#jade city header

[piratealt]

octavinelle headers

[swashbucklery]

and her light stretches (willow ot3 au)

(header: @spybrarian)

over salt sea and flowerdeep fields (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 62.9K)

Everything feels the same, and everything feels different, all at once. Because the victory, the heart-pounding elation of fighting the Crone and rescuing Airk and actually doing it, that’s incredible. It’s everything Kit ever wanted. Everything her bones knew she needed when she’d dreamt about having adventures. But it fades, quickly. Into sore shoulders and bruised ribs and the realization that they have to sleep and eat so badly. + (Kit and Jade and Elora and the long journey back from the Immemorial City, sorting out all the things that love and home can mean.)

the beautiful dew is poured out and roses bloom (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 12.7K)

The last embers of sunset are slipping over the horizon, the grey half-light of dusk filtering in among the candle and lamp light. Kit takes another deep breath, prepares herself to step out into the hallway and everything that will follow. She’s getting married tonight. + (OR: the wedding night divination sex dream finally happens.)

she shines on the earth in silver (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 46.3K)

It’s strange, being married. The way some things feel so profoundly, irrevocably different and some things feel exactly the same. Kit spent so long dreading marriage - a particular type of marriage, she now realizes - that she never really had the time to think about how it might feel to be married any way but unhappily. Kit’s moved fully now, her old bedroom an empty space and her things in Elora’s quarters - their quarters - officially the Princess Empress-Consort. Officially, the three of them are a well-kept secret. Kit and Elora are married, and as far as court and society know that’s the extent of it. Unofficially, of course, they’re - three. + (OR: Kit and Jade and Elora navigating home. Also, the Doppelgangland AU that no one asked for.)

flowing here like honey (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 35.7K)

Here in the wildlands, on the border with Galladoorn, Kit isn't concerned with formality. The obligation of caring and fussing and explaining feels like something she'd rather have left at the palace gates. She just wants to be with her girls, to touch and comfort and warm both of them as they need her. A strategic mind, the Empress-Consort's mind, would consider it. A more perfect version of Kit would take into account the customs and laws of Galladoorn and the best type of comportment for the situation at hand. Kit isn't as perfect as Sorsha wishes her to be. She's just herself, tired and cold, snowed in on the Solstice with her two favourite people in the world. + (OR: the coziest snowed-in made-up-fantasy-holiday fic you've ever seen. Kit and Elora and Jade snowed in over solstice, passing the time together.)

[knight-princess]

I’ve had the start of this in my drafts for ages, suddenly inspired to finish it tonight. Might be just it’s own standalone thing or it might be chapter one, I don’t know yet. It follows the finale, with the group leaving the Immemorial City, setting off home, and is from Airk’s point of view. The header is by hgstuff

Airk trudged along in silence. Everything had fallen quiet now, weariness and grief weighing the mood down. He didn’t know if the silence was easier to bear than the quiet laugher had been, the bickering he couldn’t share. Sure, his sister had walked with him for a bit, and her worried glance often strayed to him, even as she walked step in step with Jade. But . . . they were a unit, his sister and these, who had come on the quest to rescue him. Trials and hardships had hammered them together into a whole. Even the way they moved, the way they walked, aware of each other, reminded him of nothing so much as the many limbs of some great beast. But he . . . Well. Everything was so confusing. So much had happened. He couldn’t get his thoughts to stay still long enough to sort any of them out. He wondered if he ever would.

“Hey, question,” the man’s voice seemed loud compared to the quiet the group had fallen into as they walked deeper into the darkening evening. Boorman, that was it. Somebody had called him Boorman. Did the name ring a bell, somewhere in the mess of his memory? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t ask. “How’re we getting back up the waterfall?”

Airk frowned. He didn’t remember a waterfall. But then, he didn’t remember much at all of the journey to the city. What did he remember? He forced his thoughts in order, a purposeful search of a ransacked room. He remembered claws, clutching his ribs so tightly he thought they’d crack. He remembered clouds, and cold. Whatever they had flown over, if he had noted anything at the time, it was lost to him now.

The silence stretched. Then, “I don’t know why you’re all looking at me,” Willow grumbled. It was strange, seeing him here, the Willow Ufgood, from his dads stories. Airk was having a hard time processing that, too.

“Oh I don’t know,” Boorman said. “World famous Willow Ufgood, most powerful sorcerer, fixer of all problems. No reason.”

“Boorman. Shut up.”

The Wyrm had feared Willow Ufgood. He could feel the thought, oily slick, somewhere in his mind. It horrified him, the sudden feeling of fear and resentment that thrummed through his blood. Not mine, he told himself. Deny it, hide it, cover it. Not mine. He tried to focus, to separate the feeling from his dads hero stories of the man.

Boorman was still talking. Airk knew he’d missed something of what the man had been saying, but then, nobody else was paying him much mind either. “Oh yeah,” he carried on, “let’s all jump off the cliff at the end of the world, with no idea how to get back. Great idea guys. Good planning. You know, I was kinda joking when I said that next time I should plan the quest, but now I’m really thinking -”

“Boorman, shut up.” Elora this time, and for a wonder, Boorman did fall silent. Perhaps it was the hollowness of her voice. She looked terrible, worse and worse, the longer they walked. Her footsteps dragged, and a small flute hung limp from her hand. Her hair glinted red in the sunset. That, too, would take getting used to. Her gaze met his and jerked away. Airk sighed. There was a lot that would take getting used to. So much had changed.

“Guys.” Jade’s voice cut through the weary bickering. She and Kit walked close, his sister still decked in the armour that had come from gods knew where. Another adventure he hadn’t been party to. “We need to make camp,” Jade said. “Before it gets dark.”

They did not have much with them. Airk wondered if they had travelled the whole way so light, or perhaps lost their supplies along the way somewhere. It scarcely mattered. What they had, they put to use. Soon, a small, scrawny fire began to breath in a hollow they dug to safeguard it from the wind that swept them.

“Shame we can’t magic up some food,” Boorman muttered morosely. Clearly, what little they had had not been enough to satisfy him.

“No, can’t magic up food,” Elora repeated. She passed a wan smile between herself and Willow, who chuckled softly. More inside jokes. Airk tried to crush the resentment he felt. Why did he feel so angry? They’d come to rescue him, he reminded himself. The quest they’d bonded over had been for his benefit. He was free, free of the Wyrm. Wasn’t he?

“Airk? You okay?” Kit. Kit’s voice, raised in concern. He flinched, flashes of memory racing through his head. He recalled his sword striking hers, with all the strength he could muster. He recalled how he had gone to strike Elora, sitting exhausted before him, how angry he had been when Kit stood in the way. He recalled wanting her dead, with every fibre of his being. He tried to banish the memory. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to remember that. He didn’t want that to ever have been part of him.

“Airk?” Kit called again.

Faces, he’d always been good at wearing faces. For the court, the nobles, his mother, the girls he distracted himself with, each a different face, each a different performance. So many faces he’d worn, over the years. He sometimes wondered if anyone had ever seen him. He pulled up a smile. “I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. He willed himself to believe it.

“People who are fine don’t usually sit alone in the dark when everyone else is gathered around the fire,” Willow murmured, not unkindly.

“Join us, Airk,” Jade said. She’d always been a steady one. She’d always been good for Kit, a good match, the rock to Kit’s wildfire. He wondered what their mother would think, of how close the knight sat to the princess, how their fingers laced together. He frowned, focusing for the first time today on what she wore. Her armour was unfamiliar too. He was suddenly daunted. Kit was changed, Jade was changed, and Dove, Elora, Elora most of all. She had spoken fair to him earlier in the day, of how glad she was to see him again. But in the hours they’d walked, she’d sunk into a deep melancholy that even the fire couldn’t thaw. He wondered if she were angry with him. He had raised a sword against her; he had helped the Crone attempt to trap her. He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him. She certainly didn’t join her voice to the others as they invited him. She just rubbed the flute in her hands and stared into the fire. He thought he saw a tear drip off her chin, but then, it could have been a trick of the rippling firelight.

He hesitated long. In the end, Boorman sighed, stood theatrically and, easy as picking up a kitten, lifted him by his jacket collar and swung him over to the fire. He found himself sandwiched between Boorman’s tall lanky frame and Kit. Boorman flashed him a grin. “You’re welcome,” he said, and went back to poking the fire.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Airk’s face. “And who are you, again?” he asked. He wondered when his voice had got so rusty.

“Oh no,” Jade lamented. “Don’t, don’t get him started, he’ll go on forever -”

But it was too late, and Boorman had begun an enthusiastic recounting of his entire life, seemingly from the moment of his birth. Airk listened, trying to enjoy being rescued, having his sister at his side again, the warmth and good fellowship. He tried to let it drown out the memories.

As the fire sank low, his fingers drifted across the scars littering his face. He floated off into sleep, focusing in the rhythmic breathing of his companions to steady his own racing heart, and tried not to dream.

[latenightsimping]

THE EDGE

“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels

Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.

Chapter: 1 / 2 /  3 / 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff, there will be a happy ending

AN: First of all, thank you so much to those who left lovely comments and reblogged. I’m blown away by the support over a little idea I had, based on my own difficulties with the inpatient system. This is a series I’m really looking forward to, and still planning as I go? This second part is the last like, ‘scripted’ part, so I’m gonna have to actually light a fire under my arse and open up a dreaded planning doc lmao. Hope you enjoy this part!! also massive shoutout to @mantorokk-writes​ for putting up with my rambles and making me an amazing header image, you’re my beloved 💕

Taglist: @edsforehead, @idkidknemore, @harrys-tittie, @gaysludge, @smileygoth​

Nothing ever changed in this place. Waking up to stare at the same four walls until your door was opened. Same four walls that you showered and brushed your teeth in. Same four walls that you spent the majority of the day in, following a bullshit routine that was supposed to promote ‘positive mental changes’ and ‘the tools for a successful future’. 

You were smart enough to know that it was all a load of bullshit. For the first six months of your committal, you believed in it. Practically bent over backwards to show the doctors that you were making progress, holding onto the slim chance that you might finally get the news of being released after the bi-annual panels that were akin to placing your heart on the scale. Balanced against the feather of your guilt, of the timeline of events that still haunted you every waking moment. It took you a year to realise the odds were stacked against you. Two years in, and you’d given up hope of ever walking back out the front doors. Two years of the same day, over and over, no end in sight. 

Even the earthquake that had rocked the town of Hawkins didn’t really change things. It had meant lockdown for a couple of days until damage could be assessed, and it had spurned a lot of orderlies, nurses and doctors bouncing for a better life in another city. Leaving only the ones that were most likely too stubborn to leave, now more bitter and jaded for having to keep the job that made their lives that little bit more miserable. With less staff, it had meant a closer eye on behaviour, lest the patients got any bright ideas and decided an uprising was sorely needed. Any infraction could get you put in the hole, no matter how small and stupid it seemed. You’d seen one of the old timers be taken away for a couple of days when they decided to steal a pen from the nurses station. You knew it was because they wanted to write down their thoughts before they forgot. But you also knew that the staff got jumpy when a patient had something capable of being made into an improvised weapon. 

The day had started just like any other. Your name being called out as the door to your room was unlocked, tone already weary of the shift ahead and none too gentle. An escort to the bathrooms to get washed up and ready for the day, government issued toothpaste bitter on your tongue and the smell of cheap soap lingering on your skin. Yet another escort to the day room, the doors slammed shut after the last patient passed the threshold. You were still barely awake when the tinny audio system kicked to life, the shrill voice of nurse Koehn calling everyone to line up in front of the glass window of the nurses’ station for medication. How you hated those paper cups with medication inside that you didn’t even know the names of and didn’t get a reply when you asked about, the shitty juice used to wash them down barely tolerable. It had become a Pavlovian response; each sip meant that little bit less freedom, a sluggish haze descending over you that made everything numb and fuzzy at the edges. But at least there were small victories, coming in the form of a pack of Marlboros as a reward for taking the fucking things without a fight. You tapped the pack against your palm as you made your way over to the table you usually sat at, taking one out and dangling the filter between your lips as you nodded your head towards an orderly for the use of a lighter. Because God forbid you were allowed to hold one for more than two seconds, lest you burn down the building. A thought that had admittedly crossed your mind once or twice. 

By mid afternoon, you were six cigarettes down and in the middle of a game of solitaire when the door to the day room opened, and you turned your head on instinct to see what was happening. Miller’s hand on the door as she corralled a man you hadn’t seen before into the room, closing the door behind him and leaving him to fend for himself. He looked scared shitless; eyes frantically darting around the room, his hands curled into fists so tightly that it made his knuckles turn alabaster. Wild and frizzy curls that tumbled past his shoulders, failing to hide the red and angry scars that marred his neck and face. A little lost lamb in the den of poorly concealed wolves, the sight pulling at your heartstrings that you swore had been crystallised a long time ago. You never really believed in ghosts, but it was as if you were looking at a spectre. A shell of a man, barely holding on by a thread. He was a reflection of you, when you’d first got here.

Gathering up the playing cards, you puffed out an air of nicotine as you shook your head. “Are you just going to stand there? You’re making the place look untidy,” you muttered, already dealing out two piles of cards before he realised you were talking to him. 

You glanced back over to him, his muscles tensed and a deer in the headlights expression staring back at you. It took a few heartbeats for him to catch on, and one glance back before his umber eyes settled on you again. “You talkin’ to me?” 

His words were softly spoken, a hoarseness to them that you’d heard from other patients who seldom uttered a word. A slight tremor to his cadence, that you easily picked up on. You nodded as you gestured your head to the wooden chair opposite you, leaning back in your seat as you studied your cards. “Staff get a bit jumpy if you stand by the doors too long. Suggest you find yourself somewhere to be that’s away from them.” 

The conversation seemed to hang in the balance; no doubt he was weighing up the pros and cons of talking to someone deemed a lunatic. You couldn’t blame him. A couple of residents here were like that. Would smile and make pleasant conversation, fooling you into thinking they were perfectly reasonable human beings. And perhaps they were. But you also knew their reason for being here, and one or two made you feel sick to your core. You heard the shuffling of rubber soles get closer, until he finally took a seat at the table. You kept your face neutral as you took another drag of your cigarette, settling the stick between pointer and middle finger. “You know how to play gin rummy?” 

You lifted your eyes as he picked up the cards, a look of confusion evident as his other hand scratched the back of his neck. “Haven’t played for a long time,” he admitted, the volume of his tone still not rising above the level of when he first spoke.

You shrugged as he made the first move, noticing the way his eyes darted towards the carton of cigarettes in the middle of the table. You set your hand down for a moment, picking up the pack and pulling one out. “Doesn’t matter about winning, what matters is looking like you’re occupied,” you explained, using the cherry of the lit cigarette to ignite the other. Dropping the fresh one into the ashtray, you pushed it slightly towards him in offering as you picked the cards back up. “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools and all that shit.” 

His body language seemed to change at your actions, eyes narrowed as they flickered from the ashtray to yours. It was a look of incredulity, if you were reading it right. You couldn’t blame him; if the roles were reversed, you’d think twice about accepting, just like he was. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

You held up your hands in mock surrender, offering a slight smile that didn’t show teeth. “Because you seem to have your shit together for the most part, and I’m sick of trying to have conversations with lunatics.” Technically the truth. He didn’t have to know about your burning curiosity just yet, but the thought of having someone around your age who still had his faculties to talk to was an offer that you couldn’t refuse.

You were greeted with a slight eyebrow raise as he scratched at his scarred cheek, something that you could now assume was a tell that he was nervous. The fear still evident, yet a spark of something only just alight in his eyes. “Aren’t we both technically lunatics?” There it was. A ghost of a smile, a blink and you’d miss it moment. 

“Depends on who you listen to,” you offered with a slight grimace. “Some of us locked in here are innocent.” 

“Are you one of them?” 

Your stomach twisted at the ever so slight tone of disbelief you were sure you picked up on. How many times had you sworn on everything you ever loved that you never did what they accused you of, screamed your innocence at the top of your lungs to never be heard. It made that cage you kept your heart in that little bit stronger, the muscle decaying from lack of oxygen. “Depends who you ask.” 

His body language seemed to change in small increments, the small shifts only recognisable if you were really paying attention. To see them meant hope; how many times had you spoken to another patient, to be met with a blank stare and slackened jaw? Under the surface, no matter how deep it was, there was life. No doubt beaten down so intensely that he’d locked it away for self preservation. But it was there, all the same. Another ghost of a smile as he finally picked up the cigarette, taking a deep, sharp pull and his eyes slightly fluttering with the relief that nicotine could bring. “I’m asking you.” 

It felt like an impossible question. If answered truthfully, you could still be seen as a liar. He didn’t know you, hadn’t heard your side of the story, or even the story at all. All he had to go on was an offer of a cigarette, and an invitation to sit down. 

But what did you have to lose? 

“I am,” you finally murmured, bringing the cigarette filter to your lips to fill your lungs with smoke as acrid as you felt on the inside.

There was a nod of his head as he looked down towards the cards, letting the silence settle as you played a few turns. Both of you avoiding the subject as much as the situation allowed, neither one meeting the other’s gaze. But it was him to break it, a soft sigh just before his admission. 

“I’m innocent too.” 

So he wasn’t here voluntarily. The circumstances not being one of contemplating suicide, or having a nervous breakdown. An admission like that meant he was accused of something, just like you. Whether he was telling the truth or not, you had no idea. It was pushing your luck to ask for more, but you had nothing else to lose. “What did they say you did?” 

You saw his whole body tense again, as if the question was a bullet through the chest. His grip on the flimsy playing cards tightening, jabbing the remnants of tobacco into the ashtray with a little more force than needed. “Doesn’t matter.” His voice had got impossibly quiet again, an edge of frustration to it. He was guarded again, no doubt starting to get lost in the negative memories that you guessed crowded his head every waking moment. Maybe similar to the ones that crowded yours.

You exhaled deeply through your nose as you chipped your own cigarette out. “Just as a heads up, you don’t have to tell me now. But around here, secrets don’t stay secrets for long. They’ll ask you about what you did in group therapy.”

You heard his sharp exhale, noticing his eyes getting glassy with unshed tears. His fingernails scratched the scars on his neck, near frantic as he shook his head. Over your time here, you could see what this was. It was a panic attack, in its infancy but rapidly devolving. It twisted your gut to see, knowing that it was technically your fault. But why bother lying about it, when he’d find out himself in the next few hours?

“Haven’t seen you around before,” you said softly, mind working overtime to try and head whatever he was going through off at the pass. Distraction seemed to be what instinct was telling you to do. “You get admitted today?”

He shook his head, unruly curls swaying as he did. “No, I uh… It’s been four months, I think.”

Your eyebrow raised as you shuffled the cards in your hand, deciding to avoid eye contact to give him a little breathing room. “You get upgraded from minimum, or downgraded from supermax?” 

“It was uh… A downgrade, maybe? I haven’t seen much of the place.” 

You let out the incredulous laugh that bubbled in your chest, clicking your teeth with your tongue. “Must have friends in high places. Rumour is you don’t get out of there unless it’s either a miracle or a body bag.” 

There was a spark of something unreadable in his features, your best guess one of realisation. You didn’t have enough information, so you decided to ignore it for now. “Is it as bad as they say it is down there?” you asked, cocking your head to the side.

“Probably, don’t know what they say,” he answered with a slight shrug, his breathing slowing back down as he focused on the questions given to him.

“They say rats crawl over you when you’re sleeping, and the guards carry tasers.” 

You got a slight smile in reply as he shook his head, focusing on the cards that you’d both long forgotten about. Becoming something more like a prop to dissuade the conversation being interrupted. “Not true. It’s just… Suffocating down there.” 

“Well, sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but it’s not that much different here,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Anybody tell you the routine of the day? Where you gotta be at what time?”

He shook his head slowly, and you let out a long exhale. Of course nobody told him. But he’d be expected to follow the rules all the same, getting punished for something that wasn’t his fault. So, you laid it out to him. The whole routine that was the backbone of your life, and would probably be so until you either left this world or the Earth stopped revolving. Wake up, get washed up for the day. Breakfast, then community meeting. Recreation time. Lunch. Group therapy. More free time, though the option to go outside was there if it was a nice day and the staff were in a gracious mood. Some other form of bullshit therapy, depending on the day. Dinner. If you were deemed trustworthy enough, some form of manual labour was assigned to you to help run the hospital, totally not because they couldn’t afford the staff to do it, that would be absurd. Being guided to the bathrooms to clean up from the day and sent to your designated room for lights out and lock up. By the time you finished explaining, you’d managed to get a winning hand of cards, tossing them on the table as you reached for your cigarette pack. “Still jazzed about getting downgraded?” you asked with a wry smirk, raising your hand and getting the attention of one of the orderlies for the lighter. 

“Trust me, it’s better than being down there,” he muttered, mindful to keep his voice low as the staff member approached. Now his hands were free of cards, you noticed how he fiddled with something on his left hand that wasn’t there, perhaps out of a learned behaviour that he’d had long before this place. You decided not to bring it up. It wasn’t your place. 

“Guess beggars can’t be choosers,” you shrugged, grabbing another cigarette and lighting it with the cherry again. This time you handed it to him yourself, held out like an olive branch. One that he seemed hesitant to take, eyes flitting from your hand to your eyes in quick succession. “Never caught your name.” 

The very tentative trust in a barely budding friendship, however small it was at that very moment, hung in the balance. It was likely that he’d either never had kindness before, or hadn’t in a very long time. It hurt to see, and it hurt even more to know that he was acting as a mirror. The last person who’d ever shown you mercy had long gone, and you were completely on your own. Trapped behind enemy lines, with no weapons to show for it. The only thing you could do was find allies wherever they may be, and pray to whoever was above you that they wouldn’t stab you in the back. 

His hand reached out, mindful not to make any skin to skin contact as he accepted the token, bringing it to chapped lips as his eye contact dropped to the scratches on the table. “It’s Eddie.” 

You nodded slowly as you mulled the name over, though nothing was coming back to you so far. You were pretty sure you’d have known of him if he was this distinct to look at back when you were out in the free world. Then again, you couldn’t remember much of that world at this point, so it was easy to lose background faces in a sea of other stronger, more horrific memories. You gave your own name in return, a small smile flickering over your features. “Guess you better get used to shitty card games and even shittier food, Eddie. Seems we’re in it for the long haul.” 

As much as you tried for it to come out as a joke, it didn’t seem to land. You could see him wince a little at your words, as if they burned his ears, or perhaps it was the truth of them that smouldered. It had been a long time since you’d had a conversation that wasn’t around pills or therapy plans, and it showed. You cleared your throat as you tried again. 

“I mean, if it helps, you’ll be stuck with me for a long ass time,” you said softly, trying to keep the tone light though the words stuck to your tongue. “You’ll probably be getting out far quicker than I will.”

His eyebrows came together, a crinkle between them as he gave you a slight expression of confusion. You could tell he was about to ask a question, mouth open and words forming on his tongue, but the buzz of the intercom being turned on made him jump out of his skin. It was a whole body reaction; tensed muscles and eyes darting about, no doubt an inbuilt mechanism formed from something in his past that let him survive something. You put a hand up slowly, a signal to wait a second, nodding your head towards the glass panel of the Nurses’ station as Sanford announced lunchtime. 

“That sound will happen a lot around here,” you mumbled as you stood up, finishing off the last deep drag of your cigarette and stubbing it out in one fluid motion. “You get used to it after a while.” 

When you noticed he wasn’t moving towards the doors as you stepped away, you turned back with a kind look, bowing your head a little to meet his lowered gaze. “C’mon, stick with me, alright? I’ll show you around.” 

For a moment, you remembered being told that your first day. You could almost hear your voice morph into that person’s, the one who showed you initial kindness, and could see yourself in Eddie. You were yet to believe if he was innocent or not. All you had was his word. But all he had was yours, too. Truth and lies were a currency in this domain, with blind trust that the more valuable would be exchanged. But, if you were honest, you felt the need to tell the truth more and more these days, the bitter taste of them on your tongue and threatening to swallow you whole. But truth needed to be given to those who earned it, and wouldn’t run off screaming to the nearest orderly that you’d finally gone mad. 

And you just hoped that with the arrival of another supposed innocent, those truths would finally be shared.

[hiloedits]

— jade city headers

like or reblog if you use/save.

© hiloedits on twitter.

[faygopora]

can I have a halloween doom themed Header please? ( I have now built a city and I am running for president in your askbox)

of course! its been posted!

ill vote u for president in my askbox :33

-mod jade

[kpopfanfictrash]

Mind in the Gutter (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @underthejoon for this lovely header (THX FOR READING)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: dirty talk, thigh-grinding, public make-out sesh, inappropriate bowling innuendo, Jungkook’s abs, light choking 

Synopsis: Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who? (HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK!)

Genre: Bowling!AU / Workplace!AU / Rom-Com / Humor / Smut

Word Count: 18,074

[[ cross-posted to Wattpad here ]]

“So.” Taehyung drapes both arms over the top of your cubicle. “How was the first week?”

Shoving your laptop into your bag, you stand from the office-issued, highly uncomfortable swivel chair in your cube. “Taehyung, I’ve been here for a month – not a week.” Your lips quirk in a smile. “Time files, huh?”

“Are you sure?” Taehyung’s brow furrows. “Didn’t you start Monday?”

“Monday four weeks ago, yeah.”

“Huh.” Taehyung counts backwards on his fingers. “So, you mean to say it’s been a month since we all went to a happy hour?”

Shrugging, you adjust the purse at your side. Having only worked at the company for a month, you have no frame of reference – although your lack of response does nothing to deter Taehyung. Clapping both hands to his cheeks, he does an excellent Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone impression.

“Insanity!” Taehyung turns, disappearing into his cube. As the only other Analyst on your team, Taehyung has been the friendliest at your new company by far. He seems to know everyone and delights in making introductions between you. “Y/N,” Taehyung calls over the top of his cube. “Cancel your plans for tonight – we’re going out.”

“Out?” you say, stepping out of your heels. Replacing these with plain flats, you shut them in a drawer. “Bold of you to assume I had plans. Where is out?”

“To Bacchus,” Taehyung says, popping up over his cube. “That’s where all the investment bankers hang out after work. If you order a whiskey and coke they give you a full cup of whiskey and a can of coke on the side. Amazing value.”

Wrinkling your nose, you step into the hall. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung says. “What happens at Bacchus, stays at Bacchus, Y/N. Anyways – I just sent a distress call to the group chat. People will meet us there.”

Nodding, you try to push insecurities away. Everyone has been incredibly nice since you started working here – but this, you feel, is part of the problem. At your last job, people were only nice when they wanted something. It left a fairly jaded taste in your mouth when it comes to the business world, and coworkers in general.

So far, everyone at this company seems nice. Helpful, even.

It was not only your company you changed recently. It was your city, lifestyle and everything in between. It seemed like a good idea at the time – fresh start, and all – but you have never been what one might call an embracer of change. Over the past few months, you have struggled through a lot of ‘what the hell am I doing’ moments.

Appearing in the door of his cube, Taehyung pushes a hand through his hair. “Ready?”

You nod, following suit when he walks down the hall. Taehyung is gorgeous, objectively speaking. He has this giant, square-shaped smile and hair a Kardashian would be jealous of, but everything between the two of you is strictly professional. It has to be – he is your co-worker after all, and (aside from the occasional dream you have zero control over), you have done your best to place him firmly in the friend zone.

Not that this has been difficult – Taehyung likes being friends with people; he seems to be in everyone’s friend zone.

Stopping at the elevator, Taehyung fills the silence with mindless chatter. “Do you use the office gym?” he asks, pressing the call button.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “Why? Do you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung nods. “If you ever do use it, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“A heads-up?” you ask. “About what?”

“Well…” Taehyung pauses, dramatic as hell. “It’s just that a lot of people use the gym. A lot of higher-up people, and not all of them have the same restraint about changing in front of others.”

“What?” you yelp, glancing sideways. “You mean, like… some people just change out in the open?”

“I mean, it’s a locker room.” Taehyung shrugs, grin reappearing. “It’s socially acceptable for them to do so – but changing is a loose word for it, Y/N. Some people just strut around butt-naked. Some people even hold conversations. There was this one time,” Taehyung says, as the elevator doors open, “I had an entire conversation with our CFO while he was naked.”

“With Devin?!”

Snorting, Taehyung nods and walks past. “Yep,” he says, rather gleeful. “Nice guy, actually. He has two kids about our age.”

“Oh, hell no,” you groan, rubbing your forehead. “Why would you tell me this? Now I’m just picturing Devin in the nude, discussing budget ramifications.”

“Brings a whole new meaning to picturing the audience in their underwear.”

Laughing, you shake your head as the elevator doors open to reveal the lobby. Exiting, you follow Taehyung outside and onto the sidewalk. “This just ruined all my future presentations to Finance, I hope you know.”

“Good,” Taehyung grins. “I haven’t been able to present seriously to Finance since last year. This will put us on even footing.”

“A-ha!” you cry, pulling open the door to a bar labeled Bacchus. It is, indeed, right next door to your company and all the investment banks. “So, you admit it? This was a tactical reveal!”

“No.” Taehyung wriggles his eyebrows. “Devin was the one doing a tactical reveal.” 

“Taehyung!” you shriek.

“Whoa, hey! Stop having so much fun without us.”

Turning around, you come face to face with Park Jimin, of Human Resources. His smile widens when he sees you, pulling Taehyung into a hug. All of a sudden, you clam up. Jimin tends to have that effect on you. He has to be one of the most attractive people you have ever seen – not to mention, one of the nicest. He was the recruiter for your position and honestly, a mere half-hour into your interview, had convinced you to work there.

Releasing Taehyung from the hug, Jimin takes a step backwards. Smiling your way, he brushes hair from his forehead. “Hey, Y/N,” he grins. “How’s the new job treating you?”

“Awful,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s whine of protest. “This one won’t stop distracting me at work.”

“Oh, sure.” Jimin frowns, mock-serious, at his friend. “Let me know if it gets too bad. I’ll happily file an Employee Relations report.”

“Hey,” Taehyung complains, eyes wide. “You can’t do that, it’d be unethical! You’d have to get Cindy to do it, and that’d never work. She loves me, and –”

“Anyways.” Jimin laughs, cutting him off. “Come on.” Grabbing you by the arm, he leads you away from the door. “We’re already here at a table in the back.”

Following him into the darkened bar, you scan the tables you pass for anyone familiar. There are some people you recognize, but none you are particularly close to. This makes you panic some, especially when Taehyung spots someone at the far end and leaves you alone to high-five them. You stand awkwardly at the head of the table, staring in fear at the seats.

“There’s a space at the end,” says Jimin, stepping beside you. Smiling sweetly, he points to the opposite end of the table. “Right over there, next to Jungkook.”

“Who?” You glance past his finger to the few empty chairs he points out.

“Jungkook? He’s in IT,” Jimin explains. “You might not know him; he’s kind of quiet. But you probably know Rhea – she’s sitting beside him.”

Rhea, you do know – she is also in HR and, like Jimin, is a pure force of energy. She looks up at the sound of her name, spotting you and smiling widely. “Y/N!” she calls out. “Come and sit with us!”

Feebly, you nod and return to Jimin. “Thanks.”

You are rewarded with his patented one-hundred-watt smile. “Of course!” he says brightly. “Talk to you later?”

You nod, about to respond but he is already leaving, returning to the seat he previously vacated at Taehyung’s end of the table. The loud end, you decide. Settling into the seat beside Rhea, you clutch your bag close to your chest.

Rhea is pretty, with dark eyes and short hair. She smiles at you when you sit, pushing the drink menu your way. “We already ordered a round,” she explains. “So, you’ll have to catch up!”

Smiling, you pull the menu closer. “Don’t need to tell me twice. What’d you get?”

“Wine.” Rhea makes a face. “I once got a vodka soda here and it was just a cup of vodka. I’m trying to be sentient tomorrow, Y/N. I’m not in college anymore. Jungkook got a beer, though – right?”

She glances to your right and you start, realizing someone is sitting beside you. Turning sideways, you freeze in your seat. The guy – Jungkook, you assume – is stupid handsome, in that easy way some guys have. He wears a navy crewneck and jeans with silver-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. His hair is a bit on the longer side, messily parted and tucked behind one ear. Staring at him, you completely forget what words are for a moment.

This is Jungkook from IT?

Lips parted, he glances nervously from you to Rhea. “I – uh, yeah. I got a beer.”

That is all. Blinking, he withdraws to stare at his menu. His hands are a bit white from gripping the sides and you realize you still are staring at him like an idiot. No wonder you are making him nervous.

“Yeah,” you say, returning to Rhea. “Wine seems like a safe bet.”

“Safe?” Rhea makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “This is a Greek restaurant serving wine, Y/N. Also – please ignore the fact that this is a Greek restaurant called Bacchus. I don’t get it, either.”

Laughing, you settle back in your seat. “Got it.”

One glass of wine later, you and Rhea are deep in conversation about recently binged Netflix shows. “If you had to choose just one,” she insists, wiping her mouth with one hand. “If you had to cancel the Umbrella Academy or Sabrina – which one?”

“Not fair! Both ended on cliffhangers. Which one would you cancel, Jungkook?” you ask, turning to him. He has been incredibly quiet so far. “Sabrina or the Umbrella Academy?”

“I, uh…” He blinks, glancing between you. “I don’t really know. I haven’t watched Sabrina, so I guess that one?”

“You haven’t watched Sabrina?” Rhea’s mouth falls open. “What have you been doing, Jeon?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t know, other things? I read a lot.”

“Oh.” Rhea wrinkles her nose. “Like, books?”

“Cereal boxes.”

Turning, Rhea catches the arm of a passing waiter. She barely hears Jungkook’s response but you do, snorting into your palm. Jungkook smiles when you laugh, which transforms his features. He seems more relaxed than before, halfway through his beer.

“So, what do you read?” you ask, leaning towards him. In order to be heard over the room, of course – not for any other reason. “Aside from the breakfast reading material.”

“Well, that takes up most of my morning,” Jungkook jokes. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle and your heart skips a beat. “I don’t know. A lot of things? Fantasy and Sci-Fi. Comic books, too.”

“That’s awesome. I don’t read many comics, but I do love fantasy. Have you read the Way of Kings? I just finished –”

“I ordered you one, too,” Rhea says, turning back. Glancing between you, she raises a brow. “Were you just explaining to Jungkook the plot of Sabrina so that he can choose properly?”

Laughing, Jungkook takes a sip of his beer. “No,” he says. “But please – go on.”

Rhea nods, immediately launching into a high-level description of the series, starting at clothing and décor, before moving on to departures from the comic book series.

“Wait, this is based on a comic?” Jungkook perks up. “I didn’t realize. Continue.”

Leaning forward, his left arm brushes yours. Glancing down, you find yourself surprised but Jungkook does not seem to notice. He smells nice, you realize – like fabric softener and lotion. Hardly knowing what you are doing, you lean in.

This is when you realize you are tipsy. There is no other explanation for your strange focus on some guy you just met. Certainly not one who has done nothing to garner your attention. Jerking your arm away, you pull back.

Jungkook’s gaze switches to you. “What about you, Y/N?” 

There is a piece of his hair which has come untucked, falling into his gaze to make him seem adorably disheveled.

Lifting your wine, you force your gaze away. “What about me?”

“What do you do for fun?” Subtly, Jungkook’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“I…” Suddenly unable to think straight, you stare. All you can think about is that tantalizing sliver of Jeon Jungkook’s tongue.

Fuck – you must be drunker than you thought. Forcing yourself to straighten, you look down. This is your co-worker – well, kind of. At the very least, he is friends with all of your co-workers and this is your first time meeting in person. You cannot be that lush who gets drunk at her first happy hour, hits on everybody and then has to strategically avoid eye contact for the better part of the year.

Rhea speaks up before you can. “Do you play sports, Y/N?” she asks. “Our work kickball league could always use more people.”

Now, you are the one wrinkling your nose. “Uh,” you blink. “I’m pretty much dead set against any event requiring matching shirts.”

Rhea laughs. “Then you should definitely avoid Jungkook, here. Dude bowls every weekend, don’t you?”

Jungkook seems a bit embarrassed by the attention. “I – well, yeah,” he winces. “But we don’t wear matching t-shirts, or anything, Rhea. C’mon.”

“Bowling?” you say, curious. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a professional bowler before.”

“I – well…” Jungkook shrugs. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“He’s better than one,” says Taehyung, pulling out a seat at the table. Settling down, he glances at each one of you in turn. “Hey.”

Rhea whistles, seeing his unfocused expression. “Wow, you are drunk,” she teases. “How many whiskey cokes did you have?”

“Only two!” Taehyung hiccups. “Okay, three. Plus a tequila shot.”

Jungkook cracks up, holding his glass a bit tighter. “Damn, man. How did you make it down to our end of the table on your own?”

“Talent,” Taehyung says smugly, then frowns. “Wait. I switched ends of the table?”

“Yep.” You take a sip of your wine. The room around you has begun to take on a pleasant buzz. “Just in time to tell me how talented Jungkook is at bowling.”

“Kid’s a legend,” says Taehyung bluntly. “Easily the best player we have on the team.”

“The team?” you ask, glancing between them. “Wait. You’re all in this league?”

“There are a bunch of us!” Taehyung agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “We have meets on the weekend and practice during the week. Honestly though, before Jungkook, we s u c k e b.”

Jungkook’s brow wrinkles. “You suckeb?”

“D!” Taehyung blurts. “I meant, D!”

“Stop trying to give your D to innocent bystanders,” says Rhea. ‘It’s impolite.”

“Not with my D, it isn’t.” Taehyung winks. “But this isn’t about my D. This is about Jungkook.” 

“We’re talking about Jungkook’s D?” asks Rhea innocently. 

Jungkook’s ears have turned beet red. “Taehyung,” he groans. “Please stop. This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” you say, turning to face him. Jungkook’s eyes widen. “That’s so cool that you bowl. I’d love to see you all play.”

Although you say ‘you all,’ as in ‘plural,’ your gaze is only on Jungkook. He stares back for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed. It makes your pulse race, thighs pressed tightly together under the table. Before he can respond, Taehyung jumps in.

“Then, come watch!” he declares, throwing an arm around Jungkook. Messily, he squishes their cheeks together. “Come and watch, it’ll be fun. Rhea, you come, too!”

Rhea turns to give you a look. “Y/N, this is in no way obligatory. These idiots are drunk. We in no way have to go.”

“No,” you laugh, waving her concern aside. “I’d like to watch! New job, new city – why not new activities?”

“I mean…” Rhea shrugs, raising her wine. “True. I’ll drink to that!”

You clink glasses, as Taehyung raucously cheers. Jungkook stays silent but you feel the heat of his gaze on the side of your face. It makes your skin prickle, although not uncomfortably. It has been a long time since someone’s gaze made you feel like that.

Not since – wincing, you stop that thought in your tracks. This is a new job, new city and new people, you remind yourself. There is no time for bad memories.

Turning to face the others, you force a smile. “Who wants another round?”

*Kim Taehyung has added Y/N Y/L/N and Rhea Owens to the chat*

Taehyung: welcome, ladies. This is where the magic happens [9:10 AM]

Rhea: … who is this? [9:14 AM]

Taehyung: Rhea, r u serious?? I’m not stored in ur phone? How are u supposed to give my number to all your friends who want the D? [9:15 AM]

Rhea: … Taehyung? [9:16 AM]

Taehyung: well, it sure isn’t santa claus [9:17 AM]

Jungkook: hey, Rhea. This is Jeon Jungkook, from IT [9:18 AM]

Rhea: I know who you are, Kookie haha [9:19 AM]

Taehyung: hey :( why do you have his number and not mine? [9:20 AM]

Rhea: I’m kidding, Tae – I have your number. Now, what’s this chat all about? [9:21 AM]

Y/N: so… early… phone… buzzing… so… much [9:22 AM]

Jimin: Morning, Y/N! :D [9:23 AM]

Taehyung: now that both of you are here, welcome to our super-secret, super-cool, super-exclusive bowling group chat [9:24 AM]

Seokjin: hey, I’m Seokjin [9:25 AM]

Seokjin: u don’t know me bc I don’t work at your company [9:25 AM]

Namjoon: Great, now that you’ve announced yourself, please continue not talking for twelve more hours due to the Reasons (see chat announcement) [9:25 AM]

Rhea: oh, hey, Joon! I didn’t know you bowled [9:25 AM]

Namjoon: I don’t actually but somehow, I’m still in this chat [9:25 AM]

Taehyung: solidarity, bro. Actually – only Yoongi, Seokjin, Jungkook and I are the bowlers [9:26 AM]

Rhea: Min Yoongi, from research? [9:26 AM]

Seokjin: that’s the one [9:27 AM]

Jimin: what’d joon say about no talking? [9:27 AM]

Rhea: where’s Yoongi, then? [9:27 AM]

Hoseok: dunno – sleeping still, probably [9:27 AM]

Rhea: Hobi!!!! [9:28 AM]

Hoseok: Rhea!!!! [9:28 AM]

Hoseok: hey, Y/N, we haven’t met yet but I’m Hoseok! I work in the building next door & come to a lot of happy hours haha [9:28 AM]

Jungkook: we know each other from college [9:28 AM]

Hoseok: right, right. Friends since the big O [9:28 AM]

Jimin: ….. that sounds like something ENTIRELY different from Orientation [9:29 AM]

Jimin: but yeah, Yoongi is probably sleeping [9:29 AM]

Y/N: I wish I were still asleep [9:30 AM]

Jungkook: same, Y/N, same [9:30 AM]

Jungkook: unfortunately though, Seokjin woke me up at 7 am bc he needed an ‘ab accountability partner’ [9:31 AM]

Rhea: ohhh, you two are roommates – is that how you know this gang, seokjin? [9:31 AM]

Seokjin: yeah plus Hoseok, Jungkook & I went to college together! Jungkookie and I bowled in a league [9:31 AM]

Namjoon: chat!!! ban!!!!!!! jin!!!! [9:31 AM]

Taehyung: anyways, our next meet is tomorrow at 3:00 PM. U in? [9:32 AM]

Rhea: omg YES [9:32 AM]

Rhea: do I have to wear certain colors? Should I make posters? Bring sparklers? [9:32 AM]

Taehyung: what the fuck kind of sporting events do you normally go to? [9:33 AM]

Jimin: tae!!! Language! Rhea, you don’t have to bring anything but yourself :) [9:34 AM]

Jimin: and Y/N, or course :D [9:34 AM]

Y/N: count me in, once I get over this hangover ughhh [9:35 AM]

Taehyung: ur hungover? I feel fine [9:35 AM]

Rhea: ….. [9:35 AM]

Jimin:...........  [9:36 AM]

Jungkook: ...………… [9:36 AM]

Yoongi: .....…………………………… [9:36 AM]

Taehyung: fine, a bitch is hungover [9:37 AM]

Taehyung: it’s me [9:37 AM]

Taehyung: I’m the bitch [9:37 AM]

Jimin: oh, shit. Now it just looks like I said I’m the bitch [9:38 AM]

Hoseok: hahaha [9:38 AM]

Namjoon: lord. Anyways, Y/N and Rhea – the rest of us are going, too! So, you won’t just be sitting there watching while they bowl. We usually have a pretty good time [9:38 AM]

Rhea: on a Sunday?? [9:38 AM]

Namjoon: scared, potter? [9:38 AM]

Jimin: motion to ban Namjoon from Harry Potter quotes in the chat [9:39 AM]

Jungkook: seconded [9:39 AM]

Hoseok: thirded [9:39 AM]

Seokjin: since there’s a new chat announcement – does that mean my talking ban is lifted? [9:39 AM]

Seokjin: bc hey guys [9:39 AM]

Seokjin: why are bowlers all such bad employees? [9:39 AM]

Seokjin: … anyone? [9:40 AM]

Seokjin: no one? [9:40 AM]

Namjoon: no one respond [9:40 AM]

Jungkook: why are bowlers such bad employees? [9:41 AM]

Hoseok: JEON [9:41 AM]

Jungkook: sorry he just walked into my room & paid me $5 to say that [9:41 AM]

Seokjin: bc they’re always on strike!!!!! [9:41 AM]

Namjoon: …. Time out. Again [9:42 AM]

Seokjin: worth it [9:42 AM]

Taehyung: anyways – Y/N? Rhea? U in [9:42 AM]

Rhea: for this chaos? Wouldn’t miss it [9:42 AM]

Y/N: yeah, yeah. I’m in :) [9:43 AM]

Taehyung: WOO [9:43 AM]

Namjoon: cool! Text if you get lost [9:43 AM]

Jimin: can’t wait!!! :D [9:44 AM]

Jungkook: see you there [9:44 AM]

Outside of the bowling alley, you shift your weight awkwardly and wait for Rhea to arrive. In all your meetings, she tends to be fashionably late (running on ‘Miami time,’ whatever that is) and here, you expect no difference.

Peering down the street, you hug yourself tighter. The bowling alley is in a cute neighborhood, not too far from your own but still, it is never fun to be waiting alone. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you pretend to be doing something when in actuality, you are re-reading the chat from this morning.

Jungkook has been usually quiet. Cheeks heating, you recall how blunt you were at the happy hour. Basically inviting yourself along to this meet, calling his bowling super cool and pressing yourself to his arm. Okay – maybe not that obvious but still, he must have realized something was up. Unless he just chalked it up to you being tipsy and friendly. Desperately, you hope this was the case. It would be endlessly humiliating for your really cute co-worker to think you were coming on to him.

“Y/N!” Rhea calls, rushing forward. “Jeez, could you walk any slower?” she calls to a large group of people. Your lips twitch when she arrives, grabbing your arm. “Let’s go in! Taehyung already texted me that they’re here.”

“Okay,” you agree, following when she pushes open the door.

The bowling alley is cooler, lights dimmer than the outside. The moment you step through the revolving door, a blast of AC hits you straight in the face. Shivering, you wrap your arms tighter and wish you had brought a sweater.

“Fuck, it is cold,” mutters Rhea, echoing your thoughts. Rising on tip-toe, she squints over the crowd. “Taehyung said they’re at Lane 15.”

“Over there!” you say, spotting brightly painted numbers on the wall. Squeezing through the crowd, you and Rhea pick your way closer. As you move through the crowd, you glance nervously at the lanes. “Have you ever watched competitive bowling before?”

“Nope.” Rhea shoves her way through a bunch of spindly dudes. “How different could it be from regular bowling, though?”

When a resounding crack echoes through the room, you jump and grab Rhea’s arm. The spindly-looking dudes you passed earlier cheer. “Strike!” one of them says, high-fiving another. “What’s that – six in a row? Ben is on a roll.”

“Six?” you exclaim, gaping at Rhea. “The most strikes I’ve ever bowled in a game was, I don’t know – two?”

“Six is actually not a lot for a professional bowler,” announces Jungkook, appearing from nowhere. He grins at you both, apologetic for the intrusion. “On a good day, most bowlers here average 205-230. The really good ones are more like 250.”

“Shit.” Rhea’s eyes widen.

Your eyes are wide, too – but not at the bowling trivia Jungkook just spouted off. He is currently standing before you, both hands in his pockets and looking ridiculously attractive. Today, he has forgone the wire-rimmed glasses of Friday. Instead, he wears a simple black t-shirt and jeans. In one hand, he holds a bowling ball casually hooked by three fingers.

The ball is a bright, bubble-gum pink color.

Rhea blinks at this. “Is that pink?”

Jungkook looks down, then shrugs. “Fuck toxic masculinity, am I right?”

Rhea nods and squints over his shoulder. “Totally. Where are the others? Where’s Hoseok?”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Oh, right. He was looking for you earlier, too.”

When Rhea twists, glancing around, Jungkook mouths, they’re gonna bang, at you. Stifling a smile, you cover your mouth with one hand.

Rhea gives up and returns to you both. “Lane 15, right?”

“Yep,” Jungkook agrees. “I was just heading there now, actually. I can take you.”

Falling into step alongside you, Jungkook watches each lane that you pass. You take all this as a sign that you need to be the one to make the first move – this seems to be Jungkook’s style, after all.

“So,” you say, prompting his gaze to return to yours. “What’s the difference between this kind of bowling and, well…”

“Black light bowling?” Jungkook asks, then laughs. “That’s what Seokjin calls it.”

“Yeah, that,” you say, arriving at Lane 15.

Taehyung is already seated on a brightly colored bench, lacing his shoes – ridiculous, neon-colored shoes which are somehow worse than the ones people usually rent. Namjoon is seated beside him; you recognize him vaguely from around the office. Namjoon is in marketing, you think, or something with numbers. He is currently speaking to a guy with purple-pink hair, someone you do not recognize but assume to be either Seokjin or Hoseok.

Rhea confirms this theory, waving at them. “Seokjin?” she asks.

The purple-pink hair guy grins. “That’s me.”

Seokjin is gorgeous, of course. It makes sense – gorgeous people tend to hang out in packs. Who else would people as attractive as Taehyung and Jimin hang out with, except for other beautiful people? Quickly, your gaze slides to Jungkook. Exhibit A.

“Ah, so you’re allowed to talk outside of the chat,” Rhea observes.

Namjoon laughs. “Debatable.” Spotting you, he rises and sticks out a hand. “Hey, I’m Namjoon. You’re Y/N, right?”

Shaking his hand, you feel oddly like you are about to close a business deal. “Yep,” you say. “I am.”

He withdraws, twisting around. “Cool, so you just met Seokjin. You already know Taehyung and Jungkook,” he adds, squinting. “Hoseok is over there, by the bowling balls. Yoongi went to the bathroom – do you know him? No? Anyways,” he continues. “I think that’s it.”

“And me,” adds Jimin, sliding up alongside you. “Don’t forget about me, Joon.”

“How could I ever?” Namjoon grins, clapping him on the shoulder.

Rhea turns, immediately flouncing off in the direction Namjoon pointed for Hoseok. Jimin and Namjoon fall into a previous conversation, so you turn sideways to Jungkook.

“So,” you say, fiddling with your bag. “You were telling me what’s so different about professional bowling?”

Jungkook blinks, as though surprised you remembered. “Right.” Sitting down on a bench, he begins to tie on his shoes. You follow suit, sitting gingerly beside him. “Well, there’s a lot of things. Average score, for one, but it’s more than that. Commercial bowling alleys are actually designed to help you score points.”

“Lies,” Rhea chirps, appearing from nowhere to collapse beside you. “I never use bumpers. For the most part.”

Taehyung’s head jerks upwards, appalled. “He’s not talking about using bumpers, you child.”

Rhea sticks her tongue out at him. “Don’t call me a child, you baby.”

“Anyways,” coughs Jungkook. “What I actually meant was oil.”

“Oil?”

He nods. “Recreational bowling lanes have more oil in the center, than on the outside – it creates a sort of funnel effect. If you’re a decent enough bowler, it’s easy to get a high score. On pro lanes though,” he says, nodding towards the lane before you. “It’s harder. Sometimes the entire lane is oiled, sometimes only the outside. It means you need a much more precise shot in order to get a strike. It’s all mathematical.”

“Not for me,” announces Seokjin, coming to a stop at your table. “I just aim and pray.”

“Or that,” Jungkook amends.

Taehyung stands from the bench, wiping both hands on his pants. Those hideous shoes remain laced on his feet, drawing the attention of everyone within seeing distance. Dimly, you wonder if this was a strategy. A distraction technique, perhaps to use against their opponents.

Before you can seriously consider this as an option, Taehyung holds up a hand. “Alright, gentlemen. Today we are – wait a sec, where’s Yoongi?”

“Present.” Min Yoongi appears, holding an army-green ball in one hand. He nods to you and Rhea. “What’s up.”

Min Yoongi is smaller, about the same height as Jimin. You would call his features pretty, were it not for the intense aura hanging around him. Even having only worked at your company for one month, you know who Min Yoongi is. He is the sole person responsible for five of your company’s best-selling products last year. A rather intimidating fact, to say the least.

“Great, there you are.” Taehyung returns to the group. “What I mean to say is – oh, fuck. Is that really the time?”

Seokjin snickers into his sleeve. “Great pep talk, chief.”

“Whatever, good luck,” declares Taehyung, turning around to type something into the console. “Yoongi, looks like you’re up first.”

Nodding, Yoongi rolls his shoulders and walks out towards the lane. As you sink further into your seat, you notice Jungkook has not moved from beside you. You would have thought he would sit closer to the action.

“Taehyung gets really enthusiastic when he scores,” mutters Jungkook, in an aside. “It’s better to stay back here, on the bench.”

Stifling a laugh, you nod. “Got it. Well – for safety’s sake, you better stay here with me.”

Jungkook looks at you a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. For safety.”

Cheeks heating, you turn to watch Yoongi. Namjoon is now sitting at the console beside Hoseok and Rhea. Hoseok turns out to be an attractive, dark-haired guy with an obnoxiously infectious laugh. Rhea hangs onto his every word, although he seems to be doing the same thing with her. Jimin has left to get drinks for the table, and before you can spot him, a loud crash comes from behind.

“Yes!” cheers Yoongi, punching one fist in the air. He smiles – an adorable, gummy gesture. “Take that, pins!”

“Solid start!” calls Taehyung, standing up. Cracking his knuckles, he strides towards the lane.

Leaning forward, you watch with interest as Taehyung examines the surface. Tilting his head left to right, he stares at the wood floor and purses his lips. Exhaling deeply, he balances his ball (a marbled rainbow color) in one hand before taking a step backwards, then rushing forward. His weight is off-balance when he throws, one foot on the ground as the ball hurdles onto the wood.

You hold your breath watching, ball spinning towards the edge of the lane – and then hooking hard left, slamming into the pins.

“Strike!” Taehyung calls out, whirling around.

Now, you can see why Jungkook kept his distance. Rushing to Yoongi, Taehyung grabs the smallest player around the waist and lifts him into the air. He shakes Yoongi up and down, as though looking for change. “STRIIIIIKE!” Taehyung yells again, laughing

“I know,” groans Yoongi, hitting his shoulder. “Now – put me the fuck down.”

Grin wide, Taehyung sets him on the floor. “Your turn, Jin!”

Seokjin stands, obnoxiously rolling his shoulders. Pushing his hairband back, he adjust the button-down t-shirt that he wears – a monstrous contraption with the word ‘KINGPIN’ emblazoned across the torso. As it turns out, his bowling style is as dramatic as his outfit.

Taking a running start, Seokjin basically pitches the ball onto the lane but somehow – amazingly – scores a strike.

Jaw dropping, you turn to face Jungkook. “How did he do that?” you ask, bewildered. “He looked completely out of control.”

Jungkook laughs and stands. “I know better than to ask by now. Seokjin’s method is… uh, unorthodox, but it works for Seokjin.”

When you return to the players, you see Seokjin walking back from the lane. He high-fives everyone in his path, whether their hands are up or not. Thankfully, Jimin reappears with a beer before Seokjin can reach you.

“Here,” he says, interrupting Seokjin’s trajectory.

Smiling gratefully, you accept the glass that he hands you. “Thanks,” you grin – and then turn, realizing it is Jungkook’s turn. “Good luck, Jungkook!” you call.

Surprised, he glances backwards at you. “I – oh. Thanks!”

Jungkook’s cheeks redden but he continues, gripping his ball tighter to head onto the lane. His bowling outfit looks exactly like streetwear. Even his custom bowling shoes would not be out of place in a gym. The only thing noteworthy is the bright pink bowling ball.

Narrowing his gaze, Jungkook draws his arm back and steadily moves forward. His throw is fast – shit, there is barely time to blink before it is gone. The ball zips down the lane, gracefully curving to the outside, then back in – slamming into the middle of pins. The formation goes flying; every single pin knocked down in a strike.

“There he is!” hoots Seokjin, jumping out of his seat. “The ringer! The ringer!”

Turning around, Jungkook’s cheeks flush, but he looks pleased with himself. Returning to the booth, he shrugs. “It was nothing,” he says, although his gaze darts briefly to you.

“That was awesome,” corrects Namjoon, noting something down in his phone. “Fancy shit, too. Surprised you risked that type of hook on the first frame.”

Jungkook’s cheeks redden further, muttering something indecipherable under his breath. As he collapses to the bench, he glances your way and you smile. The lanes are incredibly loud. Raucous yelling and laughter, followed by the smashing of pins. Behind each lane are referees who take careful note – the slightest infraction could get someone expelled.

Leaning forward in order to be heard, Jungkook’s leg nudges yours. You stiffen, glancing his way but he does not seem to notice.

“You see that guy over there?” Jungkook says, nodding off to the side.

Subtly, you shift on the bench. The guy Jungkook points to is tall, with dark, spiky hair and a bunch of girls at his table. Surprisingly, they seem to be the same sort of girl who follow athletes everywhere. Low-cut tops, vodka sodas in one hand and enough hairspray to melt the ozone.

“Yeah,” you say, returning to Jungkook. “What about him?”

Jungkook’s upper lip quirks. “Total amateur,” he scoffs. “Doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing – probably got a few high scores in a junior league and thinks he’s hot shit.”

“Oh, yeah?” you say. “How do you know?”

“Look at how he is gripping the ball.” Jungkook holds his hand up to demonstrate. “He isn’t holding it properly. His wrist is so tense, he’s gonna strain a muscle. Bet he throws a gutter.”

“Gutter?” 

“Gutter ball,” Jungkook clarifies. “Just watch.”

Nodding, you lean back in the seat. Honestly, it is hard to pay attention with Jungkook’s leg pressed to yours, the warmth of his body beside you. On the very next frame though, the guy throws a gutter ball. Jungkook smirks when he does, prophetic words fulfilled.

“No way!” you gasp, turning to face him. “How’d you know that would happen?”

“It’s textbook.” Jungkook laughs at your expression.

“Jungkook!” yells Taehyung, interrupting the moment. “You’re up again!”

“Oh, right.” Jungkook hastily stands, grabbing his ball. Shaking hair out of his gaze, he strides confidently forward. His wrist is not as tense as the other guy’s, you realize – three of his fingers are loosely hooked in the ball. “Coming!”

Staring after him, your face feels slightly warm and dimly, you wonder why that conversation was hot. Maybe it was how confidently Jungkook spoke, or maybe it was his right leg pressed to yours, or maybe – you glance at the ball held in his hand. Maybe it was all that talk of his fingers and wrist action.

Gritting your teeth, you turn pointedly away. Jungkook throws another strike – obviously – but barely even celebrates as he returns to his seat.

Across the table, Rhea cheers. “Damn, the kid is good!” she says, proffering the beer Jimin gave her. “Hoseok said Jungkook usually ranks first in the league.”

“No way,” you say, glancing at Jungkook. Seokjin has stopped him on his way back, gesturing at the spikey-haired amateur bowler on your right. “I mean, I believe it but that’s crazy.”

“I know, right?” Rhea’s gaze darts between you, leaning over the back of her chair. “What’s going on with you, anyways?”

Your gaze snaps upwards. “I – uh, what?”

“You heard me.” Rhea grins, like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “What’s going on with you and Jungkook?”

“I – nothing!” you say, grabbing your untouched beer from the table.

Seeing the beer is a reminder that you completely ignored Jimin earlier, in favor of watching Jungkook play. Stomach twisting, you turn to glance at the table. Jimin does not seem agitated, thankfully. Instead, he stands at the bar chatting up the female bartender.

“Of course,” laughs Rhea, following your gaze. “Right on schedule.”

“Schedule?” Your gaze returns to hers. “What do you mean?”

“Jimin’s last relationship ended a month ago,” explains Rhea. “He’s been on the rebound prowl ever since. Jungkook, on the other hand…” Raising both brows, Rhea takes a long drink from her beer.

“Stop,” you say, slapping her arm. “I’m not looking to start anything, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” she says, but she wriggles her brows.

Before you can respond further, Jungkook returns to the bench. Seeing him, Rhea wisely shuts up and returns to conversing with Namjoon. The rest of the meet, you spend with Jungkook. He is funny – which is something you did not expect. Most of his jokes are quiet though, said under his breath and it takes him a while to say them to you.

As the night goes on, you try and push Rhea’s words from mind. This is innocent, you tell yourself. You are only being friendly, getting to know a new person. Even as you tell yourself this though, it refuses to ring true. There is nothing innocent about the way your stomach jumps when he touches you, the way your pulse pounds at his gaze on yours.

At some point, you chat with Hoseok, but this only helps for so long. Hoseok very obviously only has eyes for Rhea and you still find your thoughts drifting stubbornly to Jungkook.

Taehyung ends the game with a 225, Seokjin ends with a 207 and Yoongi, a 203.

Jungkook bowled a 258 – all strikes and two spares, although he seems far from happy about it. Namjoon mentions Jungkook is a perfectionist under his breath, which makes a lot of sense. Jungkook stares at the board for a while before leaving, fingers twitching at his side as though he can retroactively fix things.

You hover for a moment, wondering if you should say something before thinking better of it and leaving. He has his own friends for that, he does not need the awkward words of a co-worker. Outside of the bowling alley, you find it has grown darker. Digging around in your purse, you pull out your phone.

Already, the others are discussing the next meet. It would seem as though you and Rhea are now included in the group, which makes you smile. Even removing Jungkook from the equation, you had a lot of fun today.

Before you can order an Uber, a hand falls on your arm. “Yeah?” you ask, continuing to type.

“Y/N?”

At the sound of Jungkook’s voice, you look up. He stands mere inches away, both hands in his pocket and bowling bag slung over his shoulder.

“Y-yeah?” you stammer, lowering your phone.

Jungkook seems a bit embarrassed to be interrupting. “I – uh…” Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away. “I just wanted to… thank you for coming. That was really nice of you. And of Rhea,” he adds.

Hearing her name tagged on at the end, your heart sinks a bit. “Oh. Don’t mention it!” you insist. “It was really fun.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook glances upwards.

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook stares at you for a moment. No one else is really paying attention, busy procuring their rides home, but you cannot think about anything but the softness of his smile. The intensity of his gaze locked on yours. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like to kiss him. The thought makes your heart pound, mouth dry until Rhea’s voice shatters the moment.

“Y/N!” she calls, head popping out of a car. “Wanna split this Uber with me?”

“I, uh – yeah!” you call. Turning around, you rush towards the curb. “Yeah, that sounds good. Seeya, Jungkook!” you yell over your shoulder, yanking open the door.

Behind you, he stares in a daze. “I – uh, seeya,” he adds, somewhat baffled.

The fleeting look he gives is almost disappointed – but before you can dissect this too much, you duck into the car. The door slams shut behind you, driver taking off as you sink into the seat. Rhea talks for most of the ride home, which is a relief. You listen half-heartedly, nodding whenever the occasion demands it, but in the back of your mind, are not thinking about Rhea.

You are thinking about Jeon Jungkook, and what his lips would taste like.

You are thinking you are in deep, deep trouble.

On Monday morning, Rhea stops by your desk and drags you downstairs for a coffee. While waiting in line, she slumps to the wall and whines about the massive headache she has.

“Why did I have that last beer?” she bemoans. Lemon loaves and cinnamon rolls stare mockingly back from the display. “I should have just stopped after three. That would’ve been the smart thing to do.”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “The smart thing is rarely the fun thing, though.”

“True,” she says sadly. “And there, you have summed up the entirety of human conflict.”

Laughing, you shuffle forward when the line starts to move. “It was fun, though,” you say. “You think you’ll go to the next one?”

“Definitely,” Rhea agrees. “Jimin already stopped by my cube twice this morning to thank us for coming. Us,” she emphasizes, looking at you. “As in – you and me. Did I miss something between you two?”

“No,” you say, cheeks heating. “I think that’s just Jimin being nice, you know.”

“If you say so.” Rhea purses her lips. “Besides, weren’t you talking to Jungkook most of the night?”

Purposefully not meeting her gaze, you step up to the counter. “I – well, kind of. We were sitting next to each other. It was –”

“Order?” says the man behind the counter.

Breaking off mid-sentence, you tell him your order instead. When you are done, you find Rhea still looking at you. She arches a brow. “We are not finished discussing this,” she says pointedly, before ordering.

You laugh, accepting the cup of coffee you are handed. Waiting for Rhea to get hers, you take a long sip of warmth. “Ugh, this hits the spot,” you groan, walking towards the elevators.

“Agreed.” Rhea exhales, sipping slowly as you wait. “Also – don’t think you’re off the hook, Y/N. I have literally never seen Jungkook talk so much to one person.”

“Well…” Shrugging, you grip your cup tighter. “Maybe people need to try harder, then.”

“Nah.” Rhea blows on her coffee. “Boy is hot. People try to talk to him, but he keeps mostly to himself. Taehyung always says he’s funny, but yesterday was the first time I heard him crack any jokes.”

“He is funny,” you say, stifling a grin. “Smart, too. You should’ve heard him talking about that person in Lane 14. Dissecting his bowling technique and their angles. It’s –” Realizing that Rhea is grinning, you stop. “What?”

Her smile widens. “You love him.”

“I do not!” you cry, heat shooting to your stomach.

“You loooove him!” she sing-songs, pressing the up button again. “You want to have his little IT babies! At the very least, you wanna suck his di – oh, hey, Jungkook!” Rhea says, as the elevator doors open to reveal him standing before you.

Glancing between you, Jungkook blinks. His thumbs are settled firmly under the straps of his backpack. “I – oh, hey, Rhea. Y/N.”

Rhea shuts her mouth when you enter, pretending to be mute while you glare daggers behind Jungkook’s back. If he heard one word of what she just said, you will murder her. The elevator ride upwards is tense, since now you are wondering how obvious your crush is. If Rhea could tell, then surely everyone else can, too.

Jungkook turns, catching you staring. “Did you both make it home okay?” he asks.

“Yep,” chirps Rhea, beaming. “Especially Y/N.”

Jungkook glances at you. “Especially?” he asks, emitting a laugh. “Did something weird happen on the way home?”

“N-no,” you stutter, cursing Rhea internally. “Rhea’s just, uh, being Rhea.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s brows lower, confused. “Gotcha.”

Luckily, he does not press the issue and returns to facing the doors. Turning to look at Rhea, you mouth dire threats of what you will do once Jungkook gets off. Her shoulders shake with silent laughter, holding herself back.

The elevator dings on floor ten. “Well,” says Jungkook, glancing over his shoulder. “This is my floor.”

“Oh, cool,” you nod, giving him a thumbs-up. “This is where IT is?”

Ignoring the weirdness of the thumbs-up gesture, Jungkook smiles and nods. “Yeah,” he says as he steps into the hall. “See you around, okay?”

“Yeah!” you call after him, while the doors shut between you. The silence lasts exactly one second before you whirl to face Rhea. “Oh my god!” you cry, fanning your face with both hands. “I am going to kill you!”

Doubling over, she holds her stomach with laughter. “Oh my god,” Rhea gasps. “Your face!”

“Murder!” you blurt. “I’m going to murder you!”

“Oh, relax,” Rhea laughs, straightening when the doors ding open again. “He’s Jungkook. I doubt he even realized something was off.”

“He’s human, isn’t he?” you groan, heading down the hall.

“Debatable.” When you reach your cube, Rhea grins cheekily. “So. Are you sure you aren’t crushing on him, or…?”

“I’m sure,” you insist, placing your cup on your desk. “He’s nice, that’s all – and cute, but it’s not like that. We’re co-workers.”

“O-kay.” Rhea raises both hands in defeat. “I hear you, loud and clear. I’ll stop teasing now.”

“Oh, will you?” you laugh, adjusting your monitors. “Because I can think of a few things to tease you about, too. How’s Hoseok?”

“Wow, would you look at that?” Rhea gasps, glancing down at her bare wrist. “I have a nine ‘o’clock meeting to prepare for. This has been fun! Bye!”

Bolting away, Rhea waves. You laugh, sitting down in your seat to turn on your laptop. Taehyung’s cube is empty, but that makes sense – he typically gets in later than you do. Glancing down at your phone, you see no new messages.

Opening your phone, you scroll through the group chat. Something Rhea said is bothering you and, when you look, you realize she was correct. Jungkook does not talk much in the chat, but there is a very distinctive pattern when he does. It is usually in response to something you have said.

Smiling a bit, you return your phone to your desk. Maybe Jungkook does not talk much, but he talks to you.

The rest of the week is quiet at work.

Finally, you feel as though you have a handle on your projects. Your boss even went so far as to look you in the eyes, nod and say, ‘good job’ once – which you consider to be the highest of praise. Thursday morning is a disappointment though, because this is when Taehyung texts the chat to say this weekend’s upcoming meet has been cancelled. Not enough teams signed up to play.

Everyone in the chat gripes, but it does not seem to be an unusual occurrence. No details are given for a replacement and, somewhat disappointed, you spend the entire weekend alone. You are still unpacking the boxes in your apartment. Nothing big, just a lot of knick-knacks and books. After completing this task, you deep-clean the place and sit on your couch to binge watch the Good Place.

By the time Monday morning rolls around, you feel thoroughly antisocial and boring. Honestly, this is the worst part of moving in your adult life. When you attend University, or begin your first job, things are much easier. Everyone your age is in the same boat. It is easy to make friends when everyone around you is new – it is harder, when you are the only one inserting yourself into already established groups of people.

Exhaling deeply, you lean back from your monitors. The time is 2:34 PM – the worst time of day, in your opinion. It is after lunch, so the carb doldrums are real but still two and a half hours before you can leave for the day. Fiddling with your keyboard, you stare at the blank email before you.

So intent is your concentration, you do not hear a throat clear behind you.

“Uh, excuse me? Y/N?”

“Shit!” you yelp, jerking around.

Jungkook stumbles back in concern. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”

“I – yeah,” you say, exiting out of your browser. You are fairly certain the last thing you Googled was, ‘actor who plays Chidi on the Good Place,’ and Jungkook does not need to know that. “I’m just… naturally jumpy, I guess.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Ah, same.”

Paused in your cubicle, he glances around. Today, Jungkook is wearing a grey cardigan and button-down, the sleeves of which are much too long for his arms. His wire-rimmed glasses are perched on the end of his nose, the same color as the laptop he holds in one hand.

“Your boss put in a request for me to install Adobe on your computer,” Jungkook explains. “It shouldn’t take too long…”

“Oh!” Leaping from your chair, you nod. “Sure. I think he mentioned that yesterday. Do you need my machine?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Jungkook offers a smile. “Have to install the hardware myself.”

You nod, moving to the vacant chair in your cube. Jungkook replaces himself at your desk, legs spread while bending to adjust a few wires. Oh, lord. Looking at the ceiling, you wonder if someone up there is fucking with you. It is wholly unfair of Jungkook to be like this, muscles flexing under that cardigan and biting his lower lip.

Jungkook clears his throat. “So,” he says, opening your computer. “What’d you do this past weekend?”

Realizing you are still staring at the ceiling, you look down. “Oh, not much.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “You did nothing? Come on, tell me.”

Maybe it is because he seems genuinely interested, or maybe it is something else, but for some reason, you find yourself relaxing. “Really not much,” you say. “Finished unpacking. Went for a run along the lake. Um, read some…”

Jungkook perks up. “Oh, yeah? What are you reading?”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, with Jungkook installing things as you sit perched on your chair. He is in your cubicle for at least thirty minutes. You know this because you are dimly aware it should not take this long. It is only one program he needs to install but somehow, Jungkook keeps coming up with more excuses to stay.

He rearranges your desktop folders, shows you how to book meeting space in the office – even going so far as to empty your virtual recycling bin. The conversation meanders, touching upon the book you just finished, to the one he is starting. You befriend him on Goodreads, then Instagram. This is when you realize Jungkook is a videographer.

“An amateur one!” he protests, eyes crinkled with laughter.

You shake your head as you scroll down his page. “Ten thousand followers?!” you exclaim. “You didn’t tell me you were famous, Jeon!”

Smiling, he leans back. Jungkook finally seems to have given up all pretense of fixing your computer. “I’m not,” he laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ve yet to be stopped by anyone on the street. Until that happens, I’m not.”

“Geez.” Scrolling his feed, you shake your head. “If that’s the high bar for famous, I must be a peasant to you.”

Jungkook makes a noise of dismissal. “Nah.” He waits until you look up. “You’re definitely more than that.”

The silence stretches until your heart starts to race. The moment is similar to outside of the bowling alley. You, feverishly wondering what his lips might taste like. Jungkook has this strange way of exciting you without saying a word; driving you crazy, without doing anything special.

Taehyung’s loud laughs booms over the cubicle.

Jungkook blinks, as though realizing where you are. You realize at the same time, hastily setting your feet on the floor. Previously, they were perched at the end of your chair.

“All done!” Jungkook blurts, standing abruptly. “You can go ahead and test it, if you want.”

“Thanks,” you say, weirdly guilty about the conversation. This is only two co-workers getting to know one another, you remind yourself.

As you begin to switch places, Jungkook’s hand brushes your arm. Your eyes dart to his, surprised to find him so close.

Jungkook swallows, hard. “I – Y/N,” he says.

Although you wait for more, he does not continue. “Yeah?”

The heat of his body is tangible, so close to your own. “I…” Jungkook inhales, as though in preparation – and then his gaze shutters. “So. They rescheduled our meet.”

“Oh,” you say, thrown. It takes you a moment to recognize what he is saying. “Oh! The bowling meet, right.”

Jungkook nods, brow furrowed, as though he is disappointed. Taking a step backwards, he nods. “Yeah, the bowling meet. They rescheduled it for next weekend. I thought you might want to go? Not that you don’t have better things to do, of course. It’s just, you know – the last one was fun…”

Trailing off, he rubs the back of his neck. 

“Jungkook.” You arch a brow. “Stop it. Of course, I want to go.”

His eyes brighten. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, gaze lingering on his.

Jungkook is still for a moment before nodding. “Great, okay. I’ll have Taehyung text the details in the chat. The meet is on Saturday,” he adds, realizing he did not say that before. “Does that still work?”

“Yep,” you say, sitting down at your computer. “Saturday is perfect. I’ll see you then!”

Jungkook hesitates before nodding, ducking out of your cubicle. His feet echo in the hall, growing further away and once you are certain he is gone, you lower your head to the keyboard. Fuck. You really thought he was about to ask you out. The delusions seem to be growing, so out of control, you thought Jungkook was going to ask you out in the middle of the office.

He is just nice, though. He wanted to include you in his friend group and here you are, basically throwing yourself at him in the workplace. Wearily, you lift your head from the keyboard to see your inner turmoil displayed on the page.

Asldkfjalskfjalskdfjalskdfjaklsdfjalskfjaasdlfka

Same, you think glumly, pressing the backspace button. Same.

Rather than have Taehyung text you the details of the meet, Jungkook reaches out instead – in a separate chat. He mentions he began reading the Way of Kings, based on your recommendation. This turns into questions, which turns into answers and before you know it, you two are firmly in the middle of an ongoing conversation.

Jungkook: HOLY SHIT [7:41 PM]

Jungkook: KALADIN AND THE HIGHSTORM!!! [7:41 PM]

Y/N: alsjfaks I KNOW! It’s about to get wild, Jeon – the last third of the book is insane [7:45 PM]

Jungkook: I haven’t even eaten dinner yet I can’t put it down haha [7:46 PM]

Y/N: let me know when you get to… u know what, you’ll know [7:48 PM]

Jungkook: …. Ominous af [7:49 PM]

Jungkook: fuck, I’m tearing up on the treadmill [6:01 AM]

Jungkook: Adolin!! [6:04 AM]

Y/N: which part?? [6:21 AM]

Jungkook: the tower, with Dalinar & Adolin and… FUCK U SADEAS!!! [6:21 AM]

Y/N: hahaha valid, jeon, valid [6:23 AM]

Jungkook: EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING [12:21 PM]

Y/N: Jungkook! You should be working!! Haha [12:25 PM]

Y/N: what is going on now?? [12:25 PM]

Jungkook: I’m glued to this chair until I finish [12:26 PM]

Jungkook: Kaladin realized what’s going on [12:26 PM]

Jungkook: he’s debating going back [12:26 PM]

Y/N: this is basically the slowest version of a live tweet ever [12:28 PM]

Jungkook: as if you aren’t enjoying my commentary [12:31 PM]

Jungkook: WOOO KALADIN [5:04 PM]

Y/N: did he speak the words?!? [5:06 PM]

Jungkook: FUCK YEAH HE DID [5:07 PM]

This continues until you realize you are checking your phone every few minutes, waiting for Jungkook to text. You wonder if he is doing the same. You wonder more why he did not ask you out in your cube. You wonder if this wondering will drive you crazy and finally – on Friday afternoon – you open a Skype chat to Rhea.

Friday, 1:11 PM

Y/L/N, Y/N: Alright. I am finally ready to admit it

Owens, Rhea: hey Y/N hang on one sec

Y/L/N, Y/N: I have a giant ass crush on Jeon Jungkook

Owens, Rhea: ……

Owens, Rhea: oh REALLY

Owens, Rhea: tell me more *leans chin on hand*

Y/L/N, Y/N: ugh, he’s just… so perfect??

Y/L/N, Y/N: like, yeah he’s gorgeous but

Y/L/N, Y/N: it’s not just that???

Owens, Rhea: hm ok

Owens, Rhea: what is it, then?

Y/L/N, Y/N: idk… so many things

Y/L/N, Y/N: He’s cute and sweet and likes the same books I do & he makes me laugh, oh and one time he drank banana milk so fast that it shot out his nose

Owens, Rhea: .......sexy

Y/L/N, Y/N: that’s what I’m saying, Rhea!!!! That should not be sexy! I should not find that endearing!! 

Y/L/N, Y/N: god, when I first met him I thought he was really cute, you know?

Y/L/N, Y/N: but … idk, a lot of people are cute. I thought it was just an office crush on him and I would get over it eventually but

Owens, Rhea: but?

Y/L/N, Y/N: I haven’t

Y/L/N, Y/N: I think I really like him

Y/L/N, Y/N: I have a giant, fat crush on jeon Jungkook. Fuck

Owens, Rhea: wow

Y/L/N, Y/N: I feel like I’m in high school or some shit

Y/L/N, Y/N: my chin is about to break out in acne, I swear

Owens, Rhea: *shudders* dear god, let’s hope not

Y/L/N, Y/N: help me

Owens, Rhea: lmaooo what am I supposed to do?!

Owens, Rhea: snap my fingers under your nose three times and wake you up?

Y/L/N, Y/N: I mean, if you think that would help

Y/L/N, Y/N: I’m dying over here

Owens, Rhea: okay, but aren’t you missing the very OBVIOUS solution to all of this?

Y/L/N, Y/N: enlighten me, obi wan

Owens, Rhea: ask out Jungkook you should

Y/L/N, Y/N: okay, first off

Y/L/N, Y/N: Yoda speaks that way, not Obi-wan

Owens, Rhea: nerd

Y/L/N, Y/N: second

Y/L/N, Y/N: asfjaskldfjalks I CAN’T 

Owens, Rhea: WHY NOT

Y/L/N, Y/N: what if he says no 

Owens, Rhea: *snorts* please 

Y/L/N, Y/N: it’s a valid concern

Owens, Rhea: no it’s not, next question

Y/L/N, Y/N: I’m….. tbh, it’s been a while since I dated anyone

Owens, Rhea: ahhhhh

Owens, Rhea: so, the last guy

Owens, Rhea: the dick who broke your heart

Owens, Rhea: he doesn’t have anything to do with the new move, new job situation, does he?

Y/L/N, Y/N: …..frick

Y/L/N, Y/N: you caught me

Owens, Rhea: thought so L

Owens, Rhea: I’m sorry babe. What happened?

Y/L/N, Y/N: Ahh, you know. The usual. I thought we’d be together forever. He thought it was too early to settle down. We mutually made the decision to break up

Y/L/N, Y/N: you know, because he slept with someone else

Owens, Rhea: fuck

Owens, Rhea: what a little weasel

Owens, Rhea: I hope his dick gets caught in a cheese grater

Owens, Rhea: I mean that

Y/L/N, Y/N: thanks babe o.o

Y/L/N, Y/N: anyways

Y/L/N, Y/N: I haven’t really felt…. Comfortable enough to ask anyone out since

Y/L/N, Y/N: you know?

Owens, Rhea: I do, babe, I do

Owens, Rhea: but…..

Y/L/N, Y/N: yes?

Owens, Rhea: idk if Jungkook is just anyone

Y/L/N, Y/N: yeah

Y/L/N, Y/N: that might be even more terrifying

Despite Rhea’s words of wisdom, you do not ask Jungkook out. Instead, you force yourself to be content with this newfound friendship you have. Although – as of late, he has been a bit quieter in your chat. You try not to linger on why.

When you walk into the bowling alley Saturday, Rhea is already there. “Let’s go, Y/N!” she calls, grabbing your arm to drag you through the doors. “Taehyung said they’re already here.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, allowing yourself to be pulled.

The inside of the alley is bright and buzzing with people. As it was the last time you came, there is a long line at the bar. Rhea does not stop to wait, tugging you past. “Jimin is getting us drinks,” she says. “Hobi said they’re at lane four this time.”

“Back there!” you say, standing up on tip-toe.

At the far end of the alley you see a cluster of familiar heads. Pushing through the thick of the crowd, you manage to get to the boys. They are in the middle of what seems like an argument, stemming from a dark pile of clothing Taehyung holds in one arm.

“It’s important we look like a unified team!” he declares. “This will make us look clean!”

“I took a shower last night,” Yoongi says. “That’s about as clean as I want to get.”

“Last night?” Namjoon dubiously arches a brow.

“Fine, two nights ago.” Yoongi shrugs, unconcerned. “What’s the difference?”

Taehyung pushes a button-down at Yoongi. “C’mon, please,” he begs, giving him puppy-dog eyes. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi exhales, giving in to grab the edge of a t-shirt. “Fine,” he mutters. “Hey, Y/N. Hey, Rhea. Welcome to the end of good taste.” Walking past you both, he heaves a great sigh. “Get out of here now, before they give you t-shirts, too.”

You laugh, gaze moving past him to Jungkook.

Jungkook smiles and, before you can speak – winks at you. He fucking winks, and your heart nearly catapults from your chest. Admittedly, it is not the best wink you have ever seen. His non-winking eye closes almost as much as the other but, rather than detract, it somehow makes him more endearing.

Your stomach sinks. Fuck, are you hooked.

Standing from the couch, Jungkook wanders over. “Fine,” he sighs, grabbing a button-down from Taehyung. “I’ll go change, too. Hey, Rhea. Y/N,” he adds, nodding at you when he passes.

You stare for a moment, still dazed by the wink. “Hey!” you call out – too late, and too loud.

Rhea snorts, hiding this in her sleeve. “Well, that wasn’t obvious.”

“Hey!” you groan, whirling to face her. “I – was it really that obvious?”

Rhea laughs. “I mean – to me, yeah. To them? Probably not. They’re boys, after all. They’re oblivious.”

When you glance up, you see she is right. Seokjin and Taehyung are still arguing about the t-shirts. Namjoon is attempting to fix the scoreboard he broke and Hoseok stares hopefully after Rhea while Jimin returns with the drinks.

“Here we go!” Jimin declares, setting a tray down on the table. Seeing you and Rhea, he breaks out in a grin. “Hey, you two!”

“Hey!” you say, waving.

It is funny. Only a month prior, your heart would have flipped at such a greeting from Jimin. Objectively, he is handsome. Jimin is nice, cute and everything you could want in a guy. But, no longer do you find you want any guy – like you said to Rhea, you want Jungkook.

As though called into being, Jungkook leaves the bathroom. His street shirt is folded over one arm and now he is dressed in the button-down Taehyung provided. It does not look bad, all things considered. The entirety of the garment is black, except for a small red logo printed neatly on the lapel.

When he gets closer, you try to make out the detail.

Sighing, Jungkook comes to a stop at the table. “It’s a bowling ball,” he says, tugging it lower. “Not the most creative thing in the world, but oh well.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, both hands on his hips. “It was between that and a pin, but the pin looked kind of like a penis, so…” He shrugs. “Balls, it is.”

Jungkook stares for a moment. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Anytime.”

“So, Jimin.” Rhea plops down on the couch beside Hoseok. “Those beers are for the group, right?”

“Right,” he beams, handing one over. “Y/N? Do you want one?”

You nod, accepting yours gratefully. Jimin smiles, only to glance at Jungkook and it could be your imagination, but something crosses his expression. Hesitancy, perhaps. You have no time to linger, since a garbled voice comes over the loudspeaker to announce the meet has begun.

“Good luck!” you say, returning to Jungkook.

His answering smile is crooked. “Thanks.”

Bending, Jungkook shoves his shirt in his bag. You try not to stare at the way his pants obscenely cling to his thighs. To your right, Rhea pointedly clears her throat and you jerk upright, sitting down on the sofa. Clutching a beer, you watch as Jungkook begins to warm up. He stretches his arms side to side, gaze focused on the pins – except when he looks over his shoulder at you.

Honestly, you do not remember why you once thought him to be shy. When he is on his game (as he is now), Jungkook is not. Not by a long shot. By the end of the sixth frame, Jungkook has scored as many strikes, and even Yoongi is cheering when he returns to his seat.

Grinning broadly, Jungkook takes his seat beside you.

“You’re doing so well,” you say.

When he presses a finger to his lips, it forces your gaze lower. “Sh,” he warns. “Now you have to knock on wood for good luck!”

Rolling your eyes, you lean forward and rap on the table. “There. Happy?”

Jungkook’s gaze lingers. “Kind of.”

Stomach dropping, you wonder what he could mean until Namjoon interrupts. “Hey,” he yells. “JK! You’re up next!”

Jungkook nods and stands from the bench. Shaking hair from his gaze, he reaches down for his ball and you slowly sink back. For a moment, it sounded as though Jungkook wanted to say more – but what?

Jimin sits beside you, replacing Jungkook. “Hey,” he grins, taking a sip of his beer.

“Hey, Jimin,” you say, eyes still on the game.

Jimin’s gaze moves to Jungkook. “He’s really good, right?”

“Jungkook?” You watch him weigh the bright pink ball in one hand. “Yeah, he’s really good. It’s amazing.”

“Hm.” Jimin makes a noncommittal sound. “You should ask him out.”

“What?” Now, you are definitely not watching the game. Gaze darting to Jimin, your mouth drops. “I – did Rhea say something to you? Because, I swear, it’s not like –”

“Oh, no, no.” Jimin laughs, holding up both hands. “Rhea didn’t say anything to me, don’t worry. I just…” He hesitates, tilting his head. “I’ve known Jungkook a long time… he seems really relaxed around you. That doesn’t happen a lot.”

Unsure how to respond, you take a long sip of your beer. “That’s… sweet, Jimin but I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jimin arches a brow. “Maybe not. But still – you never know until you try, huh?”

When Jungkook gets another strike, you cannot help it; you cheer. Jimin grins at this, standing up from the sofa.

“Something to think about, I guess.” With a wink, he walks away. The wink is better than Jungkook’s but still, it does not spark the same feeling.

Watching him go, you are too dumbfounded to notice Jungkook’s return. Collapsing into his seat, Jungkook glances from Jimin to you. “What was that all about?” 

His tone is level, almost nonchalant but you hear a modicum of strain in his voice. A muscle in his jaw ticks, betraying annoyance.

“Nothing,” you smile. “He was just talking about what a talented bowler you are.”

Jungkook frowns for a moment, then softens. “Oh.”

“I agreed,” you say suddenly. “You are really talented.” 

Partly, you say this because it is true and partly, because you want to see how Jungkook reacts.

“Hm.” Jungkook tilts his head, unreadable. “You think so?”

“Mhm,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “He said you were a pretty good guy, too.”

“Did he?” Jungkook watches you carefully. “And what do you think?”

Unthinkingly, your gaze drops to his lips. “Verdict’s still out on that one.”

Jungkook stares for a moment before smiling – a slow, dangerous gesture. “Huh,” is all that he says.

“Jeon!” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the crowd. He gestures at the lane. “You’re up.”

Muttering under his breath, Jungkook stands. Walking away from you, he reaches down for his ball and you stare at his back, fighting to process. This is flat-out ridiculous. You are a grown-ass adult, not some teenager with a crush. Tell that to your racing hormones though, and the way Jeon Jungkook flicks his hair.

Jungkook bowls another strike. He does so fast, without fanfare and is back on the couch before you can fully realize his absence. “So,” he says, draping one arm over the back.

Excitement curls in your stomach. “So?”

Jungkook’s upper lip twitches. “Nothing,” he laughs and ducks his head. Some of his previous shyness has returned. “I’m just… glad that you came, you know?”

Your heart leaps, jagged in your chest. “Me too,” you manage to say.

Silence falls. Fiddling with the end of your shirt, you wriggle closer on the bench and try not to stare. Taehyung is the one bowling and for a while, you watch but this only distracts you for so long.

“So,” you say, finally turning to face him. “Tell me something else about bowling.”

Jungkook smiles, as though he knows what you are doing. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “What’s the best way to hold the ball, or something?”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “I could always show you, if you want.”

“Show me?”

He nods, slow. “Yeah. The lanes are usually pretty empty after meets. I could stay and give you a lesson, if you’re interested.”

The lanes now are loud, full of cheering but when Jungkook meets your gaze, everything seems to dim. You are not fully in control when you nod and say, “Yes.”

His eyes widen. “Really? I mean – uh, okay. Great.”

“Jeon!” barks Taehyung.

Jungkook does not look away. “Wait for me after, okay?” he breathes, pushing himself to stand.

As he walks off, you nod. It is strange for him be so direct after weeks of distance. Perhaps Rhea or Jimin talked to him, too. Although – you correct yourself. Jungkook has not been distant. He has never been cold or anything, but each time you thought he wanted more – he pulled back. You keep wondering when he will do that today but somehow, the moment never comes.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jungkook grins. When he does this, your heart flip-flops and your stomach sinks to the ground.

Jungkook bowls a perfect game.

He is beaming at the end, everyone clapping him on the back when he returns to the table. His stellar game means their team won the meet – to Taehyung’s immense satisfaction, they do present a united visual in their matching button-downs at the podium. Taehyung gives a brief speech about teamwork before Seokjin grabs the microphone and enthuses a dumb quote from Dodgeball.

When they return, the atmosphere is cheery. Except between you and Jungkook – who has not mentioned the tutorial since the end of the sixth frame. Picking up your purse, you glance sideways and wonder if you imagined it. Jungkook is currently attempting to wrestle his bowling ball into a bag and does not seem intent upon staying any longer.

Before you can spiral too far into what-if’s, Jungkook stands from the bench. “Hey,” he says, smiling hopefully. “Did you still want to stay? Um, get a few pointers?”

“Oh,” you say, heart starting to race. “Yeah, I would like that.”

“Great.” He grins. “I’ll go grab you shoes at the counter, okay? What size are you?”

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, reaching into your bag. “I can pay.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “It’s free for the members.”

“Oh.” You let your hand fall to your side. “Then, yeah. Size seven.”

With a nod, Jungkook leaves you alone. The others begin to exit, waving goodbye while heading to the next location. You overhear Hoseok, Seokjin and Rhea talking about hitting a bar. Rhea winks as she leaves, pushing Hoseok away with one hand on his back. She already thoroughly yelled at you in the bathroom between frames eight and nine, hyping you up when you said you might not need an Uber home.

Ducking your head, you push all of that from your mind. Rhea’s thoughts on the matter were clear – all of them containing some variety of GET THAT DICK, GIRL. Not that you are thinking about Jungkook’s dick, of course.

This is just a friend thing, you tell yourself. This is just two friends hanging out in a bowling alley.

You are able to adequately convince yourself of this, until Jungkook jogs back, a scuffed pair of bowling shoes in one hand. He actually jogs, as though worried you might not wait any longer.

Settling himself on the bench, Jungkook holds out the shoes. “Here you go,” he says grandly.

“Thanks.” Smiling, you take them off his hands. Removing your own, you tug on the new pair. “Ugh. It always feels weird to wear someone else’s footwear.”

“One of the perks of going pro,” Jungkook says. “When you have your own gear, you know no one else’s sweaty feet have touched yours.”

“Sweaty feet?” You glance down in disgust. “Jungkook, are you trying to make me regret this?”

“No!” he laughs, tugging you up by the elbow. “You can’t leave before we even bowl – now, come on. Let’s go.”

You allow him to pull you to your feet, laughing at his repentant expression. Almost all the professional bowlers have left by now. Only a few remain, most of them couples. This realization makes you swallow, glancing at Jungkook and wondering what he is thinking.

He is currently typing your name into the bowling screen. When he turns back, he hides a grin and you glance up at the screen before bursting out into laughter. He has named you both after Way of Kings characters, based on a rather lengthy discussion you two had on the matter.

Jungkook: okay, so, if you had to choose – which character would you be? [11:32 PM]

Y/N: hmmm that’s hard [11:33 PM]

Y/N: I feel like the obvious choice is Jasnah [11:33 PM]

Jungkook: really? [11:33 PM]

Y/N: she’s one of the smartest characters in the entire book!! [11:34 PM]

Jungkook: ok, valid – I think I want to be the Wit [11:34 PM]

Y/N: another excellent choice – who do you think the Wit really is, btw? [11:34 PM]

Jungkook: I have theories but wait – changed my mind [11:35 PM]

Y/N: Yes? Haha who would you like to be? [11:35 PM]

Jungkook: Captain Tozbek [11:35 PM]

Y/N: wait, WHAT [11:35 PM]

Y/N: Captain Tozbeck? The guy who is LITERALLY in the book for one chapter bc he takes another character from one city to another? [11:36 PM]

Jungkook: yep, him [11:36 PM]

Jungkook: he had dope eyebrows [11:37 PM]

At this, you had snorted. In the book, Captain Tozbeck hails from a nation where their eyebrows are very distinctly described. The brows are long, white and styled in ridiculous manners – Captain Tozbeck’s, in particular, are combed several feet up in the air.

When Jungkook steps from behind the bowling screen, you see he named himself Tozbeck and you, Jasnah. You know it is silly. An inside joke only the two of you get, but still, the fact he remembered makes you smile.

Placing his bright pink bowling ball aside, Jungkook walks towards you. “All right,” he says. “The first thing to do is get you a ball. One appropriate for your strength.”

After a few attempts, you return with a ten-pound crimson ball. “Okay. What now?”

“Now.” Jungkook walks onto the lane. “You bowl.”

“Just like that?” you ask, following suit. “It’s that easy?”

“Yep.” Jungkook positions himself behind you. “Bowling is like osmosis – you soak up the knowledge by being around us.”

“Wo-ow, nothing like a good osmosis joke.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Mm,” you nod. “Talk diffusion to me.”

Jungkook laughs, arranging his fingers on top of yours on the ball. “So, you’ll want to place your thumb in the hole near the top,” he explains, sliding your finger back. “And the middle and ring are here, in the lower holes. Your index finger and pinky stabilize the ball on either side.”

“Oh,” you say, keeping your gaze straight ahead. “Okay.”

You have obviously bowled and know how to hold a ball, but that is not the point of this lesson. The point is Jungkook is standing so close you can feel his heat on your back, the ghost of his breath on your neck. Shivering, you try not to imagine the press of his lips.

Hand splayed over yours, Jungkook adjusts your grip. “Good,” he says, sounding pleased. “Better.”

Quickly, you glance over your shoulder. “Now, what?”

Jungkook’s lips part, gaze dropping to yours and for a moment, he is silent. “I saw what you said about me,” he admits, all in a rush.

Your stomach drops, uncertain. “I – you what?”

“I saw what you said,” Jungkook repeats. He winces before swallowing, determined. “I saw what you said to Rhea on Skype yesterday.”

It is as though your entire body has been doused in cold water. Frantic, you attempt to recall the conversation. All you can remember is that you confessed your burgeoning feelings for Jungkook in great, sweeping fashion.

“Oh my god,” you say, mind reeling. “Did… did you see the banana milk comment?” 

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” you say, whirling out of his grasp. Barely able to focus, you set the ball down on a rack. “Holy fuck, that’s embarrassing. I… I didn’t mean for… you shouldn’t have… how?” you demand, deciding this is most important.

Jungkook’s expression turns a bit sheepish. “Well – I didn’t mean to see,” he says. “I swear! I was working remotely on Rhea’s computer, trying to fix her email situation, and –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “Let me get this straight. I Skyped Rhea, confessing my feelings – and she knew you could see but purposefully said nothing?”

Jungkook’s cheeks redden further. “I – uh, maybe. Or, she forgot?”

“I,” you whisper, horrified. “I am going to kill her.”

“Well, let’s not do that.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “Murder seems warranted, I think. Straight up kill shot. How could she do that to me?” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Y/N, wait.” Jungkook laughs, grabbing both of your hands. “Hang on a second.”

“What?” you breathe, opening your eyes when he lowers them.

Thoughts flash through your mind, one after the other. You are going to have to move – again. Right when you have gotten the furniture in your bedroom how you like it. Right when the coffee guy at work knows your regular order.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jungkook says quietly.

“How is that not embarrassing?” you wail. “There I was, going on and on about how much I like you and you saw. Which –”

“Right, but I like you, too.”

This shuts you up. “You – what?”

Jungkook arches a brow. “I wanted to ask you out that day in your cubicle. Really wanted to, but I didn’t want to assume and… we’re co-workers and… I just chickened out,” he finishes lamely.

Unable to look away, your heart starts to pound. You cannot help but notice Jungkook’s hands remain firmly on yours. Maybe – maybe you will not have to move.

Slowly, he steps closer. “I like you, too,” he repeats, soft. “Everything you said to Rhea, I feel the same. I like how easily we talk, I like your smile, I like how upfront and honest you are.” Jungkook’s smile widens a bit. “I can go on, if you like.”

“I…” you say, staring up at him. “Did you see everything I said to Rhea? The part about my ex? Because…”

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s gaze darkens. “What a dick.”

Surprised by this vehemence, your lips twitch. “I guess he was.” 

Jungkook exhales. “Look,” he says gently. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. It’s cool if you like me, but don’t want to date yet…. It takes time, I get it.” Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll wait.”

“You’ll… wait?”

You do not think you have ever heard something so romantic. Most guys your age (hell, most guys in general) refuse to wait for anything. If something does not work out now, they decide it is not meant to be and move onto the next thing that breathes. You privately blame this on the carpe diem, yolo- loving yahoos of every generation.

Shyly, Jungkook nods. “I like you and I think you like me. That’s worth waiting for, yeah?”

Before you can think too much about what you are doing, you move closer. As though no longer obeying your intentions, your hands slide up his chest.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. “W-what are you doing?”

“Sh,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Jungkook’s lips are soft. They part involuntarily, a noise stuck in his throat before he slowly gives in. Bending lower, his hands cup your face. He tilts your face upwards to his, fingers sliding backwards along the length of your jaw.

Inhaling, he drinks your breath in and you find yourself just as greedy. Head spinning, you relish his lips against your own, the gentle graze of his fingers. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead to yours. Jungkook stays there a moment, breathing unsteadily before opening his eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Lifting higher, you kiss him again. Mouths parting eagerly, you kiss him over and over, until the gesture begins to feel useless. Until your hands are fisting in the back of his hair, lips swollen and bruised beneath the onslaught of kisses. His breath feels more like yours; that is how desperately you crave it.

“Y/N,” Jungkook groans, one hand finding your waist. His voice sounds ragged, barely decipherable as his. “I – we…”

“We should go,” you agree, pulling back. 

Jungkook stills. “Are you…” He trails off. “Are you sure?”

“Sure.” Confidently, you take his hand in yours. “Come on, let’s go. We’re distracting all the bowlers.”

Jungkook looks up, alarmed to realize several people are staring. Lips twitching, he nods and follows you off the lane. “For the record,” Jungkook says, tugging off his shoes. “I did not plan on this happening.”

“Oh, really?” you tease, following suit. “You didn’t intend on our first kiss being at a bowling alley surrounded by children?”

Jungkook stops and you nearly crash into him. “There are kids?” he says, whipping around. “Are you serious? Y/N, I –”

You laugh, grabbing your purse and slinging this over your shoulder. “Come on, Jungkook. You might be willing to wait, but I’m not.”

Jungkook mutters something which could be either a prayer, or a swear. Then your hand is in his and you are tugging him onward. Jungkook flings his unzipped bag over his shoulder, banging his side as he walks. He does not seem to care, fingers interlacing with yours as you exit the alley.

“So,” Jungkook says, letting the door shut behind him.

“So,” you say, turning to face him.

“My place is just around the corner.”

“Great,” you acknowledge, turning around. “Let’s go there, then.”

Jungkook chuckles, your hand still in his as you leave. It is cooler out than before, long shadows before you on the sidewalk. Pedestrians pass as you walk, shouting and laughing on their way to the bars.

You do not see any of it. All you can see is Jungkook – hair flopping as he walks, his stride long and giddy. It is hard to look away. Especially when he seems as though he is barely restraining himself from kissing you on the sidewalk.

“Stop doing that,” he mutters under his breath.

Your smile widens. “Stop doing what?”

“Looking so pretty.” Jungkook glances sideways at you. “Looking so kissable and teasing, and shit. It makes me want to forget about my apartment.”

A thrill snakes your spine. “Oh?” you ask – also, under your breath. “What would you do?”

Jungkook stops before a plain, green door. Pulling keys from his bag, his fingers tremble undoing the lock. “A lot of things,” he confesses. The door sticks and he tries it again. It does not work. “I would… I want – oh, fuck it,” he grumbles, whirling around.

Gripping you by the waist, Jungkook twists you to land on the wall. He kisses you fiercely, hands pushing into your hair while he arches against you. His lips are hot and bruising, mouth opening for his tongue to flick yours. Your hands grip his arms, sliding further to tangle in the hair at his neck.

Jungkook does not stop, one knee pushing apart your thighs to keep you pinned to the door. His leg is thick, muscled – not at all what you assumed beneath those ill-fitting jeans. As you continue to kiss, Jungkook flexes and you moan into his mouth. Gripping him tighter, you slowly roll your hips over his thigh and feel Jungkook’s breath stutter.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at your core. Sliding one hand up your neck, he returns to your lips and kisses you gently.

The sudden juxtaposition of soft lips and hard body makes you whimper. One of his hands remains fixed to the wall, the other traveling slow down the length of your spine. “Jungkook,” you mumble into his kisses. “The keys.”

“Ah,” he inhales, forcing himself to stay still. Jungkook pauses for a moment before shaking his head. “Right, shit.”

He swallows, stepping aside as you move from the door. Jungkook strides forward, determined and this time it opens when he jiggles the key in the lock.

“This way.” Grabbing your hand, he drags you up the stairs.

Giggling, you follow when he takes the steps two at a time. At a plain door on the second landing, Jungkook shoves his keys again in a lock. This takes less time than before – barely a moment passes before the door is shoved open and you are over the threshold. As soon as you enter, Jungkook drops his bag on the floor and then you are back to the wall, Jungkook’s lips returned to yours.

You laugh, arms around his neck as you kiss him again. Bending, he grips your thighs with both hands to lift you from the ground. Your purse drops, hands finding his hair and arching against him. His hands cup your ass, keeping you steady while he walks towards his bedroom. At least, this is where you assume you are headed.

Jungkook awkwardly kicks open his door. It slams, hitting the wall and making you giggle.

“What?” Jungkook growls, nipping your lip. Fumblingly pressing you to a wall, he kisses you slower until your heart feels as though it might burst.

“Nothing,” you whisper, hands twisted into his hair. “I just… I’m really happy this is happening.”

“Me, too.” Jungkook’s gaze softens. Some of his earlier urgency dims. “I –um. What do you want me to do?”

Glancing between your bodies, you pointedly arch a brow.

Jungkook chuckles. “I mean, yeah. It’s just – we don’t have to do that. I know I got carried away outside,” he says with a flush. “But, um, we can just talk. If you want. Or whatever.”

Your lips twitch, trying hard not to laugh. “Jungkook.” Glancing down, you see his hardened cock strain at the seams of his jeans. “Are you a masochist, or something? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

He exhales weakly. “I – um, no, not usually.”

“So, why are you deliberately trying to hurt yourself?”

Jungkook hisses when you roll your hips over his. “I…” After a long moment of consideration, his fingers dig into your waist. “Fuck it. Yeah, let’s talk after.”

“After what?” you tease.

Jungkook lowers his lips to your neck. “After,” he exhales, sucking a bruise into your collarbone, “I fuck you every way I can think of.”

Groaning out loud, your head hits the wall. “Can you – can you please take off this damn shirt?” 

You tug helplessly on the bowling pin button-down.

Jungkook lifts his head, wicked. “I’m going to tell Taehyung you said that,” he says, gripping the back of his shirt with one hand to remove. A button pops off, falling somewhere to the floor. “He’s going to be pissed.”

“Mhm,” you agree, rewarded by the sight of Jungkook’s bare abs. Mesmerized, you trail a hand down his stomach. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

Jungkook grunts, re-gripping your thighs. “Enough talk about Taehyung,” he mutters. “I only want my name on your lips when you’re touching my cock.”

A hot spike of pleasure shoots to your core. “Oh,” you whimper, hand sliding down his jeans. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue. You feel so…” Trailing off, you cup him over his pants. “Fuck.”

Jungkook smirks. It is a complete one-eighty from the shy guy at happy hour. That guy was uncertain and now, Jungkook is ravenous. Shifting you higher up on his thigh, he presses you against the wall.

“Feel so what,” he breathes, kissing your neck. As he continues to speak, his hips push into your core. “So,” he grunts, “fucking,” another thrust, “hard for you?”

Moaning, you clench around nothing. “Jungkook,” you beg. “Please – please just... touch me.”

“Fine.”

Abruptly, he pulls back to drop you onto his bed. Your ass hits the sheets, making you laugh as you scoot further backwards. Jungkook lowers one knee and for a moment, you can only stare. Up until now, you have not had a moment to truly appreciate him. Messy dark hair falls into his gaze, locked on yours. The muscles in his arms are lean, corded with veins which stand from his skin. His abs are clearly defined, disappearing into his jeans with a smattering of body hair.

Staring at all this, you swallow. Jungkook’s smirk reappears.

“Do you like what you see?” he murmurs, crawling over your body. Gently, he lowers his forearms to press you to the sheets.

“Yes,” you gasp, when his hips rolls against yours.

Bending his head, Jungkook’s nose brushes your throat. His lips move slowly downward in search for your cleavage. “Did you know I could see down your shirt today? Each time you bent over?”

Slowly, you nod.

Looking up, his gaze darkens. “Tease,” he huffs, gripping the edge of your shirt. “This. Off.”

You nod, happily shimmying from the material. When your bra is revealed, Jungkook stares at you in awe. Admittedly, it is fancier than what you would normally wear just to hang out with friends. Black lace barely covers the necessary parts of your breasts, but Jungkook does not seem to mind.

Bending his head, his lips find a nipple. The lace cup makes it easy, your entire body trembling when he sweeps his tongue side to side. Slowly, he teases until you are peaked and needy, arching against him as your hands grip his arms.

With one hand, Jungkook reaches beneath you to unhook your bra. This is removed, flung on the floor and Jungkook pulls back to stare. Your normal instinct is to shy away but for some reason, you do not. He stares at you the same way you looked at him – unabashed, full of wonder and admiration.

Jungkook’s gaze finds yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he croaks. 

He bends, capturing your lips with his. Chests pressing together, your naked skin collides. Hands traveling down his back, you greedily pull him closer. Jungkook is equally hungry, fingers fumbling with the buttons of your jeans in his quest to be naked.

Finally, he breaks free. Sitting back on his heels, he stares at your body with puzzled uncertainty. “What the fuck,” he mutters. Hands spanning your waist, he turns you this way and that. “Why do your jeans have more security than Fort Knox, Y/N?”

Snorting, you prop yourself up on your elbows. “It’s the style,” you whine, nudging him with your knee. There is no zipper on these jeans, only four brass buttons which (admittedly) kind of stick.

Jungkook arches a brow in displeasure. If he were wearing his glasses, you imagine they would be pushed up on his nose. “Style,” he mutters, “my ass.” Gripping the first button, he pries it open. The next one comes easier, then the third until finally, your jeans are open before him. “Yes!” Jungkook cries, offering you a high- five. “Up top!”

“Jungkook! I am not high-fiving you about getting my pants off.”

“Why not?” he whines, holding up his hand until you reluctantly give in.

When your hands clap together, Jungkook’s fingers curl around yours. Holding you hostage, he pushes you down to the bed. “Pinned ya,” he grins, wriggling his brows.

“Did you… did you just fucking quote the Lion King to me?”

“Wait until tomorrow, when I quote Tangled.”

“Oh my god, marry me,” you laugh – which fumbles into a groan, when Jungkook’s hand pushes inside your pants.

All traces of laughter disappear when he feels how soaked you are. “Baby,” Jungkook hisses. “You’re so damn wet.”

The endearment makes you stupidly happy. At least, until his finger slides backwards to trace over your center. Whimpering his name, your hands clutch at the sheets. Jungkook retreats, grabbing both jeans and underwear to yank from your body. When you are naked, he rejoins you on top of the bed.

“You too,” you insist, mumbled into his kisses. “I wanna feel you too, Jungkook.”

He obliges, kicking off his pants in such enthusiastic fashion, it reminds you of certain parkour YouTube videos. When his body returns to yours, you inhale from the feeling of so much skin pressed together. Jungkook’s plain black boxer-briefs are remarkably ineffective at hiding the bulge of his cock. Hands trailing lower, you find his ass cheeks and squeeze.

Jungkook yelps, quickly turning into laughter. “What was that,” he asks, dropping one arm to the sheets. The other slides up your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“I just wanted to feel it,” you say, grinning. “It’s a nice butt, all things considered. And – oh.”

Your abrupt change in focus occurs when Jungkook eases a finger inside you. Arching upwards, your vision turns hazy as your lips slowly part. Jungkook’s gaze drops to your core, watching the sudden fullness of his finger clenched by your pussy. He begins to slide in and out, getting you wetter and producing obscene squelching sounds.

“Shit,” you groan, one arm thrown over your face.

Jungkook bends, peppering your jawline with kisses. Gently, he pries your arm from your gaze. “What are you doing? Why are you hiding?”

“B-because,” you stammer, since he has not stopped fingering you. The sounds are louder, revealing just how badly you want him when he slides in a second one. “It’s so loud – I, shit, I want you so much.”

Jungkook inhales. “That’s not… why would you be embarrassed about that?” Removing his fingers, he ignores your whimpers to continue. Meeting your gaze, he drags your hand to his cock. “I’m so fucking hard right now. That’s way more embarrassing.”

Staring at him in wonder, you trace over his bulge. The outline of his cock is prominent, hard under the softness of his boxers. Suddenly eager, you pull the fabric down his thighs. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “Please, Jungkook.”

Gripping you tight, Jungkook nods. “Are you sure?” His gaze roams your face. “I mean – are you wet enough? I could go down on you a bit. I don’t mind. Like,” he says, swallowing. “I really don’t mind. I’ve thought about that a lot.”

Blinking, you feel momentarily speechless. Your ex always acted like foreplay was a chore, even though he appreciated a blow job as much as the next man. You had not imagined some guys actually fantasized about the act.

Taking your silence as acquiescence, Jungkook begins to scoot down your body. Before he can, you grab him by the shoulder to pull him back up. “Wait, no,” you blurt, wide-eyed. “I mean – I want that. Shit, I want that but I’m ready. I need you, Jungkook. Now.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment, then nods, nearly knocking his head against yours. “Right, okay. Yeah, sure – just let me,” he says, reaching out for his nightstand. “Let me just grab a condom. I have some here, and – fuck!” he yelps, banging his hand on the counter.

You laugh, body shaking, but all this does is press you into his cock and remind how how hard he is. How big he is. The laughter quickly fades when you imagine Jungkook inside you.

“Oh,” you breathe, a bit nervous.

Jungkook returns, condom in hand. With a questioning look, he rips open the packet. “What is it, babe?”

Ignoring the slight thrill this gives you, you shake your head. “It’s just...” Needy, you arch against him. “You’re so big. Do you think it’ll fit?”

Jungkook pauses, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Keep talking like that,” he says as he rolls on the condom, “and I’m gonna come in two seconds flat.”

“Keep talking like what?” Jungkook positions himself at your core, nearly slipping inside. “Keep talking about your big, hot cock inside me?” Lifting your lips to his ear, you murmur, “Keep talking about how I want you to fuck me until I can’t move? Come so hard on your cock, I don’t want anyone else’s?”

Jungkook shudders, thrusting into you. “Shit,” he gasps, stopping after barely an inch. “Fu-ck, you’re so tight.”

“Oh,” you choke out, gripping his body. “God, Jungkook.”

Inhaling slowly, he withdraws to push another inch deeper. Each bit he gives you feels deliriously good. Jungkook’s large hand wraps around your thigh, pushing you open as he slides slowly in. Your teeth clench as he fills you, thrust by thrust until you feel split by the motion. Still, you want more. Still, your fingers claw down his back and hips lift to his, needing him fully.

At last, he bottoms out and comes to a stop. Both of you pause, dazed by the intensity. You have never felt so full in your life; his thick girth continues to stretch, while his length... god, one more inch and you do not know if he would have fit. Jungkook’s lips brush your cheek, jaw and the nape of your neck. He allows you to adjust to the sensation, hands slowly coaxing you further down on his cock.

Finally, he inhales and pulls from your body. You whimper at the loss, frantically grabbing his waist and Jungkook just chuckles, pushing slowly inside.

“Oh,” you gasp, head thrown back on his bed.

He does it again, watching your fingers bunch in the sheets. Each time he moves, his cock hits a bit different. Gripping your thigh, he wraps you around him to get inexplicably deeper. Jungkook’s chest finds yours, mouth hot on your body while he repeatedly fills you.

“Is that good?” he murmurs, thrusting harder.

“I, yeah,” you moan, arching against him. “But…”

“But?” he asks, pausing mid-thrust.

Cheeks heating, you glance up. “I can… you can go harder. If you want.”

Jungkook’s eyes glint. “Is that what you want? Think you can take it?”

You nod, and this is the only response he needs to pull out of your body. Before you can react, he thrusts forward with so much force, your only response is a muffled, “Ngh!”

Jungkook smirks again. “Better?” he teases, hips snapping to yours.

Adjusting his position, Jungkook’s hips hammer into you at a punishing speed. It leaves you dazed, unable to think as his cock pounds your body. Each stroke brings a new wave of pleasure, steadily building inside you.

Jungkook grunts, sweat beading on the edge of his temples. “Shit,” he gasps, abs clenched from the motion. “You’re so tight, baby. So goddamn wet.”

“It’s cuz you’re fucking me so good,” you groan, barely hanging on to his rhythm. Each thrust of his hips makes your eyes water, headboard banging the wall in an unforgiving mantra. Pleasure blooms behind your eyelids, making your body shake underneath his.

“That’s it, baby,” Jungkook croons, grasping your ankle. Sliding this over his shoulder, he switches positions and deepens the motion. “You take cock so fucking well,” he grunts, jaw tightening. “So fucking hot when you’re wrapped around me like that.”

“Jungkook,” you cry out, scrambling for his hand on the bed. Gripping his fingers, you move them onto your throat. “I – please.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock. “I – you’re sure?” he breathes, gaze narrowing. The entire time he is speaking, his hips never waver.

Nodding, you adjust his fingers to the place where you like it.

Swearing under his breath, Jungkook frantically nods. “Fuck,” he groans, gently replacing your grip with his. His hips move faster, driving into you deeper. “You’re so fucking hot. Made for my cock, yeah? What was it you said earlier,” he murmurs, fingers flexing against you.

You begin to see stars, his dick pounding your pussy. “That,” you gasp, “I wouldn’t want any other cock but yours.”

“That’s right,” he growls, fucking you harder. It is so much and somehow, still not enough. His body brushes your clit with each thrust, cock hard and deep while his fingers slow the breath to your lungs.

Feeling you tense, Jungkook leans down. “You can do it, baby,” he coaxes, thumb stroking your neck. “You have this, such a good girl. Just concentrate on me, yeah? Just,” he gasps, thrusting harder, “let go.”

The gentleness of his voice tips you over the edge. Gasping his name, you feel yourself shatter. A wave of blinding pleasure rips through you, oxygen flooding your senses as Jungkook releases your throat. Clenching down hard around him, you spur on his orgasm. Jungkook groans, shuddering into your body as he spills into the condom.

Collapsed to his elbows, Jungkook barely manages to hold his body weight above yours. His breathing is heavy, sweat on his forehead when you open your eyes. Jungkook feebly smiles, staring back in amazement. “Shit,” he chuckles, pushing hair back from your gaze.

After a moment, he slowly pulls from your body. Removing the condom, he ties this in a knot and tosses into a trash can.

“God,” Jungkook groans, collapsing beside you.

A laugh escapes, turning your head on his sheets. “Is that all you can say?” you tease.

Sweaty, dark hair remains plastered to his forehead. “Yeah!” Jungkook protests. “Swearing is pretty much all I have left, now. I – was it good for you, too?”

“Good?” Rolling against him, you happily drape an arm over his waist. Jungkook smiles and moves closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked that well.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” you insist. “That was seriously the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Okay,” he says, expression softening. “Me, too.”

The two of you lie like that, in silence for a few minutes. Then, Jungkook swears again.

“Fuck!” he blurts, turning to face you. “I said I wanted to date you, right?”

You crack up at his face, rolling out of his bed. Walking into his bathroom, you turn on the light. You still have not answered him though, and Jungkook stares from the bed.

“Yeah,” you say, poking your head around the corner. “I honestly don’t remember if you did, but the answer is yes, either way.”

“Oh, good.” Jungkook falls back on the bed. “Hurry up. The bed is really cold without you.”

“Baby,” you tease.

He grins when you shut the door. You almost miss it when he adds, “Yours.”

Jungkook: hey guys, I’m really glad everyone is excited about Y/N and I dating, but if you could please stop using bowling terms as sexual innuendo around us, that’d be great [10:01 PM]

Taehyung: I’m appalled [10:02 PM]

Taehyung: we would never [10:02 PM]

Y/N: Taehyung, I literally found a list Seokjin made and distributed to the group [10:03 PM]

Seokjin: that doesn’t sound like me [10:03 PM]

Y/N: no? what’s this, then? [10:04 PM]

Y/N: “Pin-tercourse, Pin-nuendo, balls out, bed posts (a 7-10 split), fill, something about a split, something about fingering….. uh, what about u tae? Can u think of more” [10:04 PM]

Y/N: does that ring any bells? [10:04 PM]

Seokjin: no comment [10:05 PM]

Seokjin: wait, just thought of another [10:05 PM]

Seokjin: keeping the mind out of the gutter [10:05 PM] 

Rhea: permission to kick Seokjin out? [10:05 PM]

Jimin: seconded [10:06 PM]

Namjoon: thirded [10:06 PM]

Hoseok: done deal [10:06 PM]

Seokjin: come on, admit it, some of those were good [10:07 PM]

Jungkook: Seokjin just paid me $5 as bribe money, so he can stay [10:08 PM]

Y/N: how kind of you to spare him [10:09 PM]

Y/N: annnd that’s the end, no more bowling puns [10:10 PM]

Y/N: anyways when’s the next meet? [10:10 PM]

Rhea: Y/N and I are making sparkle posters, so hold onto your asses [10:11 PM]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

FIND HERE a drabble of Jungkook + Y/N at the company holiday party, trying to be discreet about their relationship and utterly failing

[tlbodine]

A Horror History of Werewolves

As far as horror icons are concerned, werewolves are among the oldest of all monsters. References to man-to-wolf transformations show up as early as the Epic of Gilgamesh, making them pretty much as old as storytelling itself. And, unlike many other movie monsters, werewolves trace their folkloric roots to a time when people truly believed in and feared these creatures. 

But for a creature with such a storied past, the modern werewolf has quite the crisis of identity. Thanks to an absolute deluge of romance novels featuring sometimes-furry love interests, the contemporary idea of “werewolf” is decidedly de-fanged. So how did we get here? Where did they come from, where are they going, and can werewolves ever be terrifying again? 

Werewolves in Folklore and Legend 

Ancient Greece was full of werewolf stories. Herodotus wrote of a nomadic tribe from Scythia (part of modern-day Russia) who changed into wolves for a portion of the year. This was most likely a response to the Proto-Indo-European societies living in that region at the time -- a group whose warrior class would sometimes don animal pelts and were said to call on the spirit of animals to aid them in battle (the concept of the berserker has the same roots -- just bears rather than wolves).

In Arcadia, there was a local legend about King Lycaon, who was turned to a wolf as punishment for serving human meat to Zeus (exact details of the event vary between accounts, but cannibalism and crimes-against-the-gods are a common theme). Pliny the Elder wrote of werewolves as well, explaining that those who make a sacrifice to Zeus Lycaeus would be turned to wolves but could resume human form years later if they abstained from eating human meat in that time.

By the time we reach the Medieval period in Europe, werewolf stories were widespread and frequently associated with witchcraft. Lycanthropy could be either a curse laid upon someone or a transformation undergone by someone practicing witchcraft, but either way was bad news in the eyes of the church. For several centuries, witch-hunts would aggressively seek out anyone suspected of transforming into a wolf.

One particularly well-known werewolf trial was for Peter Stumpp in 1589. Stumpp, known as "The Werewolf of Bedburg," confessed to killing and eating fourteen children and two pregnant women while in the form of a wolf after donning a belt given to him by the Devil. Granted, this confession came on the tail-end of extensive public torture, so it may not be precisely reliable. His daughter and mistress were also executed in a public and brutal way during the same trial.

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? 

The thing you have to understand when studying folklore is that, for many centuries, wolves were the apex predator of Europe. While wolf attacks on humans have been exceedingly rare in North America, wolves in Europe have historically been much bolder -- or, at least, there are more numerous reports of man-eating wolves in those regions. Between 1362 and 1918, roughly 7,600 people were reportedly killed by wolves in France alone, which may have some bearing on the local werewolf tradition of the loup-garou.

For people living in rural areas, subsisting as farmers or hunters, wolves posed a genuine existential threat. Large, intelligent, utilizing teamwork and more than capable of outwitting the average human, wolves are a compelling villain. Which is probably why they show up so frequently in fairytales, from Little Red Riding Hood to Peter and the Wolf to The Three Little Pigs.

Early Werewolf Fiction 

Vampires have Dracula and zombies have I Am Legend, but there really is no clear singular book to point to as the "First Great Werewolf Novel." Perhaps by the time the novel was really taking off as an artform, werewolves had lost some of their appeal. After all, widespread literacy and reading-for-pleasure went hand-in-hand with advancements in civilization. For city-dwellers in Victorian England, for example, the threat of a wolf eating you alive probably seemed quite remote.

Don't get me wrong -- there were some Gothic novels featuring werewolves, like Sutherland Menzies' Hugues, The Wer-Wolf, or G.W.M. Reynolds' Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, or even The Wolf Leader by Alexandre Dumas. But these are not books that have entered the popular conscience by any means. I doubt most people have ever heard of them, much less read them.

No -- I would argue that the closest thing we have, thematically, to a Great Werewolf Novel is in fact The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Written in 1886, the Gothic novella tells the story of a scientist who, wanting to engage in certain unnamed vices without detection, created a serum that would allow him to transform into another person. That alter-ego, Mr. Hyde, was selfish, violent, and ultimately uncontrollable -- and after taking over the body on its own terms and committing a murder or two, the only way to stop Hyde’s re-emergence was suicide. 

Although not about werewolves, per se, Jekyll & Hyde touches on many themes that we'll see come up time and again in werewolf media up through the present day: toxic masculinity, the dual nature of man, leading a double life, and the ultimate tragedy of allowing one's base instincts/animal nature to run wild. Against a backdrop of Victorian sexual repression and a rapidly shifting concept of humanity's relationship to nature, it makes sense that these themes would resonate deeply (and find a new home in werewolf media).

It is also worth mentioning Guy Endore's The Werewolf of Paris, published in 1933. Set against the backdrop of the Franco-Prussian war and subsequent military battles, the book utilizes a werewolf as a plot device for exploring political turmoil. A #1 bestseller in its day, the book was a big influence on the sci-fi and mystery pulp scene of the 1940s and 50s, and is still considered one of the best werewolf novels of its ilk.

From Silver Bullets to Silver Screens 

What werewolf representation lacks in novels, it makes up for in film. Werewolves have been a surprisingly enduring feature of film from its early days, due perhaps to just how much fun transformation sequences are to film. From camera tricks to makeup crews and animatronics design, werewolf movies create a lot of unique opportunities for special effects -- and for early film audiences especially (who were not yet jaded to movie magic), these on-screen metamorphoses must have elicited true awe. 

The Wolf Man (1941) really kicked off the trend. Featuring Lon Chaney Jr. as the titular wolf-man, the film was cutting-edge for its time in the special effects department. The creature design is the most memorable thing about the film, which has an otherwise forgettable plot -- but it captured viewer attention enough to bring Chaney back many times over for sequels and Universal Monster mash-ups. 

The Wolf Man and 1944's Cry of the Werewolf draw on that problematic Hollywood staple, "The Gypsy Curse(tm)" for their world-building. Fortunately, werewolf media would drift away from that trope pretty quickly; curses lost their appeal, but “bite as mode of transmission” would remain an essential part of werewolf mythos. 

In 1957, I Was a Teenage Werewolf was released as a classic double-header drive-in flick that's nevertheless worth a watch for its parallels between werewolfism and male aggression (a theme we'll see come up again and again). Guy Endore's novel got the Hammer Film treatment for 1961's The Curse of the Werewolf, but it wasn't until the 1970s when werewolf media really exploded: The Beast Must Die, The Legend of the Wolf Woman, The Fury of the Wolfman, Scream of the Wolf, Werewolves on Wheels and many more besides.

Hmmm, werewolves exploding in popularity around the same time as women's liberation was dramatically redefining gender roles and threatening the cultural concept of masculinity? Nah, must be a coincidence.

The 1980s brought with it even more werewolf movies, including some of the best-known in the genre: The Howling (1981), Teen Wolf (1985), An American Werewolf in London (1981), and The Company of Wolves (1984). Differing widely in their tone and treatment of werewolf canon, the films would establish more of a spiderweb than a linear taxonomy.

That spilled over into the 1990s as well. The Howling franchise went deep, with at least seven films that I can think of. Wolf, a 1994 release starring Jack Nicholson is especially worth a watch for its themes of dark romantic horror. 

By the 2000s, we get a proper grab-bag of werewolf options. There is of course the Underworld series, with its overwrought "vampires vs lycans" world-building. There's also Skin Walkers, which tries very hard to be Underworld (and fails miserably at even that low bar). But there's also Dog Soldiers and Ginger Snaps, arguably two of the finest werewolf movies of all time -- albeit in extremely different ways and for very different reasons.

Dog Soldiers is a straightforward monster movie pitting soldiers against ravenous werewolves. The wolves could just as easily have been subbed out with vampires or zombies -- there is nothing uniquely wolfish about them on a thematic level -- but the creature design is unique and the film itself is mastefully made and entertaining.

Ginger Snaps is the first werewolf movie I can think of that tackles lycanthropy from a female point of view. Although The Company of Wolves has a strong feminist angle, it is still very much a film about male sexuality and aggression. Ginger Snaps, on the other hand, likens werewolfism to female puberty -- a comparison that frankly makes a lot of sense.

The Werewolf as Sex Object 

There are quite literally thousands of werewolf romance novels on the market, with more coming in each day. But the origins of this trend are a bit fuzzier to make out (no pun intended). 

Everyone can mostly agree that Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire was the turning-point for sympathetic vampires -- and paranormal romance as a whole. But where do werewolves enter the mix? Possibly with Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter books, which feature the titular character in a relationship with a werewolf (and some vampires, and were-leopards, and...many other things). With the first book released in 1993, the Anita Blake series seems to pre-date similar books in its ilk. 

Blood and Chocolate (1997) by Annette Curtis Klause delivers a YA-focused version of the classic “I’m a werewolf in high school crushing on a mortal boy”; that same year, Buffy the Vampire Slayer hit the small screen, and although the primary focus was vampires, there is a main werewolf character (and romancing him around the challenges of his wolfishness is a big plot point for the characters involved). And Buffy, of course, paved the way for Twilight in 2005. From there, werewolves were poised to become a staple of the ever-more-popular urban fantasy/paranormal romance genre. 

“Sexy werewolf” as a trope may have its roots in other traditions like the beastly bridegroom (eg, Beauty and the Beast) and the demon lover (eg, Labyrinth), which we can talk about another time. But there’s one other ingredient in this recipe that needs to be discussed. And, oh yes, we’re going there. 

Alpha/Beta/Omegaverse 

By now you might be familiar with the concept of the Omegaverse thanks to the illuminating Lindsay Ellis video on the topic (and the current ongoing lawsuit). If not, well, just watch the video. It’ll be easier than trying to explain it all. (Warning for NSFW topics). 

But the tl;dr is that A/B/O or Omegaverse is a genre of (generally erotic) romance utilizing the classical understanding of wolf pack hierarchy. Never mind that science has long since disproven the stratification of authority in wolf packs; the popular conscious is still intrigued by the concept of a society where some people are powerful alphas and some people are timid omegas and that’s just The Way Things Are. 

What’s interesting about the Omegaverse in regards to werewolf fiction is that, as near as I’ve been able to discover, it’s actually a case of convergent evolution. A/B/O as a genre seems to trace its roots to Star Trek fanfiction in the 1960s, where Kirk/Spock couplings popularized ideas like heat cycles. From there, the trope seems to weave its way through various fandoms, exploding in popularity in the Supernatural fandom. 

What seems to have happened is that the confluence of A/B/O kink dynamics merging with urban fantasy werewolf social structure set off a popular niche for werewolf romance to truly thrive. 

It’s important to remember that, throughout folklore, werewolves were not viewed as being part of werewolf societies. Werewolves were humans who achieved wolf form through a curse or witchcraft, causing them to transform into murderous monsters -- but there was no “werewolf pack,” and certainly no social hierarchy involving werewolf alphas exerting their dominance over weaker pack members. That element is a purely modern one rooted as much in our misunderstanding of wolf pack dynamics as in our very human desire for power hierarchies. 

So Where Do We Go From Here? 

I don’t think sexy werewolf stories are going anywhere anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no room left in horror for werewolves to resume their monstrous roots. 

Thematically, werewolves have done a lot of heavy lifting over the centuries. They hold up a mirror to humanity to represent our own animal nature. They embody themes of toxic masculinity, aggression, primal sexuality, and the struggle of the id and ego. Werewolf attack as sexual violence is an obvious but powerful metaphor for trauma, leaving the victim transformed. Werewolves as predators hiding in plain sight among civilization have never been more relevant than in our #MeToo moment of history. 

Can werewolves still be frightening? Absolutely. 

As long as human nature remains conflicted, there will always be room at the table for man-beasts and horrifying transfigurations. 

--

This blog topic was chosen by my Patreon supporters, who got to see it one week before it went live. If you too would enjoy early access to my blog posts, want to vote for next month’s topic, or just want to support the work I do, come be a patron at https://www.patreon.com/tlbodine

[jadescribbles]

Masterlist

Hi! You can call me Jade. My main is @jadenightthewriter

Welcome to my Look I Made A Thing™ sideblog :D

WRITING

All writing is on my ao3 account, and will be tagged with “my writing” until I think of a tag. (Suggestions accepted!)

Detective Conan/Magic Kaito ✯ Stamped and Sent (Sagukai, penpals, incomplete) [1] [2] [3] [to be continued...] ✯ Facets of a Red Child (Akako character study, complete) ✯ Not Here (Kaito angst poem, complete) ✯ Bloodmoon (Coai/Shinshi-ish horror fic, complete) ✯ Coai Week 2020 (I somehow can’t get the post links but all 7 one shots are here) ✯ The cat that chose us (shared cat fic, kaishin, for @nagiru, complete) ✯ A Winter Day (platonic-ish sagukaishin, for @thrushsong-kvaris, one shot, complete) ✯ Tranquility (CoAi drabble collection, fluff, for @rux363)

Keeper of the Lost Cities ✯ Rusted Roses (Dex angst fic, incomplete) ✯ Warmth in the Cold (Kam, human AU, fluff, complete) ✯ Burning (dark Linh angst, complete) ✯ A Little Blooming Water Lily (Delivvy fic for @we-have-no-bananas-today, WIP) [preview] ✯ “Destroy you.” (Keefitz angst for @vibing-in-the-void, complete) ✯ Blooming Together (Marellinh Week 2020, Day 5: Flowers/Fireworks, fluff, complete) ✯ Countdown (Sokeefe drabbles, incomplete) [1] [to be continued...] ✯ Don’t think (of him) (Kam, angst drabble, missing scene, complete) ✯ Two Stars (Kam angst, Soulmates AU, complete) ✯ Stolen Away (Kam/Marellinh Pirate AU, complete) [1] [2] ✯ Just a second of your time (Kam fluff, drabble, complete) ✯ Don’t cry (Keefe & Tam centric, angst drabble, complete) ✯ As the rain drowns my thoughts (Kam fluff(ish), drabble, complete) ✯ Glimmer character analysis (as of book 8.5 Unlocked) ✯ I wished for you (Solinh, coffee shop magic AU for @isapizzas, fluff, one shot, complete)

Septimus Heap ✯ Extraordinary (Marcia angst fic, incomplete) [1] [2] [3] [4] [to be continued...] ✯ Rosemary -Day 2: Rosemary (Beetle drabble, complete) ✯ Put Back Together and Torn Apart (Septimus angst fic, complete) ✯ Forest Whispers -Day 4: Regal (Ariel’s POV, SandRider scene, complete) ✯ It’s Midnight -Day 5: Midnight (Dragon Boat poem, complete) ✯ Chameleon = Chaos (Modern AU, crack, complete) ✯ Tails of Castle Cats (Marcia, Septimus, Tod, and a whole ton of cats, incomplete) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] to be continued...] ✯ Wings and Flyte (Septimus Heap Wings AU, collab, series, incomplete) ✯ Some of @septimus-heap’s absolutely amazing fics that I’ve linked on tumblr for him. Here, here, and here. ✯ Unbroken Wings (Wings AU angst, Marcellus and Syrah POV, one shot, complete)

Wings of Fire ✯ like the jade dragons (Jade Winglet-centric, band au, human au, multi-chapter, incomplete) [1] [chapters 2-9 on ao3] [to be continued...] ✯ In the Shadows of the Leaves (Sunlow fluff oneshot, human royal AU, complete) ✯ A Storm on the Horizon (Qinter oneshot, human royal AU, complete) ✯ Two previous entries are now part of a series. Can be found here.

Naruto ✯ Window to Your Soul (KakaObi soulmate AU, oneshot, angst, complete) ✯ And If the Wind Changes (Sand Siblings & Naruto & Kakashi, fluff, part of a series)

ART

Please do not repost my art, whether here or on other sites. All art is tagged with “my art” until I come up with an art tag (again, suggestions accepted!)

No Fandom ✯ My former blog icon ✯ Fanart for an amazing friend’s WIP comic :) ✯ Lime Racoon ✯ Blueberry Panther ✯ Succulent Fox ✯ Bisexual Visibility Day! ✯ Sketch(es) [1] ✯ Header for my main blog

Wuthering Waves ✯ Yinlin sketch! Keeper of the Lost Cities ✯ Sokeefe digital art ✯ Linh and Wing!Tam ✯ Studio Ghibli AU (Song Twins ft. Fitz, Sophie, Tiergan, Prentice, + Wylie) ✯ Fedex fae!AU mini comic

Septimus Heap ✯ Sarah -Day 1: Flourishing ✯ Akhu Amulet ✯ Modern AU Marcia ✯ Coral Color Pallet Jenna  ✯ Heaptober 2023 (Days 1-6) ✯ Art for Sep’s epic time travel AU

Detective Conan/Magic Kaito ✯ Chasing Clouds moodboard ✯ Shiho and Akemi

Yuri!!! on Ice ✯ “Room aesthetic moodboards”: Victor & Yuuri

REMEMBER!!! REBLOGS >>> LIKES

Love you all~♥

[piratealt]

jade headers

[swashbucklery]

and her light stretches (willow ot3 au)

(header: @spybrarian)

over salt sea and flowerdeep fields (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 62.9K)

Everything feels the same, and everything feels different, all at once. Because the victory, the heart-pounding elation of fighting the Crone and rescuing Airk and actually doing it, that's incredible. It's everything Kit ever wanted. Everything her bones knew she needed when she'd dreamt about having adventures. But it fades, quickly. Into sore shoulders and bruised ribs and the realization that they have to sleep and eat so badly. + (Kit and Jade and Elora and the long journey back from the Immemorial City, sorting out all the things that love and home can mean.)

the beautiful dew is poured out and roses bloom (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, 12.7K)

The last embers of sunset are slipping over the horizon, the grey half-light of dusk filtering in among the candle and lamp light. Kit takes another deep breath, prepares herself to step out into the hallway and everything that will follow. She's getting married tonight. + (OR: the wedding night divination sex dream finally happens.)

she shines on the earth in silver (Kit/Jade/Elora, E, ??)

It's strange, being married. The way some things feel so profoundly, irrevocably different and some things feel exactly the same. Kit spent so long dreading marriage - a particular type of marriage, she now realizes - that she never really had the time to think about how it might feel to be married any way but unhappily. Kit's moved fully now, her old bedroom an empty space and her things in Elora's quarters - their quarters - officially the Princess Empress-Consort. Officially, the three of them are a well-kept secret. Kit and Elora are married, and as far as court and society know that's the extent of it. Unofficially, of course, they're - three. + (OR: Kit and Jade and Elora navigating home. Also, the Doppelgangland AU that no one asked for.)

Part One: Wednesday, September 27

Part Two: Wednesday, October 4

[knight-princess]

I don’t really know where this came from, it’s just a bit of writing just cos I felt like it. A little oneshot set as they cross the Shattered Sea. Header by @hgstuff

Kit was getting real fed up with this thrice blasted sea. She was sick of looking to the horizon and seeing nothing more than an endless seascape, monotonous and unbroken save by the odd, sad, sandy little island. She was sick of the endless travelling, she was sick of the food that grew ever staler and scarcer, sick of the grating rattle of the sleigh, but most of all she was sick of waiting.

She’d lost track of how long they’d been out here. How long Airk had been gone for. How long the Crone had had him.

They’d stopped for the night, and with no convenient little island in sight, they’d had to settle for making camp in ankle deep water again, and wet feet all evening. Cooking would be fun, setting everything just above the waters reach.

She was even fed up of the sloshing sound of the water.

She didn’t realise she was grinding her teeth until Jade made her jump by setting her hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You startled me,” she said, by way of greeting.

“Yeah, you looked like you were somewhere else, up here,” Jade tapped her temple. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Mmhm. Well, are you gonna help set up? We’ve still got enough rations to make a good meal of it tonight. Tomorrow. . . well, that’ll have to take care of itself, but we should be able to have a good time of it tonight.”

“I . . . think I’d like to be alone tonight.”

Jade paused, an eyebrow flicked up in silent doubt. It was a Pause, and like all of Jade’s signature Pauses, full of meaning if you knew how to read her. This one was her I know when you’re lying, Kit pause. “Okay, spit it out. What’s wrong?”

Kit turned away, her feet carrying her splashing across the uneven sand beneath her feet and the hateful never ending awful water. “Nothing. Nothing, except, you know, my brother. Being held by them. For . . . God knows how long, at a place you can only reach by doing this ridiculous journey, with some terrible old hag who Willow talks about like she’s the worst thing in the whole goddamn world. What if they’re . . . What if . . .” She took a breath that shuddered and ran her hands through her hair, which was crusty with salt and too long since it had been properly cared for. “So. Aside from all that? Nothing. I’m just tired.” She kicked the water. “Go back to the others.”

The silence was almost worse. “Kit. I’m sorry. We’ll be there soon. We’re going as fast as we can.”

“I know.”

“You heard Elora today. We’re nearly there, and she’s been training, and we’ve been training.” She sounded almost as if she were babbling, a most un-Jade-like thing. When Kit flicked her gaze to her and their eyes met, she found Jade’s deep with worry. “We’ll get Airk back.” She licked her lips, hesitating, like she was wondering if her next words were altogether wise. “I promise.”

Kit felt a spark of old anger. An empty promise, that’s all it was. How could Jade promise such a thing? They had no idea what they’d find when they reached the Immemorial City. Kit had a retort ready to go, but it died in her throat. She bowed her head, her shoulders curling in. She felt cold as the anger deserted her. And what was the point in getting angry, really? It wouldn’t get her to Airk faster. It wouldn’t undo what had happened the night he’d been kidnapped. It wouldn’t change the fact her friend was just trying to make her feel better.

She felt Jade’s arms wrap around her and leant into her. “Yeah. We’ll fight the Gales and the Crone and get him back,” she whispered. “No problem.”

“You scared?”

“No.” A beat. “Yes.”

Jade held her tighter, a steady warmth, a comforting pressure. “I’m here,” she said. She rested her chin atop Kit’s head. “I’ll be with you. No matter what we face.”

“What if it’s too late?” Kit whispered. “What if Airk . . . the Crone . . .” She trailed off, afraid to speak her deepest fear.

Jade brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Then I’ll be with you for that too.”

[raendown]

Day 2 of @narutorarepairweek. Today’s prompt is meet cute!

Pairing: HashiramaIzuna Word count: 1780 Rated T+ Summary: It wasn't as if he hadn't already intended to fall in love that day. Just...maybe not like this.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Adopt-a-Heart

If he were completely honest Izuna didn’t actually want a dog. What he wanted was a cat – an entire house full of cats – but his ancient landlord was allergic to cat dander and he wasn’t really looking to get kicked out of another apartment. Finding housing in this city had gotten a little insane over the years. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like dogs, though, so with a longing glance towards the wall of cages filled with tiny inquiring faces Izuna turned down the hallway to where the dogs were kept. 

Visiting the local shelter was always a gamble. One never knew what sort of animals had been abandoned or surrendered, what state they would be in, what abuses they might have suffered. Izuna clenched his fists inside his pockets to brace himself and took a deep breath before pushing the door inwards with one of his feet. He knew the sort of sad and lonely faces that would probably be staring back at him until he found a new companion for himself. He knew he couldn’t afford to take all of them home.

He wanted to though. 

In general Izuna considered himself to be a man of great strength. Perhaps not physically but he had excellent self-control and when absolutely necessary he could exhibit incredible patience. Never had his strengths been so tested as this moment walking past cage after cage with doleful eyes staring up at him in the hopes of finding a home in his arms. If only he had the space and money to take every single one of these poor creatures with him, he would have in a heartbeat. 

The apartment he lived in wasn’t suited for a large dog, however, and he knew if he got a small dog his brother was likely to terrify the poor thing in to a tiny heart attack. Madara was even more of a cat person than Izuna himself. With sorrow in his heart he slinked past a little teacup poodle someone had probably bought because it was cute and then abandoned after realizing that even small dogs required lots of work. Then he clutched his chest and hurried past a Great Dane he desperately wished he had a massive yard for. 

When he first stopped it was to peer through the bars at an Airedale who looked in need of a good grooming. Their neighbors growing up had owned two Airedales and he’d always loved their funny faces. Izuna stepped closer – and then scurried back when the animal burst in to motion, snapping and snarling in a raging frenzy. All animals deserved love but this one didn’t seem to have the right disposition for him. 

He wandered along and stopped again to peer in at a Malamute who stared back calmly, head cocked to one side with curiosity. When he shuffled forward this time there were no sudden reactions and it brought a smile to his face, a little more hopeful than he had been a moment ago. Despite knowing better Izuna still slipped a couple of fingers through to give the pup something to sniff. Small cooing noises whispered from his lips but he was disappointed when all it earned him was a sneeze before the dog laid its head down and looked away. Either he didn’t smell interesting enough or this was an animal jaded from too many opportunities offered and taken away. Or maybe the thing was just tired. Who was he to say?

Eyes lingering on the pretty beast he could have happily kept as a companion, Izuna stood up and made a mental note to come back here and try again to win this heart in case there was no one else who caught his interest. A maudlin sigh escaped him as he turned to walk away without taking his eyes off the Malamute. 

Which turned out to be the best mistake of his entire life. Izuna grunted in a sort of breathless way when he crashed headlong in to a solid wall that somehow managed to be both soft and hard at the same time. Something rumbled above his head, something else began to snuffle near his feet, and it took several seconds for all this information to sort itself out as he wavered back and forth dizzily from the impact. Bringing one hand up to rub at the neck muscles which had not appreciated a sudden stop at that angle, Izuna finally cracked his eyes open to see what he’d run in to. 

Then he craned his head back with his eyes rapidly widening as he took in the absolute mountain of a man currently trying to apologize to him. Which was, apparently, the rumbling sound he’d been hearing. 

“Are you alright?” the man was asking with a mildly frantic expression. “I should have been looking where I was going! Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to, I was just distracted with the- I like dogs! That isn’t to say I don’t like people – I love people – I certainly didn’t mean to run over you like that!” 

Izuna continued to stand and just stare as the man rambled on. Eventually he was able to tear his gaze away from the gorgeous face, travel down that gorgeous body, and spy a cheerful little cloud of white peering back up at him. While the pup – Uzushio Eskimo if he was right – wasn’t exactly small, it looked tiny standing next to this human tree. Izuna had the sudden visceral thought that he would give his very last dollar to climb that man like a squirrel. His thoughts were predictably followed by a wild blush. 

“No, I’m fine,” he managed to choke out eventually. “I like your dog.”

“Oh he’s not mine. I volunteer here!” The declaration was made with so much pride that Izuna’s heart very nearly melted in his chest. Gorgeous, tall, kind, and an animal lover. He certainly was ticking off quite a lot of boxes. 

“So he’s…he’s up for adoption then? Because I was looking for a new partner. Pet! I mean, er, I was looking for a new pet. To take home and stuff?” 

Resisting the urge to smack himself in the face for slipping like that was difficult but he managed. Watching an incredible smile blossom across the tree man’s face helped quite a bit, he could admit that easily. Izuna thought to himself that he would probably do many things for that smile. Most of them illegal. He whined quietly to himself when the man leaned forward right in to his personal space where he could inspect velvet brown eyes from up close. 

“Would you like to spend some time getting to know him? He’s such a good boy!”

“Ah, would you be there too?” The question slipped out entirely without his permission and Izuna cringed inside to sound so needy. 

“Oh, are you afraid of dogs?” Eyes wide and entirely sincere, the man took a firmer grip on the leash in his hands. “If you’re afraid of dogs then getting to know him would be a very good idea before you adopt. It makes them so sad to be taken home and then brought right back here.”

Heart melting in his chest with every word, Izuna swallowed thickly and accepted the fact that he was about to make an utter fool of himself just to clear the sad look on a stranger’s face. With a renewed blush and a clearing of his throat he let his eyes fall to the floor, inspecting the tiny white face staring up at him with eager eyes and a bright pink tongue lolling out. 

“I, ah, I’m not afraid of dogs. You’re just…I was hoping to get to know you. You’re…hot.” Where, he wondered desperately, had his usual silver tongue gone? Not in years had he sounded so awkward.

“Me?”

Kneeling down to pet the dog seemed like a much better way to distract himself than standing there like an idiot and staring off in to space so he did that, nodding as he went down. Fingers scratching at a fluffy white chin, cheeks nearly on fire with embarrassment, he nodded. “I really am interested in adopting though so if we could pretend I didn’t just make a giant idiot of myself that would be wonderful.” 

For a handful of moments there was silence but for the sounds of the animals shifting and barking and growling in their kennels. Nothing like true silence, though it was enough to have him cringing at this uncharacteristic awkwardness. In his thoughts he cursed his landlord for being allergic to cats, unwittingly leading him in to this situation. Would that he had met a man like this on any other day when he would have been able to turn on the charm and win himself at the very least one night to make a more lasting impression. Now the only impression he was leaving would surely be that of a blithering idiot. 

“Maybe you would like to come spend some time with both of us?” 

Izuna’s head snapped up so quickly he was surprised the entire thing didn’t snap off and roll on to the floor. 

“Nnngghh?” he gurgled intelligently.

“It’s protocol that staff or a volunteer be in the room the first time a prospective adopter wants to spend time with one of our animals. Ah, I would be very pleased if you got to know both of us.” Somehow the man achieved even higher levels of cute when he broke out in to a shy grin. “My name is Hashirama. It’s very lovely to meet you.” 

“Hashirama. That’s a nice name. I’m Izuna and I have to say, the pleasure is all mine.”

Grateful to have a little of his usual confidence back, Izuna happily accepted the hand that reached out to help him back up. If he maybe shivered a little at just how big the other’s hand was around his own, well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already made his thoughts clear on that matter. And if he let their touch linger when Hashirama pulled away who could blame him? He’d known the man all of two minutes and already he wanted more. 

When he left two hours later he had a new puppy trotting before him on a leash and a new number saved in his phone that he very much intended to call the next day. In only one conversation he had somehow managed to fall in love – not just with Hashirama, not just with the companion happily wagging his tail, but with the future suddenly spreading itself out before him, unexpected and entirely welcome. 

[magicalsalamander]

Soleil Chaser

✶ Pairing▹ BTS Hoseok ⇆ Reader

✶ Genre▹ Game of Thrones Univ | Dragon Rider | Fantasy | Fluff | Angst | 

✶ Words▹ 10.7K

✶ Warning▹ rated mature; Depictions of traumatic events, death of a minor character, blood, witchcraft inaccuracies, explicit language, and explicit themes.

✶ Summary▹ Heavily breathing wasn’t enough to get air into your lungs fast enough. You vowed to never let this happen again. You swung an ax breaking the chain holding the jaw of your Dragon. You promised to never let this happen again, but you found yourself on stage at Barter’s Beach on Talon for the Pirates taking. However, a man even the pirates feared, the Sun King of the Jade Sea, proposed a deal to you, join him or die trying? What will you choose?

✶ A/N: Header image Anan 2019/ This originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to divide it into three parts. The story takes place centuries before the show, and know no canon characters show up. Light editing, will fix soon. Thank you for reading!

✸ | Masterlist | Next

The black night sky was lit by the high red flames and spangles of embers that decorated the starless night. From the coastline to the bordering lush jungle that surrounded the city, everything—everything was engulfed in carnivorous heat.

Trembling pupils, hands and legs, you grasped onto the edge of your stone window. From your room at the near tip of the stone pyramid, you helplessly watched your city be consumed. Your eyes reflecting those red flames that licked at every part of the city. The colossal dragon ridden by a man with white hair slithered through the sky as it roared, spewing fire and destruction.

You couldn’t look away.

“Y/N! We have to leave!” Your mother tugged and yanked you away from the window as a haunting roar rung over the city. Tears rolled down your face as you took a last look over your shoulder at what was once your city, your home, Gorosh.  

Your mother pulled you through the dark halls telling you to look away from it all. But how could you avoid the bodies of people that once served you as they laid bloody on the floor? The blood of your people, the ones who protected the Ghis empire…were gone.

Your mother picked you up after stumbling one too many times and tucked you deep into her neck. “Shhh, my little Harpy, it’s going to be alright.”

Your mother, she held you tight, she truly did, but that wasn’t enough. The eight-council, your father being the eighth, were brought to their knees and heads rolled on the floor, including your mothers, by the dragon rider…the people with white hair.

You were forced to watch it all.

The pyramid, Gorosh and the Old Ghis Empire fell that night. Gorosh became a colony under the new Valyrian Freehold.

There was no way to remove the blood of your ancestors from the embroidery or the leather of your sandals. The tokar you had to abandon and exchanged for a Valerian slaves robe was never going to fit you right.

You had known nothing but freedom, but you won’t ever forget the fifth Ghiscari war and what it forever did to you.

There was no freedom under the Freehold.

You stood next to your Mistress’s throne, lightly bouncing the white-haired child to keep the newborn quiet. The throne room was balmy as a thousand candles burned; despite the temperatures still being high in this summer’s evening. The child felt heavy in your small arms; you were a child holding a child.

The great Harpy statue that used to stand tall behind your father's throne was turned into your Mistress’s throne. They had the body of the women melted and molded into a throne, only her wings remained. Your Master, the Lord, took over your father’s. The smooth, stone walls were decorated with Valyrian history, carving the conquering of Old Ghis into the pyramid’s walls.

Two guards marched onto the platform and placed a wooden, gold-crested chest down on the podium. Their metal armor clanked as they stood upright and took a few paces behind the podium. The mysterious guest delicately with their purple fingertips caressed the chest with a smirk as he turned with an extended hand. “I present to you my Lord, a gift to your newborn son. A dragon’s egg.”

Your Master raised a brow looking over to his wife, who had an equally skeptical raise to her brow. He pressed both hands on his throne and pushed off approaching the sorcerer. As he approached the sorcerer folded his hands proudly into his red robes. "Please, open the gift, my Lord."

The Lord was a relative of the main Targaryen family in Valyria. He had decided to stay in Valyria when the fifth war began while the rest of his family left. After the fifth war had ended, he had been punished for attempting to escape when he realized the weight of his decision to stay and refusing to participate in the war. So, they gave him the escape from Valyria that he wanted: to hold the captured city, Gorosh, while the Rise of Valyria happened across the sea. He was stripped of his honor, his dragon, and banished as punishment.    

Brushing his long white hair from his shoulder, he haughtily opened the chest with two hands. Sitting center on velvet was the promised gradient black to red dragon egg. Like a child who just got sweets, he laughed jollily as he stared at the sorcerer who confirmed its authenticity with a nod. The Lord picked it up and it was small enough to fit in one hand. He rotated it around under the light of the torches, admiring it with the same childlike smile.

Subconsciously you tucked their newborn closer to you as he raised the egg up. You had seen what a dragon could do. What the rider had done. What it had done to your city. How they brought the beast into this city to bring it to its knees. You held the sound of anger and disgust back, trained now of what a sound out of line could do to you. However, that didn’t stop you from taking a subtle step back.

Your Mistress, who sat at the edge of her seat, gasped in delight.

As he shifted it around, it became prevalent that on the other side of the egg it had cracks and scales were chipped. His brow began to furrow in anger, “You present me, a gift to my son, a broken dragon egg!”

With a squirmy sashay, the sorcerer took the egg from your Lord. He caressed it gently like it was a child, “Oh no, no, no, my lord. I would never bring you such a curse. I present you an egg from the nest of the original dragon from the mountains of Valyria. It was tucked and protected for years, salvaged from the first war.”

The Lord perked up eager once again, anger simmering, “Yes, well then, but what if it isn’t a male dragon? Our family only births sons. Strong male beast must support strong men.”

The sorcerer placed the egg back into the hands of the Lord. “You are wise my lord, but there is no true gender to dragons’. This egg will be a strong one.”

The Lord held it up higher to the candlelight’s watching the scales of the egg twinkle a rose gold across the scared portions. He sighed in wonder, “Ah, I see it, I see gold. I have a good feeling about this egg.”

The mistress slithered from her throne and caressed her hand up her husband’s back and over to his shoulders. She squeezed as she remained behind him, whispering into his ear, “My love, we can become dragon lords. With this we can return to Valyria, but as dragon lords. Let’s take back what was ours.”

His pupils dilated as he turned around in the arms of his wife. This brought a twisted smile to the Lord's face. He leaned down and kissed her longingly. He could have power. “You’re right, we can take what our cousins took from us and abandoned us in Valyria. We’ll take Valyria one day; it’s going to be ours.”

He set the egg back in the chest, speaking to the sorcerer, “I will hatch the egg for my son. Thank you for your gift, Sorcerer. You have my word that this House will protect you on your journey to King’s Landing.”

The sorcerer bowed deeply and thanked the Lord.

The baby began crying and spitting up, you wiped at his face cooing him to shush. Your Mistress turned to you her sweet face contorted for a split second, irked by her son’s noises. “Harpy, leave.”

You bowed and began walking away, but not without looking over your shoulder at the egg. Goosebumps waved up your arms and spine. Something within you was deeply unsettled.

The child had fallen asleep and been asleep for a while. In a moment of silence, you waited for him to stir. The sudden sound of short pacing outside the room had your ear perking up. You crept, occasionally looking back to check on the sleeping baby, as you tiptoed towards the door. You placed your ear on the door listening in to the sound. The sound died out as you listened in. With a tight hand on the door handle and a hand against the door to counter the creak you knew it’d produce, you pressed it open an inch. You peeked outside of the room with the sliver of light letting out to the hall. The echoing sounds of the footsteps bounced off the walls, but the hall was empty.

With a final look behind you, you slipped out of the room. Your curiosity getting the better of you. The unsettling feeling from earlier was something you weren’t able to gargle down. As much as you tried to rest, your body felt jittery. You knew the pyramid like the back of your hand, every nook and crannies.  You crept along the wall and gazed down the connecting corridor finding a cloaked figure just turning the corner. Against your instincts, your feet moved before your brain had registered.  With hurried stepped you kept just behind the figure through many different halls.

You waited behind a pillar as they exited out the courtyard, rounding the broken harpy statue, to the monastery. The heavy stone door opened and allowed light to pour out over the dying grass before it instantly cut off.

You crept out across the yard and gazed around the courtyard once more before you sinked into the shadows behind the wings of the Harpy. You peeked through the metal-laced window catching dark figures standing around in a circle all softly lit by the moonlight pouring in. The figure you had been following handed off a jug to a sorceress who then held it up to the moonlight. Six, red-cloaked figured tipped their heads back and began approaching the pit of sand. The red, sacred sand from Old Ghis was like a talisman to your family. She raised it high and began pouring the liquid into the shallow pit as she walked around it clockwise. Anger simmered in your veins, feeling yourself being tainted as the precious sand was made heathen.

Dragged forward from the corner of the room by two guards was a young woman on her knees. You recognize the Goroshian girl, a kitchen maid that had recently been taken in. You watched the panicked look in her eye as she fought against rope restraints. The chest you had seen earlier was presented by two more cloaked figures. Your eyes filtered around the room and the closer you looked, in the shadows, near the guard handling the slave was the sorcerer, Lord, and Mistress. They smiled pleasantly as if they were watching a play.

The sorceress had passed the jug off and stepped forth grabbing the egg. You could see her lips moving rapidly as she picked up the egg and walked towards the pit. She held it in the moonlight chanting louder as you could hear what sounded like gibberish through the window.

The guard dragged the maid to the pit holding the back of her head with one hand. With his other hand, he unsheathed his sword holding a stoic face. After the sorceress was done with her chant, hands still in the air it all happened so fast. The guard raised his blade and ran it over her throat and sheathed his sword. Your eyes nearly bulged from your skull, but you couldn’t look away. You watched as her blood sprayed over the pits, causing a small spark that erupted into flames. The guard dragged the dead maid away and the sorceress tossed the egg into the fire. The prominent crack on the egg began to illuminate like molten lava. The sorcerous turned towards the Lord and Mistress and bowed.

The blood magic had been completed.

You held a hand over your mouth. How could such a terrible thing happen and the people around so content. That maiden was dead. The soil was tainted. Your parents, your people, were murdered. How could they be so content?

How could they do all this…and for a dragon?

You had to leave. You slipped from the window holding onto the wings of the Harpy as you slid from your hiding spot. You hurried back feeling nauseous and sick. Your vision was getting spotty as you ran back into the pyramid. You clutched onto the wall breathing heavily. Tears fell and you began sobbing in a deep corner of an empty hallway.

There was nothing you could do.

You shouldn’t have seen that.

After three years in the burning fire, the egg began to rumble. The Mistress over the years had grown impatient. She dismissed even the authenticity of the egg, but the sorceress had promised that there indeed was life. With her eyes rolling back she prophesized, “It will be a beast that will guide. The rider has leather arms like the beast.” The Mistresses needed no more provocation, in fact, she kept the room of the monastery secretive and protected to ensure the prophecy’s actualization. She even got her son to wear leather armory at any opportunity.

You pruning hands scrubbed at the stain in a cotton nightdress that wouldn't come out.  Your hand was snatched from the water causing you to drop the dress with a splash as you were yanked to a stand. The Mistress dragged you along, incautious of the puddles of water or baskets of clothes. You nearly severed your head as she pulled you through the strung about clothing lines. The other slaves doing laundry as well looked at you with fear in their eyes before they averted them away quickly.

"Mistress, what—what's going on?” She didn’t answer you, she continued to drag you about the halls until you came to the royal chambers. As you arrived at her chambers another maid shoved her toddler into your arms. Naturally you took him in your arms, coddling him to you as he latched on. You were grabbed by the elbow by the Mistress and taken away without further addressing. You held her son tight to you, careful of not dropping him as she dragged you. You were taken far across the pyramid to the monastery she had been guarding so carefully. Not even you, her personal slave, were allowed in there. You looked over to the Mistress shaking slightly, you saw what happened last time to the slave girl. You didn’t want to die today. “Mistress, please, tell me what’s going on?”

She turned to you with a stoic look on her face, “Harpy, your lucky I didn’t send you to the mines.”

Your mouth was sealed shut, but your eyes were wide open in shock. The stone doors opened, and the Mistress shoved you inside. You looked over your shoulder watching the doors close as you stared at the intense smirking face of the Mistress.

She was throwing you into the deep end.

Her son cried from the sudden motion, but you hushed him to quiet, but it was really more for yourself.

You turned around when you heard shuffling and was confronted with the sorceress. She was a young, beautiful woman, she wore a red cloak and her accessories were red as well, especially her steel necklace. You clutched him close to you as more cloaked figures appeared walking in line then began forming a circle around the pit. The sorceress stood at the top of the pit facing you.

You finally took notice that the dragon egg was rattling in the center of the fire. The red sacred sand had turned charcoal black. The sorceress commanded you, “When the egg hatches you will allow the dragon to greet its master, girl.”

Your hands were shaky, but you obliged by nodding. What other choice did you have?

You didn’t have time to prepare yourself as the egg began to violently rattle. The flame began to grow, expand, like it was breathing. Your rag of a dress flowed about you as a sudden wind in the room picked up and intensified. Loud, humming chants filled the room and it was all you could hear besides the toddlers crying. The black sand was carried in the wind and pelted your skin. You placed the toddler’s face in your neck and protected him and yourself as the flames licked the ceiling in ribbons of light.

Suddenly the flame extinguished, the wind stopped and the sand rained down. It was completely still then the sound of cracking filled the silence. You slowly opened your eyes and eased up your hold on the hiccupping toddler. It was hard to distinguish anything as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The torches along the wall lit up, unveiling a small black and red dragon. It looked like it was carved by a blacksmith with its lacquered scales. It was no bigger than the size of a raven. It crawled from its broken shell. The forearms were attached to its red, leathery wings as it crawled forward. It had two small horns on its head and its black eyes were the nearly larger than its skull. Soft murmurs came from the creature as it stumbled through the soot. As it reached the stone rise it hopped up and it looked directly at you and kept its eyes locked on you.

Your hands were trembling as you held onto the toddler. The beast, the destroyer, came to life! Your worst fear came to life. You took a step back on instinct, but a booming command to halt stopped you. You watched the small creature move closer and closer towards you. It reached your foot sniffing then it nuzzled you once before it began climbing your dress. Its sharp nails punched holes into the weak fabric, and you remained still as a statue, whining in your throat. You were unsure of what to do. It crawled up you, twisting up your leg to your hips, up your back before it perched itself on your shoulder. It paid little mind to the boy in your arms but passed the toddler a glance. It stood on its two back feet and flapped its wings as it stood proudly on your shoulder, tail twirling around your neck like an anchor.

The sorceress looked between you and the dragon, then smiled. The stone doors opened as the Mistress stepped into the room. You slowly turned around to face her. The sorceress came to stand next to you, “The boy, son of Valyrian blood, with dragon blood within him, has been chosen, Mistress.” The dragon shifted on your shoulder crouching in a protective manner towards the sorceress.

The Mistress smile bloomed like Spring. She proudly proclaimed, “My son will reign Valyria one day, our dragonlord.”

Your heartbeat loudly in your chest and the dragon tightened its grip around your neck. You side glanced over to it as it looked at you before it blinked slowly then back to the Mistress.

You turned back to the Mistress who had already begun walking away leaving you standing there with the next dragon lord in your arms and the dragon on your shoulders.

Raising the Lord’s son naturally brought you in contact with the dragon. However, the child had no interest in the dragon, not even a glimpse as he paid no mind to it. He was sweet, always kind, but when his mother began taking care of him his personality changed. The child was often interested in other toys or entertainment the other slaves provided.

You had not much interest in it to begin with either. Every time you’d look at it the image of the dragon you saw flying over the city all those years ago crossed your mind. Your palms were sweaty and a solid feeling in your gut to say no. However, the dragon always remained by you. It clung to you like a pup. The small creature would wag it’s tail like a canine as well. You overcame the initial fear of it, when it proved itself time after time to be gentle, but most shockingly, only towards you. It never allowed anyone else to touch it, even the Lord and Mistress weren’t able to approach it without it hissing.

The Mistress relinquishing responsibility to you, putting you in charge of taking care of it altogether. That is until her son will be old enough to take over. You decided that if it was yours to take care of you were going to try, with everything in your power, to keep it from that destiny. You weren’t going to try your best. You didn’t want any other city to end up like yours.

Change doesn’t come overnight, but hands aren’t supposed to be bend metal either. A mold takes times to case, hands take on calluses and yours grew thicker. It takes gentle hands even to manipulate clay, and an even more sensitive touch to break into the heart.

You weren’t going to change it, but you were sure to mold its heart, and you had nothing but time.

-years later-

At night, after your duties, you carried a torch with you to visit the dungeons below the pyramid. You passed the other empty cells until you reached the large iron gate. You unlatched the five locks and slipped inside. You docked the torch and turned around to an elephant-sized-dragon that had one of its eyes open, but it was still comfortably laying down. You giggled slowly approaching, “Oh look at that pout. Did you miss me, big baby?”

You received a huff in response. The dark scales, sharp horns, sharp jaw, and teeth didn't match his current behavior. You giggled, cooing at him scratching at his chin, “You know I have chores to do before I come see you. May I lay down with you?” The dragon opened up, its tail swinging out and you naturally found your spot as you leaned up against its belly careful of his wings. You enjoyed the heat; it eased your tired muscles. Oddly, you held up a conversation asking about his day and did he like his meal. In his way, he would respond to you with little huffs and nudges here and there. You had learned early on that he was intelligent.

Through an exhausted giggle you sighed, spurting out something that had weighed heavy on your mind. “I don’t like that they call you ‘dragon’. I don’t like calling you ‘dragon’ either.” Although you kept a lingering laugh in your tone, the truth of it pained you inside. You had grown overtly fond of the dragon; he wasn’t anything like you had expected. You never felt threatened, afraid, or that you had to be cautious around him. He had been nothing but accepting of you.

“I don’t like that they call me ‘Harpy’, my name is Y/n.” You had somewhere along the line picked up his tail and began stroking the scales. “Can I give you a name?”

The dragon turned his head around and tapped you on the shoulder with his chin as he used to when he was no bigger than a raven.

You perked up, scooting yourself up, thinking of all the names possible. Purposefully you teased, “Hmm, how about…Greg?”

Somehow you could tell he disapproved as he thwapped his tail in your hand. You laughed, “Easy now, easy now, or I may start calling you Greg for real.” He huffed, behaving himself as he calmed again.

You stared at the wall aimlessly, the flickering light catching your eyes. “Sun, you remind me of the sun.” Something I always wish was to spend more time in the sun. “When I was a little girl, and my family was still with me—my mother would tell me stories of when she lived in Meereen. She would tell me stories of the great harpy that would have the sun glowing behind it on the great pyramid. The morning sun behind it was a site to see according to her. She used to call me Harpy, after the statue, and I liked it, but then these…murderers took it. They took my name from me.”

You turned around to him, pausing for a moment, serious this time, ”But I won’t let them take that from you. You’re not their slave. Your name is…,” you sat for a moment, “Soleil.” You sat up seriously, “Your name will be Soleil.” You received a tap on your shoulder, and you knew that he approved. You laid back down and curled up next to him. Suddenly you felt tears brim up in your eyes, “Thank you Soleil.”

After giving Soleil his proper name, you never addressed him as such in front of your Masters. It felt important to keep it between you both, just like how your name had never been spoken in front of your Masters. You didn’t want them to have that.

That was your mold.

Things change over thirteen years. Their son was no longer a newborn, you were no longer a young girl and Soleil…Soleil wasn't what they had expected.

Upon routine you approached the chambers of the Lord and Mistress, closing off your duties for the night. As you raised your hand to knock on the door you heard shouting from inside. You stood still, with your hand raised afraid to move.

The Mistresses muffled shout rung in your ears, “We should kill it.”

The Lord sighed, “We can’t just kill it, it’s our ticket back.”

The Mistress screamed, “Don’t you get it? We’re never going back! That stupid thing, it’s not a dragon, it doesn’t shot out flames, or do anything!”

“What about our son, it’s his dragon.” The lord passed by the door and you held your breath.

The Mistress sighed, voice hoarse, “He could care less about it, he never has. We’ll just get him another dragon, maybe he’ll care about that one. I’m sure we can find one from a merchant or something.”

You lowered your fist and clutched onto your skirt tight. The murmuring continued back and forth but you had blocked out their voices. They were talking about Soleil. Your blood ran cold

No.

No.

No!

You slowly backed away crashing into the wall knocking over a Valyrian flag. Your ears were ringing as your feet took off and when you were far enough you ran for it. You ran hard, thighs burning and towards the warehouse without a second thought. You went through the back gate, traveling along the stairs. You ran through the near-empty streets, carelessly running until you twisted and turned through the streets that lead to the abandoned part of the city near the coastline. It had been too destroyed in the war to repair. You traveled through the rubble, but you knew it by heart at this point. You took more stairs towards the docks. In familiar darkness, you found the old storage warehouse for warships and barges that your father once used to have. Remains and partial pieces of ships still were there, but It had become Soleil’s new home as he quickly outgrew his old cell under the pyramid.

You unlatched the large iron bar and pushed the gate across with all your might. Running into the darkness your shoes pounded against the moist ground. “SOLEIL! SOLEIL!” You heard his chain dragging against the cement and followed your instincts towards it. You slammed into his thick neck, arms not being able to wrap around his neck anymore, but you still gripped onto him. You held him tight for a moment, hearting beating like crazy, breathing erratically. You eased up and with your shaky fingers you began moving up towards his skull, “Stay still Soleil.” You were going to break the chain they forced on him. You began searching for the pin, “Don’t move.” He obeyed and you twisted the metal pin out of the lock and the choker fell to the floor in a loud metallic crash echoing in the empty warehouse.

You ran towards the dim light pouring in from the cracks of the main barge door. You grabbed onto that light, grabbing onto the handle and struggling to push it open. Your adrenaline was running on high that you didn’t hear the thuds coming from behind you. Soleil stuck his head in between the slight gap you’ve been able to budge and pushed the gate open. You both kept going until it was completely open.

The warehouse had a ramp that led into the water, but it also had a cement dock that led to the beach. You bent your neck backward as Soleil stood upright, towering fifteen feet tall. He leaned down to nudge you cutely in a greeting, but you couldn’t manage to greet him properly. You grabbed onto a horn as he dipped towards your level, walking backward, your voice was tight, "Come on, Soleil. Stay low.” His tail wagged behind him as he followed you out to the beach in a crouched position.  

The cascading sound of waves welcomed you both on the empty beach. Soleil whined at you, his large body fumbled awkwardly as you let go of him, trusting him to follow. You stood at the edge of the water gazing towards the pyramid, which seemed small from this point. You turned and gazed at the vast horizon, a full moon in the sky. This was the edge.

You turned and urged Soleil with a small command for him to lower his head again. “Soleil, my good boy, “clearing your throat of building tension, “listen to me, listen to me good.” Your eyes were glassing up, voice unrecognizable. “You’re going to fly, fly far away!”

You hear in the distance the sound of the hounds echoing from the pyramid. The Lord must’ve given the orders out.

“Go! Soleil! Go!” You let go of him stepping away from him, getting wet as the waves crash around your ankles. He quirked his head to the side, for the first time not responding to you.

“Go! Don’t come back! GO!”

He shook his head and sat on his two hind legs. Tears were running down your face, “Idiot, you’re going to die! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL YOU!”

He refused to move just stared at you.

The sound of barking intensified; they were near the warehouse. You charged at him and fruitlessly began pushing at Soleil, but he wouldn’t budge. Your feet buried in the sand with each push. Pathetically you begged, “Please, please, Soleil. Just go.”

The barking was just around the corner, you could tell they were at the stairs.

He swooped his neck down and you couldn’t understand until he nudged you, remaining at your level. You looked at his eyes who were locked on yours. It was like he spoke your name to you calmly. The look in his eyes spoke greater to you than you had anticipated. You heard his message loud and clear.

You had nothing here. You weren’t even human to them here. This wasn’t your home and it hadn’t been for a long time. He leveled his head down completely, closing his eyes. You looked over your shoulder back at the pyramid. What were you staying for?

You grabbed on and climbed onto his back between his winged arms like you had seen that man ride that dragon. You held on tight to his spines as he shifted about. You were facing the sky vertically, then he squatted and lunging into the air. The sudden motion made your stomach sink, you were so terrified you were unable to breathe as you felt weightless. The cold wind was intense as Soleil soared up and up into the night sky. You kept your eyes closed until he evened out, body arching and falling as he graciously flew. You opened one eye at a time and looked over to his wings that expanded at least thirty feet. You dared to look at the sea below then behind and you could see the shoreline of Gorosh in the distance. The shore was lit up by torches and barking hounds. The pyramid was smaller as you barely saw the lights of the town.

Somehow, you didn’t feel a sense of emptiness. Freedom. You faced forward, with a big grin on your face. You’re never looking back. “Faster Soleil! Get us out of here.”

He flapped harder than before and you arched forward holding on tight.

You traveled for hours, sticking alongside the shore as you had no idea where you were heading. You had only known of Gorosh your whole life, all other cities mentioned were just that. Mentions. You didn’t stop for hours in fear of being found. When you felt you were far enough, and Soleil slowed down significantly, you spotted a small lagoon separated from the Summer sea and decided to stop there.

Slowly you slid yourself off his back, holding onto his spines still for dear life. Tumbling off him Soleil turned around instantly and helped prop you up with his stout. You laughed as you stood, thanking him none the less you had made it to the ground in one piece. You sought out a small dry patch of land and took camp there. Soleil was like a child, he rushed for the lagoon, enjoying the cool water after his body heated up from flying for hours. You had managed to create a small fire, a trick you had learned after working in the kitchen. Soleil hunted for fish in the lake, eating his fill then came out with a few extra he dropped for you. You thanked him, although, they were slightly mutilated from his teeth, giving him a good pet. You ate and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. You leaned up against a tree with a heavy sigh, and like a lap pet Soleil twirled around and found himself a spot next to you. Although he couldn’t fit his head in your lap anymore, he closely leaned up against you.

You breathed a heavy sigh, you stared up at the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen the stars. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Although, the adrenaline was wearing off and your body was feeling heavy with exhaustion. You ran your hand over his head gently and he lightly purred in content. Your eyes were falling and you let them feeling your body succumb to the exhaustion.

Your body stiffened automatically when the purring turned into a deep growl. It vibrated you awake as he lifted his head facing towards the tree line. You knew beast, creatures and other beings lived in the jungle of Sothoryos. As a child in Gorosh, you were never allowed out in the jungle for that reason.  You didn’t have time to interpret before you heard movement in the foliage and breakage amongst the trees. You attempting to mount Soleil discreetly. You needed to get out of here quick. Arrows sliced through the air, striking the tree you were leaning on. You ducked down avoiding another attempting to hurry and mount. “Soleil, let’s get out of here!” As soon as you had a good grip on his spines you felt him stiffen. An arrow struck Soleil on the leg. The reaction was quick as his eyes rolled and his body fell to the floor in a thud. You rolled away from his with the momentum of being flung. You screamed, “Soleil!”

As you turned around you were surrounded by men with mask covering their face. Blocking out the full moon one raised a bat and swung it a hard striking your head and all went black.

Stirring within, you felt the echoing vibrations of a muffled roar drum through you. It rung and rung through the darkness of your mind until the prickling, cold, unshaven stone digging into your arm brought you to consciousness. Your eyes shot open, ears buzzing, and every inch of your body tingled with a different degree of pain. The sound of chains rattling amplified the sharp pain in your head. You clutched at your temple, bringing both hands up unexpectedly. They were bound by handmade, silver chains. You inspected your hands, unregistering what you saw until your eyes widened once again.

When did this happen? What happened? Where were you?

The familiar sound of growling and screeching rung in your ears. It all came back to you. You weren’t dreaming, that wasn’t a nightmare. You were kidnapped.

You blinked away the dizziness, the sound of Soleil screeching resonated in your ears again. His pain ticked off yours sending a painful burn down your spine. You forced yourself off the wall into a sitting position only to be weighed down by the chains around your wrist. You tried again but felt a tug realizing you weren’t alone in your attachment. Ten other women dressed similarly to you in slave robes were connected to you, all huddled around one another in a cluster. Fear was evident in their eyes as they scurried away from you.

You scanned the room itself, noticing it was a large holding room with a single entrance or exit and no windows. The stone infrastructure was crumbling, and the planked ceiling had a hole in it allowing sunlight to pour in.  This room at some point must’ve been a storage room.

You heard a howling cry from Soleil that sent goosebumps all over you, and like a mother bear driven to protect her child, a fire sparked within you. You were going to escape.

You stood up swaying slight, body still lucid, head throbbing in pain but all those were secondary at the moment. Slowly you dragged your heavy body over to the makeshift door made of rotting planks. Squinting one eye closed you peered through a thick crack. Guards were posted around the door and as soon as they moved slightly you were able to see where you were. Various makeshift buildings were posted like a marketplace. The market seemed to be placed between two mountains. In the distance, you could see fog covered green and slate rocky mountains. Through the scattered palm trees in the plaza, you noticed across the busy plaza was a high, stone stage. It was surrounded by an audience of men, but as you looked closer at everyone you realized they weren’t ordinary men.

They were pirates.

You recognized the black attire of men, their barbaric shouts, and the black flag with a skull. On the stage your black and red dragon was center stage, his mouth muzzled by heavy chains and limbs chained by even thicker chains suppressing any movement.

The image of Soleil coming towards you for the first time, the time he first let you rest on him, flew, and when he lowering his head to you at the beach when you told him to leave crossed your mind. He wasn’t like them. Soleil never gave up on you…and you weren’t about to give up on him. Anger boiled within you, how dare they! How dare they treat him that way. He wasn’t a slave and he will never be!

You gazed around, the women murmuring and gasping as you moved about yanking on the chain occasionally. In your frantic stupor, you stumbled over a rock. You hissed when you hit the ground scrapping your palms and knees on the dry stone. On your knees you shakily wiped your wounded hands on your robe, then it hit you. Stone.

Without hesitation you grabbed the stone, disregarding the pain and blood, and began slamming it on your linkage to the next person. The sound was loud in your ears, but the roaring cheers outside were enough to cover what you were doing. A thick sheen of sweat was building up on your skin as you used all your strength.

You had to break the chain.

The janky metal bent with each strike and eventually it broke into pieces. Although you still had cuffs on, you were no longer bound to the gang. You tipped your head back towards the ceiling heaving as you tried catching your breath. You squinted as the heavy clouds passed and let warm sunlight pour into the room. It felt so nice for a second before the clouds came back. You stared at it, blinking hard before you were moving again.

There was no stopping there, you pushed discarded wooden crates under the hole in the ceiling. You stacked smaller empty ones on top until you were sure you could reach the top. You climbed the crates, thighs protesting as you pushed yourself up, hands burning, but you kept pushing up. You reached the hole in the ceiling and grabbed onto the splintering, water damaged wood ceiling. It cut into your hand as you pulled and yanked and broke it to pieces to create a big enough gap for yourself. You weren’t sure the wood was strong enough to support you, but you had no choice. This was your only way out.

You turned back to the women staring up at you with a harsh whisper, “It’s your choice if you leave or not.”

You gathering all the strength left in your arms and extended your hands as far as the cuffs would allow you. You held on tight as you pulled your body up with a groan. You pushed and pushed until you were sitting on the roof. You blinked against the harsh light but as soon as you looked back to the plaza you saw pirates gather closer around the stage and the crowd cheered. Soleil growled thrashing his head around and that was enough to get you scooching faster but still carefully to the back edge of the building. The alleyway behind was empty and below you was hay in a cart next to more crates. You weren’t sure if it was clean, but it was your best bet. Holding your breath, seeing Soleil behind your closed eyes you let yourself fall over the edge. Your stomach turned but it was over quick as you plopped onto the soft hay. A puff of hay floated about as you stared up at the grey sky. Tickling your peripheral, tattered curtains blew as the breeze picked. You huffed and groaned as you got out of the cart and walked over to it and yanked it from its abandoned home. It was large enough to wrap around you and over your head around you like a cloak. You made sure your face was covered.

Under disguise, your bare feet trod the cobblestone with a false sense of direction. You weaseled through the crumbling white buildings and as you rounded the corner you filtered into the crowd like a beggar.

You heard a loud growl surge from Soleil's through the crowd and pirates jolly hooting in a recall. The sound eventually was drowned out by the loud calls of shop owners with their sales pitch. An announcer on stage spoke over the hooting, “This beast was caught last night, and the first bid is going to be starting at 10,000 Gold.”

The crowd erupted into furry as shouts of different prices rang out. The number disgusted you as it kept increasing and increasing. The auctioneer shouted the numbers he heard them. You moved towards that voice. You groaned as you accidentally bumped into someone hard. You bowed in silent apology not bothering to look up and kept moving towards the stage.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t have a plan, but you knew you needed to stop this somehow.

You stopped near the edge of the stage; you were the stillness amongst chaos. You peered up for that somehow…that something. You had gotten this far, but now what?

You looked around you and focused on the arms that clearly hung from the waist of the pirates. Pirates were brutal men; they were men that collected skulls as an offering to their god. They pillaged and raped at will and were more than happy to leave you for dead. Your eyes caught a sharp reflection of light as it nearly prophesied itself. You weren’t sure where this courage kept coming from, but your legs were light and arms heavy. You peered at the blacksmith shop near the stage, an ax was sticking out of a log. You briskly walked over to it and with cuff and dangling chain clinking lightly. You pulled it from the wood with a hint of struggle before you turned around without detection. The ax was heavy in your hands, the wood was unpolished and it bit into your raw hand.

Your throat was dry as you readjusted the weight of the ax in your cuffed hands. You weren't sure with what you were about to do would do anything. You weren't sure you were going to live after. You looked at Soleil, the look in his eyes wasn't the confident one you saw last night. The need to change that is raw. As your hearing dies out and the sound of your panting fills that void you stride forward eyeing the stairs the lead up to the stage. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, you could feel the veins in your neck throbbing. You lunged up the short staircase then broke into a run as your makeshift cloak fluttered off you. You had your eyes set on a chain. You pushed past the auctioneer; his face full of surprise as you pushed him out of the way. You swung the ax around until it was twelve, men rushed onto the stage and went to lunge at you. When the ax was high in the sky you used that same momentum to slam it down with a guttural scream on the chain that was attached to his muzzle.

As soon as the ax slammed down the chain cracked and broke, the long chain attached to the muzzle and the muzzle itself loosened around Soleil and feel in a metallic crash. Soleil acted immediately and roared breaking the chains lingering on his mouth as the links rained down. The man who grabbed you knocked the ax out of your hands as he tackled you to the ground. Seconds later he was pulled off you by Soleil’s jaw and the horrid crunch was heard and rung through the crowd. He jerked his head sending the body sliding at the front of the crowd. The pirates backed away creating a gap from the dead body. Soleil with his chin he tugged you closer to him and under his chest protectively. You clutched onto him whispering his name in relief.

The stunned crowd was paralyzed, even though they were men notoriously perilous. A dragon could bring men to their knees.

A booming voice cut through the silence, “I’ll take the wyvern…and it’s rider.”

The heavy crowd parted down the center, splitting evenly as a man confidently walked towards the stage. He stepped over the body to stand just near the front of the stage. His white blouse was tucked into his black pants, with a black long coat. He was decorated in gold accessories, most notably his golden broach on his breast of a sun.

He stood confidently, unbothered by Soleil, “I’ll give you a few options girl.” His eyes gazed up to Soleil, Soleil arched his neck back further ready to strike.

In a clear voice, he drawled it out simply for you, “Join me, or die.”

The sweet smile he seemed to offered had suddenly translated as cynical. “I take you, girl, and the wyvern with me.”

You felt sick to your stomach. Another person wanting to hold you captive, a pirate at that. However, you were under the chest of a chained beast. You had no other way out, no plans. If you did, Soleil was still chained and you had no weapon, you didn’t even know how to fight. The pirates that seemed to be a part of his crew around him all looked ready to strike.

In a low voice, you gave your condition, “No one will touch my dragon, even you.”

Surprisingly, the man smiled and bowed. The man turned towards the auctioneer, who was shaking in his boots at the edge of the stage. In fact, the population that was once around the stage had disappeared except for the men following the pirate in the center. The man whose smile reminded you of the sun pointed with a single hand, "Release the wyvern.”

With trembling hands, each of the thick chains was undone. You were holding onto Soleil's neck, prepared for the next move of the pirate.

With a gesture of honor, he placed his hand over the sun brooch, “Wyvern rider, welcome aboard my ship.”

You clutched onto the horns of Soleil as he dipped low, soothing him and yourself as you started at the man who smiled so gently, but underneath if you weren't sure to trust it.

The auctioneer still stood near you cautiously watching Soleil for a sudden attack. You asked, “Who is he? The man who just—bought me?”

The man scoffed to keep his ego, yet still cautious. “Ignorant girl, you choose a death worse with that man.”

Your eyes shifted, as you tried to suppress your internal panic. You had grown up in a household of many tragic men and women, guest who’ve done horrible things, and served those who caused horror. You’ve seen a lot, but based on the contortion on this man’s face you had another thing coming. A small huff came from Soleil at the man. Almost to himself, he whispered, “I don’t know why he’s in the Summer’s sea. He never travels west. Something must be wrong.”

The man began retreating and down the stairs. He spoke as he retreated, a sick smile forming on his lips as he laughed through it, “No one knows who he is, or where he’s come from but everyone knows what he’s done. He’s a hope collector, light collector, and life collector. Anyone who was slain by his black sword suddenly became skeletons. The only man who sailed to Leng and survived the Old Ones. Some call him Jay the Sun Chaser, but he’s the Sun King of the Jade Sea.”

You had heard of that name before, amongst the maids and guards before. It was near impossible to be of Sothoryos and not know of the Sun Chaser. But what he’s done, or why he was king was a hushed conversation, never truly knowing who or where he came from.

As he stepped on the ground, “He's killed plenty, girl, and I'm sure you're next. His skull collection on Skull island blocks the Sun, quite fitting for the Sun King don’t you think? You’ll be the next offering along with your dragon too.”

Up until this point, you hadn’t felt fear. You did what you had to do yet, your blood ran cold.

The auctioneer vanished into an alley and you were alone in the center.

Your hands shook as you held onto Soleil. Just what did you do.

You hugged your knees close to your chest preserving any heat possible. The cell was cold as a breeze crept along the floor. Each time the boat rocked the wood protested in a haunting creek. Waves tirelessly hit the side of the boat. The only light was a lantern that hung in the hall outside your cell, but you knew it was out there.

You could hear footsteps from above going back and forth all day long. You were in the bowels of the ship, but you weren’t discarded. In fact, you always had visitors, two specifically. Because of that, you had been told vicariously that Soleil was still following.

The wooden stairs creaked one at a time as a heavy boots stride towards you. He was later than usual. You leaned up and kept your eyes straight on the bars, awaiting your visitor. The steps grew louder before they stopped in front of your cell, blocking the light. Slowly you tipped your head up and met the shadowed eyes of a man as he tilted his head down to look stoically down at you. The man was thin but slightly muscular; his feline-like demeanor and features were always hard to read. He was the one who picked you up from the stage that day. He took hold of your chain and escorted you, uncaring of Soleil. As you were about to board a small rowboat you turned towards Soleil and for the first time spoke up to your escort, "I had a condition. I won't go if he won't follow."

That was the first time you had seen the feline smile, “He will follow. I don’t doubt that.” You were picked up and placed into the smallest rowboat.

You turned around to Soleil, “Stay close. I promise it’s going to be alright.”

The feline man began rowing and you watched Soleil pace the shoreline whining, at that point you had to turn away. You didn’t doubt that man’s words either.

Soon, by slippage, you had found out his name was Yoongi, second hand to the omnipresent figure that ruled this ship. You had yet to see him, the Sun King, only having direct interaction with Yoongi or Taehyung, a mischievous crew member who pulled the short stick in having to take care of you.

Yoongi brought out a ring of keys and unlocked the cell. “He’s requested your audience.”  

You slowly got up, your legs prickling as they’ve gone numb from sitting too long. Your hands were still cuffed, and your wrist was raw and blistering. The moist air didn't make it any better egging on the sweaty friction.

Taehyung came trotting down the stairs in a bit of shambles, “I’m here, I’m here!” You kept a straight face, attempting to conceal a giggle at his clumsy behavior. He was a bit of happiness on this rig. Taehyung was the complete opposite of Yoongi, they always bickered, but you could still tell they were close. He would come down on his downtime and talk to you. It kept you sane. You had expressed to him your fear of his King. Ironically, he laughed, “I can’t confirm or deny what you heard, but just…be prepared. I recommend to just…be yourself when you see him. He doesn’t respond well to pretense.” His words didn’t ease your mind, but you figured if he accepted someone like Taehyung maybe you had a chance.

They escorted you up countless floors. You felt burning eyes on the back of your head, yet you didn’t pay them any mind. You already knew their eyes were staring at you intently and judgingly. In passing you heard them whisper, “A woman on board is going to get us all killed.” You chuckled a bit, finding them fearful of your gender but not your dragon. Then the laughter died down in your throat…they weren’t fearful of a dragon. They all looked clean kept, except the look in their eye was dirty, tainted and toughened up. You swallowed the thick saliva in your mouth and averted your eyes. Taehyung leaned in close to you, “Miss, don’t mind them. They’re not going to harm you. Especially not with me around.” You looked over your shoulder with a raised brow, his statements were questionable. You didn’t let Taehyung see you chuckle, but you were sure he knew.

You reached the top staircase ascending to the deck. The night sky was completely dark as you looked up. You stepped up to the deck and on first instinct, you took a breath of fresh air. The air was cold your dress that was paper thin, ripped in different places couldn’t protect you from the cold. The wind whipped your hair around, but it was refreshing.

You kept your eye to the sky, eyes focused on the big, billowing mast. You caught a glimpse of Soleil soaring instantly putting a smile on your face. He was fine. He followed you.

Yoongi pushed at your back slightly, “Keep going.” You had forgotten how large the ship you were on as the edge of the boat seemed far. Taehyung leads the way as you followed with Yoongi at your back. Surprisingly the deck was full of people working and doing things despite lanterns being the only thing lighting up the ship. The ship was made of light brown wood that was still bright even in the night; the mast were giant white sheets. When the wind slowed down enough you were able to pick up the big sun on the main mast. In all honesty, you didn’t want to meet the Sun Chaser. The auctioneer’s words still rung in your mind. Did he really want you dead? Were you just another offering to their God?

You were shoved from behind when you were gazing too long.

It took a while before you reached the back of the ship to the captain’s quarters. Yoongi approached double doors and knocked before stepping back. He must’ve received a response you couldn’t hear as he pushed open the door and allowed you in. Yoongi held a hand over his chest, a similar gesture you had seen their King do, as he held the door open. Your heart was in your throat, feet stiff and frozen, but you had no choice. You took a step forward then another into the lion’s den.

The feeling in the air changed as you walked in, a burst of hot air overcame you like a blanket. The wooden room had a golden glow about lighting up the bookcase and furniture around. Every instinct was on high alert and was warning you against settling into it. You jumped when the heavy door clicked behind you as you turned watching your only exit close.

“Spoked wyvern rider?” A gruff voice awakened your senses.

You whipped around finding him sitting behind his wide desk, feet crossed resting a top as he leaned back in his black stone throne. Across the back of the chair over his head, the rising sun in different stages was depicted in gold. He loosely twirled his sun brooch between his fingers as he observed you with a bored expression. The various stages of burnt candles that must’ve been on its mantle for ages at the edge of his desk flickered. The shadowing light lit up one half of his face. His strong features, sharp jaw naturally jutted in icy confidence. His hair was slicked back. It was darker than the light blonde you had seen him with a week prior.

He silently stood up rounding his desk like a predator holding the sun between his fingers. You noticed he was wearing intricate armory; it was unlike the casual wear you had seen him initially in. The deep emerald textile was underneath a thick metal armor. Plated mail graduated large to small plates from his shoulders down to his breast. Gold fabric cinched his small waist addressing below his tight black pants that were tucked into brown leather boots.

You cleared your throat to catch yourself from staring longer than necessary. He was gorgeous, that was something you’d admit. But that still didn’t change the fact that you still feared him. He must’ve caught you on though as he chuckled and stood tall before you. You caught a whiff of his rich citrus scent as he towered over you. His dangling long, golden earing caught your eye dragging your attention away from his intense stare.

He creased his eyes in a challenging taunt, “Must be difficult not riding your wyvern.”

You squinted, creasing your brows dragging your eyes back to his cheeky expression. You asked honestly, “Why do you call Soleil that? He’s a dragon not a…?”

You could see the a-ha moment cross his eyes as he repeated the name on his tongue. “Wyvern. Your wyvern, Soleil, isn’t a dragon. I would know, I’ve seen many in my days venturing near Valyria. I’ve seen Basilisk, but your beast is defiantly different. Wyvern different.”

You squinted still a bit confused, “Your beast’s wings are attached to his arms,“ he looked over you quizzically, “…and he doesn’t breathe fire.”

It hadn’t dawned on you. Yes, Soleil didn’t, or hadn’t ever, breathed fire.

He pulled out your hands taking in the cuffs on your hands. He tsked then pulled out his sword from its sheath. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the cuffs. You pulled your hands back to your chest backing up and bumping into a cabinet. You heard of that sword, the black stone sword that turned people into skeletons. In a moment the trust you had slightly built up was torn away. "Please, please don't kill me." Your heart was beating erratically out of your chest.  

“What?” His eyes widened taken back your sudden jump. He attempted to center you but you just thumped against the cabinet again.

“Please, please don’t turn me into a skeleton.” The chains rattled loudly as you trembled.

He stared at you for a moment in complete disbelief. His domineering aura died down as his eyes softened as a subtle laugh started before it turned into a roar as he hunched over laughing.

You stood there gazing at him awkwardly holding your hands to your chest, “You’re…you’re not going to turn me into a skeleton?”

He spoke through a laugh, “No, where did you hear that from?”

You looked away, a hot embarrassed flush filling you. You whispered, “At Barter Beach.”

“Their mouth’s run dry if it's not full of lies.” He gently took your hands back in his, eyeing you cautiously, asking you to trust him for a moment. You held your cuffed hands out, all-be-it shaking. He lifted his sword and easily cut through the cuffs like butter. They fell to the floor pilling at your feet.  

You thanked him lightly as he sheathed his sword back again. He eyed your blistering wrist, “Don’t thank me.”

He watched your mind work a million miles per hour. He brought a hand over his chest placing his brooch back in place, “Excuse me wyvern rider, I hope you know I have no intentions to hurt you. I apologize for keeping you in the cell, but you must understand my crew’s safety comes first. I merely did such to protect you and myself.”

You scoffed, “Protect me?”

A large shadow passed engulfing you both in darkness as Soleil covering the moonlighting pouring in from the wall to wall window. When the bright light returned you were both boldly staring at one another.

Instantly and evenly he responded, “I don’t believe in harming women…especially women with children, wyvern rider.”

“Y/n.” He paused for a moment taking in what you said. You don’t know why you gave him that. You’ve never given your name to anyone. You wanted him to know though, for some reason, you felt he would keep it.

“Y/n.” He sighed, “You are not my prisoner, but I will hold you on my ship until we are in safe waters. It isn’t safe here right now, so think of me as your escort.”

You raised a brow. It isn’t safe? And he’s going to be your…escort? You didn’t suppress the laugh this time, everything up until now felt so ridiculous. “Jay the Sun Chaser, the pirate king with the highest skull collection, my escort?”

He smirked, correcting you, “Please, call me Hoseok. You are not a pirate, nor crew, call me by my name.”

Rubbing your sore wrist, you started again, “Hoseok, I’m aware of the Pirate code. No debt or act goes unpaid, what do you want from me?”

He hummed twirling the sun brooch again as he stepped towards the window to observe Soleil. You cautiously approached the window to stand next to him.

“Nothing.”

You quirked a brow, “Nothing sounds like a heavy debt.”

Genuine laughter escaped his lungs, you even joined it a bit. He turned to you, “So it is.”

Copyright 2019 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.

[itsblosseybitch]

Griffin Dunne: Who’s That Man? (article from ARENA magazine, Sept/Oct 1987)

Double Exposure: The $4.5 million it took to make Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours and the twitchily neurotic lead performance were both the work of the same man, hybrid movie producer and actor whose next assignments involve the likes of Sidney Lumet and Madonna. David Keeps spends some after After Hours hours with Griffin Dunne. 

Griffin Dunne, leading man to Madonna in the soon-come Who’s That Girl, is not the sort of actor who swoops into a photo session with an entourage of managers, publicists and gofers. He enters alone, armed with a briefcase full of business pertaining to the next three or four films he will produce, and introduces himself with a winning humility and, on this particularly sweltering Manhattan afternoon, a perfectly reasonable request for a Budweiser. He graciously and gracefully agrees to a quick bit of barbering and slips into samples from Paul Smith’s autumn collection -- clothes that look very roomy on his slight five-foot-seven frame -- without a fuss. “Are you sure these weren’t for David Byrne,” he jokes. Griffin Dunne is one cool character. 

The same can not be said for the neurotic yuppies he’s portrayed in After Hours and Almost You, two critically acclaimed films that were released back-to-back in Britain and helped to establish him as the archetypal Manhattan man. “That’s a coincidence,” he explains over breakfast at a Greenwich Village eaterie a few blocks from his home. “The pictures were actually filmed a couple of years, but I guess if you looked at them as a double-header, you’d see similarities because the main character is New York. One thing I have noticed is that the guy I’m playing always wears a blazer. I’ve got to be careful about what I do next. Those jaded laconic New York type roles are creeping up on me,” he continues, his almost-black eyes widening as his voice rises in mock terror. “I may never work again and die a pauper because these two pictures are so much alike!”

Now there’s an unlikely prospect. Having successfully produced Chilly Scenes of Winter, John Sayles’ Baby It’s You and Martin Scorsese’s After Hours, Griffin Dunne is in the unique position of being able to pay the bills and choose his acting roles carefully or develop properties for himself. The latter is an option he has exercised only once (After Hours), the former is an admitted luxury. “The problem with success is, the more successful you become, the more careful and calculating you have to be. While I dread being an actor and never knowing where my next job will be coming from, there was a great freedom in going from one stupid comedy into a play in some no-name theatre down on Pitt Street in lower East Siobokia. I get sent a lot of scripts as a producer and I don’t want to spend my time looking for parts for myself. I have an agent to do that. But that still doesn’t give me the opportunity to pick up the phone and say ‘Get me a script that is completely different from anything I’ve ever done, and I want to start working Wednesday’. “

There was a time when the very prospect of working in films - as an actor or a producer - was something to be avoided. Born in New York City on June 8, 1955 to actress Ellen Griffin Dunne and Dominick Dunne, who evolved from a television stage manager to a producer and now, a writer for Vanity Fair, Griffin was raised in Los Angeles amongst the privileged sons and daughters of Hollywood. He attended a pre-preparatory school at age 11. “All boys. You wore a coat and tie and got little swats if you got out of line. It was called Fay School,” he recalls with a shudder. “It was a bitch to say ‘I go to Fay School’.” He turns his head to the side to improvise a dialogue and with a sneer asks himself sarcastically, “How’s Fay?” “Fine thank you,” he mumbles, suitably humiliated. In his final year it became his job to order films for school entertainments. His very appropriate choice was Lindsay Anderson’s public school drama If... “It was a real underground thing. The attendance rate was incredible. They were hanging off the rafters. If you know the picture you know it takes them forever to kill those fucking teachers!”

The Fountain Valley school in Colorado proved a more nurturing atmosphere for the lad. Influenced by his uncle and aunt (the literary lions John Gregory Dunne and Joan Didion), Griffin thought he would become a writer. “I just knew that film business was the last thing on earth I was going to be in. It’s like if your father goes to work in a car factory in Detroit, the last thing you want to do is go into the automobile business. I didn’t sit in judgement of Peter Benchley’s (OP NOTE: author of Jaws) drinking habits, but it was just too close to me. I was really verbal about it. Openly vitriolic, I would never be in show biz. I said that right up until a friend talked me into auditioning for this play.”

That was Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story and Griffin knew instinctively that he was the best man for the job. “Somehow I just knew I could say these lines better than anyone else. It was like being the only one in that room who spoke that particular language.” An actor was born and a bullshit artist began to operate. “I was the guy who ran the drama club, the art paper, the student council planning board. Teachers treated me like an adult, they really thought I was going places. They said ‘You’re not like the other students.’ I was, of course, a source of total disappointment, because I was exactly like the other students. I would get high and take the car off campus and try to get laid at every possible moment as soon as their back was turned.” 

Then, just as he was about to make a dramatic triumph playing Iago in Othello, he was busted. “Got caught smoking a little hash,” he winces. “All that was really there was what was in my lungs and it just trailed out of my mouth as I denied what was happening. And the teacher did not get a contact high and forget what he was doing. What they were saying was, ‘We’re going to change the rest of your life for that amount of smoke in your lungs’.” He was sent packing, forced to face up to parents who were “grief stricken”, he says with a comic frown, “chopped off at the knees.” Convincing the school authorities in a brilliant final thespian act that he needed to take the bus home in order to have time to think about his misdeeds, he hit the highway and hitchhiked home.

The odyssey that followed could’ve been a foreshadowing of the hassles that befell him as the stranger-in-SoHo in After Hours. “I was very worried about getting into any more trouble. And every car I got in was the most troublesome, criminal car. One guy would be driving a huge Cadillac convertible that he’d bought with a bad cheque. Another guy was AWOL from the army and there was this kid who’d just left ‘Juvie’ (Juvenile Hall) who was only a year younger than me, but also about four feet shorter. We’d spend a good deal of the time daring him to do things like climb out of the hood of the car to straighten out the antenna as we were crossing the desert. As soon as he got out there the driver would floor it, going about 95 miles an hour and swerving to throw him off. I thought, ‘OK drug possession, hot car, and manslaughter, all on the way home. Look at it this way, Mom, Dad, I was only kicked out of school for smoking hash!”

He lived in Los Angeles for the last gasp of his teenage years, working in a bookstore and as a shipping clerk for a cooking utensils firm, while going for auditions that were few and far between. After a few small roles on TV, he moved to New York to study at the Neighborhood Playhouse, where, ironically, in the days before Dustin Hoffman, Griffin’s father had left his studies when he was told that he was too short to be a leading man. Though Griffin was spared the same advice, he worked more steadily in the restaurant trade - even selling popcorn at the candy counter of Radio City Music Hall - than he did in the theatre. Then he met Amy Robinson and Mark Metcalf (OP NOTE: misprinted with an e), two equally frustrated, equally unemployed actors, and the trio decided to become producers. 

(OP NOTE: Since Dunne, Robinson, and Metcalf were/are baseball fans, the original production company’s name was Triple Play Productions. When Metcalf left to focus on his acting, the company was renamed Double Play Productions).

“We went out to Cambridge and met Ann Beattie, who had written Chilly Scenes of Winter and she said it was like three of her characters walked into her living room.” Not surprisingly she allowed them to buy the rights for a film version at a very reasonable price. At age 23, Griffin Dunne had become a producer and had his first property. The trio turned the process of pitching the project to studios into an acting exercise. “It was exactly like a performance, but it was easier than going in on an audition. Here I had something tangible to sell, a book that I was passionate about. It’s hard to do that about yourself. What do you say? ‘Look at this interesting aspect of me. Then if you shade it with these particular attitudes I look like this!’ I wouldn’t want to see anybody do that.”

First released as Head Over Heels, and re-released more successfully in 1982 under the author’s original title, Chilly Scenes of Winter set the stage for the fledgling producer’s next triumph, John Sayles’ Baby It’s You, which introduced Rosanna Arquette and Vincent Spano to a large and appreciative audience of young filmgoers. In the meantime Dunne had appendaged several screen acting credits to his dossier, largely of the messenger boy variety.

“I’ve passed a ton of envelopes,” he laughs. “In this one film, The Fan (a potboiler starring Lauren Bacall as the intended victim of an overwrought admirer) I played a stage manager who was to hand a letter the killer gave me to Maureen Stapleton. The letter read ‘I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you,’ and sure enough he does. So they spend the rest of the movie looking for the killer instead of asking me for a description. When I told the director, he said ‘Yeah, well, fine, can we just shoot the scene please?’ So I just couldn’t resist on one take. I went up to Miss Stapleton and I said, ‘Here’s a letter from the killer -- oops! -- I mean the man outside’.”

He was able to use his comic gifts more successfully playing the sidekick role, “the very dead one” in An American Werewolf in London (OP NOTE: Title misprinted without the ‘An’) and the clean-cut brother of a gangster in Johnny Dangerously, “a big silly comedy.” Then a script crossed his desk which he simply could not ignore, for it contained all the elements he looked for in a film as both a producer and an actor. It was called After Hours, and it was the tale of a lonely word processor who meets a beautiful girl, loses her, loses his money and his house-keys and spends the rest of his evening on the run from assorted temptresses and loonies in the lofts and streets of New York’s SoHo. 

Griffin Dunne was no stranger to the inherent weirdness of such a scenario. “Last weekend I was out of town and a friend was in my apartment. I said don’t use the bottom lock. She did, and so I was locked out of my own apartment. I called my neighbors to let me in, but they were locked out of their apartment too. I found that out from the neighbors below. The owners are from Japan and they’re coming to get their apartment from me. I’ve now been through so many locks it looks like a Uzi got at the door. The locksmith is now an old friend of mine. I have the worst time with keys. I believe the first stage of manhood is when you live on your own and you’re given this set of keys. I’ve been through so many keys. They just leap out of my pocket!”

Griffin Dunne became After Hours’ hapless anti-hero Paul Hackett and his run-ragged energy leaped off the screen. Despite the fact that the entire film was shot at night, director Scorsese demanded that he remain celibate during the course of the shoot. For added punishment, Dunne himself also acted as the film’s producer: “As an actor your job is not to have distractions and be in a loose state where, when things are thrown at you, you can react accordingly. As a producer your job is to constantly anticipate problems, disasters, flare-ups, fiascoes. You’re in a constant state of tension. You have this little rubber ball with spikes sticking out of it in the pit of your stomach. In After Hours if there were times when it was five in the morning and I was starting to run out of anxiety adrenaline, I could think of how much the picture was going over-budget and I would suddenly get this hollow look in my eyes, my eyebrows would start creeping up on my forehead and I was ready to roll! But I never as an actor looked at the director and thought, ‘Gee, he’s shooting too much film, I must tell him to stop.’”

Though After Hours was a huge critical and commercial success, it pointed out some rather disheartening facts about the American film industry. “People are so obsessed with how much pictures cost. It really pisses me off,” he says with a furrow of the brow that makes you an instant sympathizer. “All anybody talks about with After Hours is that we made it for $4.5 million.(OP NOTE: $4.5 million in 1985 would be about $10.8 million in 2020) Who cares? Is it a good movie? Is it a bad movie? For some reason English films have avoided that. Probably because they were made with pounds instead of dollars and the critics are too lazy to figure out the currency conversion.”

Now he’s on a roll and it becomes quite clear that Griffin Dunne, as an artist and as a businessman, cares about the cinema passionately. “There are a lot of [OP NOTE: misprinted as off] young filmmakers trying to get off the ground here. It’s treated so condescendingly,” he splutters. “Those kids made that Personal Art film. Art film is a bad word for everybody - it’s a personal film. Or it’s an independent film, which must mean it’s personal. ‘Those kids made that picture and just look what they did. And their grandmother gave them $2.5 million for that?’ I don’t think it was their grandmother,” he continues with a lethal iciness. “I think they went to a major financing entity and they got the money, it’s playing in theatres now. GO SEE THE GODDAMNED MOVIE!”

(OP NOTE: Sir, this is a Wendy’s. All joking aside, I would love to hear the off-the-record version of this rant)

All of this seems particularly annoying to a man like Griffin Dunne because he’s proved that it can be done. “It’s just treated like it’s so cute. Now it’s possible to make films like Mona Lisa, Withnail and I or one of Stephen Frears’ movies in the States. There’s a lot more avenues of finance and they’ve figured out ways of distributing movies where they actually make serious money and it’s easier for people to get their money back on videocassettes and all the other rights. What we’re having a little bit of a problem with is the material itself. How do you find a script that doesn’t reek of being an Independent Movie?”

In Adam Brooks’ Almost You, which was written as a vehicle for Dunne and his then-girlfriend Brooke Adams, he found exactly that. An offbeat comedy about an adulterous husband, the film was warmly received in Britain after having been crucified by the American press. (OP NOTE: As someone who enjoyed that movie, I think the reason for that is because British audiences are more comfortable with unlikable or dysfunctional protagonists than American audiences. Also, this was the Reagan era with traditional values and all) “I found the character very touching and pathetic, but when it came out you would have thought I was a war criminal. An immoral louse. The worst of it was they would never say my character’s name.  They would say ‘Griffin Dunne is a duplicitous, weak-willed human being!’ People fuck around on their wives, what can I say? The way people went on, because I fooled around when my wife was in a wheelchair, it was like one of those Reefer Madness kind of movies. Like I was condoning it,” he says, lapsing into a sinister’s narrator voice, “C’mon kids, go out and smoke heroin. And while you’re there get married and fool around on your wife who’s in a wheelchair. Come with me to...THE MOVIES!”

His next screen appearance should raise the stakes considerably higher and may establish Griffin Dunne as a solidly commercial leading man in romantic comedies. “I’d known about the script for years,” he says of Who’s That Girl. “It was the first screwball comedy I’d read that wasn’t a rip-off or a parody . The characters were really contemporary. Over the years I just slowly watched it get put together, slowly, slowly coming around to me. I had a feeling it was going to work out and I have that feeling very rarely.” It’s the story of one Loudon Trott, the standard “uptight kind of guy” whose world is thrown into utter chaos by the appearance of a dizzy but dazzling vixen. “I’m one of those inside-the-little-globe-there’s-a-madman-dying-to-break-out characters. But I was going as much against the nitwit-nerd as possible. I wanted to wear the best suit I could find. I look unlike anything I’ve ever looked before. You don’t wake up with hair like what I’ve got in this picture. I don’t even know what the hell I look like.”

The vixen is, of course, played by Madonna. “It was externally pretty crazy,” he says of the shoot. “A lot of paparazzi and fans. I guess for my survival I just shut it out. It didn’t bother her, so why should it bother me? If it bothered me it would show on the screen, but nobody would say, ‘Gee, he doesn’t seem to be there right now, it must be the fans.’” He laughs at the very thought of it. “I’ll fight for a disclaimer at the end of the picture!”

He’ll have to juggle his next acting assignment between efforts as a producer. Running On Empty, the coming-of-age story of the son of Sixties dissidents living on the lam, is set to be directed by Sidney Lumet with River Phoenix in the leading role and Robin Williams has been signed as the lead for a Disney-financed version of the stage comedy The Foreigner.

[OP NOTE: While Running on Empty was eventually released in 1988, garnering Phoenix a Best Supporting Actor nomination at the Golden Globes, The Foreigner never materialized. I’m sure there’s some amazing stories that have yet come to light on the latter].

And industrious though he may seem, Dunne admits that he’s really good at not working, too. “It’s a talent that I’ve evolved over the past year or so. When I’m not working it never crosses my mind. I’m into maps. I’ll chart a trip and get a really good radio in the car, record a lot of tapes and hit the road. I’m really good at getting out of town and going to the beach. My problem has been collecting a lot of things over the years, but I’ve lived in sublets for the past 11 years, so I haven’t been able to settle into any pattern yet. Now that I’m moving into my own place, I’m glad. I’ll have people over so they can admire my spoon collection from my various journeys and I’ll even have shows. I will promise to bore them senseless with my passions.”

It’s unlikely he’ll be able to make the same claim in a professional capacity; his involvement on both sides of the camera and casting office have certainly produced an exemplary cross-breed of moviemaking professional, one that box office superstars-cum-executive producers of their own vanity projects could most certainly learn from. “One of the things I like about being a producer,” Dunne explains, “is that it’s opened me up on how to read a script. I like to think of the whole picture now, not just my role.” But having an awareness of what makes a film succeed in an increasingly byzantine business has not dulled his enthusiasm for acting, nor dimmed his onscreen spark. “It still is fun,” he demurs. “It should always be fun to get paid for taking fencing lessons.”

Always a wit, Griffin Dunne does seem most comfortable making a joke, even if it is at his own expense. Asked which of his screen characters he’d feel closest kinship to in real life, he deadpans, “I use so much of myself in them that I can’t imagine wanting to hang out with any of them.” And he’s equally nonplussed about his reputation as an independent force in the motion picture industry. The man simply has taste and if he likes to wear as many different hats as he can in this business, well, that’s his business - and he’s certainly very modest about his accomplishments.

“It’s difficult,” he concludes. “for me to say ‘I’m a rebel. I’m a maverick’ and put on little cowboy hats and stroll out of here into the sunset.” Especially, we both agree with a laugh, since it’s not even high noon yet.

[hiloedits]

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