#its like the sky has insomnia

[slutty-cthulhu]

i miss the old yellow lights they had a good spooky vibe to them, but im down for red street lights they're even more spooky (albeit IMO not quite as good a vibe)

perhaps some will disagree, but i think the world got worse when we changed the colour of the night

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you���re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[tottentz]

SOMEONE TO YOU ── zenless zone zero, sfw ౨ৎ⠀⠀or little things you do that make them fall in love again ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral reader⠀/⠀ft. billy kid, nicole, anby, wise, belle, von lycaon, zhu yuan. ♡ˎˊ˗

— VON LYCAON ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you fix his clothes. it's nothing, really, you say, adjusting a crooked collar or smoothing a wrinkle. but to lycaon, who wrenches your hips flush to his own when you attempt to break away, it's as if you're unlocking a secret part of his world. the slight, almost imperceptible smile that graces his lips speaks volumes, and if you notice the wagging of his tail or his ears twiching, you never bring it up, instead, you giggle and remind him to be careful—lycaon knows it's not just about the clothes, as he yearns for an affinity but is terrified of the eternal menaces that endanger you and himself alike, but for now, lycaon can get used to the way you treat him as though he is the center of your universe simpers when he deliberately separates from your embrace by prying away and halting the intimate dance formerly initiated. 

— ANBY ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you watch movies with her. anby just adores those quiet evenings when you and she are nestled together, lost in the glow of a flickering screen. it doesn't matter if you understand the movie, or if it is not your favorite genre, she thrives on the way your eyes light up in the dark, a mirror to her own fascination, and in the same way, you always listen to everything she has to say about the film. anby does not know how to physically express her emotions, but she makes it up by pressing your head to her and feel what you often feel with you: safe, soothed — at home. the effect she has on you, it makes you think that maybe everything will be alright. and if you fall asleep, she smooth her palms up and down your sides. she's soothing you, even like this. does she even realize it, you wonder, is it just second nature for her? you don't need an answer right now.

— BILLY KID ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you praise him. he swears his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who dance to the tempo of his non-existent palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery whenever he hears your voice. he revels in the way you celebrate his victories, no matter how small, and how you tease him with an affectionate grin after every misstep. your belief in him, wrapped in your energetic spirit, lights up his world with a spark that fuels his every move. and there's also you. his person. and he loves, and loves, and loves so endlessly you'd think he would give you the world and everything in the sky, if he could. and if he feels too embarrassed, he would gasp as if stumbling upon treasure before he clumsily grips at your shoulders with a child's enthusiasm. billy is sure to divulge his honest opinion. you, to him, were his one in a million.

— NICOLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you hold her. she will never admit it, but nicole finds a serene joy in the gentle, reassuring touch of your hands. it could be any part of her body, from the way you keep your hands warm for nicole when it's cold outside and come up behind her and rubs them up and down her arms. she can do it herself, obviously, but you don't stop, whether it's a supportive grip during a comission or a delicate caress in passing, you know it brings a soothing sense of closeness that she treasures. in private, however, she's so ironically fragile. you could hold her in the palm of your hand, present his broken pieces to the world and they'd still choose to be fooled. the leader of the odd-job agency the cunnin hares will never admit the times she falls asleep like that, cradled against you, soft in your arms.your touch is like a quiet promise that reassures her and makes her heart flutter with contentment, 

— WISE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you lull him to sleep. when insomnia weaves its restless threads around him, it's your voice that becomes his sanctuary. you don't care if you have to be up at 4am. if you stir awake at an odd hour and finds him still up and restless, you'll always be wrapping around him before he can get a word out,a and it doesn't matter if he is working on the computer or watching the tv, you'll drag him back to bed so you'll press him snug to your warm chest as you hum in that soft, gravely tune that always helps him fall asleep. and in the morning, he is grateful to be woken up by you snoring next to him, and wise breaks into a smile at the sight, eyes baring crow's feet as his fingers rouse through your knotted locks, thumb prodding into your temple and stroking soothing lengths into the dimpled flesh. your presence becomes his most cherished remedy.

— BELLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you play fighting games with her. she always wins, anyway, but you know the way belle’s eyes sparkle with a fierce joy when you join her in the world of fighting games is worth the try. if only you knew she consistently were to be reduced to putty in your hands, an object to be used for your disposal, belle would allow such. to remain within contact for a second more, she’d do whatever it took. desire which set her heart aflame affirmed her certainty when deciding his aim for the future. she would remain by your side, sure to treasure everlasting memories crafted within your presence. she still hands out pieces of herself like there's enough to go around (there isn't). and when she lose( on purpose ), she since convinced herself that she has already won. content with the belief he had already acquired millions with you.

— ZHU YUAN ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you buy flowers for her. zhu yuan's heart flutters with a delicate joy whenever you present her with flowers, their vibrant colors a testament to your affection. she once mentioned how much she likes keeping fresh flowers, but since she is busy she would not have time to take care of them; and now the house never seems to run out of them, the vases always full with fresh sugar water and kept - you tend them for her. blemishes blind to her eye, she discerned only visage of an appeal, your charm far too bewitching to discourage her nursing of attraction towards you. she adores not just the flowers themselves, but the care you take in nurturing them, reflecting the same tenderness you offer her. regardless of how you had been perceived by peers or what grade you had been given, the way she viewed you was like no other.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[cvnt4him]

hurt/comfort with vigilante! izuku where he reunites with his s/o has been plaguing my thoughts 😭

Let me relieve you my darling<33

You were in your room staring up at the ceiling, something you found yourself doing time and time again these past months. Insomnia was a bitch and it seemed to have taken over you as a whole, engulfing you in its dreadful misery, making you stay up despite feeling tired. You were stuck, all because of him.

Thinking about how your oh so selfless and caring boyfriend left you... and your friends of course. He held you close, incredibly close the night before he departed. He spoke such sas words with such huge meanings, yet you were so tired and in such peace in his arms, you hadn't even noticed he was saying goodbye. He knew what he was going to do and told you goodbye. It made you feel so guilty waking up the next morning to see everyone standing in the middle of the lounge with saddened expressions slathered across their faces.

They held pieces of paper that you didn't have. They explained to you what it said in a long story short and it broke your heart. Then was when you finally pieces together what he was saying to you the night before. it broke you terribly so.

Thinking about that horrible day made you turn over in your bed and cry. You cried and cried and cried into your pillow silently. Sniffling and hiccuping as far tears rolled down your cheeks, your eyes reddening from how hard you were crying. You were crying so much it hurt, your throat was aching and your head was pounding. You had cried for the rest of the night.

The day completely flew by in a blur, you didn't take down any notes during class, hardly interacted with anyone at all, didn't eat during lunch. You were completely heartbroken for so long and it's affected your daily necessities. Once you'd read online how a broken heart can kill, sometimes during the night when you're crying you think about that and it leads to a panic attack. Your nights are restless and cruel. How you hated them, but you didn't hate them more than you did the day. They were long and tiring and so so so draining.

You found yourself once again, lying restless in your bed. Thinking about your oh so cruel and selfless boyfriend once again. One thing that kept crossing your mind was if he still thinks about you. Or at all in that fact, you wondered if he still considered you his girlfriend despite the two of you not being near each other for about 2 months.

You sigh at the thought, feeling the annoying and painful tinge of tears filling at your waterline. Just before you could turn over and do your routine all over again you hear a knock at your window. You jumped, startled at the sound that erupted from the balcony.

You gulped and wiped what little tears you needed to and got up, legs wobbly and you stumbled your way to your balcony opening it and walking outside and looking out in the distance. You seen a night sky and a crescent moon, no stars but some clouds present. The trees leafs billowing in the wind, you take a deep breath in and let the crisp night breeze fan your face. Closing your eyes you exhale and suddenly feel extremely relaxed. Like this is what you needed.

You hum, a small smile trickling to your face, tugging at the corners of your lips. Basking in this moment you're suddenly taken by surprise, whole body being grasped and flown into the air, you nearly scream but couldn't get a sound out as something, a hand wrapped around your mouth. You continued to try and scream through the hand covering your mouth before you hear a shushing sound. The person behind you shushing you as they held you close to their chest.

"shh.., it's okay. calm down. It's alright, I've got you.."

The voice, despite being muffled and somewhat deepened and groggy, sounded vaguely familiar. Scratch that, completely familiar, a voice you prayed you hear again. Every single night you prayed and prayed and prayed silently that he would come back to you, that he would come and get you. At least let you know he was okay.

Tears spilled from your eyes uncontrollably, you hiccupped and tried to catch your breath before you were swiftly turned around and your face was buried into his filthy chest. He reeked, he smelled so bad yet you couldn't begin to care. This proved it, he had thought about you. He cared about you. He..

" I love you..."

You couldn't muster words, choking on air as he rubbed circles into your back. You sniffed and wailed into his chest loudly. He brought you to the roof and sat you both down, holding you tightly.

"izu.. izuku.. how could- could you leave like that?! It- you—"

When you finally looked up to him you seen his dingy and dirty mask, it was ripped and kind of overed in muck and debris. Your wailing stopped as you looked at him, his face turning away. You pulled him back by his mask before trying to lift it slightly before he pulled it back down.

"izuku..."

You tried again, a lot slower and gentler this time in hopes he'd let you see his face, it had been 2 months after all. To your surprise, he let you. You took his mask off lifting it over his head, once it was finally off his eyes were slightly squinted, it'd been a while since he took off that mask. Seeing through a dark mask all the time might have a bad effect on your eyes.

You sighed at his face, all sad and tired the bags under his eyes were worse than yours. He looked dead, pale, completely ghost like. It was startling. Your rat of sunshine who brightened everyone's day was dimmer, he was completely burned out. It hurt you to see him this way.

"y/n... I can't comeback.. not yet."

"wait what?! no no no no you- you have too! you-"

Izuku bit his lip trying to hold back his tears before he kissed you, his soft yet dried lips capturing yours and holding them there. He breathed in through his nose and held his breath trying to stay in this moment with you for as long as possible before it broke.

He placed his forehead to yours and his breath was wavery, shaking. He sniffed having a hard time holding back his tears. He wrapped his arms around you in a sweet embrace and snuggled his face in your neck.

"I'm sorry."

AN: ah, a shitty ending to a shitty story. As much as I enjoyed creating this I feel like it's lacking a huge hint of flavour, alas I am too lazy to change it around. So enjoy!

[alexiswritingstuff]

A partner in the dark.

Pairing: Logan x male reader

Request: Logan with a m!reader who has insomnia/just can’t sleep?? I can’t sleep, but I’m never sure if it’s insomnia because other times I sleep just fine. maybe it’s anxiety, idk - but sometimes I think all those problems would go away if I just had a big fluffy man to cuddle on, y’know??

Warnings: none.

A/n: this might be the shortest fic I have ever written. This request is so unbelievably real. As always, be aware that my characterisation of Logan may be a little off as I'm still getting used to writing for him, and that there may be spelling mistakes and such as I can tend to miss them.

To the person that sent this in I hope this is what you were asking for, and that you enjoy it!

The same goes for everyone else!!

Logan masterlist.

The awareness of time had been lost. It had been hours at this point. The only certain thing was that the night had taken over the sky.

Your room was cascaded in the usual darkness, except for a few streams of the outside light that escaped through a parting of the curtains. Apparently they hadn't been closed right.

To put it simply, you were wide awake in a bed that practically served no purpose. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling. There was no particular reason. I mean, there wasn't anything to look at anyway, it was just plain white. A shade that was really starting to get boring.

But alas, every attempt at peeling your gaze from it or even just shutting your eyes had failed. Similar to the effort to sleep.

Multiple times the rustling of the bed sheets would crackle through the air as your limbs shifted across the mattress, though the only thing really achieved was discovering a new position.

Eventually, your back was the last option left. So, there you were, stuck facing upward while your hands sat on top of each other on your chest. You could feel it rise and fall. Even the faintest beats of your heart.

And it still didn't work.

An exhale parted your lips after sucking in through your nose. There was one more try for comfort, your shoulders sort of rubbing into the bed as if they were the source of the problem.

“Can't sleep?”

You blinked initially, the sound almost delayed in your ears as your senses weren’t as active as they were before.

Soon, your head loosely lolled to the side, at most an attempt to send a simple glance at the man. Though, it remained when you had met with his dark eye. 

Only one was on display; the other engulfed by the pillow. He lay opposite you, in more ways than one. He was on his stomach as he peered at you, eyelids visibly heavy; each blink lasted longer than the next.

“Did I wake you?” you whispered. 

Logan sort of huffed at that, air piercing from his nose. “Could,” he corrected through a grumble, “until some guy kicked me in the leg.”

The side of your face fully pressed into your pillow, chin lowering, so that you could face him enough. “I did?” You were cringing, concerned gaze fixating on Logan while he slowly but surely started to twist his body round with an equal amount of groans. 

There was almost a sigh of relief when he had landed on his back, his body bouncing just a tad from the sudden movement. “Don’t worry about it.” he offered with some gruffness, his lack of energy seeming to affect his use of tone. 

It had you just looking at him for a moment. Watching the last few times he blinked before his eyes decided to stay closed. You hummed for a response, a sound so light it had barely even made its way through your throat.

And then you were back to facing that dreaded ceiling. It almost annoyed you by how smooth it looked. Didn’t even look like it had been painted, even if it had; there were no streaks or imperfections. Just purely white.

“What’s wrong?”

This time, you didn’t budge. “Nothing.” you practically whispered. “You sure?” Logan was quick to ask, seeming to shuffle around a little bit as the bed creaked, “I personally don’t find a ceiling all that interesting.”

The tensity in your muscles eased, especially in your face, when you allowed your head to turn. Yet again.

He was looking at you through almost half lidded eyes. Though, his eyebrows were raised, inviting your answers. You sighed, trying to think of the right words to use before your lips inevitably parted. 

“My brain’s too loud.”

It was the only way you could describe it. I mean, the room engulfing the two of you was silent. Completely silent. There were no sounds of birds from outside, or wind. Not even a car driving passed on the road. 

If a pin had been dropped in any corner of the room, maybe even right down the hallway, you would have heard it. Thus, it was all from your head. 

Logan seemed to sit up a little at that. The movement wasn’t so much in his body than it was his head as it raised slightly from the pillow beneath. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

You could’ve pictured the expression on his face if you hadn’t already been looking at it; the furrowing of his eyebrows, the squint of his eyes, the light frown that dragged the corners of his lips. Now, he was awake. 

You shook your head, as much as you could in your position. “It’s just annoying.” you confessed, grabbing onto Logan’s hand when he reached over.

Initially it was aimed towards your face, but you held it instead. You needed something in your hand; to feel it. “I’m so tired, but when I try to sleep nothing happens, you know?”

“It’s the one thing I should be able to do– like everyone else, and I just… I can’t. I can’t get myself to stop thinking.”

Logan’s other hand came up from somewhere under the sheet, dragging along the bedding until it could finally make contact with your face. An exhale instinctively huffed through your nose at the touch, and the feeling of his warm fingers. He caressed along your cheekbone. “Come here.”

You stared back at him for a moment, his features barely visible in the few streams of light until it got to his shining eyes.

Logan let go of you for a moment, grabbing at the dog tags around his neck before pulling it to the side. And then he held his arms out, proving that he meant it.

You complied.

Your head ended up landing on his chest, mostly because he guided it there himself, and it was almost instantly that your body melted onto his.

You could feel his arms encasing you, finding their wanted positions just like yours were, though eventually his hands had settled around your shoulders.

His heartbeat was right in your ear; the slow rhythm of it, the thuds themselves. Truthfully, even if none of this helped you to sleep, you still wouldn’t mind listening to it until the sun came up. 

“There’s nothing to worry about now,” Logan insisted with a breath that raised you with his chest. He pressed a kiss to your head before leaning his chin against it, “It can wait until morning.”

“I can’t just shut my mind off, Logan–”

“It can wait.” he maintained, tightening his hold on you as he shifted slightly on the bed. 

It had you wanting to roll your eyes. To shake your head, maybe even roll off of him completely, but there was something about it that made it impossible to do so. 

You were surrounded by his warmth. His arms. Him. He had given his body to lean on, and offered the sound of his heart right to you; a sound you don’t get to hear very often. There was no chance that you were moving. 

By the next exhale, your head had sunk further into the bare skin of his chest. The two of you practically melded together. 

Your fingers lightly traced along the back of his arm, following the edge of his muscles as the sound of his breaths filled your ears. “Thank you.” you whispered after a moment, finally letting your eyes fall closed.

“No need.”

[fanon-elio]

-*'Good Night, My Dear'*-

Von Lycaon x Gn!reader

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

A one shot inspired by Lycaon's trust events.

Warnings: None

Night has fallen over New Eridu, the suns departure having plunged the City into a familiar darkness. Even if no longer illuminated by the sun's rays, the city glows regardless, just as colorfull as during the day.

Similar, and yet completely different.

The colorfull lights of the buildings glittering like stars, while effectively drowning out the shine of the real ones. The only exception was the moon as it hung peacefully in the sky, its cold light basking whatever it touched in a melancholic light. It was Ironic that something so tranquil found its place right above a city that never once quieted down, always awake and thriving with life. Be it animals who also called the City their home, or people who were still out and about, either partying, or having just gotten off work.

A place where you had found yourself currently as you walked through the pedestrian area, your gaze being drawn to the skyline of the City time and time again. Work had exhausted, but never the less satisfied you, knowing that you had been very productive today.

And sometimes it's the small things that count.

You noticed a cat sitting just by the Kiosk, carefully observing you. Slowly you approached the small animal, kneeling down just a few steps away as not to frighten it, gently reaching out your index finger as if questioning it for its company. It sniffed your finger curiously before it approached you, rubbing its head against your hand. Slowly you scratched the cats chin, its puring being a welcome contrast to the sound of traffic or the chattering of other people. Soon a second cat joined much to your delight, as it approached to where you've been sitting. It reminded you of a good friend who always seemed to attract the attention of all the animals around him, as they approached in happy curiousity.

Something that happened quite often as Lycaon had told you, even though you always thought that the Wolf thiren himself was just as huggable. You and him had been friends for a long while now, having first met by chance on the street when you had helped him when a little girl had been awfully curious about his fluffy tail. You didn't know why you had felt obligated to step in, but he had definitely appreciated it.

After that both of you two had went your own ways until your paths would ultimately cross once again, only this time he was the one who had helped you out instead, when a scetchy vendor wanted to sell you fake jade pendants. As thanks you had invited him to a coffee, and later exchanged numbers when you realized how much you two had in common. After that you had met up with him regularely, finding great joy in eachothers company as you talked about whatever came to mind.

The cat in your lab flinched, seeming to have been spooked by a loud noise as it got up and ran away. You stood up and looked after it, suprised when the Wolf thiren you had thought about just now seemed to materialize right in front of you, his white fur almost gleeming like a ghost in the cold light of the moon as his gaze was cast into the sky.

You wondered what he was doing up so late, thinking that the issue could be his insomnia he struggled with from time to time as he had told you. His ear flicked, seeming to have noticed the sound of your shoes coming his way, and he turned to look at you. "It's an honor to meet you here so late" he responded, a tinge of surprise in his voice "hey Lycaon, what are you doing up so late?" You asked him, coming to a halt next to him "I had trouble sleeping, so I decieded to go on a little stroll" he responded "what about you? Are you out for a stroll at this hour of the night as well?" you scratched your neck sheepishly "actually I just got off work, I've done some overtime" you told him, and he pursed his lips "even though working hard is commendable, you also shouldn't overwork yourself" he gently scolded you, as you pondered of telling him the exact same thing. "I was just on my way home, but found myself captivated by the moon" you told him "so you're here for the moon, too" he asked you, and you nodded.

You two once again gazed into the sky above, a comfortable silence setteling between you two as you basked in eachothers company like you had done time and time again. It was only broken by Lycaon posing a question "Say, do you believe in fate?" a question that caught you off guard a little. "I do" you responded noting his lips as they formed a small smile "I do as well, just a moment earlier I had thought about you, and then suddenly you appeared" he said, an expression of suprise found its way onto your features "same here, I had thought about you as well" you responded, an answer he seemed to like.

He let out a small sigh "the moon does look beautiful tonight" his eye found the glowing sphere in the sky "You can get a spectacular view of the moon in New Eridu from this angle" he tells you "but everyone knows that the moon is actually battered and beaten... The moon is dead. What we see is its corpse" he spoke wistfully "someone I used to know told me once." His words sure surprised you, surely you hadn't taken him for the poetic type. But as your eyes followed his, noting the subtle otherwordly shimmer of the hollow that covered a part of the moon's surface, you couldn't help but agree. "It sounds kind of beautiful" you replied, and he chuckled a bit "your responses never fail to surprise... and amuse me" he fully turned to you, a question glittering behind his crimson iris "If I may be so bold to ask, would you accompany me somewhere? The view is beautiful at night, but it takes a little effort to get there" he asked offering you his hand, and you obliged "of course" you responded "thank you. If you'll please pardon my breach in etiquette." For a moment you fail to realize what is happening to you. "hold on tight" he spoke, low and gentle before a feeling of wheightlessness suddenly rushed up and you automatically screwed your eyes shut as you clung to Lycaon's shoulders, the gentle call of the night breeze rushing in your face.

When your eyes opened, you found yourself standing on solid ground again. "we are here" his voice sounded out before you finally saw where he had brought you.

"A rooftop?" You questioned. "I come here whenever I can't sleep, just to feel the breeze" he explained taking a few steps towards the edge "there is no scientific way to corrobarate this, but this place that makes me feel at ease. I always find it easier to sleep after coming here" you took a few steps towards him as you took in the view "you can walk around and take in the view... if you're not afraid of heights." Up here New Eridu stretched as far as the eye could see, the lights of the buildings glittering as they were reflected in the water. Just below you the night life was still buzzing with people enjoying their evening, while you enjoyed yours up here.

You looked at Lycaon, noticing that something seemed to be on his mind as he chewed on his bottom lip absentmindedly. "Are you alright? You seem bothered by something?" You ask him and he clears his throat, seemingly in embarassment "not necessarily bothered, however..." he trailed off seeming to internally brawl with himself "It is just-" if you didn't know any better you'd think that he was flustered by something "- Y/n, if I may be so bold to ask" he started "would you give me the honor of going out with me sometime" he asked, clearly surprising you. He stepped closer to you and put a hand on your shoulder, his touch soft and caring "You are incredibly important to me, and that's something that will never change" his voice held so much honesty and emotion, it made your heart swell with a strong new feeling.

"I absolutely want to go out with you" you beamed at him, and his tail started to wag "you are very important to me as well Lycaon, I greatly enjoy spending time with you" you said, a small blush creeping its way onto your face "with you more so than with any other" you confessed, his tail picking up speed. For some time you two just looked at eachother, once again just enjoying the moment beneath the moon. The faint rustling of Lycaon's tail filled the silence between you before you spoke up mirthfully "Oh look your tail is wagging" you exclaimed "and your ears were moving too" his gaze found yours before he once again cleared his throat "...you must be mistaken" he says, discreetly grabbing the traitorous appendage with the hand behind his back. You give him an amused smile, but chose not to further tease him about it. You two continued your conversation, setting the plans for your future date in stone as the hours melted away.

After enjoying the breeze on the rooftop for a bit with Lycaon, you miraculously start to feel tired. You yawned and rubbed your eye, which gained his attention "It's already very late. Let me take you home" he said, offering you his hand again, which you once again took. He gently picked you up again and held you close while you burried your face in the crook of his neck as the feeling of weightlessness once again washed over you. Lycaon jumped over the roofs, the metallic sound of his prosthetics filling your ears, and the closeness to him erasing your fear of the immense height. His grip on you was firm but gentle, and you knew that he'd never drop you.

As soon as the familiar sense of weightlessness wore off again, you were greeted by the entrance of your apartment. Your feet met solid ground again as Lycaon carefully put you down "have a pleasant night. I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight" he spoke "may you have a good night's rest. You deserve it after having worked so hard today" he finished, placing his right hand to his chest before leaning down to bow gracefully. You smile and took a step towards him, placing a small kiss on his cheek " I wish you a good night as well, and text me once you're home" you spoke and his gaze found yours, his tail picking up speed again. "I will, thank you y/n" you stepped into your apartment and gave him one last look, smiling at him before closing the door.

Now a smile found its way on Lycaon's features as well, tracing his cheek with his fingers before he turned on his heel and made his way back home.

He knew tonight, he would sleep very well.

-*'♡'*-

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part five

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

chapter warnings: grief, suicide mention, assault mention

word count: 9.3k

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The sun burns bright upon the courtyards of the Red Keep, its blinding rays showering the grass in warm morning light. Lords and ladies make their way through the stone pathways, chatting in lowered voices as the sacred and ancient exchange of gossip and rumor occurs. Few clouds dot the brilliant blue sky, and the flowers seem perfectly content to rise up towards the crystalline heavens. Upon a white marble bench, Lady Tyrell finds little solace in the pleasant weather. A book rests upon her lap as she attempts to make her way through its pages, but what is normally as natural as breathing today does not come easy. Each time she tries to read a page, her mind wanders and becomes embroiled in worry and anxious trepidation over yesterday’s events. She had rested fitfully, waking from nightmares thrice over. 

Fingers drum against the cover of the book in a jumpy rhythm, and she taps her shoe against the stone pathway beneath the skirts of her gown. The words run together upon the page, blurring and mixing and dancing about, and by the time she has supposedly read through a chapter she finds she has not retained enough information to create even a simple summary. Closing her eyes and taking a long breath, she releases a slow sigh and lifts her chin to stare up at a single white cloud that drifts lazily in the sky. 

One of the ladies stops to greet her, and despite her troubled mind she is glad to have an excuse to close the book that has been giving her unusual difficulty and chat about idle gossip. 

It is during this discussion that Cregan Stark pauses in the hall, partially hidden in one of the stone passageways. The Northern lord had found sleep eluding him, his mind troubled and occupied by the previous day as well. And there upon a bench, bathed in morning light, sits the cause of his insomnia. Laughing sweetly at a likely scandalous comment whispered to her behind a hand, eyes sparkling in the sun. Her hair has been returned to a delicate arrangement and her dress is a dulcet cream that plunges just as low as any that typically adorns her figure.

As if nothing had happened at all. But Cregan knows better; he knows far more than he ought to, and the knowing is what stills his boots and causes him to stare out into the courtyard. There he stands, storm-cloud eyes unable to be torn away from how she brushes a strand of hair out of her face before leaning over to offer a delicious piece of gossip herself. The gloves upon her arms have his attention raptly captivated.

Ivory satin that covers the bandages on her wrists, the reddened and now bruising marks that Cregan had helped to cover. It had been his hands upon her arms, his calloused fingers ghosting over her soft skin as her eyes watched impartially, allowing him. What a strange thing it is, to look at this lady who has been so wrapped in secrets and deception and to know that him and her now have a shared secret of their own. 

Lady Tyrell senses a foreign presence in her peripherals and her sharp eyes flicker over to the corridor that runs parallel to the courtyard.  She meets Cregan’s eyes in an immediate recognition, faint surprise present in her own as she holds his gaze a moment. But just as soon as she notices him, her eyes dart back to her companion and she redirects her full attention to the conversation in front of her, as if she has not seen him at all. 

Cregan watches as she nods to the lady sat upon the bench with her, hands folded elegantly in her lap, and his eyes narrow at the poignancy with which she ignores him. It is so pointed and evident, when she has been tracking him down like a hound with a scent from the moment he set foot within the Red Keep. And now she turns away, as if he is no more noteworthy than a passing page or a squire. His chest tightens.

His redirection is swift and purposeful, and he squares his shoulders as he approaches the two women across the courtyard. Lady Tyrell’s companion stiffens and blinks up with concern, but there is only faintly concealed irritation in the eyes of the lady he seeks. Her lips press together, likely to produce a sugary sentiment with which she can dismiss him, but Cregan shall not let her rid herself of him so quickly.

“If I might have a moment with the Lady Tyrell…?” The tone is detached and proper, and the other lady upon the bench offers a quick nod before she gives a worried glance between the two of them and scurries off. 

Lady Tyrell finds herself casting an irritated glare in the direction of the other woman, frustrated at the quickness with which she catered to Cregan’s wishes. Annoying, yet far from surprising – It is he who causes such fear and worry about the castle these days. Is that not why she had been seeking him out? How ironic, this turn of events where she now wishes to be rid of his presence but instead must simper and smile to keep him at newly preferred distance. 

Giving a slow sigh, she feels her shoulders lower and her hands fall to rest upon the cover of the book within her lap. As her chin tilts upwards to meet his stare, Cregan is keenly aware of how little she seems to desire his being there at that moment. Even so, a sweet smile falls across her lips as she gazes up at him expectantly. A skilled combination of powder and lip coloring has been applied to her mouth to hide the flowering wound he knows is still there. If any manner of thoughts upon the way his eyes fall to her mouth fill her mind, she gives no indication of opinion.

“Lord Stark,” Calm as the fair weather this morning, her voice is soft and pleasant. The tired, thin cobwebs that hung from her weary words the previous evening have been brushed aside, and the emptiness of her eyes polished and shone until they shimmer as brightly as ever. A broken puppet that has been patched and mended and returned to the playhouse to continue a never-ending show. With the flap of pearl wings, a gull flies over head in a lazy swoop. “Such a pleasant morning, is it not?”

“Are you well, my lady?” Steady and low, the words interrupt her honey-coated offering of returning to their previous routine. Cregan will not play pretend with her, will not join her upon her wooden stage. The imagined audience that she is consistently acting for, all prolonged pauses and enunciated projection, shall not find amusement in the Lord of Winterfell. The telltale signs of irritation that Cregan has come to recognize – a twitch to her eyes, a tightening of her fingers as they rest on top of each other – inform him that she much prefers he not ask.

“I am, my lord. How kind it is for you to ask after me.” A gloved hand raises to her chest, pressing softly into the exposed section above the low neckline of her morning gown. The skin beneath her hand gives slight way, and Cregan might find his attention drawn if he did not harbor such insistent and gnawing worry upon her wellbeing. 

The ease with which she has returned to amiable pleasantry only serves to concern him further. In a flash of unusually petulant selfishness, Cregan discovers he wishes her to speak candidly with him, as she had the night before. No matter how venomous some of her words had been, to communicate with her free of presentation had been strangely liberating and rewarding. “Your hands–.”

“Is there a particular matter that you wish to discuss, my lord?” The interruption is swift and final, in spite of the gently bright and melodious way it is delivered. Soft lashes flutter as she gazes up at Cregan from the marble bench upon which she sits. The faint echo of voices can be heard, both from the courtyard and further within the castle’s halls. It is as busy a morning as ever.

Lady Tyrell cannot help the anxiety and frustration that she feels tightening her chest and pressing into her lungs at his presence. Keenly aware of the severity with which she has disgraced herself in front of him, embarrassment pounds hotly in her veins. It is only with years of practice that she keeps any of this from showing upon her face. For all his patient and genuine apology, and the gentle care with which he had tended to her wrists, she cannot help but retain the crashing waves of suspicion within the harbor of her heart.

Cregan is silent a moment, jaw tense at her quick dismissal of his attempt to reach past her heavily fortified walls, draped in fragrant flowers as they may be. The tossing and turning in his bedsheets the previous night, admittedly not the first time her image has found its way into his mind during such dark and silent hours, has left the lord with an unsettling understanding of her perception of him.

Far from perfect, he knows well that he has made a few mistakes since his descent upon the Red Keep. And so needing for allies has he been of late, there has been not one Southern noble whose opinion he has truly drawn upon in his decision making. With a deep sigh, Cregan finds himself sitting next to her upon the bench. She pauses.

Her eyes dart about quickly, as if to see who might notice this, but she does not strike him nor rise to leave. Suspicion can briefly be read upon her face, but it is swept away just as rapidly as it arrives. His heavy gaze falls upon her for a moment, and she does her utmost to not fidget under such an intense look. She imagines she ought to be used to it by now, but there is something about its weight that she cannot grow accustomed to just yet. It is clear, when he parts his lips, that the matter he is presenting has been onerous to entertain within his mind.

“Sit upon my council this morning.”  It is phrased with that Northern lowness that is more resembling a command than a request. Lady Tyrell blinks back at him with an empty smile, fighting back the urge to behold him as if he has grown a second head. The possibility that he has lost his mind entirely does briefly wander through her brain with faintly amused disbelief. A few heads have turned at the two of them sat upon a bench in the courtyard together, fans fluttering over mouths whispering of the odd pairing.

Yet Cregan regards her with utmost seriousness as he continues, his brows drawn low above his bright eyes. “I have realized, in my mistreatment of you, that I have acted with certain prejudice in mind while carrying out my responsibilities here at King’s Landing. I believe a neutral Southern presence among my retainers might serve to temper the storm that gathers at my table. And to offer a perspective I would not have otherwise.”

It is a thoughtful proposal, a prudent and gracious offer in the wake of the uncompromising and violent war that has racked the Seven Kingdoms. And it is this that brings her pause – the wise action of a leader seeking knowledge and perspective from an outside source while he holds court in a city that is all but foreign to him. She has not believed Cregan to be a tyrant, save for the misunderstanding yesterday, but neither has she believed he genuinely intends to practice the justice he mentions so often.

Her face remains impassive, but she lowers her gaze a moment, eyes resting on the cobblestone pathway that weaves lazily through the courtyard, like a stream through a meadow. If she were his advisor, she would be utterly aghast at this. But as a lady of the South, who has grown unsettled by the increasing arrests and murmured spoiling for war that looms darker upon the Realm by the day, she finds she is quite nearly impressed at his willingness to listen. She does not like the thought of being impressed by Cregan Stark. She shifts uncomfortably upon the marble bench.

“If you ask this of me, my lord, I would be honored to serve both you and the Realm.” Sweet and gentle, she agrees with a blossoming quickness to his offer. After all, she would be an absolute fool to refuse such a ripe opportunity. One she has been working towards from the moment he seized power – a chance at his ear and a place within the temporary inner circle, gained through the winning of his favor. How many lacy smiles has she woven for him, how many delicate, intentional movements of her body? And yet, it does not seem to be his favor she has gained.

Lady Tyrell cannot quite pinpoint what about her that the Lord of Winterfell has seen and decided is acceptable enough to bring her to his council table, and this produces a sense of nervous unease. Since she is unsure what she has done to earn this hesitant truce, she does not know how to continue to present it and solidify her position. Worse yet, rolling about her gut in a nauseating condition reminiscent of sea sickness is guilt. 

Never before has she felt anything of the sort when manipulating various lords and ladies of the court to act in her best interests. But this victory feels unearned, underserved. Cregan had bested her thoroughly and completely, despite his own genuine apology over the matter, and she can admit defeat civilly. Her brows pinch together in a wary frown as her eyes lift to meet Cregan’s, a hesitant uncertainty flickering in her pupils. “…Only if it is truly your wish, Lord Stark.”

It is not that he trusts her – Cregan cannot say he does, in truth, but the vibrancy with which she expresses love has eased his worries of her possessing a blindly ambitious nature. It is as clear a picture of raw honesty as he has seen from anyone in the castle thus far. Coupled with her sharp mind, he has decided it is worth it to take the risk at one meeting, as a test. “It is you that I wish there. You need not offer your true opinions in front of the others, but in private I would ask that discerning mind of yours to tell me plainly your thoughts.”

The fabric of her gloves presses together with a soft rustling as her eyes fall once again, the cogs within her brain turning quickly to design a proper response to this line of reasoning. Although she can find no fault in it, there is a selection of data that she has collected so far that does not support his supposedly courteous offer. With a delicate lift of her chin, she begins to arrange the words eloquently upon her tongue. “If you do not mind, my lord, I only believe--.”

“Speak your thoughts directly. Only I can hear you and I have already heard the truth, Lady Tyrell.” Cregan’s stern gaze is met with a lightning flash of faintly repressed irritation at the interruption. It does not faze him, wishing for her to deliver herself plainly and discard the word games with him. Have they not overcome this? Cregan shall ensure that they do so.

With all the elegantly annoyed scorn of a cat that has been bothered, she blinks at him a moment before casting her gaze about the courtyard. They are not completely alone, but no one is close enough to eavesdrop upon the manner in which she speaks to him. Lowering her voice to a soft yet sturdier whisper, that same even and exasperated tone she had spoken to him with last night graces him with its presence. The serious look upon his face becomes slightly less so, and he resists the urge to nod in approval.

“Why do you care to have a Southern perspective cast upon your planning? I have heard the whispers brought to me regarding your men. They want war.” Dispelled is the persona and her sharp words spiral into smoky arrows fired towards the target that is his mind. She wants an explanation for the whispers brought to her by her network of lingering spies, and he can hardly fault her for that. It is entirely possible he seeks to utilize her for his own gain, and naturally she is suspicious.

“Aye, the elder men I have brought wish for the continuation of the war,” Cregan begins, his voice lowering to match her quiet tone. Running a heavy hand through his red hair, he shifts his muscular figure upon the bench to better face her and gives her a neutral look. “Many of my soldiers have seen far too many winters. They came south with the intention of dying, of sparing their families another mouth to feed in the coming winter. If your spies report upon disappointment, it is not wanton bloodshed my men desire. But worry they harbor in their hearts at the prospect of marching home to burden their kin.”

This catches her attention. A frown creases its way onto her features as she tilts her head, searching Cregan’s eyes for any sign of a lie. She cannot find anything that indicates his words do not hold truth. It would never have occurred to her, the idea of these men wishing fighting and death upon them for the security of their families. She could not imagine a season so brutal and devasting that it is better to die than wait it out. The Reach has not yearned for food in her lifetime, not when their grass is fertile and yields a healthy crop each year. Starvation had sunk its unforgiving claws into the capital during the war, but she herself has never wanted for food within the walls of the Red Keep. 

As this information settles its way into her mind, she feels a heavy understanding fall upon her. Perhaps the Lord of Winterfell is correct – there is a holistic lacking of perspective between the North and South after all. It is her responsibility to carry out her mother’s wishes while the lady remains at court, and to do her utmost to put an end to this war so that her House might see a peaceful future. For her younger siblings, and the people who rely upon her family. Slowly, her eyes lift to meet Cregan’s evenly.

“I shall accept your offer then, my lord. In hopes of a better way forward for both of our peoples.”

A white flag has supposedly settled within the dust of the night before.

The Northern nobles convene within the room that had previously hosted the Small Council meetings, hazy pale light drifting in through a collection of small circular windows that rise from floor to ceiling. Archways of grey stone connect to pillars of similar material, the sunlight reflecting in lazy shimmering rivers across the floor. The long rectangular stone table has ornamentally carved wooden chairs placed around it and as Lady Tyrell enters the room, she cannot help but recall the scarce instances when she had seen the council gather. 

A few of the lords have already arrived, and she takes note of the faces she can place names to – the young lords of House Tully and House Blackwood, whose reputations have grown large and fanciful from their exploits during the war. The remaining two she is able to deduce are the lords of House Corbray, and with the arrival of Lady Jeyne Arryn it would seem that the council is completely present. A rather small gathering, she concludes, and if she is to make swift judgement based upon the rumors she has collected regarding those present, not entirely unmanageable. 

Despite this conclusion, as she stands within the room, gaze drifting demurely about the space, the eyes that rest upon her are suspicious and wary. Her hands remain folded in front of her, and it would seem that the only thing preventing outright confrontation is the steady presence of Cregan Stark at her side. The Lord of Winterfell does not let her wander far from him, and this tethering leads her to feel akin to a child that has been brought to a playdate rather than a lady at a formal gathering. If it irritates her, she does not allow it to show upon her sweetly pleasant expression. The stares do not bother her, not when she has spent the last few years of her life subjected to far more reviling glares of hatred.

These Northerners stand within her territory, regardless of their positions at present, and they will not scare her with glances. And it is of little consequence as she has not come to play, but simply to observe.

When Cregan calls the nobles to begin the meeting, it is with little fanfare that he introduces her to the gathered lords and lady. In spite of their unwelcoming stares, not one voice is raised to argue with their liege lord when he informs them that she shall be attending the entirety of the meeting. One of the lords of House Corbray shifts rather uncomfortably in his chair and Lady Jeyne Arryn does little to hide the mistrust in her eyes, but nary a word is uttered in disagreement.

Lady Tyrell finds herself seated next to Cregan, a matter which does not go unnoticed by those around the table, and she smooths her gown down elegantly before she folds her hands within her lap. She need not do anything but listen intently and gaze with amiable neutrality as various concerns and issues are brought to the attention of the Northern council. 

It is in this time that she ensures herself take careful study of each leading character at Cregan Stark’s table, for the information will surely prove useful sooner rather than later. Lord Leowyn Corbray is a stout man whose reputation as a warrior precedes their meeting, but after listening to him speak for more than a minute she does not believe she shall be hearing any groundbreaking tactical suggestions from him either now or in the future. His brother Corwyn seems to have his head on considerably straighter and enough so to regard her with the most suspicion of all of those present, but she does not find it particularly cruel in nature. Both Oscar and Kermit Tully appear quite eager to prove themselves as capable leaders now that they have achieved greatness on the battlefield, and she imagines that once time tempers the bold pride of youth, they shall become quite wise. Benjicot Blackwood seems to have similar potential, although is considerably more quiet than the Tully brothers.

Lady Jeyne Arryn piques her interest above all, and she finds an unwilling flicker of respect for Cregan’s keeping of a woman at his table. It is a wise decision that few male leaders make and as Lady Arryn speaks, it is clear how much insight and shrewdness she brings to the gatherings. With each problem that arises, a swift combination of practicality and experience is wielded expertly between Lord Stark and Lady Arryn, resulting in admittedly efficient solutions. Lady Tyrell finds her eyes remaining upon the older woman, keen to hear her wisdom and the confidence and ease with which she presents herself among the men of the North. An unmarried woman who sits upon a ruling council is a rarity that Lady Tyrell cannot help but gaze after with faint wanting and curiosity.

“The Lady Johanna Westerling has agreed to the peace terms sent by Corlys Velaryon, on behalf of the Lannisters. Her raven arrived only this morning.” Lord Corwyn Corbray informs the table, his brows drawing together pensively as he presents the letter in question for the gathering to gaze upon. Cregan Stark reaches for the parchment, his face stern as his eyes flicker over the lines of dried ink. With a slow inhale, he nods, his broad shoulders lowering as he hands the paper over to Lady Arryn to read as well. There is a heaviness to his gaze, as if he is weighing a matter of great importance upon his mind. Lord Kermit Tully leans over to whisper something to his brother Oscar, who frowns before offering a quick response in an equally hushed tone. 

“It was less of a matter of if and more one of when, with Lady Johanna.” Lady Arryn observes dryly, an unreadable expression upon her face as she scans the written text of the letter before passing it along down the table. When handed the parchment, Lord Leowyn Corbray gives a mighty sigh, stroking his chin in a manner Lady Tyrell might describe as thoughtful if she believed he thought for very long about any matter at all. 

“An agreement is progress nonetheless.” There is a rotund rumble to his manner of speaking, as he possesses a portly voice that is decidedly fitting of his physical figure.

Lord Oscar Tully gives an unimpressed scoff at this, and when the letter finally reaches him, he beholds it quickly before letting it pass to his brother. The young lord’s eyes narrow, his hands folding together upon the table with a sharp swiftness. “It matters not, when our great trouble still has yet to send any indication of even reading the terms given.”

“We knew from the start that Oldtown would not be easily persuaded to abandon the war.” Lord Corwyn reminds the nobles with a knowing gaze, his eyebrows raising with the words. He offers a neutral partiality that seems to balance the boldness of the younger lords and the reservation of his brother. With an inhale through his nose, he shakes his head slowly. “They have risked too much to surrender outright, and it is likely they see their House’s future upon the line. They quite nearly had the Seven Kingdoms within their grasp, they will not be so quick to concede.”

“Lyonel Hightower is young and hot-tempered; he will spoil for war so long as he believes it is his right.” Cregan remarks calmly, his stormy eyes even as they gaze down at the stone table in serious thought. Lord Leowyn gives another deep sigh at this, nodding rather vigorously to express his agreement as the letter makes its way to the hands of Lord Benjicot Blackwood, who seems to take the task of reading it quite seriously.

Lady Tyrell finds the matter is the first one that truly draws her attention. It would seem that the general consensus among the room is that there is want for the peace terms to be agreed to, despite the widespread belief that the Northerners desire further bloodshed. Her eyes lower down to the table as she rolls the matter over in her mind, like marbles in a hand. It is a delicate situation, as Lyonel Hightower does still possess a host large enough to continue the fighting with, and a reason to do so as his father had been killed in the fighting. And he lacks the judgment and experience that might prevent an older lord from responding with callous and reckless rage.

“He seeks vengeance for his father,” Lady Arryn points out with a thoughtful tilt of her chin. Her eyes are calm yet have a distinct edge that gives the impression of a bird of prey surveying its options. “Lady Samantha shall find it difficult to convince the young lord to stand down, even should she have his favor.”

This situation Lady Tyrell has heard whispers of – a shocking rumor that the new Lord Hightower has become infatuated with his father’s young widow, only two years his senior, and yearns to make her his new bride. The ladies of the Red Keep have been shaking their heads and pressing disapproving hands to their chests over the matter, but the lady cannot say it is particularly appalling to her despite its scandal. An unfortunate side effect of spending far too much time around Targaryens, perhaps.

The haze of sunlight sneaking in through the small circles of windows casts a soft glow over the mutely colored room, revealing particles of dust floating about. Lord Benjicot is taking his time reading and then rereading the letter, but Lady Tyrell’s eyes have flickered over to Cregan in the seat next to her, who remains silent as the rest of his council continue to ponder the issue presented by the Hightowers. The Northern lord listens with stern attentiveness, his large hands clasped together in front of him as his elbows rest upon the stone table. Strands of his red hair fall about his face, curling slightly at the tips that reach just below his jaw. 

As she watches him lead his council from the head of the table, she is pointedly reminded of the power and influence he possesses, no matter how gently he attended to her the night before. There is a strange juxtaposition in the sheer strength he has a leader and a solider, and the quiet and steady honorability she had seen within him yesterday. A feeling of unease begins to coil in her stomach again, and beneath the table she feels her fingers beginning to press into each other anxiously. 

Cregan must feel the weight of her stare, because he flicks his eyes over to meet hers while the young Tully lords raise the idea of crushing Oldtown before they have the chance to march on King’s Landing. She gives a silent inhale of breath at this, but does not look away. His grey eyes give an asking narrow, but her own face remains neutral as she regards him calmly, thinking back upon the events of yesterday. 

Her eyes widen a fraction when the realization crashes down upon her in a thunderous tidal wave and her hands still.

The Lord of Winterfell takes silent notice of this, his eyes becoming more questioning before she turns her head to look out across the table, the gears of her mind spinning with rapid perspicacity. He pauses with a steady gaze as she draws her conclusions, patiently awaiting the presentation of whatever scheme her mind has quickly drawn up in solution to his problem. A faint flicker of pride burns hot within his chest, and he attempts not to look too pleased with himself for deciding to include her in this morning’s meeting. It would seem his gamble is about to pay out, and quite profitably.

“If I may, Lord Stark?” When her quiet, sweet voice breaks softly into the conversation, Lady Tyrell’s eyes turn to Cregan for approval to speak. Her lashes flutter gently, and she sits with all the poised grace she has been offering each time she performs for an audience, no matter how large or small. 

“Go ahead, my lady.” He is already staring back at her, and with a start, she swears for a heartbeat she can see the ghost of a smile curl at the edges of his lips. As if he already knows what she is about to say, despite him lacking the information that would allow him to draw that conclusion. Does he truly have such faith in her? Her gaze flickers with soft suspicion before she shifts delicately in her seat and turns her attention to the faces that have cast their rather unwelcoming gazes to her. Taking a small breath, she relays her plan to the Northern council.

“If it is Oldtown that causes you worry, I might have means by which to dissuade Lord Hightower from continuing the war,” Lady Tyrell begins with soft inflection, ensuring she makes proper eye contact with the nobles gathered about the table as she speaks. Her hands remain together within her lap, and she keeps her chin raised and straight while she addresses the room. “You see, it happens that his younger brother Garmund is a ward of House Tyrell. A companion of my own younger brother, who is being raised in Highgarden.”

The room falls silent at this revelation, and at its implication. Presented by this delicate lady, doe eyes soft as she gazes about, it seems like quite the mild observation. But the truth of her words rings out clear as a bell to the temporary council: every ward is a hostage, and every hostage can be leveraged in a time of war. Lady Arryn lowers her chin, her sharp eyes focused on Lady Tyrell as she leans forward.

“And House Tyrell would then demand the Hightowers stand down?” Lady Arryn questions slowly, seemingly unsure of how trustworthy House Tyrell and its representative are in this troubled time. The Lady Tyrell gives a small, elegant shrug as she meets the other woman’s eyes with soft detachment.

“I am not the head of my House, and therefore I can swear you no oaths. But I do believe that if I explain the delicate situation to my mother that she will be persuaded to suggest to the Hightowers the folly of raising a host without her approval.” It is a tentative offer, carefully phrased and wrapped in the ribbons of soft-spoken eloquence. The Lords Tully are quick to offer their own opinions on the matter, and Lord Leowyn Corbray remarks loudly upon the assistance a Hightower hostage would provide. But it is Cregan that Lady Tyrell looks to, her eyes narrowing as he gives her a slow nod of approval. Her plan has apparently pleased him. 

Her lashes brush the tops of her cheeks as she looks down a moment, not eager to continue to be subjected to his stern and silent approval. It evokes an unusual feeling; one she does not wish to give name to. Cregan’s own scheme the day before is what sparked her idea, reminding her of the strength found in the weaponization of loved ones in wartime. She does not wish to give him too much credit – they are still not quite allies, after all, but perhaps if he asks she shall reveal the truth of the matter to him. As the council seems to come to the general consensus that this is their best chance at securing a peace with Oldtown, Cregan voices his quiet agreement and Lady Tyrell does not look his way.

The council is soon dismissed, but she can feel the lingering of Cregan’s eyes upon her figure as the other nobles trickle out of the room. Pausing in her ambivalent drifting towards the door, she waits for the space to empty before turning to meet the lord’s steady gaze. When the heavy wooden door draws closed, leaving them in equally weighted silence, Cregan gives her a long look.

“Your cooperation does not go unnoticed, my lady,” Low and even, his Northern manner of speaking carries the words across the hollow and dusty room to her with a gruff quality. His brows are drawn together, not in a frown but in a serious appraisal of her, and his eyes flick up and down her body as he speaks. She raises her chin slightly at this, hands folding atop her cream gown as she shifts her balance to stand straighter. “I thank you for your assistance with our pressing issue.”

“It is not for you that I offer a solution,” Lady Tyrell’s words are direct and straightforward, signaling an end to the performance she has given in front of the other Northerners. Cregan’s chest warms at the realization that he does not have to coax honesty out of her this time. That ghost of a smile returns to the corners of his lips, his brows remaining low atop his eyes. “But my House’s own desires and the good of the Reach.”

“I could hardly expect anything less from you,” Cregan gives a slow tilt of his head, nodding to affirm his understanding of her motivations. His eyes squint slightly and his lips press together, his gaze dropping to the floor as he takes a few large steps towards her slowly. “My gratitude is offered nonetheless.”

Lady Tyrell watches with wary gaze as Cregan draws near, his sizable stature still giving her pause even in this hesitant armistice. Fighting back the urge to retreat to the door, she allows him to draw nearer. With a deep breath, her eyes fall to his face and she confirms what she had seen last night as he had knelt in front of her armchair, firelight upon his skin. Tiny freckles dot his nose and cheeks as stars in the heavens. Her eyes flicker between them.

“You might attempt to show that gratitude, in that case, my lord,” There is a serious look upon her face at the suggestion, provided as she readjusts her gaze to stare into his eyes instead of upon his face. She need not think of such trivial details, not when so much is still at stake, and he remains an uncertain piece upon the grand chessboard. “Actions hold more importance than words, after all.”

“You are right, my lady.” Cregan acquiesces with smooth and deep timbre, absentmindedly closing his hand into a loose fist as he gives her eyes his full attention. There is that weight again, bearing down upon her with such intensity regardless of intention. She has half a mind to scowl and ask if he chooses to look at people this way, or if it is a byproduct of his Northern upbringing. “Is there something I might do for you then?”

There are half a million things Lady Tyrell ought to ask Cregan Stark for. A permanent place upon his council, an agreement between their two houses, for her to be released from the temporary cage of the Red Keep. But simmering in the back of her mind, like a kettle that is never quite removed from the stove and never far out of reach, is the worry that has anxiously filled her mind night after night since prisoners had been taken by the Northern forces. Cregan is awaiting her response patiently, stood quite still in front of her, but her mind is elsewhere as the realization that she cannot put aside her own selfishness in this instance settles thickly into her mouth, molding into the words that fall from her lips.

“I wish to see Princess Jaehaera.” She takes a long breath as soon as it leaves her tongue, her arms folding across her chest as she looks away from him, stepping past Cregan so that her back is to him when he turns to face her. The Lord of Winterfell is not expecting this request, and a somber confusion finds its way into the pull of his brow and the tightness of his lips as he stares at her hair and the back of her gown. At the way her arms have drawn protectively across her front. A silence settles between them as Lady Tyrell keeps her attention cast to the circular windows, the cloudy glass of the small frames preventing her from seeing anything outside clearly.

“The princess is meant to be kept in solitary confinement, save for her Septa.” Cregan begins slowly, unsure of what the lady might want from a visit to the young girl. His intention to politely suggest that she provide a different request disappears from his mouth when she turns on him with such swift force that her hair whips about her face before it settles upon her back.

“She is five. A prisoner in her own home and alone.” There is no hiding the emotion that her voice catches on, snagging across it like fabric upon glass. It burns in her eyes then, that same look that she had given Cregan when she had spoken of her sister. Love, of this Cregan is quite clear, but it is encased in something painful. It has the quality of an open wound, bruising and tender like damaged fruit. A rushed sigh breaks out of her lungs and she presses her lips together in a tight line, her chin raising as her eyes scan the room, attempting not to say anything too scathing at the rush of anxiety and loss that fill her lungs. Cregan offers her the silent courtesy of patience while she collects herself.

“Her mother–.” Lady Tyrells makes a valiant attempt to explain herself, knowing full well that she cannot simply ask to see the princess without reason. Any number of people might wish to bring the girl harm – in a way, she supposes she is grateful to Cregan for being so selective about whom is allowed to see her. But the words lodge themselves into the lining of her throat and an attempt to force them out only results in near coughing. Her lips part, her brows furrowing deeply, her hands opening and closing into fists as she finds, to her utmost horror, her grief rising sharp and fast despite her being in front of Cregan Stark. Biting back her own frustration, she digs her nails into her palms so quickly that she is sure to leave marks.

Cregan finds himself staring into a reflection in a broken mirror, watching a state of being he knows all too well.

The pain from her hands steadies her, and the lady is able to loosen the words from her throat enough to string together a phrase that is somewhat logical. “I swore an oath to her mother.”

This raw and honest side of her is something that Cregan will need getting used to. It is refreshing and liberating, to have her opinions and thoughts spoken so plainly, but he cannot stop the wrenching of his chest each time she wears her love so clearly upon her face, so deeply within her words. He wishes, in decided and utter foolishness, to give her what she asks of him if only to ease the jagged pain held within her eyes. It is quite obvious to him that she only desires to see the princess to uphold this oath that has been sworn. Far be it from Cregan Stark to deny the fulfillment of an honorable promise to the deceased. “…If you shall agree to my remaining present during the visit.”

The compromise is soft and firm. As if she has been turned to marble, she stills. Unblinking and unmoving, eyes cast down to the stone floor as she considers his terms. Slowly, she looks up at him and nods wordlessly. 

Late is the hour that she arrives outside the guarded section of Maegor’s Holdfast, and low is the torchlight. While most of the nobles attend to their supper plans, and busy themselves with socializing as boredom runs amuck throughout the Red Keep, she stares numbly out an arched window and down at the iron spikes that fill the dry moat below. It is not the first time she has cast her gaze to the metal outside, but the first time since the Northerners had taken control of the castle. So busy has she been, concerning herself with the host occupying the capital and with its liege lord, that she has not had time to sit in her grief.

It is far from gone. She can count every single day that has gone by since Helaena threw herself from her window, and with the passing of each week a sense of wrongness and longing sinks its teeth into her heart. On occasion, she wonders innocently where her dearest friend has gone, expecting to see her turning the corner or sitting in the garden. And then Lady Tyrell is back in front of that open window, night air unforgiving on her cheek and sheer white curtains blown back gently. Staring down at Helaena, whose eyes were closed and whose body was so very still. It rushes back with the terrifying sense of falling, as if she is being jarred from a nightmare. Only the nightmare is her reality, one that is unbelievable at times and numbly accepted at others. 

There is no one that she can share her grief with – the dowager Queen has been locked away and Lady Tyrell is not certain that she wishes to see Alicent even if given the opportunity. Helaena’s brothers have all died, and the strangeness of nearly every immediate relation to the girl being gone is an eerie reminder of how haunted the quiet stone halls are. In her deepest, rawest sadness she finds herself even wishing to speak to Aegon and Aemond, whom she had always loathed in life. If only to have a connection to Helaena, to talk with someone who might begin to understand. 

Without Helaena, Lady Tyrell has not a single true friend in her life, not one person who sees her for what she is and loves her still. How good Helaena had been to her, how truly loved she had always felt from the closeness and understanding shared by the two girls. Without the late queen, there is no place for her within the castle. She grows restless with the stinging ache, finding it hard to exist within walls that seem to loom closer and darker by the day. Walls that hold their laughter from moments of shared childhood, their exchanged smiles and whispered secrets. No amount of screaming nor crying shall rectify the anxious energy that buzzes beneath her skin, nor the guilt she feels for simply living. Lady Tyrell had always known how important Helaena was to her, but when she had seen Helaena’s body, how clear had become to her then.

Lady Tyrell would have waited there with Helaena forever.

Dull eyes remain tethered to the spikes as she hears the approach of heavy footfalls, that draw closer and then stop in front of her. 

“Are you ready, my lady?” Cregan Stark’s steady voice is a buoyant raft tossed to her in the turbulent storm of her mind and she accepts it after a moment of considering drowning. Tired eyes meet his own, dimly lit by the glow of golden torchlight from the wall. There is a heaviness to her expression that tugs at Cregan’s own grief, reminiscent of that which ate at him the first year after Arra’s death.  Part of him wishes to ask her, to extend assistance in what he knows is an impossible situation. But he does not believe he knows her well enough yet, and does not want to overstep.

At her soft nod, he leads her down the halls to the chambers in which Jaehaera is being held. The Northern soldiers guarding the rooms give their liege lord a deep bow and allow Cregan to unlock the door as Lady Tyrell watches on with an unreadable expression. Jaehaera had been brought from Storm’s End only to be locked in the Queen’s Chambers, where Helaena had once lived. The irony seeps its way bitterly in the lady’s bones, a deep sickness that might never be cured as the door opens with a soft noise. How many times has she stood before this very door, waiting for Helaena to allow her in? How many times has she heard that exact clicking of the locking mechanism, how many times has she been met with violet eyes and silver hair? 

Lady Tyrell does not believe in much, but she has, on many an occasion now, felt Helaena’s presence around her. Soft and persistent, staring back at her when the lady cannot manage to do anything but bawl until tears have run into her hair and tangled it horrendously. 

When the little girl looks up from her bed, Lady Tyrell sees Helaena nearby, watching. As clear as if the other woman were standing within the room. 

Jaehaera’s eyes go wide with instant recognition, the book she has been reading immediately discarded by her pillow as she jumps to her feet. The lady has pushed past Cregan in a moment, practically breaking into a run to reach the girl, falling to her knees upon the stone floor with such impact that it will surely bruise. But it matters not, not at all, because Jaehaera is there in her arms, safe and breathing. The princess holds onto her with such tightness that the lady wonders if she will ever let go and finds herself with her hand on the back of the girl’s head, holding her close as she had when Jaehaera was just a baby.

“Muña.” Jaehaera’s voice breaks upon the word and Lady Tyrell cannot help the tears that begin to pool within her eyes. It has always been strange to her, that ‘muña’ is used to refer to both one’s mother and maternal aunts. No matter how many times Helaena had patiently explained it to her, the lady had firmly repeated that it was nonsensical to not have two different terms. But hearing the princess call her now, the same way she had called her mother, fills her with a sense of protectiveness and love that she cannot put into words even if she takes up a quill and writes for the remainder of her life. 

“Oh, sweetling,” Lady Tyrell cannot bring herself to say much, the tears already finding their way down her cheeks. It frustrates her to no end that no matter how many times she cries, it is never enough. She always has more tears, stinging her eyes mercilessly, always threatening to fall down her face. Others have offered condolences to her, stating that she would stop crying once the reality sets in, but to her own irritation that day has still not arrived. When she hears Jaehaera’s soft sniffle, the lady’s tears only fall quicker. “I am here. I am right here, little love.”

Cregan lets the door close, not wishing for his guards to watch her cry. It feels wrong to intrude upon the pair of them, to witness this tender display of love and loss. He shifts uncomfortably by the door, moving his weight to his other foot. This draws attention to him, and the little princess looks up with worry. Tears stain the girl’s face, and she turns to Lady Tyrell, who leans back and rests her hand on the child’s cheek. Catching Jaehaera’s concerned gaze, the lady turns to look at him.

Upon her knees on the stone floor, tears down her face and red-rimmed eyes, her hand on the young princess’ cheek tenderly – Lady Tyrell looks up at Cregan with parted lips. He cannot utter a word, even if a sword were to be pressed to his bare throat. 

She does not speak to him, but instead musters up a soft smile for Jaehaera, giving the girl’s cheek a comforting brush of her thumb before she drops her arm to take the girl’s hand into hers gently. “This is my friend, Lord Stark. He is only here to protect us from anything bad happening, so you need not worry.”

Jaehaera does not seem convinced, quite wary for a girl of five after everything she has lost and endured, and she gives Cregan a timidly unsure blink before she squeezes Lady Tyrell’s hand. The princess’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure. I swear it to you.” Lady Tyrell tells the girl with certainty, any doubt vanquished from her voice as she brushes a loose strand of silvery hair from Jaehaera’s face with her free hand. This seems to settle the princess a little, and after a moment of pause, the girl leads Lady Tyrell to her bed in hopes of showing her the book she has been reading. 

Cregan settles himself by the fire, within a plush chair that faces out into the large room. The Queen’s Chambers are an extensive set of rooms – he had hoped that the princess would not feel overly trapped within its walls. But seeing the young girl now, sat beside the lady at the head of the bed, fingers running over the words of her books, it seems too big a space for a child to be kept in alone. 

Lady Tyrell manages to prevent any more tears from spilling down her cheeks and chin as Jaehaera tells her of the books she has been reading while she remains locked within the room. The princess does not ask if she can be freed, which only serves to worry the lady further. The girl has lost so much and suffered so because of the war, and the lady wonders with a sickening start if there is nothing that she can do to help Jaehaera. But as the girl begins to read the book aloud to her, showing how good her Valyrian has grown, Lady Tyrell knows she must do her utmost to keep her promise to Helaena.

Her oath to protect Jaehaera. If it is all she can do, she shall do it. 

The rest of the night is spent reading together, as they had many times before. Jaehaera does her best to teach Lady Tyrell more Valyrian, and the lady in turn tries to repeat the language correctly. It does not bother her when she gets the words wrong, because if her pronunciation is poor enough then the princess’s face lights up with a laugh and the girl smiles as she tells the lady to try again. The hours tick by until Jaehaera begins to yawn, and Lady Tyrell takes a brush from her bedside table to begin combing through the girl’s silver hair gently. 

How familiar a scene it is, how comfortable. The soft candlelight of the Queen’s Chambers, the wooden tables scattered with books, the moon shining brightly outside of one large window. Since Jaehaera’s birth, they have repeated this routine many times. Lady Tyrell has missed it dearly. She has always known she wishes to be a mother, and Helaena had given her three beautiful children to help raise in preparation. Jaehaera is all she has left. 

As the princess’s eyes flutter closed, her hand holding Lady Tyrell’s as if she is afraid the woman will disappear, a soft voice can be heard whispered into the silk pillowcase. “Jaelagon muña.”

I want mama.

Lady Tyrell’s hand trembles slightly beneath Jaehaera’s as the girl drifts off to sleep, her own eyes closing heavily as she tries to fight off any more tears that might wish to drip down to her chin. After she is certain the child is asleep, she rises and turns, eyes widening as she is reminded quite suddenly of Cregan Stark’s presence. The lord had been so quiet and still that she had all but forgotten him.

As she makes her way across the chambers to him, a dry swallow is forced down her throat. It is against her nature to allow others to see her in vulnerability, and the Lord of Winterfell has now seen much more than he should have. She decides not to speak of it, simply folding her hands together. Her eyes drift to the fire as Cregan remains sat within the soft armchair, his gaze upon her face. Finally, with a sigh, she speaks softly. “I do not wish to be demanding, but if I could only see her-.”

“Whenever you wish.” Cregan’s voice is quiet and sturdy as he interrupts her. With a creasing of her brow, she raises her gaze to meet his eyes, searching for some sort of trick or ploy. She is instead met with a look that makes her lips fall open slightly, her expression softening. There is nothing but steady certainty upon his face, bathed in the warm glow of firelight. “I shall bring you by whenever you wish, my lady.”

A gentle gust of wind blows through the open window. 

a/n: i have once again written an incredibly long chapter, my deepest apologies. i know i promised protective cregan but he is on the way! this ended up being much lengthy than i planned and therefore a scene got shifted. 

this chapter and all of my writing is dedicated to the person i would wait with forever, and to everyone experiencing grief. 

october is domestic violence awareness month and i encourage everyone to try and find an event or drive near you, or to simply repost information and resources. the links below offer free educational materials on domestic violence prevention, as well the american national domestic violence hotline:

Free Materials | Domestic Violence Awareness Project (dvawareness.org)

national domestic violence hotline website

almost all localities in the us have a specific organization for helping victims of domestic violence, and it is important to familiarize yourself with it even if you believe you have no need. your vigilance and self-education could one day save you or a loved one.

[hellboundwrites]

Ghoul ships and how they love

Rain and Dewdrop : Quiet Love

It's a gentle kind of love. It requires no effort, no asking, no grand declarations. No matter how unique they both appear in the eyes of others, they always meet in the middle. They fit like puzzle pieces, physically, spiritually.

Their love is public, yet discreet. Observable but never invasive. It's Dewdrop's arm around Rain's waist when they wait in line at a bar. It's Rain's hand on Dew's knee when they sit together in the common room to chat with the others. It's Rain stealing Dew's hairband on his wrist when he's mid-conversation with someone else, knowing he has his silent permission. Or Dew wearing Rain's jacket instead of his own when he has to go out alone. Everyone can see these little marks of belonging. They brand themselves with pieces of the other, to keep a semblance of company, a smell, something to comfort, something to go home to. It's not ownership. It isn't a warning to stay away from a property. It's an affirmation to the world that they exist for each other.

Their love is Rain calming Dew's storms and Dew making him want to come out of his shell a bit more every day. It's Dew's hyperactivity and constant buzz finding its peace in Rain's presence, and Rain allowing himself to be loud when he finally finds someone who cares to listen.

It's Dew opening all the doors whenever the weather is humid and the sky is cloudy, so they can sit together by the window and watch the rain fall in silence. It's Rain picking up wildflowers as ornaments for their shared room because Dew confessed he loved them once. It's bathing together and brushing each other's hair every day, resting skin against skin in the bathtub without any second thought. It's Rain embracing Dew in the darkness of night and softly caressing his hair to help with his insomnia, and Dewdrop waking up before Rain to make breakfast.

Thanks to Rain, Dewdrop wants to read. He wants to think, to learn, to write, so Rain always has someone to nerd with and complain to whenever he finds a plot hole. Because of Dew, Rain desires to use his hands, to make, to fix, so there's someone to count on when gear comes in for repair and Dew's hands are too used for work.

When the world outside is too much, they find a quiet understanding in each other. They give their love in thoughtful acts and silent touches. It's to no one a question, it's never to be doubted. There's no alternative for what they have.

Their love is obvious and it makes sense.

[sluttybwunni]

Pearly Whites

masterpost

▎wc: 1.2k

pairing: monkey d. luffy x (GN)Reader

summary : in-which reader can’t help but find luffy’s presence and pearly whites more than endearing, especially after a bad day.

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warnings : slight angst, hurt to comfort(?), fluff, strawhat!reader, post-timeskip luffy, kissing, crying, reader can’t seem to sleep, mentions of anxiety, stress, luffy has a knack for making everything better, brief mention of injuries, use of profanity, luffy smells like cinnamon and reader wants to eat him (non literal its more so an affectionate urge to just.. nom)

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you didn’t quite know what led up to this as you were sat on your bed, hands in your hair feeling the lump in your throat grow larger. everything felt so overwhelming lately. maybe all this exhaustion had strum off from too many nights keeping watch over the sunny, or from the constant struggle of attempting to keep the pit of worry that formed in your stomach under control when escorting one of your injury ridden crewmates down to choppers office after a battle.

nevertheless whatever the reasons, you were feeling awful today, and the final straw was when you spilled hot coffee over the book robin so kindly lent to you. it was a simple mistake, yet it made you feel so incompetent. “fuck” you heaved out silently, tugging on a loc of hair as the tears threatened to spill. though you had already cleaned up and attempted to dry the pages off, it was still evident from the light brownish color on the now wrinkled paper. “air, yes i just need air..” you thought to yourself, arising from the bed and slowly pushing open the door of your room. you were creeping out of your quarters ever so careful to not make noise for the snoring strawhats who weren’t ridden with insomnia, headed into the open deck on the sunny attempting to take enough oxygen needed to help clear your head. 

staring into the vast ocean and watching as the water shone under the stars had always worked when in momentary distress. but for some reason tonight, the sinking feeling that had plagued you refused to leave so easily. you wanted to sink down and cry, but you couldnt. the tears you once held back now refuse to resurface. it angered you, not being able to even cry when you wanted to. as you spun to face the opposite way deciding to head back to your bed, you met the eyes of a sleepy looking luffy in shorts and a black tee.

“hey (name)!!! why aren’t you sleeping??” your boyfriend prodded, his voice slightly too loud and cheerful for the silence of the night. you gave the dark haired boy a light smile, admiring his features thanks to the slight gleam from the sky perfectly shining down on his face. “im just not quite sleepy enough, lu” you lazily replied, turning your attention back at the stars. luffys gaze followed you, approaching slowly from behind so you could be beside eachother. he hummed in response to your words, trying to find what was so interesting about the sky to you.

though he quickly grew bored of boring his eyes into the stars, instead of rambling to you about his thoughts or midnight snacking like what would usually occur when you happened to find your captain awake, luffy turned to look at you, studying your expression. even though you’re not quite the chatty type, you’re not one to keep absolute silence. especially not with luffy. so when he saw how your eyebrows were furrowed, and the way your lips carried a small frown he spoke up again.

“love?” luffy whispered. “do you need a hug?” you gave him a small “huh..?” , not understanding why he had suddenly asked you and not daring to make eye contact. the emotions which bubbled up throughout the day threatened to spill out once more. “c’mere” he spoke in a warm tone, stretching his arms around you and pulling you in. luffy’s head rested on your shoulder, his hands gently stroked your back a couple of times. the enchanting scent of cinnamon coming from him made you weak. he smelt so good, he felt so soft around you. you didn’t want to let go, and neither did he. so you stayed in that position for a good minute, enjoying eachothers warm shelter from the breeze that danced on your skin. you could feel his heart beating, yours was too. so rapidly that if it wasn’t for luffy puling away, your heart may have over palpitated. though the relief was short-lived. he giggled after breaking the hug showing you a glimpse of his signature pearly whites. those gorgeous teeth that twinkle brighter than the stars. 

it seemed that was all you needed and more to finally let the tears spill over. luffy stopped smiling when he noticed your wet face. “hey…... hey it’s okay.” he pulled you in once more slightly swaying you from side to side. luffy didn’t know what to do, he was slightly panicked when you started sobbing a little harder in his embrace. so out of instinct he pecks your forehead not once but twice, then a third time. however many times was needed to take away your sadness. “(name), whatever's wrong just know im here for ya okay? im always here.” you were already out of the gutter thanks to the way he whispered into your ear and snuggled his head into the crook of your neck, gripping onto you tightly to let you know he was there for you as you sobbed. you didn’t have the chance to tell him the exact reasons you were feeling so upset, as you didn’t really know why as well, but it didn’t matter, luffy listened patiently as you went on about how exhausting things felt, and how you were having difficulty with simple daily tasks. hours could’ve went by while you were in his arms and you would never notice. you felt safe, mumbling a “thank you” and wrapping your hands around his torso. luffy was confused. he couldn’t understand why you had thanked him despite doing so little. he accepted your gratitude anyways, looking into your eyes and grinning. 

maybe it was because of the moon glistening so angelically onto his face or the gentle but crisp sound of waves in the background that made his smile, him, ever so prettier tonight. you couldn’t put your finger on why you felt more lightheaded than usual as he slid one arm away from your middle, taking your hand in his, but you didn’t care. you didn’t care when you both seemed to be inching closer together, and definitely you didn’t care when the urge to kiss overpowered the both of you. 

it was airy, messy and eager. teeth clashing onto one another as you both smiled and giggled into the exchange. trying to mush yourselves closer together. it confessed a lifetime of words you have yet to express out loud. luffy whined when you tugged on his hair, deepening your kiss. if i weren’t for human urge to inhale and exhale, luffy would’ve kissed you forever.

“can i just eat you?” you mumbled without hesitating. luffy tilted his head in thought, but only for a moment as he still kept your gaze. 

“not if i eat you first!” he laughed attacking your neck with little nibbles. you pinched his rubbery cheek, signalling him to stop before you guys wake someone up. luffy somehow always knew how to comfort you, even if he was unaware of doing so.

“i love you.” he breathed out, his doe eyes giving you those familiar butterflies you always felt. you smiled at him, and he graced you with his own once more. “i love you and your pearly whites too.” you replied, a blush creeping up on luffy’s face. 

“i’ll always smile for you then.” 

©2023 sluttybwunni ‎   you are not to plagiarize, translate, modify or post my content on tumblr nor any other platforms.

[milkytheholy1]

ROTTMNT Masterlist

Leo:

Just trying to relax - Leo x Female Reader

The week had been stressful, to say the least, you knew living in New York would cost you an arm and a leg if you wanted to carry on living in your small apartment you'd have to work a lot more shifts at Albearto's Pizza.

Part 2 - Leo x Female Reader

The sun beamed through your poorly made curtains, as loud car horns could be heard disrupting your sleep. A groan was released from your throat as your eyes slowly blinked open, you gradually started to lean up from your couch and glanced around the place.

24hr lockdown - Leo x GN Reader

You had walked into the lair with the intention of playing video games with Mikey and watching Lou Jitsu films with Raph. However, blaring red lights and a panicked Leo was something you were not expecting.

You're not gross - Leo x GN Reader

Request: Well can you do a rottmnt leo x reader were Leo is sick?

Tired yet? - Leo x GN Reader

Request: Can I... request a Leo x reader where both are suffering from insomnia, so they meet up for late night hanging out? Included with warm drinks owo

Online buds - Leo x Male Reader

Request: hey- can i request a leo/male reader meeting each other for the first time? (theyre online friends) it can b platonic or romantic aaaa.

Jealous much? - Leo x Female Reader

"Okay, it'll be easy all you have to do is seduce them," Donnie whispered as he adjusted the goggles around his eyes, zooming in on their target. You stared at Donatello, hands-on-hips, gawking at the back of his head "You're kidding, right?"

Candy Crush - Leo x Female Reader

Swinging your legs back and forth over the ledge of the building, you looked up gazing at the full moon in the inky, black sky. Your jacket was flapping in the slight breeze, your fingers tapping keys on your phone. Idly waiting for your partner, you decided to play some mobile games to pass the time.

Big bro to the rescue - Leo x GN Reader

"I remember practising how to ask you out in the mirror..."

I'm not Mikey - Leo x GN Reader

"You know you're my favourite, right?" "I better be."

Distraction - Leo x GN Reader

Wanted to get this out before Christmas but I've ended up writing it on Christmas Eve so sorry about that, think of it as my Christmas present to you XD Hope everyone has a fantastic Christmas and a happy new year!

Busy - Leo x Female Reader

I just love your 2018 leonardo, like mwah! Beautiful! I dont know if you do oneshots soley but if you did could we have one with leon and the reader just making out and the mood is great but then whoops !family! Just leon being embarresed especially because y/n just thinks its so freaking halarious

Winner - Leo x GN Reader

"You're jealous, aren't you?" "I'm not jealous."

Actions speak louder than words - Leo x GN Reader

Rottmnt leo scenario where he has a s/o, where Leo worries about his red stripes and s/o just goes over and cups his cheeks and kisses his nose, (I’d like the scenario to lead off with just that and s/o doesn’t say anything about his stripes. Figuring they’re actions would be enough here)?

Problem - Leo x GN Reader

I really LOVE your writing, can I request a Rise!Leo x reader angst one? Like ANGST angst where they are having a big fight in reader’s apartment because of something Leo did/said and reader it’s really upset/angry/hurt so they keep heating the fight and saying things until he kisses the reader, with a happy ending but like ANGST, Thank you and keep up the good work!

Pointy - Leo x GN Reader

Hi!!! I hope you are having a great weekend!!! Can I please get a story or headcanon of 2018 Leonardo x reader where the reader is a elf and has magical powers. But the reader is self conscious about their ears, face markings, and their unusual different color eyes. They have to use magic to hide who they really are when they are in public because people make fun of them. Can the story also be about 2018 Leonardo comforting the reader and reminding them how beautiful they are?

Dare - Leo x GN Reader

"If you bite your lip one more time, I'm going to do it for you."

Late night, deep thoughts - Leo x GN Reader

I had this idea after recently reading a fic on A03 called 'Night Light', which I highly recommend it's so good, anyway this idea kinda stemmed from a part in their fic. I hope you enjoy!

What's up, Doc? - Leo x GN Reader

"Its not funny! I'm supposed to be mad at you!"

I don't deserve you - Leo x Female Reader

the reader is very self conscious about her feelings towards the red slider and thinks that even Leo wouldn’t like her since no one else did, but then they are been chased (in a mission or a game with his brothers, idk) and have to hide together in a small place (like some closet or something) . Then a few things start to get serious and he says something that makes the reader even more uncomfortable and by the end she’s crying because she knows he’ll never even love her?

Draw me any day - Leo x GN Reader

Request: could you do a one where yn wants to draw leo (rotmnt) and tries to not show him but fails.

Why didn't you come? - Leo x Female Reader

Requesting a Rise Leonardo x fem reader where she is having bad days of her life and it’s her birthday and everyone had a surprise for her until Leo basically forgets about it? Then he remembers that he messed up and goes after the reader went and makes something I her bedroom like an apology ?

Boyfriend material - Leo x Female Reader

Heyy I’m a really big fan of yours. I just read your Rise!Donnie like fanfic and I was wondering how Rise!Leo would be in a lime. I just KNOW jokes and fun times will ensue!

Acceptable in the 80's - Leo x GN Reader

Okay, so as much as I would love to write this for 2012 Leo, it just seems right that I do it for Rise Leo, right? Like I can't really imagine the 2012 version to be singing and dancing all goofy, but Rise? Oh yeah. I can. Hope you enjoy!

The great pun war of 2021 - Leo x GN Reader

Can it be about RiseLeo and READER being the most charismatic, chaotic yet flirty frenemies and will only agree with one another with one liners. Then one day READER jokes about them being a couple but Leo gets nervous and just agrees about it and the gang takes things out on a dare to Leo?

Sin, Cos, Tan - Leo x GN Reader

Could you do a Rise Leo x reader where the reader has studying sessions with Donnie where he tutors them and Leo gets jealous and tries to help even though he doesn’t have a clue about math or science or anything like that? Lastly, if you can’t get to it I totally get that. Make sure to take care of yourself and drink plenty of water!

You're a mean one, Mr Grinch - Leo x GN Reader

so idk where i saw it but i saw a post where reader x donnie are like “frenemies” but they develop feelings for each other. Can you do something like that but with leo instead? like him and reader give each other so much shit (not to the point they hurt each others feelings tho) and they flirt ALL the time but they’re both oblivious to each others feelings.

Highway Man - Leo x GN Reader

“Make me.” “Bite me.”

I'm not dead, idiot! - Leo x Female Reader

hello, hope you are well! i absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could do a rottmnt leo x fem!reader? maybe something along the lines of reader goes with the brothers on a mission and ends up getting injured and leo freaks out. like readers not dying or anything but he thinks they are and is like “no don’t die i love you too much”

Anytime - Leo x Male Reader

was wondering if I could request a Rise Leo x male reader who’s a yokai that looks kinda like male naga (a half human half snake being) but the reader is disguising as a human (kind of like how samanita was disguising), and one day as a joke Leo takes the amulet from the reader, and reveals what they truly look like and everyone just stares at them making the reader scared and nervous making him slither out of the lair.

The fantastical case of the missing shirt - Leo x Male Reader

Hi hope you are having a wonderful day! I absolutely LOVE your Tmnt fanfics! And I would like to request a one shot of Rise Leo x male reader with prompt #49 where The reader steals one of Leo’s shirts (since we see the turtles wear clothes sometimes in the show)

The future - Leo x GN Reader

Hey everyone, I'm back on my TMNT shit again. Rottmnt Leo x GNReader - set in the Kraang future.

My way - Leo x GN Reader

Okay so future Leo won by a landslide so here he is, not as much fluff as I had originally planned but a lot is implied and cute. Also got a mention of Casey in there for the one person in my ask box asking for it, hope you enjoy!

Late - Leo x GN Reader

Don't worry this features no spoilers for the movie but I will be doing some angst eventually.

A detective always interrogates twice - Leo x Female Reader

Howdy everyone! So this isn't related to Everything Ends, just want to make that clear right off the bat. This is in fact heavily inspired by an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia! It's from season 14, episode 5 titled "A Janitor Always Mops Twice", I'd check it out if you have the time, it might help make things less confusing. I also use a lot of 40's slang, so sorry in advance, but hey educate ya selves!

The big screen - Leo x Female Reader

Can You do a Rise Leo x a crush fem reader were the reader is an actor for a movie as the maniac villan but she is very shy irl (maybe Leo finds a fan fiction about reader, would he read it? XD) Is ok if you don't want to do this 😅

Donnie:

I've got a date - Donnie x GN Reader

Donatello had wanted to tell you for a while, he wanted to confess his admiration for you, his need to be with you, his love for you. He's, of course, tried multiple times to confess to you, but every time something or more usually someone interrupts the delicate atmosphere around you both.

Trust me - Donnie x Female Reader

Heyo! Could I request a Rise Donnie x Female Reader? I like the other Donnie oneshot you did! :3 If you want a plot for it, I was thinking maybe the reader has a sleepover with the turtle brothers, and they end up playing Truth or Dare... and the brothers try to set the unsuspecting girl with Donnie through the game! XD

Doctor Feelings strikes again - Donnie x Female Reader

RiseDonnie x Female Reader oneshot Request: Could you do another Donnie x reader where the reader and Donnie sits in for a lesson from Doctor Feelings?

Can I pick? - Donnie x GN Reader

Request: Okay, could you please do 32 with ROTTMNT Donnie? I could totally see him saying that first bit with Y/N inquiring the second

Bad to the bone - Donnie x Female Reader

Don gets his battle shell pierced through so it injures his soft shell while he protects reader in battle please? And then she comforts him and he opens up about how insecure he is about being soft so he keeps his bad boy image up all the time.

We're not done here - Donnie x Female Reader

How about a Donnie x Reader where the reader is really self-conscious about their body and has pretty sucky self-esteem? I feel like it'd be cute with how Donnie secretly relates and has enough confidence for the both of them!

Coward - Donnie x Female Reader

Request: f reader is concerned about why Donnie is no longer talking with her about what he's working on, how his day went, etc. he always brushes her off with a blushed face and wants to get back to work. she thinks it's because he's sad or mad or whatever, but it's actually just because Donnie just realized that he has a crush on her and is bashful.

Tough cookie - Donnie x GN Reader

where the reader has a GREAT relationship with all the turtles (like especially Leo, they're best friends) **except** Donnie. like, i wouldn't necessarily call the reader a bully but they like to mess around and make fun of Don alot, but the reason why they tend to pick on Donnie is because they're actually really jealous of him and how smart he is and secretly wanna be good friends with him but since he's kinda a tough cookie to crack they've just given up on the friends thing and only make fun of him.

Why? - Donnie x GN Reader

Can I get a donnie rottmnt scenario where he has a crush on someone who is very emotional base and likes fantasy and magic stuff over science and tech, but they can understand donnie when he talks and actually admit they think he sounds kind of poetic with how detailed he describes things while they have a hard time doing the same?

Experimental bo - Donnie x Female Reader

"What kind of superhero are you?"

Radio Ga Ga - Donnie x Female Reader

“How long have you been standing there?” “Longer than you’d like.”

Daydream Believer - Donnie x Female Reader

May I have (27.) "You gotta stop doing that." "What?" "Saying things that make me wanna kiss you.") With rise donnie x female reader who is self conscious about their singing voice and Donnie overhears and compliments it? Maybe a kiss at the end por favor? It doesn’t have to be long I just am craving some fluff

Say it - Donnie x Female Reader

Just want to give a big thank you to mistresslottie on Wattpad for helping me with this. I literally had no clue how to write lime-like stuff and they're one of my favourite tmnt writers out there so was super happy they helped me. 

Bad boy got game - Donnie x Female Reader

guys meeting reader during a mission of sorts, where it ends with them breaking an object(a camera, phone, laptop etc) and the reader looking DEJECTED, not even mad. And of course Donnie could fix it…but rise!donnie’s trying to be the emotionless bad boy™ right? But no. Sad reader eyes. Says ‘no, it’s fine. I’ll just replace it :(‘ and he feels guilty, and she looks SO sad, so he does it anyway. He gives her the new and donnie-improved whatever.

Proposition - Donnie x GN Reader

Request: That's completely fine with me! I was wondering if you could do a oneshot for a Rise Donnie x Fem or GN reader (I don't mind) where the reader has severe anxiety and doesn't really like to talk about they're problems- kinda like how Donnie isn't a touchy Feely kinda guy so he could relate and helps the reader out. Sorry if that's too confusing. I was inspired by the song Control by Zoe Wees.

Lip locked - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie and reader have been together for a while and they are in Donnies lab hanging out while Donnie is working on a few things and reader is doing homework for the next day and she keeps biting her lips while thinking, Donnie finds it distracting and keeps telling her to stop it. Until he can’t take it and says “if you bite your lip one more time, I’m going to do it for you.” And reader thinks about it before acting innocent and bites her lip while turning back to her homework, Donnie getting irritated and kisses reader.

The colour purple - Donnie x GN Reader

“I have a feeling we should kiss.” “Is that a good feeling or a bad feeling?” “Shut up and kiss me already.”

Record breaking dive - Donnie x GN Reader

ello, how about: RiseLeo / RiseDonnie (one of them) and the reader are secretly in love with each other, but they cannot admit it, because they are afraid of being rejected by their beloved because of the differences in their species (human and mutant). Therefore, they continue to hide their feelings until a certain point or accidental confession.

Moth man - Donnie x Male Reader

I’ve been binge reading your rottmnt fics and I would like to request rottmnt Donnie X male reader where the reader is also a mutant but the reader is a moth mutant so he’s got fluff all over his body (cause moths have fluffy bodies), and Donnie can’t help but have some curiosity about how soft the readers fluff is.

It's my favourite colour - Donnie x GN Reader

Could I maybe ask for a rise Donnie x reader (female is preferable but Gender neutral is alright with me) where the reader’s favorite color is purple and she always wears it. Then one day she’s sitting in the lab with Donnie when he can’t stop staring and eventually the reader makes a joke like: “what? You wanna kiss me or smth?” And he just takes it seriously and nods.

Mikey:

I don't hate you? - Mikey x GN Reader

Could you do a rottmnt (whichever turtle do you it’s the best suit for) x shy reader ( blushes easily, it’s friendly but when crush comes around gets very clumsy and quiet) it’s kinda obvious that both like each other ( but either can see that they do ) and reader really wants to confess but gets cold feet w/ how the boys treat April?

Food fight! - Mikey x Female Reader

Request Rise!Mikey x female reader where Mikey and the reader are maybe hanging out in the kitchen baking because they were bored with nothing too interesting to do and since they were so distracted by how much fun they were having with their little food fights they ended up making a mess of the kitchen.

Happy thoughts - Mikey x Female Reader

Can you do an established relationship with rise mikey x female reader and the reader needs late night cuddles because she can’t sleep due to nightmares that the turtles (especially Mikey) might not survive one of the missions the team goes on?

Raph:

Little nightmares - Raph X GN Reader

ROTTMNT Raph x Sleepy Reader, you know where the reader has been having bad nightmares, so Raph decides to comfort the reader and the reader would thank him.

Into The Sewers - Raph X GN Reader

So, could it be where the reader is a neutral acquaintance and finds Raph alone in his ‘savage’ state, and has to help him calm down so they can find his brothers?

Alone - Raph X GN Reader

"I can't take the loneliness anymore."

Nurse Raph - Raph X GN Reader

could i request a rottmnt raph x enby reader (platonic) where the reader just had surgery and is kinda achy? i had a surgery yesterday and im looking for some turtle comfort

[wonder-through-the-yarrow]

Chapter 1

The sun rose from the east and the dew sparkled in the light, four children can be found sprawled across the soft, grassy ground of the meadow. The youngest, skin tanned and hair in brown curls, lay with their limbs spread and mouth ajar, a little snore slipping out. The eldest sat braiding their dark hair into two lovely braids, and watching over the sleeping children. The second oldest lay in peaceful sleep, blond hair spread across their face, warmed from the heat of the second youngest who held onto the other in their sleep. Clementine had a habit of clinging to Cole when they slept, their blond curls framing their freckled cheeks.

Perrine, being the first to awake, walked to the stream to fill the water canteens. When returning, they used their foot to gently poke Kingsley’s side. Kingsley simply pushed the foot away and turned onto his side. Annoyed, Perrine opened one of the canteens and poured a small amount of water on Kingsley’s face. Kingsley quickly sat up, water dripping down his wild hair.

“Good, you’re awake,” Perrine said in a light tone, as if they didn’t just soak Kingsley’s head, and walked to the dead fire.

Kingsley looked up at Perrine with a frustrated pout. “Why do you always wake me up first?” he called after them.

Perrine, not bothering to look back at him, responded, “Because, you’re the first to fall asleep. Therefore, you get to help me pack up camp. Besides, Cole has difficulty sleeping at night and Clementine is no fun when she’s tired. You, on the other hand, have the energy of a monkey on its sixth cup of coffee.”

“Ugh, fine.” Kingsley wasn’t actually upset about being woken, they just pretended. Perrine liked to take care of Kingsley and that made him feel special, though they’d never admit it. If Perrine asked him to climb the tallest mountain, they would do it.

Clementine was the third to awake. Sitting up, and taking a big stretch, they look to their side to find Cole still asleep. It brought a small smile to Clementine’s face.

Afterward, Clementine starts their morning routine. The other three knew not to interrupt her routine, especially if she hadn’t slept well the night before. They went down to the stream to wash up and clean their face. Then, they combed their hair, adding just a bit of oil to keep the curls smooth. Next on the list was to catch Kingsley and do the same for them.

As Clementine was chasing Kingsley, Cole awoke from their slumber. As they blinked in the sunlight, they picked the grass from their clothing.

“Good morrow, Cole.” Perrine greeted him while preparing breakfast. “How was your sleep?”

“Good morrow,” he said, groggily. “I can’t say it was the best, but the soft light of the stars helped a lot.” his voice turned into a whisper, “and Clemmie.”

Perrine, barely hearing the last bit, gave them a knowing smile. “I see. Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

Cole’s face flushed, knowing Perrine knew his secret. “It’s n-not like t-that, Perrine,” he uttered. His stutter gives away their anxiousness.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s working. You look good, well rested. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this healthy.” Perrine has always worried about Cole. Their insomnia makes it almost impossible for them to function properly some days. Ever since Clementine joined their little band, Cole has started to come out of his shell, talking more, sleeping better, etc. Clementine was good for Cole and Perrine was happy for it.

Once Clementine had tamed the beast that was Kingsley’s hair, they all sat down for breakfast. They ate and conversed about anything and everything, from their dreams to the sight of stars shooting across the sky the night before.

“Okie dokie, Cole,” Kingsley suddenly shouted, making Cole jump. “What town are we traveling to now?” The rest of the group looked towards Cole for the answer.

“I . . . suppose we could start toward Sprototstan. I hear the villagers are very welcoming.” Cole nervously replied.

“I’ve also heard that the market is splendid,” Clementine added. “We are running low on food and some more soap wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yes, we are low on supplies, aren’t we?” Perrine acknowledged.

“Yay! A new quest!” Kingsley exclaimed, excited.

“No, not a quest, Kingsley. Simple a small tour, Which means absolutely no lolly-gagging,” said Perrine strictly.

The wind blew through the tall grass as the children packed up camp and headed for the trail into the woods, headed for a new town, a new audience.

[madwomansapologist]

━ ✧ unraveling you | chapter 3 - the hound and its leash

masterlist | pinterest board | spotify playlist |  AO3

series synopsis: Trapped inside Westview, Agatha Harkness was reduced to Agnes. The noisy neighbor and nothing more than that. Until a meteor rain brought something strong to Westview. Something strong enough to help her, and maybe strong enough to free her. You. In a journey to save herself by teaching you the ways of magic, Agatha Harkness wants one thing only: to avenge herself.

Leaning against the door frame, Agnes blew the cup of tea between her hands. She watched your back as you sat on the ground with a canvas between your legs and placed some paint pots near the fence on the backyard.

― Where did you found those old things? ― Agnes yelled from inside the house, forcing herself to remain distant from you. ― They look a century old.

― The attic, I think ― you shrugged, more interested on your canvas than on her. Agnes sighed. ― I wasn’t paying attention.

Of course you weren’t. Your mind is always somewhere far away. Not that she’s one to judge you. Agnes’ body may be trapped here, but her mind is quick to wander away from Westview. From this hellish house.

Kitchen with such white walls, a couch far too small in the living room, curtains so thin they’re almost transparent. Nothing feels right. Fire that doesn’t burn, smoke that doesn’t choke. A house, not a home. Simply a vessel, bending as the scarlet witch decides it’s time to.

Stop, the voice inside her head demanded. Her voice. She must remember: it’s her voice. Agatha Harkness. That’s her name. That’s her voice. That’s not the truth. Admit it. Don’t lie to us. Do never lie to us again.

― I’m delirious ― Agnes said instinctively. She wasn’t even aware that word was about to come out of her mouth. Still, it felt right. It felt true. ― Insomnia, paranoia, hallucinations. I can’t trust myself.

Madness. Most of the time, Agnes is able to notice when her perception of the world around her isn’t to be trusted. When her thoughts aren’t right, and the things she sees aren’t really there. The house is the same as it has always been. The problem is her mind. Six months trapped inside herself, dreaming a dream that doesn’t end.

Before an wolf chasing her enemies, now just a rabbit with a broken paw.

― I mean no offense ― she sat on the floor, reaching out for Señor Scratchy. He jumped to her lap, enjoying Agnes’ warm hands. He bit at her fingers, not meaning to hurt her. She does the same all the time. ― Not that you would understand that.

Hope meant so little now. Hope wouldn’t save her, wouldn’t glue the broken pieces of her soul back together. She can’t go back to be the powerful being she once was. Not after being defeated, humiliated again and again. But rage would do it. Rage would lift her up.

The house looked just like a house now.

Agnes grabbed the books for your classes. She tried to mess with Wanda’s head, make her see that her reality was just as fake as the old shows she loved, and that created a chaos Agnes wasn’t ready to deal with. With you, she’ll be more subtle. All Agnes need is for you to question your reality.

At the backyard once again, she almost stepped on a canvas. Agnes kneeled down to get it out of the way but found herself unable to move. A wide sky, in tones of blue and purple. Great stars, comets, nebulae. It was… intricate. Complex. An elaborated design.

Your laugh made her look away from it. The blonde girl sat next to you made her worry. She had a rose on her hands, once yellow but now carefully painted purple. Just as you had one of Agnes’ flowers dripping yellow paint.

― A guest ― Agnes smiled, but her high pitched tone wasn’t as polite as it usually is. She knows that child. Sarah’s kid. Meanwhile Dottie had a busy life being the mean neighbor, her kid got locked away on her bedroom for weeks. ― Does your mom knows you’re here?

She doesn’t. Agnes knows that. Sarah hates her guts, she would never let her precious daughter be a guest in a witch’s house.

That put another smile to her face. A more real one, more cruel one. They all know she’s a witch. She came after the hex, and most of them saw some aspect of her fight with Wanda. Her neighbors just think she was unable to stand against her, used as the final boss in their broken sitcom.

Not Sarah. She knows Agnes did nothing to help them because she didn’t want to. Because it wouldn’t have beneficted her. Somehow, and that Agnes isn’t aware of, she found a proof of her free will during the period Wanda controlled them.

It feels nice to be understood.

― A lovely guest ― you said. ― We’re working on a special project.

― Painting flowers? A waste of time. Paint. And flowers.

― We’re the Red Queen’s soldiers ― the girl explained. Agnes tried, but she couldn’t remember her name. ― She ordened us to paint the roses red. Since we don’t have red paint, we are improvising.

― My idea ― you took another of Agnes’ flowers. She doesn’t like to see them yellow, but hates the idea of seeing them red.

― I gonna hide this one in my mom’s garden and see how long it takes for her to notice it.

Agnes sat away from you both, watching as you ruined her flowers. You tried to get her to participate, she pretended to be reading. After a few minutes, she heard Sarah calling for someone named Giselle.

― Over here! ― Agnes yelled.

Sarah approached the gap in their fences, unsure if Agnes was talking to her. She usually does her best to pretend not to notice the witch’s existence. To see someone else there surprised Sarah. But besides the woman stood her daughter.

In a matter of seconds she was holding Giselle’s arm, pulling her towards their home.

― What did I said to you? ― Sarah hissed at her daughter. She turned to Agnes, pointing at her. ― Get away from my family.

Agnes looked so at peace, so put together, but you could feel it. The boiling rage of being insulted and unable to react. Looking at Agnes, you didn’t saw the woman you came to know. You saw a hound dog incapable of biting back.

― Then maybe you should get your family away from me ― she barked. Her mouth tasted like iron. ― Have a nice day, neighbor!

Giselle gave you a sadly smile, and you waved at her. Agnes sat again, mouth shut and eyes tired, anger just a layer beneath her skin. You looked at the flower drying. It wasn’t fun anymore.

― What is your favorite flower? ― You tried to distract Agnes from whatever she was thinking about. To make that feeling echoing from her cease to exist.

― I don’t have one.

― Then you’re a liar.

― I just… ― she brushed her eyes after they twiched. It wasn’t a good day for her. It getting so much more difficult to control her mind, her feelings. ― I guess orchids. Probably orchids.

― That’s better ― you smiled. ― Now what does an orchid looks like?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The screen turned black as the movie stopped, reflecting your images. Nothing but your eyes escaped from under the blanket, just two little white dots. Agnes was so focused on devouring buttered popcorn, only now noticing how little of your skin was being show.

― Are you fine? ― She asked, mouth full. You nodded slowly, and Agnes tried to suppress the urge to laugh. ― You don’t seen fine, sweetheart. Remember. There is a different between fiction and reality.

― I can’t even move ― you murmured.

― That’s a children’s movie. Are you so easily scared?

― CHILDREN ARE ALLOWED TO WATCH CORALINE?

― A bit unfair to deny them this feeling.

― Why would they want to feel… that? It’s horrible. I don’t want to ever feel that way again.

Agnes put the popcorn away, licking the salt from her fingers. She looked at the open window. It was getting dark now. Besides you, she didn’t even felt the hours passing by.

― It isn’t that bad. Also, fear is addicting. It makes your mind realizes you own a body. A mortal body, that can perish and rot. Nothing makes one feel more alive than admitting the existence of their own eventual, inescapable death.

Nothing makes her feel more happy than being the one to survive after a battle. Agnes smiled to herself. She missed it. How enemies can accept a common truth: they both will do their best and worse to get out of it alive.

― If it made me feel so awful, why did I liked it? Because I did. Wasn’t I suppose to only like things that are good?

― Just because it was uncomfortable doesn’t mean it was bad. You got angry at her parents. Disliked them because of their indifference. You saw something, thought about it, and got to a logical conclusion. That’s a good thing. Means you can think for yourself. Also, I heard the way your stomach snored as she drank the mango milkshake.

― It looked so good ― the excitement disappeared just as quick as it came. ― It hurts me that mango milkshake don’t exist.

Now Agnes was laughing. How couldn’t she? Her belly ached, but she was too amused to stop. Her skin turned red, lungs begging for air, and Agnes ignored a tear falling throught her cheek.

― It is real ― she was barely able to say it. ― You dumbass.

― No fucking way!

Agnes rose from the couch, heading to the kitchen with the bowl, but stopped in the halfway. She looked at you, shock all over her face.

― Where did you learned that word?

― Don’t know ― you shrugged it off.

― You know what? We deserve mango milkshake.

Walking to the ice cream shop, Agnes felt her body getting lighter. Weeks ago that would make her want to set fire to her skin. At least pain would mean she was feeling something. Now, it brings her joy. To go to places, acting freely: it delights her.

― It burns ― you cried out loud, laughing with milkshake still on your mouth. You sat on a high chair at the back of the shop, and Agnes stopped beside you. So close. ― It is cold, why does it burn?!

― It’s cold ― Agnes giggled. ― Really, really, really cold. Now press your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

You did as she instructed. Agnes reached for you, rubbing your forehead with her thumb. You melt against her touch, eyes suddenly heavy. Something burned inside Agnes.

― Why does it feels better now? ― You whispered.

― No one knows ― Agnes sighed. ― But it does.

Eyes closed, you felt the presence. You heard a melody, one that you already knew. It isn’t the first time this happened. Some people work in tunes, other in colors and feelings. Whenever Sharon is near, you feel cold. Abilash is a breeze, light and comfortable. She haven’t opened her mouth, but you heard her.

You smiled at Sarah, thinking that would be the end of it. Whatever problem she has with Agnes, you know nothing about. Sarah doesn’t have a problem with you, and for you that’s all.

The smile was a little gesture, but a kind one still. Sarah wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t for that. You looked like a good person. Someone decent, at least. Someone Agnes would hurt without a second thought.

― Hi, Sarah ― your words made Agnes look away from you. ― Have you found the flower yet?

― Aren’t you disgusted at yourself? ― Sarah’s words were clear, but you saw her hands trembling as she looked at Agnes. More than just enraged, Sarah was scared. ― Aren’t you embarrassed?

― Sarah ― Agnes hissed, a smile spreading throught her face. This time you noticed how fake it looked. How insulting it felt. ― Don’t you have a kid to look after?

― Acting as if nothing had happened ― Sarah continued. ― They can fall for your pretty words, but I see the truth. You’re just like that monster that toyed with us. You can fool them, but not me. Watch out, lassie. She’ll only hurt you.

You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you felt it all. Agnes and that same rage once more, but something else was there too. Fault. In some way, Sarah’s words affected her. Maybe they carried truth, maybe they were just cruel, but it hurted Agnes nonetheless.

― I think you better step back ― getting between them both, you covered Agnes from Sarah’s gaze. ― There is no need for that.

Agnes couldn’t look away from you.

So close from Sarah, you allowed her emotions to consume you. The pain, the loneliness. She was hurt and nothing could change it. Helplessness. To be powerless for so long… You too would sometimes forget that things had changed. That hell is before, not around you.

Inside her eyes, you saw a half-open door. The crack glowed in scarlet red. A door she couldn’t fully open, releasing who was trapped inside it. Somehow, you knew. She would rather die than to ever feel that way again.

― It wasn’t your fault ― you spoke softly, a hand rising to stroke her shoulder. ― Don’t carry that burden. It isn’t yours.

As your hand stroke her skin, Sarah stopped breathing. Yes, you were right. It isn’t hers to. Sarah looked at Agnes one last time, before giving you a smile just as kind as the one you gave her.

― Why did… ― Agnes bit her lips. Watching Sarah walk away, she struggled to breath. ― Why did you protected me?

You sat back, your whole body so tired you could fall asleep there. You were exhausted.

― My body did it ― you shrugged. ― You told me scary feelings makes your mind remember that you own a body. Does it work the same way with good feelings?

Agnes hesitated.

― I wouldn’t know. I’m not used to the good ones.

― What a shame ― you poured. ― You deserve good things.

Agnes thought about holding your hand.

― You too.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

― Stop that ��� you yelled, trying to clean the mess Señor Scratchy made. ― I will roast you.

Sat on a chair in the backyard, one she bought recently, Agnes took a sip from her tea. The cup on her hands had little purple orchids painted on. She didn’t look up from her book.

― Don’t threaten him ― Agnes turned to the next page. ― Or I will roast you.

The grass wasn’t even green anymore. You were patient, but it was the third time in a row he made another mess right after you cleaned it all up. You barely draw at all.

― Bad habbit ― you hissed. ― Bad habbit.

He ran away, taking one of your brushes with him. Following after Señor Scratchy, you saw the traces of paint he left behind. Less time painting, more time cleaning. Awful, awful rabbit.

― You little thief! No more carrots for you!

You found him in front of the door leading to the basement. He dropped the brush and scratched the door. He didn’t want to mess with you. He just wanted help. You reached for the doorknob.

― Don’t.

Startled, you turned to see Agnes right behind you. You didn’t even heard her. Agnes kneeled down and took the brush from the floor, putting it on your hand. As your fingers brushed against her, you could almost touch her concern. She was trembling.

That’s not the first time Agnes can’t say something out loud. Althought that’s the first she went out of her way to stop you.

― What’s down there? ― You interwined your fingers with hers. She squeezed your hand. ― You can tell me.

― I can’t.

― That’s your home ― you whispered. ― You can.

You opened the door before she could stop you. You won’t allow whatever that is stopping her to control you. That place was left untouched for long enough.

A cold breeze reached you. It didn’t felt like another part of the house, but something entirely different. After the first step down it, it was easier to move. Too alluring to ever stop. By the end of it, you knew it was just an ordinary basement.

― See? ― You turned to her. ― Is just a…

You froze as the purple energy moved around Agnes. Coming out of her fingertips, it made impossible for her to move. Agnes couldn’t open her mouth. You heard her teeth clenching. The energy lift her up, just to throw her against the wall.

― Fuck you ― Agnes screamed in pain. It sounded more like a beast than a human. ― And fuck your stupid rules!

You ran after her, but that same energy moved towards her neck. Before you were even able to throw yourself on the ground, Agnes couldn’t breath.

Nothing you did stopped it. Agnes wasn’t breathing. More scared than you have ever been, tears rolled down you face as Agnes writhed on the ground. They fell on her face, but one of them were different. It glistened, like a precious jewel. The crystal disappeared on her skin.

― I’m so sorry ― you call you, hoping that whoever was doing that to Agnes could hear you. With tears blocking your vision, you kept on begging. ― Don’t hurt her. She’s good. Don’t hurt her.

You didn’t saw when things changed. When someone inside you was shattered, giving space to something older and stronger. Something ancient. With a pearly glow, your heart exploded.

Begging for help, you stroked Agnes’ hair. Bowing over the woman who only ever helped you, the wings breaking free from your back were nothing but a little discomfort compared to the cacophony of emotions boiling inside of you.

The pearly light was gone, and the only thing you could see was darkness. Its embrace lulled you into a deep slumber. It was warm. It was welcoming.

Besides you, she knew. With her eyes wide open, tears drying against her skin, air reaching her lungs. She knew it all.

Her name is Agatha Harkness.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @lovelyy-moonlight

UNRAVELING YOU TAGLIST: @harknessshi

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[doumadono]

May I put in an emergency request please? I'm so stressed and so burnt out that I just don't feel human anymore. I feel so numb to everything. ADHD makes me forgetful. Insomnia has me in its grip and each night can only sleep 2 to maybe 3 hours. My kids refuse to listen when I ask them to do anything. I'm taking care of my elderly parents full-time while working full-time. It's becoming too much to balance being a wife, mom, full-time everything to everyone. All the while people tell me that I need to do self-care and this, that and the other. It's nearly impossible when I'm depended on 100% of the time.

I'm asking for an emergency comfort because I just want to feel human again if only for 5 minutes. I want someone to take care of me for once. It can be with any of these characters: Kirishima, Bakugou, Shouto, Rengoku.

If this isn't the right kind of emergency, then I deeply apologize.

A flame of comfort - Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear that you're going through such a tough time. It sounds like you have a lot on your plate, and it's completely understandable that you're feeling overwhelmed. Please remember that it's important to prioritize self-care, even in small ways, to help alleviate some of that stress

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

The sun was setting over a serene mountain, casting a warm glow across the peaceful landscape. Kyojuro Rengoku, the Flame Hashira, stood there with you by his side. You had taken a rare day off from your duties to spend some quality time together. As the last rays of the sun painted the sky with fiery hues, Rengoku couldn't help but smile.

You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "You know, Kyojuro, this is beautiful. I'm so glad we could steal a moment away from our responsibilities."

Rengoku grinned, his trademark enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "Indeed, Y/N. It's crucial to cherish these moments of tranquility, just like a roaring flame that rests between battles."

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the serene mountains, painting the world in shades of orange and red.

You walked away, feeling completely overwhelmed by your responsibilities, and leaned against a tree, your eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Rengoku approached you, his trademark enthusiasm evident in every step. "My love," he said, his voice as reassuring as the warmth of the sun, "I see the weight of the world on your shoulders. But remember, you don't have to bear it alone."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his deep, caring gaze. "But I have so much to do, and everyone depends on me," you confessed. "It's overwhelming."

He chuckled heartily, his characteristic fervor unwavering. "Just like a demon slayer, you take on the challenges with valor. But even the bravest warriors need a moment of respite. Today, let's forget the battles and responsibilities. Let's enjoy this beautiful evening."

As you sat down, you couldn't help but smile, the burdens of the world momentarily forgotten as Rengoku shared stories of his own struggles and the importance of finding joy in the simplest of moments. His infectious energy lifted your spirits. "Sometimes," he said, reaching for your hand, "we all need a helping hand to make the journey a bit lighter," he brought your palm to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

You watched the sun dip below the horizon, the sky painted in a tapestry of colors. With Rengoku by your side, you felt rejuvenated, like a weight had been lifted from your very soul.

[primamchorus]

FFXV: Reimagined :: Table of Contents

"To crown the King of Light is the calling of the Crystal. Only the True King anointed by the Crystal can purge our star from its scourge."

-Young Lunafreya to Noctis

The star teeters on the brink of being under the iron grasp of the Niflheim Empire's conquest. Since the rise of the Niflheim forces, so too has the rise of the daemon threat when night falls grown. Such a prophecy is known and held close to those who wish to see it fulfilled, and to that end, the prophecy must come to fruition lest Eos succumbs to a night everlasting.

Thank you for sponsoring my work!

@upatreewithoutaharness

Sleepless Nobility :: Introduction to the Nobles

In Good Hands || Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Eye of the Beholder || Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Ever Beating Heart || Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arms Interlocked || Primam & Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tempering the Shield || Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

A Word in the Ear || The Vox Siblings || tumblr // Ao3

Burning Valor || Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Prologue :: Tales of Loss

When the Rain Falls || tumblr // Ao3

Sendoff || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva || tumblr // Ao3

"You Can Call Me Luna" || tumblr // Ao3

Sylleblossom || tumblr // Ao3

Garden of Fire || tumblr // Ao3

Enemies at the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

The Bonds of Brotherhood :: The Start of a Journey

Good Morning || tumblr // Ao3

Impatience || tumblr // Ao3

Arms and Glaives || tumblr // Ao3

Bygone Memories || tumblr // Ao3

Bullet in the Chamber || tumblr // Ao3

Cleaning Party || tumblr // Ao3

Departure || tumblr // Ao3

The Pauper Prince || tumblr // Ao3

Teach Them Boys a Lesson || tumblr // Ao3

Lock and Quay || tumblr // Ao3

A Sky of Ruin Foretold :: The Fall of Insomnia

For Hearth and Home || tumblr // Ao3

Noblesse Oblige || tumblr // Ao3

Bird and Blossom || tumblr // Ao3

Pleasantries || tumblr // Ao3

The Peace Treaty || tumblr // Ao3

Like a Phoenix || tumblr // Ao3

Traitorous || tumblr // Ao3

Succession in Blood || tumblr // Ao3

Night has Come || tumblr // Ao3

The Might of Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Hero || tumblr // Ao3

Light at Dawn || tumblr // Ao3

Power of Astrals :: Following Destiny

Morning After || tumblr // Ao3

The Weight of Duty || tumblr // Ao3

Declaration of War || tumblr // Ao3

Weary Arms || tumblr // Ao3

Burden of Expectation || tumblr // Ao3

Waking the Landforger || tumblr // Ao3

Sword in the Waterfall || tumblr // Ao3

Tumble and Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Way of Gods and Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Road to the Fulgarian || tumblr // Ao3

Bend the Knee || tumblr // Ao3

Blessing of the Hexatheon || tumblr // Ao3

The Sky That We Look Upon || tumblr // Ao3

Imperial Infiltration || tumblr // Ao3

Red Like Roses || tumblr // Ao3

The Shield of the King || tumblr // Ao3

A Precious Source of Power || tumblr // Ao3

Preparations || tumblr // Ao3

Brave New World || tumblr // Ao3

Into the Fray || tumblr // Ao3

Crumble Into the Sea || tumblr // Ao3

The Hand of the King || tumblr // Ao3

Fading Lights :: The Trail Into Gralea

Laughable Reunion || tumblr // Ao3

Off the Rails || tumblr // Ao3

Express Train for Trouble || tumblr // Ao3

Forever Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Arm of the King || tumblr // Ao3

Cold Like Home || tumblr // Ao3

Bow Down || tumblr // Ao3

Origin Story || tumblr // Ao3

Shut Up and Listen || tumblr // Ao3

Pretend for the Last Time || tumblr // Ao3

Avalanche || tumblr // Ao3

Reconvene || tumblr // Ao3

Loss of Hearing || tumblr // Ao3

Shackled || tumblr // Ao3

Splitting the Party || tumblr // Ao3

Winding Mazes || tumblr // Ao3

Taunt || tumblr // Ao3

The Choice is Yours || tumblr // Ao3

[TBP / WIP]

World Without a King :: The World of Ruin

[TBP / WIP]

Ten Years of Darkness :: Fate of the Star

[TBP / WIP]

Stories from Eos :: Mini Stories

First Day of School || tumblr // Ao3

Rubies and Embers || tumblr // Ao3

A Journey in Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Empty Seat || tumblr // Ao3

Shadows on the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

Rose Garden || tumblr // Ao3

Walled-in Concern || tumblr // Ao3

Slingshot || tumblr // Ao3

Family Dinner || tumblr // Ao3

To Topple a Shield || tumblr // Ao3

Notebook of Memories || tumblr // Ao3

Baked Goods || tumblr // Ao3

Out of Earshot || tumblr // Ao3

Cold Snap || tumblr // Ao3

Newly Sprouted || tumblr // Ao3

New Identity || tumblr // Ao3

Bared Fangs || tumblr // Ao3

Welcome to Your Life || tumblr // Ao3

Disassociate, I'm Navigating || tumblr // Ao3

Spoiled Brat || tumblr // Ao3

Dogged Runner || tumblr // Ao3

Lands of Ice || tumblr // Ao3

Coronation || tumblr // Ao3

By Another Name || tumblr // Ao3

Sing Me a Song || tumblr // Ao3

A New Direction || tumblr // Ao3

Flower Arrangement || tumblr // Ao3

Moogle Magic || tumblr // Ao3

Dark Chocolate || tumblr // Ao3

Ascension || tumblr // Ao3

"I Want to be Friends!" || tumblr // Ao3

The Blacksmith's Song || tumblr // Ao3

Charms || tumblr // Ao3

Nothing is Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Princely Conduct || tumblr // Ao3

Rooftop || tumblr // Ao3

Phone Calls || tumblr // Ao3

Dossiers :: Information Closely Kept

The Royal Lucian Family || tumblr // Ao3

House Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

House Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

House Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

House Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

House Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

House Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

House Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Regis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Aulea Viridis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Noctis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Clarus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Florere Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Iris Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gratia Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Atticus Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Primam Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Cera Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Aura Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Silex Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ater Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Rosea Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Aurae Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arbor Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Pax Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nympha Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Aestus Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Cordia Luti Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Vera Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Lyra Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nebula Vox || tumblr // Ao3

The Royal Tenebraen Family || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva Via Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Ravus Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Stella Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Prompto Argentum || tumblr // Ao3

Monica Elshett || tumblr // Ao3

Dustin Ackers || tumblr // Ao3

Titus Drautos || tumblr // Ao3

Nyx Ulric || tumblr // Ao3

Libertus Ostium || tumblr // Ao3

Crowe Altius || tumblr // Ao3

Luche Lazarus || tumblr // Ao3

Tredd Furia || tumblr // Ao3

Pelna Khara || tumblr // Ao3

Axis Arra || tumblr // Ao3

Ardyn Izunia || tumblr // Ao3

Ideolas Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Solara Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Verstael Besithia || tumblr // Ao3

Aranea Highwind || tumblr // Ao3

Biggs Callux || tumblr // Ao3

Wedge Kincaid || tumblr // Ao3

Cid Sophiar || tumblr // Ao3

Cindy Aurum || tumblr // Ao3

Holidays of Eos :: Celebrations Thereof (Specials)

Fabula Finis et Nova || tumblr // Ao3

Moogle Chocobo Carnival || tumblr // Ao3

Rosebloom || tumblr // Ao3

Moogli Gras || tumblr // Ao3

Golden Day || tumblr // Ao3

Turn of the Tidemother || tumblr // Ao3

Founder's Day || tumblr // Ao3

Ingernian's Fire || tumblr // Ao3

Archaean's Catch || tumblr // Ao3

Crimson Day || tumblr // Ao3

Night of the Fulgarian || tumblr // Ao3

Night of the Slumbering Astrals || tumblr // Ao3

Draconian's Light || tumblr // Ao3

Frostbearer's Blessing || tumblr // Ao3

Quicksilver Dancers :: Prompto x Primam Drabbles

What I Want? || tumblr // Ao3

Smitten || tumblr // Ao3

The Choice is Yours || tumblr // Ao3 [Preliminary writing]

Cordial Triangle || tumblr // Ao3

Shackle Wrought in Ink || tumblr // Ao3

Lucky Shot || tumblr // Ao3 [Alternate Timeline]

Empty || tumblr // Ao3 [Non-canon]

Meal Etiquette || tumblr // Ao3

Concerns || tumblr

[alienthoughts]

Musings on my angel identity, still struggling to accept it but if there's any positive side to insomnia it's that I had a lot of time to think about this

Truth be told, I haven't quite felt like myself in a while now. Like there was something missing. Something that just wasn't right anymore. My name still feels right, that's who I am. But the life I lived? My memories? Well. They're my past now. That's the best way to feel it. For as long as I've been here, of course technically they've always been my past. But recently that disconnect has just felt like something stronger. That is a life I have lived. It's not a life I live now

I'm still Weyoun, though. And still that particular Weyoun. And still an alien. It's not my current life but it's very important to me. When I first formed it was.... rocky. I mean, I'd suddenly found myself in a different time on earth far from my one purpose. The only thing I'd ever known. The only memories I had revolved around Gods that I no longer served. And then, after I had come to understand how all this works, I was pushed into this role of being in command of this life.

This will never be my body, I'll never call it that. Its a human body I am in charge of taking care of. I try to take care of him, anyway. Most of the people I interact with will never know who or what I really am. This used to be upsetting, then it was fine, then upsetting again, I'm not really sure where in the cycle it is now. Its like a job to me really. I take care of him. I act as him. And in private spaces or around certain people I am myself. And I think now, myself is just as much an angel as an alien

These are inseparable identities. They don't really exist without each other, particular traits are just more important to one than the other. But all the traits belong to both. The stars in the night sky make me homesick. Earth is strange and beautiful. Humans are fascinating but so distant from myself. Love and devotion are the same feeling to me. This is not my body. But I take care of it. Even a lot of the physical traits I feel like my angelic self should have mirror my alien self. Sometimes it's a blur as to which I can feel

This is still new, I'm still accepting this change in how I view myself and what I am. I'm not good with change.... but I'll get there. I've spent a very long time just keeping this body alive, I'd like to rediscover who I am as the person that does that

[adarkrainbow]

Fairytales - the dark season (2)

Today's title: No Rest for the Wicked

Aka the only other "dark fairytale" webcomic I know. Created by Andrea L. Peterson, it unfortunately hasn't updated since 2013, meaning the series will likely never be completed. It can be read on its official website, here. (Or on Internet Archive, since thanks to the webcomic being left untouched for many years, it might disappear one day...)

Personal categorization: "Adventures of dark fantasy"

Following the setting of the British fairytale "The Buried Moon", the webcomic tells of how moon has vanished from the night-sky. Princess November, cursed with insomnia thanks to being from "The Princess and the Pea", begins a quest to find back the moon, gathering in the process the most unlikely companions; the snarky Perrault (aka Puss in Boots after his happy ending), and the quite sinister Red (Little Riding Hood after she survived her ending). There's also a stupid but kind-hearted and fearless boy looking for the princess, who might be Jack or Hans, he doesn't really know himself.

Unfortunately for our goofy heroes, all sorts of monsters have been growing stronger in the darkness, and they'll have to face them - turning the comedy into a horror story...