[sugar-grigri]

What does the devil of aging want ?

Let's be synthetic for once (I'm sure I won't be able to). But this is surely the most philosophical chapter in the whole of CSM.

The whole chapter is an insult to what Pochita is. The greatest contempt that can be shown.

I'm going to ask you 3 questions, each of which calls for a philosophical answer.

Does the demon of aging really care about living?

Why does they want to be eaten by CSM?

Is Chainsaw Man really... messy?

The answer is actually in this line. Chaos.

What is chaos? I'm not going to play the expert on Greek antiquity. But I can say with certainty that the Greek chaos is in no way disorderly. Even if this may seem contradictory.

Greek chaos is not disorder, it is what exists even before the beginning. That which exists before the light itself.

Now I'm going to ask you, how can these old fogies teach Pochita a lesson ? Control chaos ? Hold the power of Pochita?

Fumiko always thought she had Denji. In itself, she got it. But the mistake she made was not only in thinking she understood Denji, but even more fundamentally in thinking she understood Chainsaw Man.

Pochita is basically chaos. Because he has the power to make disappear. He can either decide to start again, or to reappear and end. Its power allows it to precede existence.

When you were reading this chapter, did you ever wonder how many times things had disappeared and reappeared without you noticing? I'm not talking about disappearing into the collective unconscious. But to see something reappear without you even realising that you've lost it. What this chapter tells you is that Pochita's power is above all an opportunity. Everything that disappears and appears is part of his choice.

Holding a newborn baby. Having an idea. To create. They are nothing more than things whose existence we discover through our senses. The birth of a thing lies in the moment when something is brought to your attention.

What we have here is a power of creation rather than inhibition (to the Anon who asked me this question, I haven't forgotten you) . I had previously analysed the fact that Pochita explained his power by the disappearance of the hearing.

He continues to do so with the disappearance of the mouth. The second lesson Pochita gives you is that he is the beginning itself. Birth itself. Or the demon of birth.

Why would the demon of old age want to be eaten by the demon of birth? Because old age is obsessed with youth. The discussion in this chapter is your answer. Aging does not want to die. And the demon of old age is not looking for disappearance. On the contrary, what he's looking for is a rebirth.

But the demon of old age is a primal fear!!!!!! He's super strong, he's not scared of death.

Yes! But he’s terrified of being closer to an end than a beginning. That's what old age is all about.

In French, the chapter is called 'coup de vieux', which means feeling old, often because of the gap with the younger generation. This gap with the beginning of life is precisely what explains the objective of this demon.

I also don't want people talking about Denji or Pochita symbolically wanting to protect young people. This is not the case. Enough has been said to emphasise the fact that the very church that spoke of CSM as the hero of the younger generation did not resonate at all with Denji.

On the contrary, Pochita is the most.... Paternalistic of all in this chapter. You want to be young? So lose what allows you to scorn. Don't talk like an infant. Worse: keep quiet.

It’s fair to interpret all these elements as traumatic elements of Denji. I'm not here to explain each of them, I think that everyone can see through them a part of Denji's tragedy. And it's also very interesting to see analyses explaining that these are things that the reader is aware of, not Denji. (Denji fought Aki, the snowball fight was Aki's hallucination, so Denji wasn't aware of all that, for example).

But you have to take it all the way. What brought these elements to you? What are you holding in your hands? That manga called Chainsaw Man, right?

We said it here. What is born is nothing more than what is brought to our attention.

Continue to interpret everything in relation to Pochita. Denji is simply the key to understanding its mystery.

A devil carrying the weight of what precedes existence.

The trauma of birth.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 14 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, risky motorcycle ride? (idk nothing bad happens but always wear helmets, friends), some fun flirting & jokes, but mostly ANGST AND PAIN (including explicit descriptions of very intense anxiety at the very end)

words: 12.3k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 14 ► this isn't over 'til we talk in the light, said i was sober, but you knew that i lied

In the lounge area outside the changing rooms of “013” in Tilburg, Jungkook was engaged in a very intense game of table tennis against Seokjin—and winning, even though Seokjin would have disagreed—when you entered to inform the band that they were going on stage in twenty minutes.

The game wrapped up as the members began to stretch while simultaneously accosting Jimin about their in-ears. There were never any serious issues – Jimin made sure he was the Sound Technician of the Year –  but they enjoyed seeing him panic when everyone started moaning, “could you turn the backtrack up a bit?” or “I literally can’t hear myself.” This last one was Taehyung’s favourite, until Jimin started retorting with, “well, maybe you’re deaf,” and then continuing with his day.

The pre-show ritual was always chaotic, but it was endearing chaos, full of nervous laughter and sparkling eyes as the members of Rated Riot prepared for their performance.

Then, just as Jungkook left the dressing room, putting his own in-ears back in, he turned the corner and almost collided with Sid, who looked more than pleased when Jungkook took a surprised step back.

What an absolute eye-sore, Jungkook thought. As the tour went on, he began to understand your aversion to his friends better.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and it sounded like he wasn’t just asking about Sid being in this room. He was questioning Sid’s constant presence on this tour. Surely, with Jungkook no longer participating in his little games, he had to get bored and go back home.

The past few weeks have taught Jungkook that some friendships had an expiration date, and sometimes stupid bets accelerated that process. He was okay with that now—he realised that holding onto Sid would be much worse than being left alone.

“Just came to wish you luck before the show,” said Sid, who had never genuinely wished anyone luck before. “We’re here if you want to talk.”

Jungkook frowned and glanced at Minjun—who stood further away from the rest of their friends, and rolled his eyes—then he looked back at Sid.

“I’m good,” he said slowly and cautiously as if Sid was a snake that attacked when it sensed defiance.

Just when Jungkook thought he was safe and tried to walk away, Sid’s saccharine voice—the venomous kind—called out, “don’t forget we’re going out racing tonight!”

Jungkook stopped and turned to him again. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sid taunted. “This could be your chance to practise riding a rental since it seems like you’re going to lose your bike in five—”

“You really don’t have anything better to do, do you?” Jungkook interrupted. Maybe it was the pre-show adrenaline or maybe he had finally grown tired of Sid’s bullshit, but he added, “I feel sorry for you.”

Sneering because people felt many things for him – mostly contempt – but pity wasn’t one of them, Sid leaned in closer. It was a tactic that Jungkook had already grown immune to, but Sid was a creature of habit.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he hissed, not bothered by the emptiness in Jungkook’s stare. “See you later.”

“You won’t,” Jungkook asserted. “I’m not going out with you. This is all over, including the bet.”

Sid raised his eyebrows. With a very specific sense of justice that no one else in this hallway—or in this world—possessed, he declared, “I get the Katana, then.”

There was something questioning about his tone, however. As if he needed Jungkook’s confirmation that he did indeed lose this bet to Sid.

But Jungkook was firm: “You don’t.”

Sid threw his head back and scoffed with an exasperation that could have put a two-year-old to shame. “Well, then neither do you!”

“That’s fine,” Jungkook said. “Minjun can keep it.”

As Sid huffed and growled in frustration, Jungkook looked at his friend again. Minjun seemed about ready to interject—he was the one person here who did not want the bike and, in fact, wished it did not exist at all—but Sid finally found his words.

“You think Minjun can—the bike is mine,” he insisted. “I won—”

“Sid, you don’t give two shits about the fucking bike,” Jungkook cut him off, very tired of the repetitive argument. “Get over it.”

The conversation with Taehyung at Hoseok’s party weighed heavily on Jungkook’s mind. He knew he had bigger things to worry about right now—forget losing the bike. He might lose you.

In his usual dignified manner—so, not dignified at all—Sid rolled his eyes and snarled, “I agreed to bet on it, didn’t I? Obviously, I do give a shit.”

“No,” Jungkook said. “You give a shit about winning. But it’s over. We’re not doing this anymore. Deal with it.”

There was a redness on Sid’s face that hadn’t been there before. A week ago, Jungkook would have been excited to see it—it would have certainly meant a point in his favour. Now, he didn’t want to see Sid’s face at all.

“It’s not over,” Sid argued, persistent like a fly that keeps hitting the glass of a window. “There’s still five days left.”

“Five days until what?”

Four heads whipped around to see you standing at the end of the hallway, confused by the snippet of conversation that you’d overheard. You had returned to find Jungkook because the rest of the band was already pacing – or, in Hoseok’s case, doing restless sit-ups – by the side of the stage.

Jungkook, Sid, Jude, and Minjun stared at you with eyes so bright and wide that they could have guided ships off the coast.

You’ve never met four boys who looked more stunned to see you. It was as if you had accidentally stumbled into the latest concert of the Masculine Ritual, Absolutely No Femininity Allowed, God Forbid Someone Who Identifies as Female Enters The Room tour, and they could not believe this was happening.

“Uh,” Jungkook was the first to react as he immediately approached you. “I’ll tell you later. They’re just excited about, uh, London.”

You did the mental calculations while Jungkook gently squeezed your shoulder to turn you around and steer you away from his friends and towards the stage.

The London show really was more or less in five days, so you decided not to question that part. But the quick pace at which Jungkook was pulling you away from the others still unsettled you.

As you turned a corner, you looked back and saw Sid frowning at you, while Minjun—as usual lately—looked like he regretted being born, and Jude—as usual always—was picking his fingernails.

“Is Sid in one of his chaotic moods again?” you asked as you walked—nearly ran, actually, with the way Jungkook was pulling you. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine,” he assured with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s just… doing Sid things. You know. Nothing to worry about as long as—well, as long as you don’t get in his way. I have everything under control.”

Your primary goal on this tour was to stay out of Sid’s way as long as he stayed out of yours. But now was not the time to discuss it, because Rated Riot had three minutes until their performance.

“Alright, then,” you said. “Leave me out of it and we’re good.”

Jungkook coughed in response and stopped once you reached the other members of the band. You thought you saw Taehyung raise his eyebrows when Jungkook took his hand off your shoulders, but maybe you were just imagining it.

You turned to the rest of the band, all of whom looked pale and fidgety and unsure.

The speakers had malfunctioned during the soundcheck earlier, so Jimin and Seokjin had to cut it short to fix the problem. Naturally, the disruption of their usual routine made the band anxious. The table tennis match between Seokjin and Jungkook—arguably the most unhinged members of the team when it came to games—had distracted everyone, but now they returned to the unpleasant arms of anxiety.

“Come on,” you said, trying to sound more energetic than you were feeling. “Stop looking like you’re going to get hanged. You’ll do fantastic out there. Go and have fun. And don’t bother coming backstage until you’re drenched and the crowd won’t stop changing your names. I mean it.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on Yoongi’s face as he rolled up one of his pant legs—for no reason other than he thought it looked cool. Honestly, it worked for him.

“Why did that last part sound like a threat?” he quipped, standing up straight.

“Because it is,” you replied. When you turned to Jungkook, he had his eyebrows furrowed as if he was still worried about something, but he started to smile as soon as he felt your gaze. You added, “I’ll be out there watching you. Kick some ass.”

You high-fived all four of them and pulled back as the boys erupted battle cries and huddled together before taking the stage.

They were still nervous, but they had you and each other, and there was a room full of people excited to see them perform. This was supposed to be just another day at the office.

Smiling, you headed back to your usual spot by the stage where Luna was chatting with a few girls at the barricade, and Maggie was snapping pictures of the audience nearby.

It occurred to you while standing there, that you were thousands of kilometres away from your house, away from everything familiar. But with Rated Riot on stage, and Luna and Maggie by your side, you felt right at home.

There was nothing you wished more than to stay like this forever.

It was an unwritten law that touring with a rock band was fun, but quickly turned very hectic. Insomnia often became an unwelcome friend—especially for the members of the band who had fashionable bags under their eyes almost every day. But when they were on stage or meeting their fans after the show, they looked alive. They looked happy.

And the more drinks they had after the concert, the more that happiness seemed to grow.

“You know what I think?” Yoongi said on the couch in the dressing room where everyone had gathered after the show. He was tipsy as he swung the green Heineken bottle around, nearly splashing you and Namjoon as you sat on either side of him. “I think next time we’re in Europe, we’ll be performing at Wembley. Stade de France. The fucking Coliseum.”

“And Camp Nou?” you teased.

Yoongi and Namjoon—both avid Barcelona fans—nodded in eager agreement.

“And not as guests at festivals, either,” Yoongi continued. “Headliners.”

You smiled. “I can see that.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi’s own smile widened. “When we announced our tour, Kerrang! called us ‘The Next Reconnaissance’ on their Instagram.”

You felt an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach at the mention of the other band and turned away from the two boys. You remembered the alternative culture magazine running rampant with the moniker—always “The Next Reconnaissance,” never just Rated Riot.

“I… don’t think you’re the next anything,” you said. “I think you’re you. And being Rated Riot is already amazing.”

Yoongi needed a moment to process your words. For some reason, he had expected you to agree with the nickname. Part of him wanted to be “the next Reconnaissance,” considering how much they had achieved. But you were right.

“I like that,” he said. “That’s good. Yes. We’re Rated Riot. We’ll get Wembley. And Camp Nou.”

“I second that,” Namjoon said, pointing his beer bottle at the other boy. “But, oh, we saw Reconnaissance at Rose Bowl last year, remember? Might be the best concert I’ve ever been to. I know they were in town again before we left for Europe, but I didn’t get to go. It was at a smaller venue anyway, I think. Rose Bowl, though... Stadium shows are something else.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at Namjoon over Yoongi’s head. The producer didn’t normally say this much in one breath. He was clearly getting drunk.

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t notice anything wrong. He was likely equally as buzzed. He hummed as he threw his head back and took a large swig of his beer. Then he turned to face you.

“We’ve never opened for a band their size before,” he said. “Do you think we even could? I mean, they’re not The Rolling Stones, but they’re… well…”

He let the sentence falter because he couldn’t find a fitting word, but both you and Namjoon understood.

“Uh, well, who says you can never work with them in the future? I know their manager,” you said, trying to sound uplifting, but quickly catching yourself. You could have made your point without mentioning this. But because the two boys suddenly looked at you as if you’d just said you were Kurt Cobain in your past life, you had to explain, “he’s, uh—he’s Nick Zhou. I worked under him after university.”

“No shit?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows even higher. “Are you still in touch?”

“Not really,” you mumbled, finding yourself in a tough spot. Avoiding the subject now, when you were the one who mentioned Nick, would essentially mean lying to them. You didn’t want to do that. Awkwardly, you admitted, “although, he did, um—he called me a few days ago. Back in Oslo.”

“What?” Namjoon leaned forward to look at you over Yoongi, who stopped drinking his beer, distracted by the conversation. “Why didn’t you say anything? What did he want?”

Suddenly, you regretted finishing your beer before you joined them on the couch.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. He, uh—he wasn’t calling about the band. Or, well, he was, but it wasn’t—okay.” You closed your eyes and took a breath. This was a very long detour to get to the most important sentence. “He said he’s looking for an assistant manager.”

The two boys next to you exchanged a look.

“And… he wants you?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “But only because he needs someone quickly and he’s already worked with me before, so—”

“Well, fuck,” Yoongi concluded, cutting off your humble explanation, while Namjoon offered an equally insightful, “wow, shit.”

You nodded – both observations accurate – and quickly added, “I didn’t—I’m not going to do it, though.”

“No?” Yoongi asked. “Why not?”

The hint of surprise in his voice made you uncomfortable. It sounded like the reasonable decision would have been to accept Nick’s offer and leave Rated Riot to work with this much bigger, much more intimidating band.

“I-I guess I don’t want to be anyone’s assistant anymore,” you stammered. “I like running the ship myself.”

The guitarist’s expression softened. But before he could speak, Namjoon slapped his palm on his thigh and cheered so uncharacteristically loudly that you and Yoongi both pulled back from him in surprise.

“I know that’s fucking right!” Namjoon cried out. “Steer us all right and Rated Riot will surpass them. You’ll be calling that guy to get him to be your assistant.”

You laughed at the unexpected proposition, and Yoongi gave your knee a friendly pat.

“We won’t let you down,” he said, much more collected than the boy next to him. “You know?”

“I know.” You were smiling with all the warmth in your chest. “I believe you, that’s why I don’t want to leave. But, uh—would you mind not telling anyone else about this? I don’t want it to, you know, blow out of proportion. It wasn’t even an official offer, really, he just mentioned that there was an opening. But I just… I thought it would be unfair if I didn’t eventually tell any of you.”

Yoongi nodded knowingly. Rated Riot didn’t have a designated leader, since Namjoon—as their main producer—and Seokjin—as their stage manager—called most of the shots, but as the oldest member of the band, Yoongi was typically the one to talk to you about the heavier topics.

“It’s cool,” he said. “As long as you’re staying with us, no one else really needs to know about this, right?”

What he’d just said—paired with the way he looked at you for a few seconds longer than necessary—seemed to imply something else. Your eyes automatically drifted to Jungkook, who was talking to Seokjin and Jimin on the other side of the room.

You lowered your eyes. “Yeah.”

Yoongi finished his beer in one swift gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he looked at you again.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said.

You met his gaze. “For what?”

“For believing in us enough to stay.”

Namjoon felt himself smile as he quietly finished his beer. He knew he was tipsy, but he wasn’t drunk enough to interrupt the moment between you two.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Here, you turned to Namjoon. “Right?”

Looking at you in surprise after you addressed him, the producer scrambled to nod.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he said, leaning forward to reach Yoongi’s completely empty bottle with his own. “Here’s to Wembley next year.”

You smiled as the older boy clinked his empty bottle against Namjoon’s, then tipped his head back to get the last stubborn drops.

“Oh, by the way,” Yoongi spoke as he swallowed and immediately coughed. “D-did you find out what was going on with Jungkook and his lyrics?”

It took you a minute to recall your last conversation with Yoongi—the one that had led you to Jungkook, where he had dodged your questions and later snuck into your bunk on the tour bus and kissed you.

“Uh, well.” You tugged at the sleeve of your leather jacket. “He said that the song he played you was just a demo. He’s still working on the melody. And he said that he just has someone who reviews his lyrics for him, nothing more.”

Yoongi nodded to the rhythm of an unusually slow Asking Alexandria song that played from the speakers of the dressing room.

“So, we shouldn’t worry?” he asked, clearly hopeful.

“Apparently, no,” you said with an uneasy smile.

“Alright,” he decided. “Then let’s not worry.”

He looked at Namjoon who nodded in support of this decision.

And so, not worrying was exactly what they did. Instead, Namjoon brought three more bottles of Heineken and you all decided to just feel happy tonight.

As you scanned the room with a new bottle in your hand—while the boys finished their beer in under a minute and Namjoon got up again to bring more—it seemed to you that everyone had made the exact same decision.

Except Taehyung for some reason.

For a good minute, you watched him walk in circles in the very centre of the room. Then, just when you thought he’d stopped, he started another lap around the carpet.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you said to the two boys on the couch—they both nodded—and stood up.

A brief, unexpected fight broke out over the bottle of beer that you’d handed them—Namjoon won—and you hesitated for a moment as you realised you had a new problem and weighed it against the previous one.

The new problem was that Yoongi and Namjoon were getting very drunk. It was almost ridiculous, but probably harmless. Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting to perform at four more gigs as soon as he left this room. You had to go to him first.

He had noticed the commotion by the couch, but he did not acknowledge your approach.

“Is everything okay?” You had to stop right in front of him to ask as he continued his frenzied pacing. “You’re kind of walking in circles here.”

Taehyung stopped as if in a daze and looked at you. “Hm? Ah. Lots on my mind, I guess.”

You nodded slowly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” He looked around. The movement seemed thoughtful, but without a clear purpose—it seemed like he was just avoiding your eyes. Then you saw his gaze land on Jungkook. Taehyung looked at him for a moment, then turned back to you and scratched the back of his neck in a telltale sign of universal discomfort. He said, “honestly, maybe it’s not me that you should be talking to.”

You glanced at Jungkook, too—he was explaining something to Jimin with very wild hand gestures. He still appeared to be on a high from the concert.

“You mean Jungkook?” you asked, shifting your attention back to Taehyung. “Is he the reason why you’re pacing?”

“Sort of,” the bassist replied, blinking at the carpet.

You didn’t like the trepidation in your stomach. And you definitely didn’t like the unexpected memory of the alarm that you had seen on Jungkook’s face in your hotel room in Amsterdam.

“Why?” you asked because, despite the ominous dread that you were feeling, it was still your responsibility to know what was going on with the band.

“Just talk to him,” Taehyung advised. “But don’t tell him I said so.”

You hesitated, wanting a bit more information before you dived off this cliff headfirst. You asked, “at least tell me if something happened, so I can be prepared.”

He glanced at Jungkook again. This time, the younger member seemed to sense his gaze as he turned around. Taehyung looked away immediately.

He muttered quickly, “ask about his friends,” and then retreated to the very back of the room until he was fully concealed by Hoseok and Maggie.

A reluctant “oh,” passed your lips, but knowing that Jungkook’s friends were involved meant that there was nothing else that Taehyung could have said to you anyway.

You had to go straight to the source.

You couldn’t say this surprised you. You already got an odd feeling when you walked in on Sid and his Asshole Alliance before the concert tonight, but Jungkook had assured you that everything was fine.

However, if this was something that made Taehyung stomp around the room—which never happened unless the situation was extremely stressful, like the time Luna was getting surgery and he almost rubbed off the soles of his shoes, walking back and forth in the waiting room of the clinic—then it most certainly wasn’t fine.

Your original plan was to wait until everyone was back on the tour bus, since you’d be spending the night in Tilburg anyway. But then you remembered all the times you’d asked Jungkook if everything was okay—and all the times he said it was—and you decided that waiting would not cut it this time.

“Hey,” you said right in the middle of his conversation with Jimin. You added an apologetic, “could you excuse us, please?” but Jimin could tell as soon as he looked at you that he’d better leave.

As quickly as it was humanly possible, he nodded and jogged to join Yoongi and Namjoon by the door of the room. The two of them were loudly discussing their plan to go out and find a bar, but they paused after noticing Jimin.

You watched them for a moment, wondering if you should have stopped them from leaving when they were already so drunk, but they noticed you, waved, and left before you could open your mouth.

Sighing, you turned to Jungkook just as he asked, “what’s up?”

He didn’t appear unusual when you looked at him. But he rarely ever did.

“Are you okay?” you asked in return.

You were both tired of the question, but Jungkook disliked the sound of it particularly much this time. He’d seen you—out of the corner of his eye—take six steps in his direction right after you finished talking to Taehyung.

What if he’d told you?

“Uh, of course,” Jungkook said, looking at you with just as much confusion—and a sprinkle of suspicion—as you were looking at him with. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your heart rate increased as if you’d already heard the bad news you were expecting to hear. “How are, um—how’s Sid and everyone else?”

Jungkook disliked this question even more.

“Oh,” he said in a relaxed tone that sounded forced even to him. He cleared his throat and scanned the room for the older member, but didn’t find him. Even more nervous now, he turned to you and tried again. “You mean Sid and the others? They—they’re okay. Sid’s just being annoying, but what else is new? But I’m—we’re all okay. Thanks for, uh, for checking in.”

“Of course,” you said. You waited for him to elaborate so you could discover the reason for Taehyung’s anxiety which resulted in two more members of the band that you needed to worry about.

Honestly, Hoseok was the only one who wasn’t playing with your nerves tonight. You saw him peacefully tapping his foot to the music in the room as he chatted with Maggie and a few other staff members.

Jungkook did not pursue the topic further.

“What did you talk about with, uh—with Taehyung?” he asked instead with all the subtlety of a frightened elephant in a porcelain shop.

“Oh, this and that,” you lied. Then, feeling uncomfortable about lying, you scattered a bit of truth in there, “Luna’s face-timing her mum on the bus, so he was—he’s bored.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nodded. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t think—or didn’t want to think—that Taehyung would tell you about the bet after he asked him not to.

And, really, he tried to be reasonable. If Taehyung had told you, would you be here, peacefully asking him if he was okay?

No. You’d use fists, he presumed. Possibly knees.

“So, there’s nothing you want to tell me?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his masochistic fantasy.

Jungkook swallowed. Whatever it was that you talked about with Taehyung, it was clearly neither this, nor that.

“There is, uh, one thing,” he admitted slowly.

You inhaled. “What is it?”

“What are you plans for the rest of the night?”

This was not what you had braced yourself for. Annoyed by his stalling, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket.

“Well, depending on what you tell me, either I’m arguing with you or going to sleep,” you said. Glancing at the phone in your hand, you added, “it’s two in the morning.”

“We have tomorrow off,” he reminded you. “Well, today, I guess.”

“I know, but we’re going to Cologne—”

“That’s only in the evening.”

“Okay.” You looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear the two of you. Not that you were doing anything forbidden—just merely bordering on it. “What are you getting at?”

“You’ve finished all your work for the night, right?” he asked and you nodded apprehensively. He said, “come do something with me.”

Once again, the dilemma that plagued your mind whenever you were with him returned.

The responsible thing to do here would be to, of course, gently suggest going to sleep. There was a long day of travel ahead of you, after all.

However, this could be your chance to determine if there was truly something alarming happening between him and his friends. Not to mention, he clearly still had something to tell you, despite appearing to have lost courage after the strange moment in your hotel room.

And, alright – the truth was, you wanted to do something with him.

“That’s very vague,” you finally said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come with me,” Jungkook said, gesturing towards the door of the dressing room.

You agreed to follow him to the door but paused before leaving the room.

“I’d like more information,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest.

You tried to convince yourself that there was no logical reason for the entire room to be watching you and Jungkook right now, but you still felt phantom eyes all over yourself.

This wasn’t Hoseok’s party. You were still at the concert venue where Jungkook was the performer, and you were the manager.

He noticed your unease. First, he sighed. Then, as if he was compromising, he extended his hand.

“Take my hand,” he said. “And come with me.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant—”

“Come on,” he cut in, waving his hand in front of you. “Less talking, more holding my hand.”

Because your back obstructed the view of his outstretched hand for everyone else in the room, you knew you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing this. Still, you let out a slow, anxious breath.

“Fine,” you said with exaggerated irritation to emphasise your displeasure about being kept in the dark. Then you took his hand.

As the two of you exited the room, there were ulterior motives firmly set in both of your minds.

You had to find out what was going on.

He had to tell you what was going on.

And Jungkook had a plan here somewhere. He knew he needed to tell you about the bet tonight, especially since you almost found out about it accidentally right before the show. And also because Taehyung looked about ready to start climbing walls.

He had a rough idea of how he’d like to tell you: it had to happen in a beautiful spot that would make up for the awful revelation he was about to make. If not make up for it, then at least make it worth your while.

And he’d done his research—as always. This was the one lesson from your relationship that he hadn’t learned as he continued to strenuously plan everything in the hopes of making it memorable and unique.

“There’s this spot. The Wandelbos,” he said as the two of you walked hand-in-hand down the corridor of the venue.

He pronounced the word with relative ease, making you wonder how many times he’d heard it. Then he showed pictures on his phone.

“This looks like a forest,” you commented, stopping to scroll through several photographs of squirrels and autumn trees—which wasn’t easy because he refused to let go of your hand as you held his phone.

“It’s a baroque park,” he clarified. “It’s beautiful, supposedly.”

You handed his phone back to him. “I’m sure it is. But not at two in the morning.”

“The path is star-shaped,” he continued, ignoring your interjection as the two of you kept walking. “And there’s a clearing in the middle with a pond and a bridge and—oh, and it’s only about six kilometres away.”

He held the exit door open, allowing you to walk out into the brisk night air.

Crossing the threshold, you looked at him with your eyebrows raised. “You want to walk over there?”

Actually, he did. But your question made him pause. “Uh... no?”

You stopped and waited until he walked out into the parking lot, but his attention was suddenly drawn to something behind you.

You ignored that and said, “well, we can’t rent bicycles at this time and—”

“Sorry—hold on for one second,” he stopped you abruptly.

You turned around and followed his gaze until you spotted Minjun by the restaurant across the street. Your lips parted in involuntary surprise, but it wasn’t Minjun’s presence that really startled you. It was the fact that he was leaning against a motorcycle, of all things, and there were two more bikes parked right next to him.

When you looked back at Jungkook, he looked almost relieved.

How wonderful it was, he thought, that Sid was such an insufferable idiot that he would decide to have a drag race in the middle of the Netherlands.

From across the street, the bike Minjun had rented out appeared to be a Kawasaki. Despite Jungkook’s previous bad experiences with the brand—involving a mild concussion and a dented metal fence, which, in his defence, appeared out of nowhere—this gave him an idea immediately.

“Could we go over there? Or maybe you could wait here for a minute?” he asked you while already walking away—and pulling on your hand until you had to let go because you were absolutely not going over there. He promised, “one minute!”

You could tell right away that he’d just found a potential means of transportation.

“Jungkook, that’s probably not a good idea!” you called out as he neared the street.

“I’ll be right back!” he shouted, forming the shape of a heart with both of his hands as he went.

You cringed as he crossed the street without looking both ways, but fortunately, there weren’t a lot of cars around. Unfortunately, however, you couldn’t hear what he and Minjun talked about due to the distance and the heavy gusts of wind.

You waited alone, with only your confusion for company.

If Jungkook stayed with the band while his friends went out, and now he went over there to borrow some devil-sent motorcycle, then clearly, that had to mean that he finally started to make smart(er) decisions while still being on good terms with his friends.

So, what was it that worried Taehyung so much?

“Dude!” Jungkook exclaimed across the street from you when he finally reached Minjun and scared the hell out of him with his shout—he flinched so vehemently that he nearly knocked the bike over. “Whose is this?”

“Uh—mine. We rented bikes for the race,” Minjun explained and glanced at you standing by the exit of the venue. “Sid was about to call you and force you to come with us—”

“I need it,” Jungkook interrupted, choosing to ignore the fact that there wouldn’t have been enough bikes if he had come along.

Minjun turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Huh?”

“I need to borrow it.”

“Borrow—it’s a rental.” Minjun turned his head to look at the neon green motorcycle. He knew that riding down the city streets with Sid and Jude on rented bikes was already reckless. Subletting the motorcycle to someone else, however, might be equally as stupid. “It’s in my name.”

“It’s the least you can do for me,” Jungkook said right away as if he had planned this in advance instead of only noticing Minjun and the motorcycle a mere two minutes ago.

His words weren’t entirely true, considering that Minjun wasn’t the one who had manipulated him into this mess. But Jungkook was appealing to his conscience—and that thing was eating Minjun alive. You could see it from across the street, even without knowing the reason for it.

Minjun bit his lip, fighting a very unpleasant battle with his own self.

“Okay. Fine,” he conceded, even though he knew very well what Sid would say about his impartiality and about the fact that he’d now have to ride as someone’s passenger—likely Jude’s, because Sid would rather cut his own head off than allow someone else on his bike, even if it was a rental. Hurriedly, Minjun added, “you have to return the bike back by midday tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook replied brightly. “That’s more than enough time.”

“I’ll text you the address of the rental place,” Minjun continued, getting his phone out.

Jungkook kept on nodding. “That’s great. You do that.”

His friend typed a text message and pulled out the keys to the bike from his jacket pocket. He tossed them to Jungkook just as his phone vibrated.

“Don’t wreck it,” Minjun warned. “Or yourself.”

Jungkook grinned, swinging his right leg over the motorcycle and putting the key in the ignition. “I won’t. Thanks again!”

His friend glanced back at the restaurant, suddenly grateful that the take-out was taking so long to prepare. This meant that Sid and Jude wouldn’t notice Minjun giving the bike away—even though they would notice it gone and would probably realise where it went.

Meanwhile, Jungkook revved the engine and turned towards the parking lot of the venue.

The Kawasaki felt unusual underneath him and it made him miss his Katana, but he swallowed the disconcert. Beggars couldn’t be choosers—this was better than nothing in any case.

He stopped right in front of you in the parking lot, switched the engine off, and leaned back from the handlebar to give you a smile.

“So?” He patted the side of the bike. “Ready for a ride?”

You shook your head, disapproving of the cheesy grin on his face, and sunk your teeth into your tongue to resist a smile.

There were numerous—numerous—reasons why you weren’t ready to climb on this bright green monstrosity that must have been visible from any space station above. If not visible, then certainly audible.

“There’s only one helmet,” was the one concern that you chose to voice.

Jungkook hadn’t considered that as he glanced at the helmet, attached to the tail of the bike. He leaned over to unhook it and offered it to you.

“No,” you said before he started to speak. “If anything, you should be the one wearing it. You’re the driver. And the vocalist of a band that’s literally on tour right now. You can’t perform if you get your head snapped off.”

“Can’t perform if I get yours snapped off, either,” he argued. “Put it on. I’ll go slow.”

This was still a safety hazard, and at first, you debated arguing. Then you tried to rationalise.

Jungkook hadn’t had any alcohol after the show—which was very unusual, now that you thought about it. He must have been planning something all along.

Additionally, the streets were mostly empty, except for one car whose driver gaped suspiciously at the many motorcycles on the street, narrowing his eyes at each and every one of them as he drove past.

There was also Minjun across the street, looking as though he was praying that you and Jungkook would drive off quickly.

“Come on,” Jungkook encouraged. You understood his impatience—if Minjun was here, the rest of the Insolent Idiots couldn’t be far behind.

You looked back at the helmet in his hands.

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten on a motorcycle with Jungkook, but it had been a while.

He had always been a huge fan of anything that could reach over a hundred in under five seconds, so he’d been riding bikes since before he was legally allowed to. However, the two of you had already broken up when he purchased and restored the Katana that he never stopped talking about—so you’d never ridden with him when he actually owned the vehicle.

It occurred to you suddenly that Jungkook had probably never mentioned his motorcycle since the tour started. You made a mental note to ask him about that later.

Now, you finally took the helmet from him and pushed it over your head. Maybe the most important justification for your decision was this: you’d missed the excited twirling of your heart when he took you for a ride.

The joy that Jungkook felt as he watched you put the helmet on surprised him.

He remembered the first time you struggled to fasten the straps under your chin and managed to graze your skin. Now, listening to you sigh as you squeezed the helmet over your head and tightened the straps without his help, he realised that you hadn’t forgotten. That you were still used to this.

Excited shivers ran across his skin as you climbed on the bike behind him. But he could sense your apprehension—your initial instinct was to hold onto the back of the bike.

“Come on, now. This isn’t your first time,” he said, looking at you over his shoulder. “You know I won’t go unless I know you’re holding on tight.”

“I assure you,” you said. Your voice was muffled by the helmet. “I’m holding on tight.”

He clicked his tongue as he turned to face forward again. “I happen to not believe you.”

“Tough.”

“We’ll be here a while, it seems.” He released the handles and leaned back. “Maybe we should see if Sid wants to join us, I’m sure he would love to—”

“My God!” you groaned. “Fine.”

You wrapped your hands around his waist but kept your touch light, almost nervous. Grinning, Jungkook reached for your hands and pulled them closer to make sure you had a strong hold.

When he squeezed the clutch, he felt you tighten your arms around him even more. Satisfied that he could feel more of your weight against his back, he finally pressed the starter and pulled the bike off.

He raced down the street—much to Minjun’s relief—at a speed that definitely would have been dangerous for someone without a helmet if there had been other cars around. But the road was empty and there were hardly any turns to make.

And as he sped down these empty streets, you had to admit to yourself that this was, simply, thrilling.

The rapid pace seemed to elevate your insides, forcing you to hold onto Jungkook more tightly as you rested your head against his back and watched the streetlights blur together. The deafening sound of the engine, the dark visor of your helmet, the intoxicating speed, the rough metal underneath your thighs, and the soft leather of the jacket that he was wearing—all of it was absolutely exhilarating.

Jungkook knew—he’d always known—that you would have enjoyed the thrill of a late-night ride far more than a simple walk down the Tilburg streets.

And he was excited to see your silly grin and dilated pupils after you took off the helmet outside of the park. He was almost flustered by your glow—and by the fact that he was the reason why you looked so happy and so overwhelmingly full of life.

He nearly forgot to lock the bike as he looked at you.

But then the sudden memory of why he’d brought you here caught up to him like a painful crash.

“Uh, so,” he turned away, “should we go explore?”

“Might as well,” you joked weakly. Your legs were still a little shaky from the ride. “Since we’re already here anyway.”

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t mind taking another drive,” he said with a more confident smirk—that only grew in size and arrogance when he saw you smile at the suggestion. Then, he looked down and added, “but I also wouldn’t mind just walking and… talking.”

The two of you had done a lot of that—just walking and talking—since the tour started, so agreeing to this felt natural and harmless.

The park was beautiful indeed, just as the pictures on Jungkook’s phone had promised. Granted, walking through it at night when the streetlights were so sparse, provided a layer of eerie uncertainty—but even now, you were mesmerised.

In addition to the bold squirrels, peeking at you through the tree branches—their fur barely noticeable among the dark foliage, but their little beady eyes glistening—you could also see the sky above. You could see all of it, it seemed. And the patterns of the stars were so bright that you found yourself stopping several times, utterly captivated by them.

You regretted not learning the names of constellations—or how to differentiate them—but looking at the night sky was a breathtaking experience regardless.

The sky looked different here. And it felt closer, too. It was something you didn’t believe you could ever get used to, no matter how much you stayed here.

After a short while, you and Jungkook arrived at a pond, and he informed you that this was the very centre of the park.

It reminded you of home in an odd way, even though there weren’t many ponds back home—and none of them looked quite as charming as this one. Yet there was something familiar here, something homely. Even at night, in a park that resembled a forest more than a cosy picnic spot, there was something heartwarming here.

You could have been feeling this way, you supposed, because Jungkook was holding your hand as he guided you down a narrow plank over a dark creek. Without him, the eeriness of spending the night in an old park alone would have been much more noticeable. But with him here, it just felt comfortable. As if you both knew that you were destined to be safe from all harm here.

The stream ran deeper into the forest, and there were several benches scattered in the clearing on either side of the creek. The two of you sat down on one of them and listened to the silence of the trees and the gentle flow of the water.

Remembering suddenly, you spoke up—quietly, mindful not to disrupt the peace of all living things around you. “Did you know that my parents actually had their first date by a creek?”

Jungkook turned to you. He was more comfortable being loud, because he didn’t feel like a guest here. With you there, he sort of felt like the night—and everything that it touched—belonged to him.

“That’s a… very specific location,” he commented.

“Yeah.” You snickered. “There were no creeks in our town, dad took mum to the city where he grew up.”

“Oh, that’s actually nice,” he said, a little surprised. He’d never met your dad, but he knew that ‘nice’ wasn’t the adjective that was usually used in the same sentence as his name. “Was the creek special to him?”

“Not really,” you replied, shattering the romantic image that had already formed in his head. “It was the only pretty place that he could think of at the time. At least that’s what my mum thought.”

Careful, because this was a delicate topic and he didn’t want to come off like he was defending your dad, Jungkook asked, “she never found out if there was, maybe, more to it?”

“She never asked,” you said. “Either way, that date didn’t exactly end well. In the long-term, I mean.”

Jungkook looked down at the dark ground beneath his boots. A few blades of grass poked through the dirt on the shore of the creek.

“I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “But can you really say that with such certainty? She has two kids. And you’re both pretty great.”

You smiled at this, and it gave him the courage to smile, too.

“Thanks,” you said. “And yeah. I guess you’re right. Some good did come out of it.”

The two of you were quiet for a minute. It was a comfortable minute, too, but only as long as you managed to keep your mind empty.

You succeeded—the memories of the stories that your mum had told you were slowly fading, overtaken by the calming whispers of the trees around you—but he didn’t.

“I never asked—and I don’t want to intrude now, but, uh,” Jungkook started, “from what you’ve told me before, I assumed that your parents got back together at some point, right?”

You nodded with an exhale from somewhere deeper than just your chest.

“Several points, actually,” you said.

Happy that you seemed willing to share this, he encouraged, “yeah?”

“Yeah. She kept taking him back when I was young, and my brother was—well, a baby, essentially,” you said. “Everyone told her not to do it, not even for the kids. They told her to move on, maybe find someone better. My uncle—mum’s brother—protested against this especially much. He had been against their marriage from the very beginning. But my mum loved the guy.”

The smile on your face when you said that last part made Jungkook tense—it contradicted so much with the sadness in your eyes.

“Did he love her back?” he asked.

You were about to respond with a reflexive answer that had been ingrained in you by years and years of your mother screaming about how your father was a good-for-nothing loser, how he could never love anyone other than himself, and plenty of other colourful descriptions that you probably shouldn’t have known at your age at the time. And yet, despite the intensity of her emotions after every break-up, she still took him back. Until one day she didn’t.

And now you had to pause.

“That’s probably a million-dollar question,” you said with a sad chuckle. “I don’t know. Is that awful of me to say? She doesn’t think he did, but she still got back together with him so many times. So maybe he did love her in his own fucked up way. But I-I don’t think someone who loves you is supposed to hurt you like that.”

Jungkook had leaned back as he listened to you and he nearly toppled over backwards at your words.

You were right, of course.

Someone who loved you should have never hurt you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. “That’s, uh—that’s not awful. That’s sad, I think. Your mum deserves better.”

“She does,” you agreed. “But I understand now that—well, in a way, she is who she is because of all that happened to her. She’s very strong and she cares so much. And the fact that her only flaw is loving people too much, it’s—I don’t know. Lately, that just makes me admire her more. Because she sees the best in people. No one does that these days, everyone’s always afraid to get hurt. But my mum, she’s like—she’s fearless. You know? I genuinely respect that.”

“Even if she really does end up getting hurt?” Jungkook asked.

“Yeah. Even then. And maybe that’s the thing,” you said, looking up at the sky again. “I mean, in general. The people we love are the only ones who can hurt us like that. Or, rather, it’s precisely because we love them that it hurts so much.”

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t sure if you were still talking about your parents by the time you reached the last few sentences, but he was too afraid to ask. He couldn’t even look at you as he stayed frozen in the same spot.

“I’m probably not making much sense,” you added with a small, uncertain laugh. “I just meant that it took me a while to understand my mum. Actually, I don’t know if I even fully understand her to this day, but um… I watched her give second chances to people who held the most against her and could hurt her the most. I thought they didn’t deserve it. But she... She knew the risk, she was familiar with heartbreak, and still, she stayed hopeful. For a long time, I resented that. I thought that was a—a weakness. It sounds cruel. But I thought I could never do that.”

You paused again. The memories—of more than just your parents—flashed in your mind a little too quickly for you to collect your thoughts. You looked down to compose yourself and felt Jungkook’s hesitant glance.

Finally, you finished, “all these years of watching the back-and-forth between my parents… It made me think that I could never give someone a second chance.”

Digging into the dirt with the heel of his boot, Jungkook asked, “you, uh… you don’t think so anymore?”

He glanced at you once more and then looked away again, even though you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the creek in front of you.

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment. “I think I’m less decided about it now. I admire my mum for having the courage for it, even though it rarely ever works out. And now I guess I think that it is more of a case-by-case kind of thing. It depends on the person.”

Feeling as if his chest had absorbed the water from the pond and everything inside of him was being flooded, Jungkook didn’t dare to inhale.

Breathlessly, he asked, “what about me?”

“You?” you echoed awkwardly. He gave the smallest of nods in response.

You realised quickly that you hadn’t said this to him in over four years, and it felt terrifying to admit it now with the solemn trees, a hurried creek, and curious squirrels for an audience.

“Well, fuck.” You swallowed. “I mean, I love you. You know?” You chuckled to hide your unease and leaned down to touch the blades of grass growing under the bench. “Too much for my own good, probably.”

Jungkook suddenly forgot how to breathe. He looked up instead, but only caught a glimpse of the stars in the sky before he closed his eyes. The view behind his eyelids felt more special to him than the shimmering sky above—it was all darkness and dim echoes of you saying you loved him.

He couldn’t tell you now. How could he? You loved him.

And a second chance with you was all he’d ever wanted.

When he opened his eyes again, you were watching him. There was a haziness in your eyes—from the starry night, from the motorcycle drive, from the long overdue confession—and a small smile on your lips.

The moment that his eyes drifted to your lips, he felt himself inhale—more than once and he would have floated away—before he leaned in, responding to everything you’d said with a kiss.

He’d tell you about the bet, he would—but not now. Not when he felt your breath hitch as his lips touched yours. Not when you kissed him back, replacing all air in his lungs with your taste.

Right now, neither of you needed to say any other word as the forest around you settled. The leaves were frozen as if the wind didn’t dare to rustle them for fear of interrupting you.

The thought made you smile into the kiss—what a self-centred way to interpret your surroundings—and Jungkook pulled you closer.

For a minute, he made it feel like the world really did stop turning for the two of you. Like the forces of the universe had interfered to—

He pulled away all of a sudden, breathing so heavily that he was nearly hyperventilating.

He couldn’t do this. He’d already done too much.

The time that he’d borrowed—that he’d stolen—to be with you in peace had run out. Not even the universe could give it back to him.

“I’m sorry. There’s just, um,” he began, looking down and bringing a hesitant finger over his lower lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You felt your heart skip over a beat.

Immediately, you found yourself returning to the hotel room in Amsterdam. It felt vastly different now and the difference sobered you up—you had been in your hotel room then, but you were alone in an empty park tonight. And you realised that discussing it here would be a mistake.

Whatever he was about to tell you might make it difficult for you to stay here and you would have no way to leave.

“Wait,” you said. The word caught him off guard. “Tell me when we get back.”

He blinked. The very reason why he’d brought you here was to tell you the truth in a place that was yours for the night.

“W-why?” he asked.

“It’s not fair to me otherwise,” you said. Your heart had shifted from pleasant pounding to near-panicked banging, and you were starting to feel nauseous. “I’d be very inconvenienced if I was left here alone.”

Jungkook appeared even more perplexed. “Why would you be—I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.”

“That’s assuming I don’t kill you after you tell me what you’re about to tell me,” you tried to joke. There was a small—almost desperate—smirk on the corner of your lips.

Jungkook looked away.

“Oh.” Nervously, he licked his lips. He hadn’t considered you being so uncomfortable after he told you that you wouldn’t want him around. And now that he thought about it, he felt a little dizzy. “Well, that’s, uh… that’s fair enough. Should we—do you want to go back?”

The dread in your stomach seemed to grow at this question.

You knew that you had to be aware of what was happening with him, but the ceremony of it—the trip to this beautiful spot and the kiss that unintentionally coaxed him into the truth—scared you.

You wanted to resist the rational parts of your mind and stay here, where you had just forbidden him from speaking about this.

“Not really,” you admitted.

Jungkook nodded, relieved by your honesty. “Me neither.”

So, you stayed still for another minute. Then another minute. And another one. Until all the additional time you’d given yourselves had run out, too.

You peeked at Jungkook out of the corner of your eye, afraid suddenly that he would look back at you and then you’d have to talk, after all.

He seemed very far away. Much further than that first night in Amsterdam, when he came to your hotel room to talk.

Now there were sirens blaring in his head and a relentless pounding in his chest. You could almost hear it when you looked at him.

At last, you said, “but we can’t stay here forever.”

Despite looking like he had drifted into another realm deep inside of his mind, Jungkook sighed. He’d been listening to you breathe, listening to the way the wind played with your hair. He was here.

But he really wished he wasn’t.

“I know,” he said.

Still, the two of you remained on the bench for another five minutes, surrounded by the quiet rustling of the weary trees. Even they seemed anxious for you.

This might be the last silence the two of you would share, Jungkook thought grimly.

He felt terrified.

Finally, he took a breath and turned to you. “Let’s—”

A faint buzzing from the back pocket of your jeans startled you both. The sound seemed so foreign here, like something that had travelled across time and space, and accidentally ended up here—in your universe, where it didn’t belong.

You pulled out your phone and saw, first of all, that it was four in the morning, and then that Namjoon was calling you.

“I should take this,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the tension that had left your hands very cold.

“Go ahead,” Jungkook mumbled.

This was fine, he tried to tell himself while you stepped away from him to answer the call. He would take you back to the truck stop where the tour buses should have been parked by now. And then he would tell you.

And whatever happened next would—

“So, that was Namjoon,” you said, returning to him with your phone in hand. The call had lasted for less than a minute. “Apparently, someone stole Yoongi’s laptop.”

Nearly thrown off balance at the news that sounded somehow disrespectful, considering the many things you already had to process, Jungkook frowned.

“Someone stole Yoongi’s laptop?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said, sliding the phone back into your pocket. You knew something like this would eventually happen. “Namjoon said that he and Yoongi went out for more drinks, and when they got back to the bus, the laptop was gone. They’re not sure when was the last time they saw it.”

Jungkook stood up from the bench. “Well, why do they think someone stole it? Maybe he just lost it.”

“Yoongi’s not the kind who loses things,” you pointed out.

“Well, Namjoon could have lent a hand with that.”

You shook your head to conceal your small, involuntary smile and shrugged, acknowledging that there was a chance that this really was a false alarm. Especially if Namjoon was involved. You all loved him very much, but he had a talent like no one else to consistently misplace his own—and others—belongings.

“They were already quite drunk when I talked to them backstage before leaving,” you said. “So it’s possible they got even more wasted and just lost track of it. Either way, I need to go back and find out what happened.”

You returned to being the band’s manager, and Jungkook wasn’t sure how to handle the sudden switch. He wasn’t sure how to handle anything that was happening. This whole park was spinning around him.

He felt a little bit like the creek behind him as he watched you—flowing somewhere on pure instinct, with no clear destination in sight.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said. Hesitantly, he extended his hand for you to take—to help you over the loose wooden plank again. And to ground himself with your touch. “Let’s go, then. We’ll talk later?”

You took his hand. “Yeah. We’ll talk later.”

The truth was, you did not want to talk later.

You had a terrible feeling about it, and however irresponsible it may have been, you wanted to delay it as much as possible.

When you and Jungkook returned to the truck stop, Yoongi and Namjoon had already figured out where the laptop was. They looked very pleased to have remembered the Locate My Device app, never mind that you were the one who had kindly reminded them about it over the phone.

The laptop was, as it turned out, at a McDonald’s across the city. Neither boy could recall ever going there, so they remained convinced the device had been stolen.

You listened to their hypothesis with a serious face. But, unlike them, you were sober—the few beers you’d had after the concert were long forgotten—and you knew that the “thief” would probably be smart enough not to stop for a McFlurry after stealing someone’s computer.

The logical explanation was that your usually lovable and dependable boys had gotten so drunk that they’d forgotten about the fast food trip and left the laptop there themselves.

Regardless, you had to investigate. Because Yoongi and Namjoon were both pale with terror—and still buzzing from the spontaneous beer-tasting adventure that they’d gone on—it was up to you to find the computer.

You didn’t mind. This was your job, anyway. And you were eager to do something that did not involve talking about whatever it was that Jungkook wanted to talk to you about.

Jungkook, on the other hand, did mind. And it was evident when you exited the bus and saw him standing by the doors, pouting.

“I have to pick up the laptop,” you said, “and maybe report it to the police if it was really stolen.”

“Should I come with you?” he offered, not meaning to give you the option to refuse—which you took, of course.

“No,” you said, “you need to rest.”

“And you don’t?” he countered. “You’re the one who’s so overworked that—”

“Don’t start with that again,” you said, raising a stern hand to cut him off before someone overheard. You caught the flash of surprise in his eyes and the expression on your face softened a little.

You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but you’ve had an impossibly long day.

“Don't worry about me,” you said. “This is my job. I have things to do. Laptops to save.”

“If I come, then—”

“Stay here,” you interrupted. “You had a show tonight. Now you have to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

Biting his lip as mixed feelings of guilt and regret bubbled in his stomach, he asked, “we’ll, uh—we’ll talk, though. Right?”

“We’ll talk,” you promised. “Tomorrow.”

He fought with himself for another moment and then ended up saying, “okay. You never take me with you anyway.”

You didn’t have time to argue, so you kissed him before you went—quickly, softly, and with a nervous smile as you pulled away—and his heart seemed to leave with you as empty echoes of his racing pulse reverberated through his chest.

Tomorrow was very far away.

That would have been good if Jungkook still felt the paralysing panic from a few days ago. But even though he still felt scared now, he had already braced himself for the emotional consequences of telling you about the bet. Delaying it—against his will, this time—felt excruciating.

He knew he was the one to blame – he kissed you in the park instead of telling you about it right away, and then he agreed to wait until tomorrow.

And maybe this was what he deserved. He should have told you. But he hesitated and tried to convince himself of all sorts of irrational thoughts—and now here he was.

Alone.

And he was so frightened of being alone that he climbed right back on the motorcycle and headed to the address of the rental shop that Minjun had given him. He needed to do something, because he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t scream at the top of his lungs, either.

Easily enough, Jungkook found himself in the bar of a hotel across the street from the rental shop. The shop didn’t open until eight, so he had a little over two hours before he could return the bike. A little over two hours before the night ended and he had to figure out what to do next.

He finished his first glass before a single thought could occur to him. By the second one, he felt his body start to relax, but chaos continued to reign in his mind.

What will I do, what will I do, what will I do?

As Jungkook lost track of how many drinks he had, he pondered every which way to reveal this to you and all the questions that you might ask.

What was the trip to Paris for? And the persistent way he followed you around? The conversation on the bridge in Stockholm? On the rooftop in Oslo? The bicycles in Amsterdam? The nights in your hotel room?

None of that was truly for the bet. But would it matter?

You said you loved him tonight. But you’d hate him tomorrow.

Maybe he could wait for five days until he formally lost the bet. Maybe he should tell you then. Maybe the fact that he lost something important to him would make up for—no.

Jungkook shook his head, nearly spilling the bourbon in his glass. He paused then, not even sure if he was still drinking bourbon. It all just tasted wet to him at that point.

Regardless, he couldn’t tell you after losing the bike. Even losing it didn’t seem like such a tragedy right now, compared to losing you.

While he agonised over it, the bartender continued bringing him drinks—always on the rocks, even though he couldn’t feel the cold anymore. The bartender was a kind elderly man, who probably should have known better than to keep serving alcohol to someone at six in the morning, but his experience told him that Jungkook was someone who needed it tonight.

Soon, however, Jungkook’s pride—his high tolerance for alcohol—became his biggest foe. He didn’t even realise how intoxicated he had become.

For all intents and purposes, he believed he was still fairly sober, considering how easily he spilt everything that was bothering him to the bartender. He even understood the advice he received in return—not that there was much to it.

“You have to tell her, son.”

He did have to tell you. He knew that.

And he was going to, he decided. Right now.

Jungkook found his way out of the bar with relative ease. Sure, he forgot that he had driven Minjun’s bike there, but he was able to walk without stumbling much, and that surely had to be an achievement.

Swaying only slightly, he stopped in the lot where the bus was parked and found your contact in his phone. Of course, the many emojis he’d used ensured that your name was the first one on the list, but he still found it easily enough.

Now, he had to admit this: he wasn’t sure if you actually answered his call. But he asked you to please, come outside, and within three minutes, you were standing in front of him.

If he had been aware of how drunk he was, he would have realised that he was screaming, so it didn’t matter if you’d picked up his call or not. You would have heard him anyway.

“What’s going on?” you asked, too confused to feel worried. You’d just returned with Yoongi’s laptop about half an hour ago. You weren’t sure if you’d even fallen asleep before coming outside again. “Are you drunk?”

There was exhaustion in your posture that Jungkook was too drunk to identify. You were very tired of dealing with the problems of drunk people tonight.

When Jungkook spoke, words poured out before he could properly think them through.

“Listen,” he said. His tongue felt oversized in his mouth. “I have to tell you something. I can’t—I should’ve told you this a long time ago. Maybe on the same day. Actually,” he hiccupped, “I never should’ve done this at all, then there would be nothing to tell.”

He hesitated for a moment, because in his mind—which was positively swimming in whiskey—he worried that his words may have caused a misunderstanding. He saw the frown on your face and cut in before you started to speak.

“Actually, no,” he said. “There would be things to tell. Because I like—I really—I like to talk to you. I want to tell you all kinds of things...” he paused here. Shook his head. “But not this. I don’t want to tell you this. But I must.”

He thought he came off very determined here, very confident. Really, he just sounded tired and drunk.

“Jungkook,” you said. “When I said we’ll talk tomorrow, I meant in the morning.”

“It’s—” He hiccupped again. “It’s morning.”

He wasn’t wrong, of course.

“After we got some sleep,” you clarified.

“Well, I can’t wait that long,” he insisted, stomping his foot and throwing himself off-balance. He had to lean against the side of the bus to stay upright.

You could tell that whatever he wanted to tell you was far worse than you expected. He was so drunk that he could barely stand, yet he was as determined as ever to get it all out right now.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. The anxiety that you’d evaded was quick to resurface, and even you felt a little unsteady on your feet.

“Okay,” you said. “Well, what is it?”

Jungkook straightened as much as he could.

A deep inhale, followed by a sharp, rushed exhale.

“I made a bet with Sid that I’d get back together with you.”

Silence came next.

You felt a sinking sensation deep within you as if something—an invisible current—was pulling you under the surface of the water. The ground beneath you swirled in uncertain whirlpools.

“Sid said I couldn’t do it,” Jungkook continued after a moment, his eyes cast low. “And I was—I wanted to prove him wrong. He is wrong. He’s always wrong, he’s such a—anyday. I mean, anyway. T-that’s not—I didn’t—this isn’t making any sense.” He slapped himself on the forehead in newfound frustration and you flinched at the abrupt motion. The slap only made the truck stop start to spin around him. Pressing his hands to his hips, he tried to explain, “I didn’t win or anything. Which you obviously know, since we aren’t back together.”

He laughed sadly here. You narrowed your eyes and felt one of them twitch.

The night was cold, and you clutched your arms tighter around yourself. Your posture was not aggressive—you gazed somewhere past him and you appeared frightened. You looked as if the wind might snatch you and carry you off to a place that he could not reach.

But then your eyes met his and there was a frigid emptiness there that he didn’t recognise. He shrunk into himself when he noticed it.

“I-I bet my bike, so I lost that,” he continued. “Well, not yet, but I’m going to lose it soon. Not on purpose, but Sid won’t fucking let me end the bet—” he cut himself off by inhaling again.

It seemed like there was so much oxygen in his lungs—he kept breathing in as he spoke, but never breathing out.

“That’s not the point,” he finished his thought. “What I wanted to do—to say, I mean—is that I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. Sid got in my head.”

“Sid,” you repeated suddenly. The sharp sound of your voice startled him into looking up. “Got in your head.”

He looked at you for half a heartbeat. Somewhere in the whiskey haze, he could recall his conversation with Taehyung—or someone who resembled Taehyung. Jungkook remembered something about this being his own responsibility.

But then, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who Taehyung even was. Because, to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who he was.

“That’s an—that’s… that’s an excuse,” he managed to say. The letter S tasted wrong in his mouth. He clicked his tongue and continued, “he’s always in my head. I should’ve known better. I—I’m so sorry.”

You were breathing heavily, but you weren’t speaking.

He blinked his heavy eyes, each one of his eyelashes like lead.

“I just… I want you to know that everything that happened—it wasn’t because of the bet,” he said, swallowing after a great struggle. All these drinks tonight, and his throat still felt dry. “It was because I am—I really have been in love with you the whole time, and I—but I couldn’t—I can’t ask you to get back together while there’s this bet going on. Not that you’d agree—I just hope that you would—but I... i-it wouldn’t feel fair. It’s so—it’s all so fucking stupid.”

He groaned again and covered his face with his hands for a moment while he tried to collect his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to tell you and all of it was coming out so quickly that he wasn’t sure he told you anything at all.

“I had to—I should’ve told you sooner,” he said. Then, biting his lip harder than he’d meant to—the metal piercing dug into it painfully—he added, more softly, “I’m really sorry.”

You remained firm in your position and really started to resemble a statue. Contrary to what he expected, you didn’t ask him a single question. You just stared at him without any distinct emotion in your eyes.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Aren’t you,” he said shakily, “going to say anything?”

You finally moved—to inhale, then exhale. All through it, your chin was turned up as you looked at the line of trees in the distance.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” you finally said.

It was a sharp knife to his chest, this hollow voice that was supposed to belong to you.

He hung his head and took a deep breath.

None of this mattered.

It was over.

“You’re drunk,” you added then. “Go to sleep.”

He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in your words and he grasped at this flimsy straw and held onto it with all his might.

“Y-you heard me, though, right?” he tried, his voice desperate, eyes watery. “None of it was for the bet, I really—”

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

He couldn’t go to sleep, not if it meant he’d have no one to wake up to.

“Can I—” He coughed, the words catching on the sandpaper in his throat. “Can I talk to you in the morning?”

You stayed silent for a long, almost never-ending minute. Jungkook counted each second in his head, and he knew he might have messed up the numbers at least three times, but it still felt like you’d never speak again.

“I don’t think,” you finally said, “we have anything left to talk about.”

You turned around, but stopped for less than a moment, seemingly hesitating when you heard him call your name. Then you took another step and opened the door of the bus, climbing inside and leaving him here alone.

This wasn’t the first time you walked away from him, but this time, he knew it was his fault.

And there was another element to the suffocating grip around his neck—ever since you began to manage Rated Riot, you’d never left him alone when he was drunk.

But you left him tonight.

And even drunk, he knew what it meant.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. But the sight of your back as you walked away from him, the sound of the bus door as it clicked shut behind you, and the feeling of complete silence around him at the truck stop—it all finally knocked all the oxygen out of his lungs. It made his heart beat faster, ridding his bloodstream of alcohol until all that he felt was pain.

He was not prepared for this. He doubted he ever could have prepared for it.

But he should have known this would happen.

He really fucked up. He ruined everything. It was over.

Hunching over as he tried to inhale but couldn’t, Jungkook pressed his hand to his chest. He felt something pulsating under his fingers, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Someone had emptied out the cavity inside of him where his organs had once been and filled it with rocks.

His vision was white and blurred. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t stand.

He didn’t know what was happening to him.

He felt himself slide over the side of the bus until he hit the floor and smacked his head into the bus wall as violent tremors took over his body. He tried to breathe as he counted the beats of his heart until he couldn’t listen to his pulse whispering the same conclusion to him over and over again.

It was over.

It was over.

It was over.

It was—

His hand dug into the gravel on the ground, then grabbed the front of his shirt and held it in a tight fist. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Nothing worked to stop the relentless judgment from breaching his resistant mind.

He ruined everything. It was over.

Jungkook didn’t know how long he struggled to fill his lungs with something other than the heavy, opaque pain of losing you again.

He didn’t know why he struggled, nothing even mattered anymore.

When he eventually realised that he was still here and you still weren’t, there was an early morning redness in his eyes and on the edges of the sky above him.

Most unusually, the only clear thought in his head was about the bike that he’d told Minjun he would return. Another promise that he had failed to keep as he suddenly remembered abandoning the motorcycle by the bar.

Then he remembered the bar.

He had already drunk half of it.

He struggled to his feet, rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms, and went back to finish the other half.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “what do you want from me?”

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[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Family trouble, violence, father issues, general suffering, teenagers getting their ass beat by said individuals over 18, not proof read.

Author's note ● Essentially part two of the previous chapter, get ready for some major mischief next chapter.

Word Count ~ 5.4k+

Tags - @mamawiggers1980

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ix - 'The Last Supper'

The supper had gone on in relative peace, a quiet contempt lingering in the background but mostly, it seemed the Blacks and Greens of House Targaryen stuck to their relative side when it came to conversation. A few passing crude comments from Aegon had won the glares of Visenya and her siblings, especially when they were targeted towards Jace and Baela’s betrothal, but a scattering of toasts, seemingly made in good will seemed to draw attention away from the brewing tension.

There were a few moments, Visenya might wonder if such contempt would erupt into something larger, however it seemed to be kept at bay by the King’s presence, most specifically after his speech which although seemed to harbour some kind of effect upon both the Queen and Rhaenyra – his words of familial love landed upon death ears of the younger members of House Targaryen. There was little love to rekindle, if there ever any to begin with – and the wounds that had been made had festered for so long that they had rotted into their very bones. There would be no reconciliation between the two Green Prince’s and the Black siblings. Of course, Princess Helaena being the odd one out in which no one seemed to have any bone to pick with her. It was that in which sparked Prince Jacaerys to offer the lonesome princess a dance. Most specifically after Helaena had made a toast, mentioning her brother-husband Aegon’s neglect.

Visenya had noticed the exchange between her two uncles as they watched their sister dance freely, with her brother. She’d never seen Heleana smile or laugh brightly; it was rather heartwarming in truth.

But such a scene had a dark shadow casted upon it, as Prince Aemond turned his body to face his sister, and Prince Jacaerys – his jaw hardened by the sight of one his half-sister's bastard spawn daring to make such a brazen gesture. However, Aemond’s glare would be brought to a halt, as in his illness, King Viserys grew weary, spawning all eyes to draw upon him as his wife, Alicent called for the old man to be taken back to bed to rest.

As Visenya gazed with a glimmer of sorrow within her eyes upon her withering Grandsire, she noticed the servants pass, holding what seemed to be but a rather large pig, stuffed with an apple in her mouth. The princess had always thought such a sight was particularly gruesome – even more gruesome than any bloodshed she had witnessed earlier that day.

It was a rather cruel gesture, to slaughter something then display it’s cooked corpse with little but an apple shoved into it's mouth. It hardly seemed appetising at all, it seemed brutal. She had supposed it was what she had liked so much about dragons, despite such chaos one could unleash, they were not brutal in the way men were. They do not require their meals be presented so prettily as to draw attention from the fact they had slayed a creature to feed. Death by dragonfire was quick, easy. No apple required.

Visenya’s thoughts were soon brought back to the supper as the small snicker of Lucerys was heard beside her. She followed his gaze as he looked upon the pig, then up to Aemond. One thought in her mind.

The Pink Dread.

The young prince Lucerys giggled again, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. He thought longingly to the prank he had pulled upon his uncle, it seemed after all these years he had forgotten the mischief that had been made in the name of poking fun at his uncle’s lack of a dragon in their youth.

Visenya’s face dropped for a moment, both in amusement and apprehension – as she noted the one eyed stare from across the table. Oh, he knew…

It was clear, Aemond was once again being mocked so subliminally – so underhandly that none else upon the table had noticed the smarmy flicker of Luke’s eyes, nor the raised brow of his harlot sister. The one-eyed Prince had grown rather adapt to people’s expressions, having become suspicious of them for most of his life from the troubles in his youth. The fact that the bastards before him have gotten away with so freely tormenting him, so openly maiming and disregarding him, made Aemond’s blood boil beyond the point of consolation. No, there would be no reassuring, he cannot just break bread and forgive the suffering he has endured. He would not stand for a bastard born of a whore Princess and her lesser House lover to continue to show him no respect. He would not dare to take the mocking of the boy who stole his eye, who was weak and craven. Born of lesser blood, lesser nobility – illegitimacy. Born of his mother’s constant whoring, and the lecherous men who indulged in it.  

Nor would he tolerate the half-brained Targaryen bastard beside him snickering in Aemond’s wake either. Another product of the degeneracy of his Uncle Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra. Another abomination to the House Targaryen name. Regardless of how fare Visenya’s face or big her tits – it was all artifice to cover the rotting wench beneath. All sorcery to distract men from the fact she was conceived in a brothel by way of sin, then pawned off as another man’s child. Though, at least she was a bastard of royal blood. At least she had Prince Daemon as a father and not some brute of the Riverlands. That saved her in some regard from Aemond’s ire – but it was not necessarily for anything other than his own envy. Visenya, unlike her brothers was less craven, she had not bothered to pretend to settle any dust between them. Not played into any idea they were capable of making amends. And the only one who had ever bothered to show him some level of acknowledgement, once.

Though he had tried to keep it at bay, he did oft think of his niece in their youth, the time she had found him crying in the Dragonpits. How she did, to some degree attempt to console his humiliation. He had also remembered how she once defended him against Aegon’s torment, how he had not returned the favour – yet… she for some reason unbeknownst to him, went out of her way to punish Aegon.

As he glared across from Visenya, his gaze still hard and temper still soaring, Aemond found himself grow more angered by this. Angered because it had amounted to nothing, amounted to him being pushed back into the dirt by her. Betrayed.

He felt a swarming sense of disgust, he was but a boy and she tricked him. Made him feel the beginnings of kinship or trust. Bewitched him into believing she thought him anything more than pathetic and weak. It was all an elaborate jest, all another way to mock him.

But when it finally came down to it, when she could have proven herself not a traitorous slut, more devoted to her Strong bastard half-brothers, then a Prince born of her House… Visenya had turned away. She had looked away as her snickering little brother ripped Aemond’s very eye from its socket. Looked away when Aemond had coiled upon the ground in pain, blood pooling from his face and she protected the boy. She protected Luke knowing what he had done. Knowing that she could have stopped her foul siblings from beating and maiming Aemond. And for that reason, all traces of the seeds of kinship and affection were lost between them.

She could rise above her bastardy, become a great Targaryen as I, or as her father. But she indulges in her own depravity as they all do.

Aemond’s eye then narrowed upon Luke who still had a vile smile upon his young face, he noted how the boy had let out a harsh snicker as he noticed Aemond’s rising irritation. His mind went from wrathful to blackened.

The bastard mocks me, yet he thinks me the same boy who shall swallow his pride and conceal his temper. They all mock me, yet they think I shall turn the other cheek by virtue of breaking bread and kinship of blood… all know what they are, Strong bastards. They are not of my blood. They do not look like my blood nor behave like my blood. They are stains, lesser bred stains, who mock me to conceal the fact it is they who are outsiders, they who do not belong at a dragon’s table, nor their voices being heard by the realm. They are rats spoiling our line. They are the defect that spoils Targaryen blood. What irony they are 'Strong' when their legitimacy as royals is so weak.

Before Aemond could prevent himself, his temper had made his fist fly upon the table sending him to stand swiftly. He raised his goblet and then,

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise...” His soft voice silencing all idle chatter, all music swiftly stopping and the dancing Helaena and Jacaerys, too, stopped in their tracks.

Aemond watched with satisfaction as the heads upon the table had turned, he relished in their wide eyes, their bated breath. “Hm..” His eye widened, like a shark upon smelling blood, his softened his voice further, “…Strong.”

Visenya took a breath out, at that word. He must think himself terribly clever. She was already exasperated by the scene before her, she couldn’t even be angry at this point for it was only a matter of time before the pretence would be done away with. She sat back, noting the way her little brother’s face had dropped. The princess let her hand fall to Luke’s wrist, as he placed his goblet down, preventing him from exacerbating the situation.

As a bitter silence fell over the table, Queen Alicent brought her hands to her face in concern, her tone low, warning, “Aemond.”

But all warnings were lost upon the prince, as he smiled with satisfaction, gazing at Jace before raising his goblet further, his tone mockingly jovial, “Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.”

Below him, Prince Aegon joined his brother in the false toast, his goblet raised as he looked glibly upon Luke and Jace.

To which both dark haired prince’s found themselves beyond the point of anger, and Jace in his rashness found his fists clenched tightly, his voice a dignified bark, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond turned his head swiftly, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Slowly, he stalked towards his nephew, “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Prince Jacaerys had found himself already moving towards his silver haired uncle, and before he could stop himself, the young prince had slammed his fist against Aemond’s face. Before Visenya had even noticed, Luke escaped her grip sauntering towards Prince Aegon who had gleefully joined the brawl.

Aegon grabbed Luke swiftly, forcing his head into the table, sending herself and her sisters to their feet. “Luke-” Visenya barked.

Her brow furrowed in anger as once again, as she went to charge at Aegon, but she was met with her father’s hand suddenly grabbing at her wrist.

She looked into Daemon's eyes, and the rage that brewed within her fell away as she eased. She could not indulge; she could not get involved once again in such disputes. Not after what had happened last time.

In the corner, Rhaena was forcing her sister Baela back, as the young Lady had watched as her betrothed, Jacaerys was forced to the ground by a snickering Aemond.

“That is enough!” Queen Alicent had shouted harshly at her son.

The one eyed Prince, whom had barely so much as winced after being punched, chuckled gleefully, as he turned away from his fallen nephew. He had pushed Jace with such ease, it was not worth much more of a fight to Aemond, for he would easily beat them, and he took little pleasure in an unworthy opponent. It was no challenge.

Before any could comprehend, the guards had seized the two dark haired princes, pulling them away as now, all members of the table had risen. Daemon had let go of Visenya as they flocked to the detained Lucerys and Jacaerys, who still in their anger struggled to accost their uncles once more.

As Visenya had finally reached her younger brothers, she suddenly gripped at the hand of one of the guards who being particularly rough with Jace, her tone fierce, “OFF!” The princess pulled his thick hand free from her brother, and she gripped his arm.

Jace’s brown eyes seemed red with a dire fury, she gripped his wrist harder her expression giving a fair warning to temper his nerve. Their mother was now at their side, holding her belly as she looked upon her children with a slight despair.

Visenya turned her head and noticed the auburn hair of Alicent whipping around the table as she swiftly pulled Prince Aemond close, reprimanding him slightly out of ear shot.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent’s eyes were wide and unsettled as she gazed upon the sharp, satisfied features of her son.

She had always known there was something particularly strange about Aemond, strange of how easily such impulse for inciting such disharmony came to him and how he seemed to be unable to resist all desire to act upon whatever rage dwelled within him.

The prince narrowed his eye upon his mother, her hand gripping at his wrist tightly. He crooned and spoke again, his tone incendiary, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond tilted his head, ready to spark a greater fire, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

With that he had ripped his hand straight from his mother’s grasp with ease, turning sharply as he approached his nephews and Visenya. His eye landing on Princess as she had gripped the arm of Luke too now, putting them both behind her.

Though it was little use, because Jace was far stronger than she and forced his way from her grasp, leading him to charge once more at Aemond as Lucerys had once again been held back.

The sudden sound of her father’s voice, made all come to a stop. “Wait! Wait…”

Daemon raised his finger, stepping in between Jace and Aemond. He gave Jace a look of warning as the dark haired boy slowly retreated and Princess Visenya now gripped Jace again forcing him further back.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, her eyes scanning the flock of young Targaryen’s before her. Visenya had felt Jacaerys force himself from her grip as her siblings moved away. Her eyes came to her mother and father who both gazed upon her and she felt a sudden disturbance fill her.

Visenya then shot a glare at Aemond, who stood with his shoulders peaked – his eye all but narrowing upon the Princess and she stepped forward. She couldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe the arrogance, the foolishness, she had almost wished she had let her brothers loose upon the cunt.

They both stood there for a moment, Prince Daemon separating the two as they glared with all the hatred in the world upon each other. The two knowing of what had transpired in the past, the truth of it, the failure of reconciliation and betrayal that went beyond just what their family’s knew of. The quiet moments between them in which were yes, strained but undoubtedly flickering sparks of trust or understanding. Visenya felt disgust coil upon her face as she looked into Aemond’s lonesome eye, thought it would be hard to say a sense of guilt didn’t follow such feelings.

A hard hand meeting her shoulder forced her from such thoughts, she looked up to meet Daemon’s eyes, her fathers’ eyes and her head bowed slightly as she backed away.

 Aemond tilted his own as he watched the princess concede to her father, he almost wanted to laugh, to shout in righteousness. To see her narrowed eyes weaken before Daemon, stirred Prince Aemond in a manner which he didn’t quite understand. He had only ever seen such utter surrender of Visenya to her father, and that was what pleased him the most… she had to pretend such surrender was merely respect of her mother’s husband. She had to restrain the urge to behave as a daughter would to her father, to concede and resist revolting against him. His eye followed Visenya as she walked after her siblings.

The one eyed prince soon found his body stiffening as felt his uncle turning to face him, a small almost glib sigh leaving Daemon’s mouth. An odd tension brewed, a strange comradery he thought. Aemond felt himself buzz, itching to indulge in more of his anger, to show them exactly what he was capable of. What he was so eager to do so and when he looked into the eyes of his uncle, he could’ve sworn he saw the same in Daemon, a match, an equalised opponent. It took the Rogue Prince having to step in to stop me from beating those bastards to a pulp. It took Daemon himself to recognise that I was just a greater threat as any.

Visenya had paused for a moment as she walked, briefly glancing at the interaction of between her father and uncle. The odd tension that brewed thickly between them, her gaze lingered upon Daemon and as she turned away. She recognised the look her father had given Aemond. One of amusement, just as he had given her countless times. That gleam of condescension driven by superiority. As if he were watching a child attempt to yield of sword… a pitiful endearment.

●

The princess hadn’t bothered to wait for her mother or father, she simply returned to her chamber swiftly. Slamming the doors as she soon found herself laying upon her bed and shutting her eyes.

Less than an hour had gone by before the creek of her chamber door filled her room, she sighed, it was likely her mother ready and willing to wag her finger. Visenya muttered, “How come no matter what transpires I am always the one to be lectured, mother?”

“It’s me, sister.” A small voice mumbled.

Visenya sat up and turned her head, her gaze softening at the sight of familiar dark eyes and shaggy black hair.

Lucerys.

The princess tilted her head and waved him over, to which he slowly approached her, sitting upon her bed. As she laid back down, neither of the siblings said anything, she merely watched as Luke hung his head low and sulked.

Visenya sighed and then, tapped his back with her boot, forcing him to turn his head.

“Come.” She said expectantly, rolling her eyes. She sat up, gesturing for him to come lay beside her.

He let out a small breath and mumbled, “I am nearly a man grown. I ought not be coddled.” Luke pouted.

Visenya scoffed, and raised her brow, “So why have you come?”

Then, a small but obvious moment passed between the two siblings, Luke looked down and sighed. She was right, why else would he have come? He was weak, he was not like his elder brother who brimmed with such confidence and self-assurance. Try as Lucerys might, he couldn’t suppress his anguish, his anxiety.  He knew he must now, he was to be married to Baela, would then be a father soon after and then named Lord of Driftmark. How could he dare assume such roles if he still needed to be assured his world was not crumbling before him? That he was deserving of his titles and of his position as a man? His mother and sister would not be there forever, and he knew no wife would surely tolerate a weak husband. Especially not a woman as fierce and formidable as Rhaena. She deserved a man who would be the one to soothe her woes, to ease her worries.

Though mayhap, tonight was not the night to try and call upon that man he wished be.

Visenya slowly made her way to the end of the bed, sitting beside him. She gazed upon her young brother, noting the flickering uncertainty within his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel her eyes soften upon him, suddenly struck with how young he was, how he still looked like a boy straining desperately to be a man. Her hand came to his head and gently, she brought him to her shoulder, noticing the bruise upon his forehead from where Aegon had attacked him. Her fingers gently grazing it making him wince.

"You must see a maester." Visenya said, her gaze flickering upon the discolored skin.

Lucerys shook his head, and a moment of silence settled between them before finally, he gained the courage to speak, “I keep making this worse for mother.” He whispered.

She sighed, bringing him closer as she rested her chin about his scalp, “It was no fault of yours, brother.” The princess spoke softly as her fingers grazed his hair.

“Yes it was. I laughed at him, didn’t I? I thought myself clever when I should have looked the other way. I caused trouble and now… now I whine like a babe about it.” Luke suddenly pulled his head from her shoulder, stifling down tears of both sorrow and wrath. “A man takes accountability. A boy cower in his sister’s arms.” His voice firm.

The princess gazed upon the side of Luke’s face, scanning his boyish features. She raised an eyebrow and suddenly a laugh escaped her.

The young prince turned his head in shock, his voice stuttering, “Do… do not laugh.”

Visenya continued regardless, she rolled her eyes and leaned back upon her elbow, forcing Luke to turn his head.

“Brother I laugh because you are boy. I laugh because I cannot tell you how many times I have watched our brother, or my father… or even our un-” She stopped herself, “Even other boys, do the same as you are now. Fighting themselves so foolishly over what is a condition of having a heart, not the weakness of a man.” Visenya rose to sit up once more, taking his hand.

“You took accountability just before, no?” She beckoned.

Luke nodded.

“Well then, you have done what a man would do... recognise you made an error at laughing at our uncle, who himself, made an even greater error by throwing a most bitter tantrum! Precisely after our Grandsire was not there to witness such a thing.” Her voice firm as she ranted.

Lucerys raised his brow as he took in her words, his mind churning, “Yet I doubt Aemond is scuttling off into the arms of his sister.”

“No, he likely to craven to even admit such weakness to his own kin, but one never knows what other methods of comfort he seeks. My point is that it is he who acts more boyishly then you. Aemond who relishes in such causing scenes! Yes you laughed, so bloody what? You are the one who is truly but a boy still. Aemond is but a man grown, he ought have a stronger spine.” The princess lowered her tone, shaking her head as she scoffed with contempt.

As Prince Lucerys looked upon his sister, he felt tears beckon in his eyes his heart aching as he realised how terribly he wished to be long gone from this place, how he wished things could be as they were in their youth at Dragonstone. Yet a sense of doom befell him, that things had changed now.

Slowly his head came back to her shoulder, and Visenya could do nothing but look upon her younger brother with an affection like no other. She brought her hand up to his hair, stroking it and she felt droplets of tears fall upon the fabric of her gown.

“I shall never be like you… or Jace… or even mother. I shall always be afraid.” He whispered.

“Sweet brother. We are all afraid. Fear does not make you weak...and it took me many years to see that neither does the revelation of vulnerability.” Visenya’s voice dropped to a soft, cooing tone. Her hand still gliding upon the mop of his black curls.

Luke shook his head, protesting her words. His voice strained, “You are not vulnerable as I am.”

“Yes… I am. I am, Lucerys... but I feel I must stay strong. I cannot falter as I once did, not when mother depends on me so. Not when you and Jace… and, and Joffrey are in such danger. I did not understand it when I was young, did not see how everything I did reinforced the slander against mother and therefore put you three in greater danger. You are not weak for leaning upon me, it was I who was weak because I resisted being leaned upon.” The princess looked out upon the soft glow of the candles which flickered. She felt her gaze and voice become low. A whirlwind of regret and emotions pooling through her.

“But I must be strong too.” He muttered.

“You are.” She whispered back, the moment paused, which led to the both of them realising what was said, and they let out small snickers. It was nice, to acknowledge the truth.

 Luke raised his head, his face turned to his elder sister. In this moment he found his gaze weakening, he needed her strength, he needed her honesty, “Ser Leanor is not my father, is he?”

A soft breath left the princess, her mind was in no state of conflict as she spoke. Her eyes still looking out, “No brother. Nor is he mine.”

And there it was, the clear truth. She had had this moment with Jace once before, and now she would have it with Luke. Slowly, Visenya turned her head, gazing into his simpering eyes, her hand coming to his cheek, “Then at least… now I know that I can be brave. For Ser Harwin was. He cared for Jace and Joffrey… and me. Protected us, even though it put him in danger.” The young prince’s voice beaming with reverence.

Visenya pouted softly and nodded. She felt her eyes weaken and tears beckon as she slowly pulled his head to her heart. Luke’s arms wrapped around his elder sister, and in that moment he realised how much like their mother she truly was. How much he was willing to give to prove himself worthy of his name.

The princess gazed out longingly, tears falling but she did not acknowledge them. She felt a slight pang of jealously but also gratitude. For Ser Harwin despite the world being against him, did not abandon his boys, did everything he could to protect them and see to his mother. She even remembered how he would treat Visenya like his own and would call her fierce like Rhaenyra. She remembered the man who harboured dark curls like her brothers, his sweet kind words and fatherly affection.

As the princess spoke, she found her voice failing her, “You are lucky, brother. To have had such a father… and even luckier to inherit such a good heart. He was but a good man… and I have little doubt you shall be too.”

Luke looked up and furrowed his brow, “You have a good heart too sister.”

“If I have been gifted any goodness… it comes from mother. I feel, as I grow older… more estranged from Daemon. More attune to his ways.” Visenya crumbled, her heart sinking as her voice was no more than a whisper.

“His ways?” The prince asked.

Visenya's gaze drew distant as she muttered, “Coming and going…”

“He married mother. Does that not prove you and her are where his heart truly lies? If as you say… all of us have vulnerability, would you not be one of them?” Lucerys scrunched his nose, contemplating his own words. Even he were not too sure if they were accurate, for it was true Prince Daemon was indeed, an enigma.

“He is impossible to understand. He was not like Ser Harwin, he abandoned me...would barely acknowledge me in public. There was never a moment when he would dare guide or teach me before the eyes of others. Everything was done in the shadows; everything was done where none could see, and it was so rarely he might as well have been just an uncle. Most of the brief moments we shared were him reprimanding me for being a strain upon my mother, and then he would leave again, barely reaching out. Setting out to Pentos to spend the rest of his days when he had little reason not to come to Dragonstone. There were times when... when I could see it in his eyes, that I was something he regrets.” She found herself simpering, looking down. In that moment she felt like a girl again and all she could do was lean in to such heartache.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he just… kept away because… because he could not risk what may happen to you if he didn’t. Though, I am grateful for Ser Harwin’s affection… it made things all the worse did it not? Many people still think you to be Ser Leanor’s.” Luke mumbled, a quiet wisdom falling unknowingly from him.

Visenya shook her head, bringing her hand to her face as she spoke, “Yes but that is because I-” Her eyes suddenly met Luke’s and they both knew what she was to say. She appears Valyrian.

Lucerys nodded and another quiet moment passed before he found his way into her arms. The two siblings finding a sense of understanding and comfort, just as she did with Jacaerys all those years ago. Mayhap one day even she will have to do the same with Joffrey.

There was then, a small exchange of fumbling and bickering that echoed outside her door, Luke pulled away and raised his brow,

“Just go inside!” One rang.

“What if she with a suitor? I heard another?” A softer responded.

The first scoffed, “Too bloody bad, Luke is missing, and we must leave.”

“Jace!” A third winced.

The sudden opening of her chamber door meant for Visenya to shake her head.

“Sister… I shall give you a moment to, ready yourself… and also any other who may be present.” The awkward voice of Jacaerys bellowed.

“You’ll have to give them all a moment brother.” The princess mocked, waiting for the foolishness to end.

His eyes widened suddenly, and face coiled in horror as he awaited what he thought would be a flock of men, “Them all? How.. how many- “

“Jacaerys just come in!” She snapped slightly, winning a snicker from Luke.

As Jace made his way in, he approached the corner where her bed was. Cautiously his eyes readying to shut before he found himself grimacing in embarrassment as he saw the likes of his two siblings. The prince scoffed and gestured to his younger brother, “Why would you not say you were with him?”

Visenya raised her brow, giving him a “Why would you not knock if you thought me apprehended?” A small laugh escaping her as she watched Jace’s face turn over itself, he raised his brow and nodded.

Soon, the shutting of her door warranted the arrival of Baela and Rhaena.

Baela having huffed and gently nudged at Jace, “Sorry, sister.” She said softly, tilting her head and giving a gentle look to her elder upon the bed. Visenya returned the gesture. “We were merely worried because, Luke had disappeared, and we weren’t so certain if he were with you or…” Baela trailed off.

“Why were you looking for me?” Lucerys turned his head.

Jace stepped forward, “Mother says we are to leave tonight.”

“Tonight…why? When?” Visenya raised her brow.

“After what happened at supper she thinks it best we return to Dragonstone. They are preparing a ship still; we have some time but.. you best be ready.”

The eldest Targaryen shook her head, her voice beaming with frustration “But I came on dragonback?”

“Oh… yes I think Rhaenyra mentioned something of the sorts of having Silverwing readied.” Baela assured.

Visenya rose to her feet, straightening her gown as she collected her trunk, “Hm. Very well, I shall… be ready then. How much time is left?”

“Mayhap… an hour or two?” Rhaena shrugged, “Rhaenyra had just said for us to be ready to leave as hastily as possible, so…” The youngest girl continued.

Visenya nodded, and began to collect her things upon the vanity, swiftly bringing them into her trunk. As she did so, Lucerys had joined his brother as they bid each other farewell.

However, there was but one thing on the mind of the Princess as she hastily shoved her things into her trunk: Blood of Old.

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