#this was before i realized i had to just. run past it

[ghcstao3]

AU where ghost is a relatively famous voice actor—by name, anyway. he’s never shown his face in those ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, doesn’t do red carpets for the bigger productions, always leaves the press junkets to his colleagues. he loves his job, don’t get him wrong, it’s fun and creative and he’s met some really great people, he just… has never wanted to be in the limelight. that’s not for him.

and it’s easy to get away with, because all of the voices he uses are not really his. there’s elements of him, sure, but nothing someone in person could necessarily place, unless they really listened close and were some kind of super fan. in real life, ghost is soft spoken, and maybe his voice is a little rough from the years before he learned how to properly take care of his vocal cords, but it’s still completely separate from all his characters. that was a rule he stuck with throughout his career—no using his real voice.

soap likes to consider himself a fan of simon riley.

(of his work, obviously. just his work. he definitely isn’t intrigued or anything by the mystery that is the voice actor. nuh uh. not at all.)

he’s seen just about every film and show that features one of the actor’s many voices, knows what little trivia is known of him, and, ultimately, he really respects the guy. his younger sister had finally landed herself a sizeable role in voice acting pretty recently after years of odds and ends, and soap knows how difficult it is to make it in the industry. so what if he may also have a little bit of a crush on the unknown man’s talent?

and so what if that little crush has presently brought him to a bookstore, because soap had heard simon would be voicing a character in some adaptation and soap wanted to get himself caught up? it’s fine. it’s normal. totally normal.

it’s in search of the book when soap accidentally stumbles into an absolute brick-wall of a man as he rounds the corner. soap mutters out apologies, goes to move past him, but then looks up and melts, just a little. because it’s then that soap discovers the prettiest set of brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. and when his gaze briefly flicks down—he sees that the man is holding the book he’d been looking for.

soap grins, does his best to look charming in spite of the fact that he’d just run into this poor, beautiful bastard. “was lookin’ for that one, too.”

the man’s brow furrows in confusion before he realizes what soap had been referring to. his eyes fall almost self-consciously to the book.

“oh, yeah. it’s a good book. gave my nephew my other copy, so i’m just…” the man lifts the book in some helpless gesture.

“hm.” soap nods. he can’t help but notice how soothing the man’s voice is, low and rough around the edges, but completely soft in the middle. “y’hear they’re making a movie?”

the man perks up, and for a moment soap wonders if that’s panic he sees flash in his eyes. he clears his throat. “yes, that’s actually why i’m, well. i owned it before, but because i’m doing the—because of the movie, i had to…” the man sighs, shoulders slumping. it’s endearing, the way he’s gotten so easily flustered, like he isn’t used to small talk. “never mind. i’ll let you… i hope you enjoy it. the book. and movie too, i guess.”

soap laughs, not unkindly. “the book, we’ll see. favourite actor’s in the movie, so i’ll probably like it either way.”

“yeah?” the man cocks his head, curious. “who’s that?”

unashamedly, soap replies, “simon riley.”

it’s not unnoticeable, the way the man’s face blossoms a faint pink before he coughs and ducks his head. “he’s, uh. heard he’s good,” he says. “so others say.”

for a moment, it looks like the man is preparing to bolt, so soap sticks out his hand as a last-minute resort to keep him around just a little longer. “i’m john. friends call me soap. long story, but if you maybe let me take you out for some coffee, i could tell you?”

apprehension lines the man’s posture, but he eventually tucks the book under one arm and shakes soap’s hand. “friends call me ghost. and i’d like that.”

ghost’s hand is warm, his grip firm. soap tries not to let himself linger in the touch.

“sounds like a date.” soap smiles up at ghost. “did you want to do that today, or…?”

ghost shakes his head. “can’t today. but i can give you my number?”

soap agrees, but as he reaches for his phone he’s met with an empty pocket and the realization that he’d left it on the counter at home. he sighs, feeling disheartened, readying an excuse when he gets an idea. “d’you have a pen?”

ghost does, in fact, have a pen, though soap supposes he could’ve just gone and bought one from the bookstore just as well. soap tells him to stay put a minute, goes to retrieve his own copy of the book, and comes back with it opened to the first page.

“i’m buying it, anyway,” soap says. and it’s commemorative, he doesn’t add, of the day and reason we met. because he’s hopeful this may actually go somewhere.

ghost writes his phone number inside, deliberately hands the book back to soap with the cover pressed closed by his thumb, and they head to the register together.

it’s only when soap gets home and finally goes to type ghost’s number into his phone that he sees, above the digits, a small simon :) inscribed on the paper.

[bisexualhomelander]

Since the Cozy Corner has already made this post theirs, I might as well write meta on it.

If there is one thing that I find incredibly strange about Homelander's upbringing, it's that - in hindsight - the experiments did not have any palpable benefit.

Vogelbaum says he needed him to be the strongest man in the world, but he isn't. Neither physically nor emotionally. The experiments and constant isolation didn't harden him against the world; instead, they broke his brain, caused him trauma so bad his personality split in half to protect himself from what he was going through. And physically? His own seven-year-old son, who was raised in a peaceful village as the complete opposite to Homelander's childhood, is strong enough to push him around, and that's before Ryan had properly developed powers. He's probably ten times as strong as his dad by now, just by virtue of... well, his own powers. There was no torture needed to make him develop more or better powers. So the experiments also did not harden Homelander physically, either. They did not, in fact, make him stronger. More resilient to pain, maybe, but even that we don't know; he does react quite strongly to being hurt, even if it's just getting Maeve's leg to the groin.

They had to brainwash him to stay in the isolation chamber willingly, and the brainwashing caused all kinds of weird psychological effects. They now essentially have a figurehead with the mentality of a fourteen-year-old child. Which is alright if you want to keep him contained, I guess, but the mental illnesses make him harder to contain in the long run. A happy, healthy Homelander would not be up and about destroying the company, killing people, and trying to turn the States into a dictatorship. There was no monetary benefit to creating a monster they had no way of controlling other than brainwashing. Again, look at Ryan. Not brainwashed outside of being raised a little strange, and he still does as he's told without rampaging and flying into a rage every three seconds. Granted, he kills his way through New York by essentially just... touching people. But he can learn how to control himself in time.

Did they really think he would just be able to handle all that? Did they really, really think he was so inhuman that he wouldn't have human reactions to the worst torture known to mankind? And when they realized that it did have negative effects on him (e.g. the one psychiatrist guy saying he shows signs of depression), why did they not stop the experiments and get him real therapy?

Because, again, and I cannot state this enough, creating a deeply mentally ill man who they have no way of controlling seems like a very stupid thing to do, and I can't believe it took Vogelbaum forty years to realize he fucked up, to put it in the words of America's past and future bane, "bigly."

TL;DR: Madelyn Stillwell: He survived every weapon we threw at him. Me: Alrighti-o, but why were you throwing weapons at a child in the first place?

i was born from a lab experiment in which researchers worked to synthesize a person who “deserved it” (paper fails to clarify what was meant by this)

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

pairing: Paige x Azzi

themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He’s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[myss-lys]

Like The Prince? ~ F.T.

Summary: In which a pink haired girl is met with the most sought after man in all of Oz, Fiyero.

————————————————————————

I twirl the yellow flower in my hand as I walk through the dark woods. My professor sent me out to get a specific flower for the potion that we’re currently learning how to make.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I hear a twig snap behind me. My head whips around. Suddenly my mind is racing with every scary movie, book, and story I’ve ever heard. I quickly turn back to the path and begin walking at a fast pace.

I nearly fall backwards when a horse comes running right at me. It stops right before reaching me and both the horse and the man on it laugh at me. “Woah, didn’t mean to scare you.” The man says. I recollect myself before scolding the man like I’m his mother. “Are you crazy? You cannot be riding like that at night you could kill somebody!” I shout. “Ok mom.” The horse snickers under its breath causing the man the laugh.

I roll my eyes before walking back on the path. The man follows beside me, still on his horse. “I don’t think you have to worry about being trampled at night, considering you have that bright pink hair.” The man says. My hand subconsciously touches my pink hair. The pink hair I was born with an have been relentlessly teased for.

“Just get whatever you have to say about it out of your system now.” I say, defeated. “Okay then. It’s a wonderful color on you.” He says. I look up at him and scoff. “Who-who are you?” I ask. “I’m Fiyero Tigelaar.” He says. I scoff again. “Like the prince?” I ask. “Of course darling.” He says. “Like I believe that.” I say.

He chuckles. A silence falls over us before he breaks it. “Where are you headed to?” He asks. “Shiz.” I say. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride? It’s not out of my path.” He says. I laugh. “Yeah that doesn’t sound suspicious at all. First you’re a prince and now suddenly my destination just happens to be in your path?” I say.

“Suit yourself.” He says before speeding up. “Wait! Just because my feet are starting to hurt, I’ll let you give me a ride.” I say with a smile. He grins at me before reaching his hand down to help me up.

The ride to Shiz is filled is lighthearted conversation and many laughs. I notice he’s taking the longer way to Shiz, seeming to not want the conversation to end.

He stops at the gates of Shiz. “I hope to see you around.” He says. “I don’t.” I say, jokingly, before unlocking the gate with my Shiz Pin. I hear him chuckle behind me. I turn back around and our eyes meet, for what I think is the final time. “See you later, Pinkie.” He says. I wince at the nickname I had opened up to him about. The one I’ve been called my whole life and have. “Bye, prince.” I say with a sarcastic tone.

I turn around and walk away, not looking back. I feel his lingering stare before hearing him and his horse ride away.

The next morning I open my door to get the daily paper. The front page shows the man from last night, the title reading “Prince Now Attending Shiz”

He wasn’t lying.

Later that day, I'm walking to class when I hear a commotion in the courtyard. Galinda Upland, the most popular girl at Shiz, is practically hanging off someone's arm. As I get closer, I realize it's him. Fiyero.

He's smiling politely as she chatters away, flipping her perfect golden curls and batting her eyelashes. I can't help but notice how they look together - like something out of a fairy tale. The handsome prince and the beautiful socialite.

I try to hurry past, clutching my books to my chest, but then I hear his voice cut through Galinda's endless stream of words. "Excuse me for just a moment," he says, already moving away from her despite her protests.

"Hey, Pinkie!" he calls out. I freeze mid-step, feeling everyone's eyes turn to me. Galinda's mouth drops open in shock as Fiyero jogs over to where I'm standing.

"I was hoping I'd run into you," he says, grinning at me. "Though I have to say, you're much easier to spot in daylight."

I can hear the whispers starting already. Galinda's perfectly manicured hand is pressed to her chest in horror as she watches the scene unfold. The prince - her prince of exactly ten minutes - is talking to the girl with the weird pink hair.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your adoring fan?" I ask, nodding toward Galinda.

He glances over his shoulder and shrugs. "I'd rather talk to the girl who called me crazy and lectured me about night riding safety. Much more interesting conversation."

I feel my cheeks flush, both from his words and the increasing number of stares we're attracting. "Well, someone has to keep you in line, Your Highness," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. The crowd around us continues to grow, and I can practically feel Galinda's glare burning into my back.

Part 2 —> coming soon

[meazalykov]

thirst

catarina macario x chelsea!reader

summary: too focused on the game, you forgot to focus on yourself

warnings: angst, fainting, reader passing out, period/menstrual

you woke up to an ache low in your abdomen that made you want to stay in bed for at least another hour. the pain was sharp, almost like your body was protesting the fact that it was morning. 

as you curled into yourself, the realization hit—your period had arrived. the timing couldn't have been worse. today was matchday, and not just any matchday. you were playing manchester city, one of the most crucial games of the season. 

this wasn’t a day for excuses or slowing down. you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to sit up despite the persistent ache.

the sunlight streamed through your bedroom window, and your phone buzzed on the nightstand. grabbing it, you saw a message from catarina:  

good morning, amor 

see you out there today. crush it like you always do. i love you <3

you smiled softly, her message giving you a small boost of motivation despite how miserable you felt. cat always knew how to make things feel better, even with a simple text. still, the cramps were unrelenting, and you knew they weren’t going anywhere. 

you rubbed your stomach absentmindedly, silently cursing your body for betraying you on such an important day.

there was no time to dwell on it. as you glanced at the clock, panic set in—you were running late. the usual routine of stretching, eating breakfast, and hydrating with a pitcher of water was completely out the window. 

you threw on your chelsea training hoodie, grabbed your bag full of necessities, and rushed out the door without a second thought. breakfast and water would have to wait. the match was all that mattered right now.

by the time you arrived at stamford, the atmosphere was attractive. fans were already filtering into the stands, their excitement palpable. matchdays like these were why you loved football. the energy, the stakes, the chance to prove yourself—it was what you lived for.

 the discomfort in your stomach was shoved to the back of your mind as you focused on the task at hand. this game was about keeping chelsea at the top of the league table. nothing else mattered. not even your discomfort.

in the locker room, the pre-game excitement was contagious. your teammates were focused but relaxed, their confidence filling the space. you could feel your own adrenaline building, pushing past the lingering ache in your body. as a midfielder, you thrived on being the engine of the team, the player who could shift the momentum with a single play. against a team like manchester city, your tactical mind and speed were going to be crucial.

before you stood up to get into the tunnel, you felt a hand on your shoulder. you turned around to see catarina, who you gave a light smile to before giving her a light peck on the lips. 

“have fun out there, ok?” the american says. 

“sure will.” you gave a fake smile, still ignoring the cramps that were now traveling up your back. 

the whistle blew to start the first half, and the game was as intense as you’d expected. city pressed high, their forwards like miedema and roord were relentless in their pursuit of the ball. you tracked back tirelessly, intercepting passes and closing down angles with precision. 

your vision on the field was sharp, your decision-making quick. when you threaded a perfect through ball to ramirez, the roar of the crowd was deafening as she slotted it past the keeper.

one-nil to chelsea.

the pressure didn’t let up. miedema, city’s forward, was a constant threat. her pace and precision forced your defense to stay on high alert. you found yourself marking her more than once, your legs burning as you kept pace with her runs. 

the cramps in your abdomen were a dull throb now, but you ignored them. you couldn’t afford to slow down, not in a game like this.

by halftime, you were drenched in sweat, your legs heavy but your heart still pounding with adrenaline. in the locker room, you downed a small cup of water, but it barely made a dent in the dryness of your throat. 

you didn’t think about eating the small tray of fruit that laid on the table in the dressing room, despite the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. the game was all-consuming, and you were determined to see it through.

the second half was even more intense. manchester city came back with a vengeance, determined to equalize. you threw yourself into every play, your body running on pure determination. 

around the 70th minute, though, things started to feel... off.

at first, you thought it was just nerves. your stomach growled loudly, but you brushed it off as pre-match jitters lingering in your system. then, your vision started to blur slightly around the edges. your legs felt heavier than usual, each step taking more effort than it should have. 

you blinked, trying to shake off the dizziness.

miedema came charging down the right flank, the ball at her feet. instinct took over as you stepped in, timing your tackle perfectly to steal the ball. you turned, looking for an outlet, and spotted ramirez making a run down the center. with a quick pass, you sent the ball her way. but as soon as the ball left your foot, your legs gave out.

you didn’t feel yourself hit the ground. 

when you opened your eyes, the world was a blur of bright lights and muffled sounds. your head was pounding, and your entire body felt drained. the first thing you recognized was nusken’s face hovering above you, her expression a mix of worry and relief.

“y/n, can you hear me?” her voice was soft, almost hesitant. 

“you’re okay. just stay still.”

you blinked slowly, your mind struggling to piece together what had happened. the medic was leaning over you, checking your pulse and murmuring instructions to someone nearby.

“what happened?” you managed to croak, your throat dry and scratchy.

“you’ve fainted,” nusken said, squeezing your hand gently. 

“just relax. we’ve got you.”

fainted. the word echoed in your mind as the memories came rushing back. the match, miedema, the ball leaving your foot, and then... nothing. embarrassment and guilt washed over you as you realized what must’ve happened in front of the entire stadium.

“where’s cat?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“she’s on the bench,” the german replied. 

“she saw everything. she’s worried sick.”

on the bench, catarina had been frozen with fear the moment she saw you collapse. her first instinct was to run to you, but protocol kept her rooted in place. her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her heart racing as the medics worked on you. 

seeing you, her strong and determined y/n, lying motionless on the pitch was a nightmare she couldn’t shake.

when the medic confirmed you were conscious, catarina felt a small wave of relief, but it wasn’t enough. she needed to see you, to know you were truly okay.

the final whistle blew, and chelsea secured a 3-1 victory, but catarina barely registered the result. all she could think about was you.

when catarina finally saw you in the medic area, the sight of you propped up on a cot with dark circles under your eyes made her heart ache. she sat down beside you silently, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of how you were feeling.

“how did the game go?” you asked, your voice weak but carrying a hint of your usual humor.

“we won. 3-1,” she said softly, her tone hesitant. 

“but let’s not pretend that’s the most important thing right now.”

you sighed, the guilt evident in your expression. “it’s my period,” you admitted quietly. 

“i wasn’t thinking. i forgot to eat or drink anything this morning.”

catarina’s brows furrowed in concern, her worry quickly mingling with frustration. 

“amor, you know you can’t do that. you can’t just forget to take care of yourself.”

you avoided her gaze, feeling like a scolded child. “i didn’t have time,” you muttered. 

“i was running late.”

she let out a deep sigh, running a hand through her hair. “you scared me, y/n. when i saw you go down like that... i thought...” her voice broke slightly, and she looked away, trying to compose herself.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

her gaze softened, and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “your apology is forgiven once you start catching up on your hydration. deal?”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. 

catarina reached down and grabbed a plate wrapped in foil along with a water bottle. “i grabbed this for you from the lounge. i figured you’d need it.”

you unwrapped the foil to find your favorite meal—chicken and rice with a small bowl of strawberries on the side. your stomach growled loudly, and catarina couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“eat, amor,” she urged, handing you a fork. “and drink. all of it.”

as you ate, you felt a wave of gratitude for her. she didn’t have to do any of this, but she always did. she always cared, even when you didn’t.

“i’m really sorry,” you said again between bites. 

“i’ll be better about this. i promise.”

“you’d better,” she replied, her tone teasing but still laced with concern. 

“because if you scare me like that again, caoch and i will tie a water bottle to your wrist and a snack bag to your other hand.”

you laughed, the sound weak but genuine. “you’d really do that, wouldn’t you?”

“absolutely,” she said, leaning in to kiss your temple. “now finish eating. you need your strength.”

masterlist

[sagesbard]

Actor au! My love 💟

Reader is a camera worker afab for the NSFW parts. Oh yeah NSFW MINORS DNI

Captain Curly 🎉

He met you on the first day of set. You were messing with a camera tripod that wasn't working properly. Muttering swears as you look at the metal contraption.

You were too busy trying to figure out the stupid camera to notice the man looking at you.

As shooting went on there was a day the director wasn't there. The producer stepped up, only issue was the producer was an asshole. It was a student film anyways.

As they shot a scene you realize one of the actors was going too far near the road during a flashback scene.

You automatically shot up behind the camera. Meanwhile the producer was too busy flirting with another person.

"Cut! Cut you dumbasses." You shout, setting down your headphones as you run from behind the camera. "Fucking stop Jim!" You yelled as Jimmy and Daisuke looked at you confused, stopping in their tracks.

"The fuck Y/N!?" The producer shouted once he realized what had happened.

"Are you fucking stupid!?" You yelled, finally snapping at the guy in front of you. "They were way too close to the fucking road you know cars just speed through here. You say as if on cue a car speeds past them.

"Yeah yeah, know your God damn place camera girl." The producer sneered. Curly then walked up.

"Calm down Daniel, she was just looking out for the crew, you obviously weren't." Curly said, defending his coworker.

"Watch it Grant, I can have your ass fired if I wanted to." Daniel said, crossing his arms as if he won.

"I'm sure Vivian would love to hear that you fired her only actor that knows what he's doing. No offense guys" Curly says. Turning towards his costars for a moment.

"none taken" Daisuke says. He took the job out of boredom. Jimmy took the job after you begged him for a week straight. And Swansea took it because Daisuke offered him up.

Curly volunteered for the job because he thought you were cute and wanted to spend more time with you.

Daniel scoffed and walked away. Muttering something about the two of you.

Curly laughed as the other man walked off.

Ever since then the two of you got closer.

After shooting wrapped up he asked you out.

Curly was nervous before your first date.

He took you out to a movie.

You ended up talking through a majority of it, ranting about the different shots and how they did the practical effects.

He loved listening to you the spark you had for film.

One date because two, then three, then before you two knew it he was asking you to move in with him.

Of course you said yes, you two got an apartment your last year of college.

NSFW

The first time you hooked up it was after the cast and crew party after wrap up.

The two of you were wasted and one thing led to another.

Even drunk he was still so sweet with you. He tasted like whiskey and citrus.

The way his hips moved against yours in a dance of fiery passion.

The morning after you expected him to be gone. But actually you woke up to the smell of coffee.

Curly leaned against the doorway, a mug in his hand as he greeted you. "Morning doll." He said, kissing your forehead.

That was when you realized that he was someone you wanted, no *needed* in your life.

Afterwards sex with him was always sweet.

A service top 100%

One day he needed to blow off steam and of course being the amazing girlfriend you are, you offered to help.

You couldn't walk the next day.

Daisuke🌺

Like I said he picked it up because he was bored.

He saw you fighting with the camera and fell in love.

The way you excitedly ranted about the inner workings of your favorite films.

He asked you out not too long during shooting.

He took you to an arcade.

He did his best to win you one of the crappy stuffed animals from the claw machine.

He spent all his tokens but on the last go he won you a little dog plushie. You still keep it on your bed to this day.

NSFW

A switch leaning towards bottom.

He's not normally submissive but he's inexperienced. So he wants you to be in control so you can feel good.

When he is top though hes a little rough with it. Panting and whining like a dog while he thrusts into you non stop.

Probably has a power play kink (I forgot what it was called) but you're the one that has most of the power.

Let him call you ma'am and he goes all night.

Same with you praising him.

Anya

She was originally in tech with you. She worked on lights until the original actress quit the project due to the producer being an asshole.

The director knew she'd do amazing at the role and set her up with an audition. Of course she knocked it out of the park.

You supported her from behind the scenes.

You were the one to ask her out.

You two went to the park and had a picnic.

Soon you two graduated from college and life went on. You moved in together and got a cat, Anya getting a job as a nurse and you working your way up to a director.

I can't really think of any NSFW ideas for Anya rn if anyone has any idea pls share :)

Jimmy.(He's not a rapist in this AU I don't condone any of his actions as a victim of SA and rape)

You had to convince him to audition.

You were friends since highschool and believe it or not he did theatre.

You saw the way he looked with the spotlight on his face, like it was his only home.

So when you were starting a new project you BEGGED him to audition.

He was hesitant, he hadn't acted in a while so he was a bit rusty.

He walked out of the audition room nervously.

By the time the cast list was out he ran up to you, excitedly holding the paper of acceptance as he hugged you tightly.

You two both carpooled there, sometimes you drove sometimes he drove. You always got coffee before even if y'all were late.

When he asked you out it was at the cast and crew after party.

He took you to an off-Broadway play. He wasn't a fan of musicals. He still has some song in his playlist though.

Afterwards you went on more dates then you two moved in together.

NSFW

He tries to be gentle he truly does.

But when he's in the moment he can't help but slam his hips against yours and bite a little too harshly.

He immediately apologizes after though and give THE BEST aftercare in the whole world.

He 100% whimpers when he's close.

He also goes kinda braindead when he cums. Mumbling stuff like "fuck I love you" or yes over and over again. You live for the desperation in his voice every time he's close.

Anyways guys- lmk how you feel about the actor au? I love it sm because there's little room for angst because it feels like everyone gets a happy ending 😁 also for the producer and the director I used a random name generator y'all can change it if u want <3

[torturedlexdepartment]

Sorry

Rafe Cameron x reader

Author's note: again, I apologize 💀

Warnings: ANGST, breaking up

Summary: after a year of trying to force feelings, you decide to finally break it off with Rafe

I stared down at my phone as I sat at the foot of my bed. Seven missed calls and an unfeasible amount of text messages from Rafe. I knew it was a bad idea to have the “this isn’t working anymore” conversation through text, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to have to look him in the face and explain myself. And now that he was blowing me up, I just wanted to run and hide.

I was just about to shut my phone off when I heard the sound of a truck pulling up outside. My worst damn nightmare. I should have figured Rafe would show up at my house the second I started ignoring him. I had known the man my entire life, how did I not think of this? I watched him out my window as he climbed up my steps and pounded on my front door. My car was outside so there was no denying that I was home. I sighed deeply before meeting him at my door.

“What the fuck Y/N? You can’t send that text then ghost me.” He pushed past me and I closed the door. I stayed turned away from him, not wanting to see his eyes beaming on me but I could still feel them. “Are you going to explain to me what you meant?” Tears started to well in my eyes and he spun me around to face him. His whole demeanor softened and he brought his hands up to rest on my cheeks.

“I just don’t think we should be together anymore.”

“Why?” I could tell he was trying to stay calm and collected and it just made this whole situation more impossible for me to bare..

“I just think we are better as friends.” He huffed as he stared down at me.

“All of a sudden? Out of nowhere Y/N?” What he didn’t realize is that these feelings of mine were not all of a sudden. I had always kind of felt this way. We have been friends for years and when he confessed his feelings for me, I thought I owed this a real shot. I thought I could fall for him and lord knows I tried. But how could I love him when I couldn’t love myself?

“I’ve always felt this way, Rafe.” He took a step back from me. I knew my words stung.

“Y/N, we’ve been together for over a year.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to let the tears start trailing down my face.

“I know and I’m sorry, okay. I tried.”

“You tried? What does that even mean? You could have said something after a month or two Y/N.” He started pacing around my living room with his hands up in the air, sometimes running them through his hair. I hated that I was making him feel this way. I could feel his fear and anxiety and it made me feel one hundred times worse.

“I tried to give us a real shot. I’m so sorry, okay.” He barely let me finish before he questioned me.

“You don’t love me?” I felt frozen in place. I didn’t want to lie but there was no way to answer this question without hurting us both more.

“I care about you and you mean the world to me, Rafe.” I tried to walk up to him, to comfort him. I reached for him but he pushed my hands away.

“Answer the question Y/N, because you know I love you more than fucking anything.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want this conversation to have to go down this path but it was the only way he was going to get it.

“Rafe, you don’t even know me.” He stopped pacing and snapped his head to look right at me. He looked at me like I was a crazy person and I’d be lying if I tried to say I didn’t start feeling like one.

“I’ve known you since we were kids so how exactly does that make sense?”

“You know what I want you to know.” I was running out of ways to try and explain myself. I wished he could have just accepted what I wanted and left me alone.

“What does that even mean Y/N?”

“You know the parts that I’ve allowed you to see, gotten as close as I’ve allowed you to. You don’t know everything okay. I’ve barely allowed you to scratch the surface. And if we keep going with this, I’m going to let you dig deeper and then you’ll see the real me, and I can’t let it happen.” I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable with someone and I hated the feeling.

“Y/N, you’re crazy if you think that after all this time that anything you say is going to scare me off. I already see you regardless of what lies you’re trying to tell yourself.” I was getting unbelievably frustrated. He wasn’t going to stop.

“Look, you deserve someone that doesn’t have to question how they feel, someone who knows what they want.” I didn’t realize that he was walking over to me until I stopped talking and looked up. He leaned down to kiss me and I pushed him away angrily. “Don’t do that!” He was trying to convince me and I refused to let him change my mind. It didn’t matter how much I cared about him or how much I wished this could work.

“Y/N will you just stop?” He pleaded.

“I don’t love you, Rafe. Not the same way. And I don’t think I ever can.” As I said the words, I could literally see the light leave his eyes. He looked down at the floor and held his tongue. He was fighting back tears that he didn’t want me to see. We both stood there silently for a few moments before he walked past me, right out the door. I found myself aching to say something, but there was nothing left to say.

I walked over to my window and watched him speed off out of my driveway and out of my life. The only relief I had was knowing that he was now free for someone else to love. And one day I’ll stop wishing that it could have been me.

[astrcmoni]

⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst, smoking, slight cussing

authors note: hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it, let me know what you think.

You never thought you’d see her again, not after the way she left. she had always been a storm—unpredictable, consuming, leaving wreckage in her wake. You tried to hold on, but there’s only so much a person can give before they break. When she walked out, it felt like she took the last of your light with her.

You remember the way it felt to watch her walk away—her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her head low like she couldn’t bear to face you. She didn’t even slam the door; it just clicked shut, soft and final. You told yourself you were done with her, but that was easier said than lived.

It’s been two years since that night. Two years since her voice, soft but certain, said, “I can’t stay.” Two years since you swore you’d never let her back in. But tonight, under the illumination of the glowing party lights you see her again.

Standing across the room like a ghost made flesh. drowning in her own sea of bodies as people danced around you both causing a claustrophobic separation. Her hair’s a different color now, and her face looks a little older—sharper in some ways, softer in others—but it’s her. There’s no mistaking those eyes.

You caught sight of her first, squinting at the back of her frame, not fully realizing who it was until she turned towards you. then, those blue eyes locked with yours. and it feels like the ground drops out from beneath you, leaving you weightless and frozen, suspended in a moment you can’t escape.

Your chest tightens—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. It’s like all the feelings you thought you’d buried are clawing their way back to the surface, making your heart ache in a way that feels almost physical.

Your breath catches, the kind of catch that’s barely noticeable but feels like everything inside you is short-circuiting. Time slows down, or maybe it speeds up—you can’t tell because everything is a blur, a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. You don’t even register the people around you anymore; they’re just noise, fading into the background as your vision tunnels on them.

And then there’s the sting, sharp and raw, a rush of memories slamming into you all at once. The sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at you, all of the things that were left unsaid. It’s like your mind is running a reel of every mistake, every moment, and you can’t stop it no matter how much you want to. You feel too much and nothing at the same time—numb and overwhelmed, like your body and your emotions are completely out of sync.

Party forgotten all about and it feels as if the world narrows to just the two of you, that was the last thing you wanted right now. The more you two stare at each other the more the air around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Every sound around you—voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses—starts to blur together, growing louder and louder until it’s just noise, grating and overwhelming. Your skin prickles with heat, the bodies around you seemingly too close for your comfort and it feels like the walls are closing in, each inch tighter than the last. There’s nowhere to focus, no solid ground to stand on, and your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You feel an urgent need to move, to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of it all. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, anywhere you can break free from the crushing space around you. Shoving past the partygoers without even registering as so much of a face. Mind fixated on finding some fresh air, something open, and quiet.

Your mind raced, thoughts and questions zipping pass one another. What in the actual fuck was she doing here? This was supposed to be a small event but you should’ve known better. It was a album release party for a mutual friend, but with sightings of her becoming less and less your worry began to dissipate. But that all went out of the window tonight, just your luck.

Finally you found a door, pushing through it and being greeted by the cool air of the LA night sky. you inhale the air, gulping it as if you were abandoned at sea and it was your lifeline. Finding a small curb, you take a seat on it as your hands found their way to your knees, clutching yourself as you tried to steady your breathing, allowing you to be present once more. It’s not instant relief as your mind was still racing, chest still tight— but at least you’re out.

The crack of the earth beneath feet reaches your ears—a faint shuffle of footsteps against the pavement, growing louder with each step. Pace steady but hesitant, like they’re not trying to startle you but can’t decide if they should keep going. The click of shoes echoes quietly in the still night, a contrast to the muffled hum of music emerging from the party behind you.

You don’t turn around at first, every instinct inside telling you to stay still, like moving would somehow make it real. But the sound gets closer, the steps slowing as they near. There’s a pause—long enough for your breath to hitch—and then the faint crunch of gravel as they shift their weight. You can almost feel them standing there, their presence heavier than the silence between you. Your eyes flicked over to the shoes of the person that stood beside you and they confirmed your already strong suspicions.

“Can I sit?” Her voice is low, almost timid, and it throws you. Billie was never timid. She was loud, unpredictable, and bold. Always the one who burned brightest in any room you were in together.

Could she sit? tuh. The question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unwanted. After all the pain and bullshit she caused you, after the nights spent choking on tears you’d promised yourself were the last, the instinct was to scream a hard, unshakable hell no. How does she get to just show up, and ask something of you? You wanted to tell her to leave, to walk away as easily as she had all those years ago. It would’ve been so simple—just a few words, and she’d be gone again.

But your heart—that damned, stubborn heart of yours—betrayed you. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, beneath the memories of slammed doors and empty spaces she used to fill, there was still a soft, desperate ache. A quiet part of you, buried under years of resolve, that wanted to hear her voice again, to feel her presence even if it hurt.

So you hesitated. The silence stretched, sharp as glass, and for a moment, she almost looked ready to walk away without an answer. But then you tilted your head ever so slightly, a gesture so small it almost felt insignificant, and her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—relief? Guilt? Hope? She moved quickly, like she thought you might change your mind, lowering herself into the spot on your left.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders hunched, as though she could make herself smaller, less imposing. And you just stared ahead, watching the glow of the streetlights dance against the asphalt, trying not to think about how close she was, how her scent—something faintly familiar, like lavender and rain—drifted toward you in the cool night air.

You wanted to ask her why she came back. You wanted to tell her to leave again. But most of all, you just wanted to feel something other than the confusing swirl of anger and longing twisting in your chest. And so, for the first time in years, you sat together in the quiet, the unspoken words between you louder than anything either of you could say.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to remind you why it mattered so much in the first place.

“yea…didn’t think I’d see you,” you reply. And you hadn’t. You’d spent months—years—working to get over her, scrubbing her out of your mind like a stubborn stain. Some days you thought you’d succeeded. But now that she’s here, all it takes is one look at her for the memories to pour back in.

The way she used to smile at you in the dark, like you were her entire world. The way her hand used to linger on yours, warm and grounding. The way she kissed you, like she was terrified you’d disappear if she didn’t hold you close enough.

And then the way she left.

The way you watched as her back disappeared the more steps she took, the way your heart shattered into what felt like millions of pieces and how you were left to pick up every single shard.

“So… how are you?”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unwelcome. It lingered in the air, raw and exposed, forcing you to confront a question you hadn’t asked yourself in a long time.

How were you?

The truth was, you didn’t know. You’d spent the years since her absence piecing yourself back together, brick by brick, like a fragile tower of Lego blocks. Some days, the pieces fit; other days, they crumbled under the weight of the memories she left behind. You tried new things—picked up hobbies, traveled to places you thought might cleanse you of her ghost. You even let yourself fall into the arms of others on occasion, hoping someone else might finally feel right. But none of it stuck. None of it filled the void she carved into your chest.

Still, you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t deserve the truth, didn’t deserve to know about the nights you stayed up convincing yourself you were better off, or the mornings when you woke to find her name lingering on your lips like a bitter aftertaste.

So instead, you told her the easiest lie. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice smooth, practiced. You didn’t dare look at her when you said it, afraid your eyes might betray the cracks still mending beneath the surface.

She nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you thought she might believe you. But the way her gaze lingered—searching, gentle, and entirely too familiar—made you wonder if she could see through the facade, if she still knew you in ways no one else did.

You turned your eyes back to the streetlights, refusing to give her anything more. Fine was all she needed to know. Fine was all she was getting.

“I—” Billie stops herself, looks down. She does that thing where she chews her bottom lip when she’s anxious, and you hate that you remember it so clearly. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice breaking on the words. “For the way I left. For… all of it.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

She flinches, and for a split second, you feel guilty. But then you remember the nights you spent crying over her, the days you spent forcing yourself to get out of bed, to move on. She doesn’t get to come back and expect it to be easy.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep messing you up.”

Your eyes roll so hard they could fall into orbit, a scoff bubbling from your chest at her words. The sentiment is tired, hollow, the same recycled bullshit excuse you’ve heard from past ex’s—but Billie? No, this was a new wound entirely. Of course, two years apart, and she’s already sinking her claws in, pricking at your nerves.

You fish into the pocket of your jacket, fingers brushing the familiar papered edge of a joint you rolled earlier, your lifeline in case the night went sideways—which, apparently, it had. With a soft click of your tongue, you press it between your lips, muttering a dry “tuh.” Seriously? This? Now?

But when you reach back into your jacket for a lighter, your brows knit together. Your hands shift to your sides, patting pockets with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling over fabric.

“The fuck?” you mutter under your breath, shuffling and searching as your irritation simmers into something hotter, more desperate. Something in Billie’s gaze says she knows exactly where it is.

“Oh, here,” she says.

The sound is sharp and intimate, slicing through the quiet like a whispered secret. A metallic click, clean and deliberate, breaks the stillness, followed by the soft scrape of the flint wheel turning. Then comes the bloom of the flame—a faint whoosh that carries a warmth you can almost feel. It’s steady, alive, crackling faintly as it dances in the dark, casting flickering shadows against the night. The scent of singed butane drifts into the air, sharp and chemical, grounding you in the moment. It’s such a small sound, but next to you, it feels impossibly loud, like a heartbeat outside your own.

She never indulged in your smoking habits, never shared in the way you leaned into the soft haze to escape reality. But she always carried a lighter. Always. For you. Because somehow, no matter how many times you bought one, you had a way of losing them, and she had a way of knowing.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even after everything, she still carried that lighter—still kept this tiny piece of you with her, like muscle memory she couldn’t unlearn.

She held the flame steady, her hand shielding it from the wind with practiced ease. You didn’t move, your hand hovering near her but never quite closing the gap. Instead, you watched as the fire danced, the golden glow illuminating her face in the dim light. The wind teased the flame, threatening to snuff it out, but she guarded it instinctively, her other hand cupping the lighter as if it were precious, fragile.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, trapped in the flicker of light and shadow, as if the fire itself held some kind of spell over you. Or maybe it wasn’t the flame at all. Maybe it was her—the quiet familiarity of her gestures, the way she still did this for you, even now, even after the years and the pain.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. An ex lighting her ex-girlfriend’s blunt, an act so casual it hardly deserved a second thought. But to you, it was so much more. It was a thread connecting the past and the present, a bridge over the chasm of two long, lonely years.

It was intimacy. A kind you hadn’t felt in so long it almost scared you. The kind that knew your rhythms and your faults, that carried lighters for your bad habits and lit them without judgment.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to extinguish the fire before it burned you again. But your heart—foolish, stubborn thing that it was—ached for this moment, for this tiny act of care. So you stayed still, watching the flame dance as your heart and mind waged their quiet war. She watched and waited to see what you would do, and without thinking your body leaned forward, towards that bright ember of a flame. And when she finally lit the blunt for you, her fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, it felt less like a habit and more like a confession.

You watched as the flame stretched toward the blunt’s tip, small but fierce, its edges flickering and alive. It kisses the paper, and for a moment, it clings there, glowing brighter as it bites into the wrap. The paper darkens and crinkles, curling inward as the flame consumes it, leaving a thin line of blackened ash in its wake.

Your eyes meet hers, still in your crouched position, and for a moment, everything stills. The laughter and music fade into the background, muffled by the weight of her gaze. It’s so quiet in this bubble that it feels like you could stay here forever, wrapped in the soft, strange serenity between you.

But you don’t. You blink, the spell breaking as reality creeps back in. This moment isn’t yours to keep, no matter how much you wish it was.

A wisp of smoke rises, twisting lazily into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper and the earthy undertone of the tobacco or herb inside. The ember glows softly, pulsing like a heartbeat as it takes hold, the flame retreating once its job is done. What’s left behind is a smoldering edge, fragile and jagged, the beginnings of something that burns slow and steady.

Leaning back, you withdraw the joint from your lips, letting the smoke roll slowly from your mouth. You blow it to your right, away from her, the exhalation curling into the night air like a phantom. You’ve always been careful, always mindful, because you know how much she hated it.

You remember the first time you sparked up around her, the way the cloud drifted lazily in her direction and enveloped her. She coughed, sharp and sudden, her face twisting in discomfort as her hand shot up to wave it away. Later, she told you how it made her feel—the way the smoke clung to her throat, thick and choking, leaving a sour taste at the back of her tongue that wouldn’t go away. How it wove itself into her hair and clothes, lingering like an unwelcome ghost she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t mind you smoking,” she’d said back then, her voice soft, almost apologetic, “but just… not near me. It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her words had stuck with you, burrowed deep into your memory, because they weren’t an attack—just honesty, delivered with that quiet gentleness she used to wield so well. Since then, you’ve been careful. Always turning your head, always blowing the smoke away, no matter where you were or how distracted you might be.

Even now, with her sitting beside you after years apart, it’s instinctive. The smoke twists and curls into the night, a hazy ribbon that never touches her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, watching as she sits unaffected, her gaze somewhere far off, and feel the smallest tug of relief.

It’s such a small thing—redirecting the smoke, sparing her the discomfort—but it feels like an unspoken promise. A habit born out of care, out of knowing her in ways no one else did. And even after everything, you can’t seem to stop yourself from caring.

You laugh bitterly, picking back up on your conversation . “And leaving didn’t?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at you with those ocean-deep eyes that always seemed to pull you under. “I didn’t stop thinking about you,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The part of you that still aches for her, that still wants to believe in her despite everything, starts to flicker back to life. But it’s just a flicker, nothing more.

“Why now, Billie?” you ask, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. You leaned your head on your right hand as its elbow rested on your knee. Spliff burning in between your middle and your index fingers as you slightly began swaying in thought. “Why come back?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, you see the storm inside her—the guilt, the hope, the fear. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you,” she says.

“So, you’re apologizing because you need something. Not because you’re genuinely sorry.”

The words leave your mouth, calm and measured, though they sting with the weight of years. You don’t look at her, not yet, but you can feel her gaze, warm and searching, on your face. You take a breath, letting the silence between you stretch. It’s the first time in a long while that you’ve allowed yourself to speak with this much clarity, this much honesty. And it feels both liberating and painful at once.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, quieter. “That’s not true. I am sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. She’s sincere, you can hear it in the tremor of her voice, but that doesn’t make the past go away. The years of waiting, the nights spent wondering why she left, wondering if you were ever enough for her.

She hasn’t moved since she sat down, but the space between you feels vast now, like an ocean that neither of you can quite cross.

“But you hurt me,” you say, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw that you haven’t let surface in so long. “I loved you, Billie. I loved you so much, and you just left me. No explanation. No call. Hell, you didn’t even leave me a damn text.”

You finally look at her. Her eyes are wide, full of regret, and for a split second, you almost forget all the reasons you’ve been angry with her. Almost. But the hurt is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and you can’t let it go. Not yet.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the words thick with remorse. “And I am truly sorry. I’ll never stop apologizing for what I did.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she takes a deep breath before she looks at you again, her eyes pleading. “But I love you. I do.”

I love you.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You want to respond, want to say something sharp and dismissive, to keep the walls between you up and firm. But instead you take another drag of the joint in your hand, as your heart—damned thing that it is—pounds in your chest, betraying you in the quiet of the night.

You swallow, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if the distance between you could ever truly disappear.

You know what letting her back in could mean. You know the pain she’s capable of causing. But you also know the way she made you feel when things were good—the way she made you feel alive.

And as you sit there, staring at her in the glow of the streetlights, you realize you have a choice. You can let her back in and risk it all, or you can walk away and finally put her behind you.

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the silence stretching unbearably between you. And for the first time in years, you’re not sure what to do.

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[blackcatplushie]

Yandere in an Apocalypse

warnings: gun, blood, some violence

male yandere x reader

You run as fast as you can into the forest night. It's so dark outside you can barely see what's in front of you. Your feet hurt so much but you can't stop running, not while he's not far behind. It's colder outside than you remember. Or maybe it's because you're only wearing your pajamas. You didn't have the time to worry about dressing appropriately. 

Your lungs burn from running so hard. It's been a while since you've been so active. Hope springs into your chest as you see the fence come up on the horizon. You quickly throw your bag over and climb over not being aware of the jagged rocks behind the fence. You slip and slam your leg hard against a sharp rock. 

Blood oozes out and spills over your leg like a curtain. It's a large cut, from the middle of your calf down to your ankle. You whimper in pain and sit on the ground for a moment, cursing at the world for being so unforgiving.

Panic starts to rise as you look around for signs of any ghouls nearby. Zade went out often to "clean" the area and look for supplies but you weren't so sure about that anymore. The familiar groaning and stench of rot grows near as you struggle to get up.

You quickly try to wipe the blood away with your shirt but it's too late. They wander towards you with lifeless eyes and their jaws unhinging unnaturally, ready to devour. 

Your legs move before you can think. You try to run, ignoring the burning pain in your leg and the gush of blood that comes every step you take. You have to get to the edge of the forest no matter what. You remember seeing a motorbike rental shop there when you and Zade first came to this forest. It wasn't the greatest plan but maybe you could take a bike and get away from here. 

As you run, the smell of rot doesn't seem to go away leaving you confused. You realize too late that you're being surrounded by ghouls. They had been coming from ahead and behind you. They crowd around you hungrily. A crooked and manged hand shoots out towards you. Before it can touch you, a bullet whizzes past, shooting the ghoul in the head. 

You tremble and look behind you to see the man you've been running from. "Get down!" Zade yells. You get down and cover your ears. Bullets rain down on the ghouls taking them down quickly. You shake in fear hearing the gunshots. When did this become so commonplace? You wish you could go back to life before all this mess. When things were normal and you didn't have to spend everyday on edge. 

The bullets stop and you look up slowly, still trembling in fear. Not because of the ghouls but because now Zade is here and you know he isn't happy with you. His footsteps trudge towards you and you can't help but look down again. He sighs deeply before crouching in front of you and yanking your injured leg towards him. 

You yelp in pain and surprise which he scoffs at. "So fucking stupid. You did all this just to need me to save you. Do you know how pathetic that looks?"

You look away, not able to say anything. If he notices your fear, he doesn't mention it. Or maybe, he just doesn't care anymore. His rough fingers trace the edges of your wound. "Shit... I think you might need stitches," his eyes soften and the edge in his tone lightens after seeing the look on your face. "Don't worry, I'll fix you up as soon as we get home."

He pulls out a cloth and wraps it tightly around your leg. It hurts but you try not to let it show. He notices anyways. "It needs to be tight so you don't lose too much blood."

"I-I know..."

"You're so clumsy, how could I ever let you out?" he mutters to himself. "You could've died."

"What's that?"

"...Why can't you just let me go?" you mutter bitterly. 

"Why do I have to live like this? E-everyday I'm stuck waiting for you that facility for you to come back like some sort of dog... Or even worse I have to play nice and sweet so that you don't get upset and punish me!" you begin to sob, the resentment overwhelming you. "I'd rather die, but that's not allowed either! I hate you... I hate you so much!"

A unfamiliar expression appears on his face. At first it looks like anger and then guilt. He sighs, getting up slowly. "... Let's just go home. If you want to throw a tantrum right now, do it at home where the ghouls can't get you," he says. 

There's a rustling sound to the side of you and Zade. A ghouls stands up among the pile of bodies. Zade reaches for his gun, about to shoot but stops and looks back at you with a strange expression. "Huh, I guess I left one alive..."

He steps away from you leaving you confused and scared as the ghoul creeps near you following the scent of fresh blood. 

"Z-Zade? W-what are you doing? Hurry! It's coming closer!"

"Hm? Yeah... So what?" he says blankly. He tilts his head to the side smiling. 

"Please..! I-I'm sorry, just please kill it already!"

Your mind races, thinking about what he wants to hear. There's no time to think about being shameful right now. You want to get away from Zade of course but getting mauled by a ghoul is a painful way to go. Your pleading eyes dart frantically between the ghoul and Zade. In the end you spit out whatever you could think of, "Please help me, Zade! I'm sorry for running away, I-I just—Please I-I love you!"

"Hmm, okay, but only if you say what I want you to hear. I'm feeling a bit petty. You were just so mean to me." He puts his hand over his heart with and looks at you with a deep frown while wiping his nonexistent tears. You can't believe how annoying he's being right now. You're about to be mauled by a ghoul and he's sitting there joking around. 

In a swift motion, Zade pulls out a pistol and shoots the ghoul in the mouth right before it could chomp down on you. Its blood splatters on your face. You shake and sob, feeling tired and miserable from this whole mess. Zade comes down next to you and wipes the ghoul blood off your face with his sleeve. He's smiling down on you, a warm and satisfied look in his eyes. 

"Oh, you poor thing," he says softly, "Let's get you home, yeah? Get you a nice warm bath and some rest."

He picks you up and holds you tight for a moment. His brown hair tickles against the crook of your neck. You can feel him trembling a little before kissing your cheek and making his way back home. "I love you too... more than anything."

You lift your head slightly and see that the sun is starting to rise. Trails of ghoul bodies are littered across the trail. Ignoring the bodies, the forest looks beautiful in the morning. "Am I going to be punished?" you ask Zade tearfully. 

You sniffle, your cries easing into shudders as he carries you home. You can't help but feel comforted as he holds you. He's the only one you have left after all. The people you loved and the world you knew before has withered away into nothingness. You wrap your arms around him and cry into his shoulder. He pats your head softly. 

He laughs softly, his dimples showing. "Of course you are."

[emma23]

When you left:

Joel miller x reader

————————————————————————

It’s quiet outside. The world is still, as it often is in these moments, when danger feels both distant and imminent at the same time. You hear the wind brushing against the cracked window of the small cabin you’ve holed up in for the night.

Joel’s standing across from you, eyes heavy, filled with something between regret and longing. His rough hand, scarred from years of survival, lingers mid-air before it falls to his side.

His voice is low, as if the words are a burden he’s struggling to lift.

“You’re afraid of me.”

His gaze holds yours, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something human beneath all that guardedness. It’s not often you see Joel like this. Vulnerable. But it’s fleeting.

He takes a step closer, his breath shallow as he continues, “You are aware that you’re the only person in this world I’d never hurt, right?”

The words hit you, but not the way he wants them to. They echo, bouncing around the walls of your mind, but they don’t offer comfort. If anything, they open a wound that’s been festering for too long. You feel your throat tighten, that familiar sting of pain and anger bubbling up inside you.

“If that was the case,” you start, voice steady despite the crack you feel coming, “then you wouldn’t have walked out of my life when I needed you the most.”

Joel’s face falters. His brows knit together, the weight of your words sinking in. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he can offer an excuse.

“You already did hurt me, Joel.”

Silence follows. It’s deafening, thick with everything left unsaid. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench as if he’s fighting some internal battle. You want to believe that he’s sorry, that he understands what he did to you. But there’s this stubbornness in him, this refusal to admit just how much damage his leaving caused.

He steps closer, the tension in the room thick as his presence looms over you. “I didn’t have a choice,” he says, his voice rough, filled with a sadness that almost makes you want to forgive him. Almost.

You shake your head, backing away slightly, needing space from him—space to think, to breathe. “There’s always a choice, Joel,” you say softly. “And you chose to leave.”

The memory of that day is still fresh in your mind. The moment you realized Joel was gone, that he’d left without a word, without any explanation. It felt like your world had crumbled beneath your feet, like you’d been abandoned all over again, just like everyone else you’d ever trusted.

Joel looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s never been good with emotions, never been good at handling situations like this. But this time, you won’t let him off that easily. You won’t let him run from this.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you continue, voice trembling now. “To wake up and find out you were just... gone? Like I meant nothing to you?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out to you again, as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between you two. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “Do I? Because it sure felt like it.”

He sighs, stepping even closer, until there’s almost no space left between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I had to keep you safe. I couldn’t...”

His voice trails off, and you see that familiar pain in his eyes—the same pain you’ve seen when he talks about his past, about everything he’s lost. But this isn’t about his pain. It’s about yours.

“Keep me safe?” you laugh bitterly. “Joel, I would’ve rather faced every danger in this world than lose you like that.”

His hand finally reaches you, resting on your arm. His touch is warm, but it doesn’t ease the ache in your chest. It just reminds you of everything you’ve missed, everything that’s been lost between you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words are almost too quiet, like he’s afraid to say them. Like they’re too heavy for him to carry.

You look up at him, searching his face for something—anything that might make this easier. But all you find is a man who’s just as broken as you are, if not more.

“I don’t know if sorry’s enough, Joel,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He flinches, and for the first time, you see something crack in him. “I’ll do better,” he promises, his voice urgent now. “I won’t leave again. I swear.”

You want to believe him. You want to believe that things could go back to the way they were, that you could find some semblance of happiness in this broken world. But deep down, you know that things will never be the same. Too much has happened, too much has been lost.

You let out a shaky breath, stepping closer until your forehead rests against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And for a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to feel safe in his arms again.

But the hurt is still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

“I missed you,” you whisper against his chest, your voice barely audible.

He holds you tighter. “I missed you too.”

Later, as you lay in bed together, the room silent except for the sound of your breathing, you find yourself wondering if things could ever truly be okay between you two. If the scars left behind by his absence will ever fade.

Joel’s arms are wrapped around you, his presence warm and solid beside you. And for now, that’s enough.

But as you drift off to sleep, a single thought lingers in the back of your mind:

Sometimes, love just isn’t enough.

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t losing someone—it’s realizing they were never really yours to begin with.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

YEARNING || Trust

There's always choices to be made.

Tags/Warnings: Dragonblood!Prince!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Some fluff if you squint?, Jungkook is emotionally constipated oops

Length: 5k words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

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“You’re so gentle with them, it’s really nice to see.” Taehyung says, as he watches you help clean the still soft scales of the young dragon in your lap. “It’s like you’ve got a natural talent for it.”

“I wouldn’t call it talent.” You laugh, gently running the damp towel over the head of the heavy but still young creature in your lap, it’s eyes closed in bliss as it’s resting on your thigh, nearly asleep. “Isn’t it a.. normal instinct to care for children?”

“Children of your own kind, maybe.” Seokjin sighs. “But normally, humans don’t see anything positive in the whelps other than monetary value.” He mumbles, preparing food for the smallest hatchlings.

“Jin..” Taehyung warns softly, but you shake your head.

“no, he’s right.” You sigh. “and I’ll probably never understand how you can look at these beings and feel.. nothing.” You mostly talk to yourself, as someone else enters.

“Its good to see you up.” Namjoon offers. “I’m sorry for not having taken into account how sending Yoongi must’ve looked to you.”

“Its nothing to apologize for. I overreacted.” You wave off. “I hope he wasn’t scolded?” You worry, but Namjoon shakes his head.

“No, Jungkook understood.” He nods, before he seems to fall into thought. “which actually… would you like to accompany him and myself today? We will be taking a regular look at the borders later.” He asks, and both Seokjin and Taehyung share a look that shows only confusion.

But you nod. You reckon its most likely to show you a way to leave from, and where to go so you can truly make your way out of this place without getting in the way again. “good. I’ll come back later to fetch you.” He nods, before he leaves.

“Border patrol? That seems.. weird.” Taehyung bluntly states.

“Its mostly weird that he’d want you there.” Seokjin says towards you, who just shrugs.

“Maybe to give me an idea where not to cross again.” You explain. “It’s likely. Considering I can’t stay.”

“I still don’t get why not.” Taehyung huffs to himself, disappointed. “You’re so good with the hatchlings, and you’re clearly nice. Yoongi gets to stay too, why not you as well?” he mumbles to himself as Seokjin gives him a bottle to feed to the already jumping baby at his legs.

“I’m sure he has his reasons.” You simply say, as you help feed the small dragons, making it clear that you do not want to talk about it any further.

It’s later on that you realize Namjoon must’ve forgotten to tell Jungkook that you’ll be accompanying the two of them- because the glares the prince keeps sending his advisor could surely kill at any given chance.

And the biggest reason for that, is that apparently, Namjoon had forgotten that he can’t actually tag along at all, leaving the prince and you alone.

“You can just show me where to go, and send me off.” You tell him, as he rides closer to the border, horse calm but curious while Jungkook makes sure to keep an eye on you riding close to him, on one of the horses usually meant for other riders who patrol the borders.

“…you won’t leave today.” He mumbles, frustrated with himself. “...unless you want to, of course.” He offers, but you just sigh, petting the horse’s neck.

“I don’t think I could make that decision on my own.” You answer him, earning his full attention. “I would just act selfishly.”

“How so?” He asks, steering his horse past a few rocks.

“I would stay.” You shrug. “I don’t.. know why. Being here makes me feel guilty, and yet something inside of me craves to stay.” And at those words, Jungkook begins to feel guilty himself. If it wasn’t for his weird situation, you wouldn’t be stuck feeling like this.

Wait. You.. Shouldn't be feeling anything connected to the bond. This whole thing should be one-sided.

“Did you.. Are you sure your mother was entirely human?” He asks you, as the horse tilts its head a little to look at something for a second, before Jungkook steers it back on track. You shrug, before you nod.

“Very sure.” You say. “I’ve.. Seen some Hiwern women fleetingly, these past times I’ve been here. And she looked nothing like them.” You respond to him.

“And what about your father?” Jungkook asks- feeling you sigh.

“He died, during the last war.” You say, making Jungkook tense up. “I remember him leaving, when he was drafted. He.. Really didn’t want to fight, but he couldn’t risk us getting punished for his actions either.” You shake your head.

“Fear is a powerful emotion.” Jungkook says. “It’s however still brave to face it as an act to protect one’s family. Honorable, even.” He admits, despite his natural.. Negative feelings towards anyone who fought against his own kind.

“He wasn’t scared.” You deny however, causing him to perk up in interest. “He just.. Really didn’t want to fight. Because he felt like.. The enemy wasn’t his.” You explain. “That’s what my mom said.”

It’s quiet for a moment. What you say paints a different picture to how the war had been taught to him- if your father didn’t want to go to war against the Hiwerns and dragons, how many felt the same, but were forced to do so to protect their loved ones?

This is all getting way too muddy for his liking. Everything seems to blur and bleed, no clear lines visible anymore to him.

However, looking at you from a new perspective, he has a hunch as to who your father might’ve been. “Did he ever become a defector by chance?” Jungkook wonders, and you shrug.

“I’m not sure. My mom.. Mentioned something like that, but we never really got any definitive proof.” You explain. “All we had was a letter, and uhm.. This.” You say, pulling a necklace out of your coat, Jungkook taking a look at the tag on it- a silver soldier’s tag to be specific. “Someone told my mom that the three lines scratched in there mean he surrendered.” You say, and Jungkook leans over to inspect the tag a bit closer-

And you’re not quite right about the meaning of those three lines.

The three lines were a sign of acceptance- symbolizing a dragon’s footprint, they’ve been scratched into soldier’s tags after they did something meaningful for the Hiwern people. Simply surrendering would only really gain soldiers a way out.

This means that your father must’ve been accepted at some point.

“Hm. How did you get that?” Jungkook asks, letting go of the necklace for you to tuck away back beneath your clothes again.

“It was given back to us, together with his body.”

Jungkook quiets down at that. He doesn’t want to imagine your mother having to explain to you that your father would never return back home- that he was dead, and gone forever. A child shouldn’t have to grow up without any of the parents missing- but the world is a cruel place, and people always end up hurting themselves for nothing.

Jungkook quietly brings you both back to Taehyung and the rest- leaving you with them, while he himself investigates his own suspicions a bit further. If your father really got accepted, there has to be records of it somewhere in the archives, and Namjoon is the one keeping track of it all.

Because if what you say is true, then there has to be evidence of this somewhere.

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“There. The Number on the tag is the same.” Namjoon offers, having finally found an entry that seems to be what Jungkook has been looking for. A few documents written about him, and a small leather bound book, a journal most likely. It’s common for soldiers to write one after all- to leave something behind for their families if they don’t end up making it back.

And your father didn’t. It’s a shame he never even got to give it to you either.

He skips over some things, before something catches his attention. “..proved his bravery as he fought for his kind, and not against it.” Jungkook furrows his brows. “..despite his actions of mingling with the human kind, he still kept his dragon heart and stayed loyal to the tooth.” Jungkook reads.

“He was a Hiwern?” Namjoon wonders, surprised. “Well that certainly changes things.” He mumbles, looking over Jungkook’s shoulder to read what’s written down in the memorial book for himself. “So she is a hybrid Hiwern. Very interesting..” Namjoon says, as he instantly moves to look for something, while Jungkook is left behind.

Your father basically gave up his place within the lines and kingdom of the Hiwern people- just to be with your mother? He looks through the pages to find the mention of you and your brother- children he had raised as his own, even though you and your brother were not his.

This is just getting more and more confusing.

‘When I found her, naked and left to join the course of nature out in the winter, I did not hesitate to take her in as my own, despite the fact that she was not mine.’

Is written down in the journal pages attached to the memorial entry for your father. The leather of the booklet is worn and torn from age, so its not unusual to find the pages loose and out of order, a lot most likely missing entirely.

‘She was neither this nor that- discarded as a mistake meant to be forgotten.’

Jungkook sits down near a window, crossing his legs in a more comfortable position as he continues to read the handwriting.

‘they were not the same, but I raised them as such.’

He writes further, with that most likely meaning that your brother was his lover’s son, while you were not- but that he didn’t make any difference between you or your brother.

‘They are my children, cared for by my beloved, who had longed for another child for way too long, but was denied by nature to never receive one from me.’

Jungkook has to imagine the situation, somewhat. Has to think of what your childhood between all those humans must have been like, unaware of why you actually were. And he does admit that you do have something strangely familiar to him, even though he does not know you. Like a fable told to him years ago, as if you’d jumped out of those tales, made by the words and descriptions written down. If you have even just a hint of dragon’s blood in you, his attraction would finally make sense.

He flips through the pages of the journal, some of them burned, dirty, or torn. Your father most likely held onto them until the very last, before he gave them to the libraries to be archived.

‘Is it odd that I feel like she is starting to look like my beloved? Not in appearance, but in mannerisms. The way she hums the same song as her mother, the way she brushes her hair alongside her in the mornings, the way she carries the basket to help with the gardening. I see my beloved in her, every day a bit more. And I feel soothed by the thought that she will carry those parts of her even once we will no longer be here to watch over her.’

Jungkook’s heart aches for your father. He most likely never found out what happened to his partner, how she was taken away by force of the law, and not by the simple rule of time.

‘She will one day do well amongst the Hiwern people. She belongs there, I feel it every time I see her watch the dragons above with a certain sense of longing. One day I will bring her there, because her real home is amongst them.’

This catches Jungkook’s attention, as he remembers how you’d told him how you feel almost as if you’re pulled towards this place, instead of your former home. If your father was right, it would most likely be the blood yearning to go home, where it belongs, even though it’s not pure.

Your father is right, he decides, as he moves a bit to close the book. You belong here, even if he himself isn’t too fond of the thought. He has no right to deny you your place.

A piece of a page falls out and onto his boot, making him pick it up to read it, sentence cut but context still very clear on the burned scrap.

‘...oever it might be that one day might reach out for her hand;’

‘please, do not leave her out in the cold again. Dragons need warmth, after all.’

“Jungkook?” Namjoon asks, making the prince mindlessly tuck the torn piece of yellowed paper into the pocket of his coat, before he looks up. “what will you do now?”

“Well, I believe all the bits and pieces fit together.” He sighs. “from the way the younglings act towards her, to the memorial entry and the tag of her father. I can’t deny her a place here.” He accepts a bit reluctantly.

“And the bond?” Namjoon asks, watching the prince intently.

“Can wait. I don’t.. I can’t make a decision about that right now.” He refuses to answer properly, getting up after giving the book to his friend.

As he walks through the several bridges connecting the tunnels and houses hidden inside the mountains, he finds his interest sparked as a lot of the youngest dragons seem to be on the hunt for something- clumsily crawling over the grounds of a larger mountain top where much grass has grown, edges protected by fences to make it safe. The youngest are poking their heads around stones and trees, playing around it appears like. “Hide and seek.” You explain from behind him, partially hiding beneath, ironically, a large stone carving of the daughter of the mountains. “Seokjin said it trains their hunting instincts.” You explain, watching the little hatchlings searching for their ‘prey’- finding Taehyung who didn’t put too much effort into his hiding spot as to not make it too hard.

“How can you be a good example to them, showing yourself so openly?” Jungkook.. teases? You’re caught off guard for a good second, and don’t notice his hand in the pocket of his coat feeling the folded paper.

“Well, I mean-“ you stammer. “it’s not like you’re gonna hunt me..” you say, when you spot the way his lips begin to curl up, a sparkle in his eyes flickering. And somehow, there’s some odd internal words exchanged, or something else you can’t quite figure out.

“What makes you so sure?” He asks, eyes still on you-

When you suddenly run off, hearing the prince running right after you, Taehyung laughing together with someone else as the Hiwern chases you around the small patch of grassy grounds, your own laughter soon joining in as you try your hardest to escape the dragon blood, opting to climb a tree he doesn’t follow you up on.

Instead, he stands at the tree’s roots, arms crossed, chest rising and falling from his quickened breathing. “You will have to come down at some point.” He challenges.

“I will, when you’re gone!” You call back towards him.

“I have time, and patience. I can wait.” He responds, and at that you move to sit more comfortably on the thick branch, looking down at him.

“Have you found out more about my father?”

He’s caught off guard by this, and sighs, moving to face away from you, leaning against the stem of the old tree. “I did.” He responds. “how did you know?”

“You’re very easy to read.” You simply answer, swinging your legs.

“am I?” He scoffs, and you laugh.

“Yes. Very.” You dig the dagger deeper, and he rolls his eyes- not that you can see. “He was a good man. I hope he was remembered as such.”

“He was archived as a very good man.” Jungkook reassures you.

“He was one of you, wasn’t he?”

“he was.” Jungkook responds.

“it’s funny.” You say, watching the other hiwern afar struggle with one of the bigger helps. “if he’d never met his lover, never found me, do you think fate would’ve still created me?” You wonder.

Jungkook believes that in that case, he wouldn’t exist either. Because if the complimentary part to his blood did not exist, why would he?

“we will never know.” He answers because of that.

And that’s where he leaves you- figuratively, and literally.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

The next morning, everyone already seems to be busy and scrambling around, as he opens the windows to watch multiple staff hurry to wash clothes and sheets outside in the gardens on top of the hills and smaller mountains. This wouldn’t be unusual-

But there’s also medical personnel running around, instructing male and female maids to fetch things needed left and right.

A knock on his door is heard. Namjoon steps inside, bows politely. “whats going on?” Jungkook wants to know, wary now that he can see his friend place down a tray of water, breakfast and a steaming mug of herbal tea with a distinctive smell.

“There’s been multiple reports during the night of Hiwerns feeling sick. We’re still investigating, but the symptoms do point towards an outbreak of Scale Haze. One of the mother dragons must’ve brought it in.” Namjoon explains, as Jungkook takes the tea into his hand to sip the bitter liquid. “it also seems as if we might be.. getting our proof. About her blood, I mean.”

At that, Jungkook’s interest is peaked- though his gaze is alarmed, rather than curious. “She caught it too?” He asks, and Namjoon nods.

“She has the same symptoms.” Namjoon says, which makes the prince turn towards him fully.

“All the symptoms?” He asks, and namjoon nods.

“All of them.” He says, sitting down at a small table where Jungkook’s breakfast was placed, the Hiwern prince sitting down to eat while he listens. “fever, confusion, nausea, you name it.. but she’s visibly struggling a lot more than even the younger dragons.” He sighs.

“Her human side.” Jungkook says, speaking out loud what his friend is hinting at. Namjoon nods.

“Her body isn’t as good at dealing with it, especially the fever. But we’re trying our best.” He says.

“Make sure she gets the treatment she needs. Isolate her from the rest if necessary.” Jungkook mumbles, crossing his arms.

“You can see her and the others, if you’d like. But only from afar.” Namjoon instructs as Jungkook finishes his breakfast. “it might boost their morale. I’ve heard humans especially benefit from emotional support during sickness.” He says, as the prince gets up to get dressed.

“We’ll see how much is true about that theory.”

When Jungkook later on enters the rooms where the currently sick are being treated, he sees what he expected. Scale Haze is like a viral infection amongst dragons after all- it happens, though any kingdom or group should try to avoid it due to it being a pretty nasty ride, and very dangerous for the very young and elderly. But when he reaches the room you’re held in, he’s not prepared for just how bad you’re coping.

If one could even call it coping.

You’re asleep, or at least not conscious, sweat on your skin, while several maids tend to you, making sure to keep you both comfortable and your temperature down as much as possible. “Is there anything she needs?” Jungkook questions, but the tending maid shakes her head.

“Yoongi has gone through a fever before too, and he survived. She will be just fine.”

And while Jungkook doesn’t quite believe that fully, he has no choice but to exit the halls of the sick, to keep himself safe, and the kingdom running as always. He might not want it to be so, but the sight of you in such a miserable state hurts him physically, due to the bond, mostly. It’s growing steadily with every breath you share near him apparently, getting stronger every day.

A decision has to be made soon- but for now, the prince needs to focus on his own duties.

And yet, over the course of the next few days, he’s constantly distracted by the thought of you- how you’re doing, if there’s anything changing at the very moment, or if there was anything he could do to somehow make it easier on you. He catches himself watching the window often, always anticipating the moment you’ll join the other recovering Hiwerns outside- but do you even need sunlight to recover properly?

He knows from reading here and there, that humans do indeed need sun exposure here and there, but that they can also burn their skin since its a lot more sensitive. But the more he thinks, the more he starts to become a bit more confused.

Your father was a Hiwern. That much is certain. But your mother was not your biological one- he had found you out in the woods. True, you don’t look like you have full dragon blood- but maybe you’re just an anomaly. It happens, after all- from Dragons born without scales, to missing their wings or being unable to fly. The same goes for Hiwern people- they come in all shapes and sizes, taller, shorter, blind or deaf, missing their markings or having more prominent marks than others.

Why does this occupy his mind so much?

“They’re having a bit of trouble with your mate.” Yoongi teases as he sits down in front of Jungkook, setting down a few papers meant to be signed and sent off to another Hiwern Hideout.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, alarmed- but also, surprisingly enough, no longer fighting the term used to refer to you any longer, as if he’s starting to accept it, slowly but surely. “Did something happen?”

“She’s recovering, so calm down.” Yoongi reassures him. “But the caretakers are having quite a hard time keeping her in bed. She’s quote, ‘acting worse than any other hatchling’, I’ve been told.” He says, and Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his face.

“What is she doing?” The Hiwern asks, and Yoongi laughs under his breath.

“Helping, as she calls it.” He explains. “She watches out for any chance, and then strikes to take over any task she can manage. It does help, but it’s also very obvious that she should slow down a little.”

This alone makes Jungkook visit you later on, arms crossed as he observes you wash some of the clothes. “You should be resting.” He scolds, and you jump at that, instantly turning around to face him.

He has to admit- looking at him like that, he couldn’t ever really see himself getting extremely angry at you.

He takes the fabric you’re currently holding onto from you, before he waves an actual caretaker over to do the task for you, keeping a hand on yours as he drags you back to what he remembers was your bed in the makeshift quarters. “But- I’m doing better!” You complain.

“Better is not good enough. You’re supposed to rest, not prolong your sickness because you don’t give your body enough time to recover.” He denies your complaint, only letting go of you once you sit on your bed again.

“I’m not contagious anymore.” You argue once more with crossed arms- just like he is standing in front of you.

“I don’t care.” He answers.

“I can help-” You try again, and he’s quick to shut you down.

“Not like this.” Jungkook denies.

“But I can’t just lay around and do nothing.!” You whine, clearly agitated over this.

Jungkook sighs. He can understand that you’re most likely restless, he himself knows the feeling well- but there’s nothing he can really do in this moment. He doesn’t want you to be harmed by your own stubbornness, but he doesn't want you close either because he knows he won’t be able to properly handle that.

But he’s unable to resist any further it seems like.

Because hours later he’s working on reading through the documents before signing them, while you’re sleeping on his bed of all places, dozing away what’s left of your sickness in your body, and this alone makes him feel lighter, in a way. He watches you for a good little moment, just thinking about what would really happen if he was to just give in, and reach out for you.

Would it really be as horrible as he thought it would be?

You’re basically almost the same, simply a little different, but nothing near impossible to make work. Your father seemed to have been just fine raising his children alongside a human mate- and even though Jungkook’s position is very much a different one, no one could ever blame him for just wanting to be selfish at least once in his life.

Until now, his entire existence had always been devoted to his role of future leadership. It’s always been about what he can offer to the people, to the small little kingdom left to his kind- but he wants to just be stubborn for once. Betray his title and gain something that’s simply just for himself, and not to be shared with others.

He wonders if it could work.

And if it would-

How his life would turn around.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

While you didn’t sleep in his chambers, but rather returned to your very own soon after your nap and a decent meal, Jungkook still feels as if your scent alone left on his pillows offered him a sense of company at night.

Now, this morning, it’s obvious that you’re recovering well- though you still seem rather tired. He can’t help himself when he spots you laying down on a blanket outside in the gardens where other dragons currently reside as well-mostly mother dragons taking care of their recovering younglings. When he walks closer, you don’t seem too alarmed, though you sit back up properly, as if you expect him to say or ask something.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he sits down on the blanket with you, wordlessly patting his leg as if to invite you to lay your head there- and you do so, unsure yourself as to why this seems so impossible to deny. There’s a strange attraction in yourself that you cant properly explain yourself- as if you’ve known him forever, and want to be as close as you can be, just because everything feels better the closer you are.

So you watch from where you’re laying down now, with your head on his thigh, how the mother dragons curl up for a nap in the sunlight as well, resting as they recover from their illness. “How are you feeling?” He asks, and you notice his hand resting on your waist by now, casually, with no other clear intentions. You simply nod, eyes closed, and he can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes him at the sight of you so blissful.

It’s a clear and obvious sign that while your body might be painfully human, your blood is still a dragon’s- and it’s calling out to his own, reaching out and clinging to him already.

“When do I have to leave?” You ask, still not opening your eyes- and his hand moves a little at that, adjusting its position as he sighs.

“You don’t.” He admits. “You belong here.”

“Do you want me here?” You ask, now looking up at him. “it’s fine if you don’t. You know.. I can maybe travel to another Hiwern outpost then-“ you explain, but he shakes his head.

“No, you will stay here.” He denies. “I.. there is something I need you to know.” He starts, and you nod, slowly sitting up- and while he internally doesn’t like it, he has to let it happen, mind aware that putting at least a bit of distance between you two is for the best, especially considering the topic he’s about to begin. “Hiwerns.. have mates.” He says, and you lean your head a little to the side in confusion. “It’s a blood connection, so to speak.”

“And I am yours?” You ask, making him nod as an answer.

“There’s.. no real bond yet, but it is why I’m holding you at arms length.” He admits to you. “I am in a position of power, and every move and decision I make has to be carefully calculated.” Jungkook explains. “But I can’t help but.. crave to be selfish.”

“selfish?” You wonder, unsure what he means. “Because you want to.. I guess, accept that bond-mate thing?” You ask, and he nods- avoiding eye contact now. “But how would that be selfish? It’s not like I’d automatically fall into power as well.”

This makes him stutter, he’s widening as he realizes you’re right.

You’d gain nothing from this. You’d simply be his mate, but other than that, nothing would change. He’d been worried about how he’d be perceived by the other people under his ruling, but at the end of it all, you are right. It’s not selfishness-

If anything, his act of simply seeking out an emotional and physical connection to someone else, taking on a lover and mate, just makes him painfully human.

And is that truly such a mistake?

“You’re right.” He nods after a moment of thinking. “You’re right.” He repeats softer, and you smile.

“so-“ you start, leaning a bit closer to him to finally catch his gaze again.

“Does that mean I’ll finally get to know you?”

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“You accept her?” Namjoon wonders as be walks into Jungkook’s office, where he stands to watch outside of his window, observing you help some others in hanging up laundry. Jungkook nods.

“Its up to her to accept me now.” He says. “she wants to get to know me first.”

“So?” The fellow Hiwern laughs. “What are you doing in here then? It’s hard to get to know someone else by simply staring from afar.” He jokes, and Jungkook sighs, crossing his arms.

“I don’t.. know what she thinks she’s going to find.” He says, a little frustrated. “I don’t know what she wants to find.”

“I don’t think she wants to find anything specific.” Namjoon denies, walking to stand next to his friend. “I believe she just.. wants to know who you are.”

“She knows.” Jungkook frowns. “my name, my place, my history. What else is there to know.” He argues.

“What you like and dislike. What you dream of, or what you enjoy eating. What you were like as a child, or what you like to do in your free time. Jungkook, just.. be yourself for once. You can be a leader any other time of the day-“ he advises, a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “-But please, take this chance.”

Take this chance.

It’s a little later that morning that he finally finds the courage to seek you out again- this time finding you way down at the foot of the mountains, where you’ve agreed to help a group of Hiwerns in bringing a few horses back that they have traded with a human outcast near the border.

“Does this happen often?” You wonder, as you walk towards Jungkook , holding the reigns of a dark brown horse. “trading with humans, I mean.” You wonder, not even seemingly surprised that he’s there.

“not often, no.” He denies, taking the reigns from you before he walks besides you back to where the horses are hidden from sight. “we have.. contacts that we trust, and that is where we leave it most of the time. It’s purely business more often than not.” He admits.

“Hm. Because new connections aren’t really trustworthy yet, I guess...” you say, making the prince nod.

“Trust has to be earned, and nurtured. It’s not to be freely given away.” He agrees, and you stay silent for a few steps, before you speak again.

“How.. can I earn your trust?” You ask, as he gives the reigns to another person who brings the new horses into their stables, leaving you and Jungkook behind.

The prince seems to think for a moment, before he answers.

“I don’t know.” He says.

“You know, answers like that.. make me trust you.” You admit, a drop of water falling onto your shoulder, skies having darkened a little with heavy clouds. “because you’re honest.” You say, and Jungkook turns to look at you.

“You deserve honesty.” He simply offers, making you smile.

“thank you.” You respond, and he can’t help the way his lips tilt upwards as well, smile creeping up on him by the sight of you.

“come on now. Before it starts to rain.”

On the way back, he notices it again- the song you hum, while holding your own hands behind your back, walking with your steps easy and light. You really do look right at home in this place- you seem to glow almost, like an animal set free into its natural habitat. It’s no wonder that he feels enchanted already- he’s almost convinced that even without the blood-bond, he’d have found interest in you either way.

So he finally sets himself free as well, as he walks closer, and moves his own hand between yours to take hold of your palm. It’s a wordless gesture, but the fact that he interlocks his fingers with yours to keep you at his side makes it obvious what he’s trying to tell you with it.

“I’ll have to help take down the laundry again before it rains.” You say, but he shakes his head as he leads you somewhere else.

“the maids can do that.” He denies. “right now, I’d like.. your company.” He asks almost, and you laugh.

“my company? For what?” You repeat, bumping a bit into him- surprised however to see him smile so openly at you now.

“to get to know you.”

[adrift-in-thyme]

May I request Fairy Time and Hyrule doing some wing care or teaching the others how to help them take care of their wings?

Yes you absolutely may! Tysm anon!! I hope you don’t mind a bit of angst with all the softness

CW for one mention of blood

———————————————————————-

“How long has it been since you did this?”

Hyrule runs gentle fingers over Time’s wings. They spread grandly on either side, hues of soft greens and delicate blue-violets reflecting the sun’s smiling rays. Usually, they are colored in bold crimson and royal blue, which clash like swords on a battlefield. But today they take on a more tired appearance. Faded, they have begun to droop discouragingly.

Time has never admitted it, but Hyrule has eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that his wings change when something is wrong. More often than not, they herald the disturbance before it can truly become known. A flash of forest green and the next thing he knows Time is fading into the mist in search of solitude.

…or collapsing in the middle of the trail.

Now, Time hums, sounding distracted. His hands lie in his lap. Absently, he twists his wedding band back and forth so quickly it is liable to rub a rash into his skin.

(Another nervous habit of his Hyrule has picked up on.)

“I’m not certain,” he admits, after a moment of quiet contemplation. The words are spoken with an air of something so desperate to be flippant. “I’ve been occupied with other matters.”

Hyrule blows out a weary sigh.

Other matters like worrying about all of us.

True, things have been strained amongst the heroes since Twilight’s injury. And as unofficial leader — and the rancher’s ancestor — Time has borne the brunt of it all. But still….

Malon had warned him about this.

“Oh, he just doesn’t take care of himself.” She had whispered during a visit to the ranch months ago after Time had fallen asleep at the dinner table. Head resting on her shoulder, he slept far deeper than he had in days.

“I’m not askin’ y’all to hover or anything. Heaven knows you’ve got enough on your plates as it is. But…just check in once in a while, will ya, loves? I don’t want him to lose himself while trying to take care of everyone else.”

Hyrule can’t help but feel that he has failed. The events of the past weeks have left their mark upon him too. Exhaustion has hounded him at every turn, dragging him down so heavily that he has nearly collapsed beneath it. And yet, he had noticed the signs. The quietness, the reservation, the increase in snappishness…the fear. But he had done nothing about them.

It wasn’t until Time had asked if he had taken the time to care for his own wings that he realized he hadn’t seen the older hero settle down to tend to his own lately.

He winces as he weaves the spell into some of the worse areas, mainly gathered around a large scar. These large wings, normally so bright with magic and life, have begun to lose their glimmer. Frightened, they shrivel, curling in one themselves to shield from the light.

With wings like this, flying will soon become agonizing.

Would he have tried to anyway? Hyrule doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Solitude can be harmful. He knows that far too well. But sometimes he wonders just how much of his life Time has spent alone to end up believing it is the only way to get by. Even after this family they have formed along the paths of hardship, even after Malon, it seems to be the road most familiar to the hero.

“You can always ask me, you know.”

He has been gentle this entire time, even more so than he is with his own wings. But with this part, he is extra cautious. He threads the healing magic into Time’s veins with the delicacy of one handling glass.

“I know it’s hard to take care of your wings yourself. And I know it’s even harder to trust others to do it for you. But…” He swallows as his fingertips graze the scar.

What had occurred to create such a chasm? To his knowledge, Time has never spoken of the event. Sometimes, he wonders if he ever will.

“You trust me…right, old man?”

Time looks up, fingers stilling at last.

“Of course, I do, traveler,” he says, softly. “I don’t mean to make it seem like I don’t.”

“Then, let me help you. Please?”

“I’m allowing you to now, aren’t I?”

The traveler huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. It doesn’t mean I can’t tease.”

There is a smile in his voice, and Hyrule is glad of it. Even still, if the hero believes he’s going to escape without a proper reply, he is sorely mistaken. If Hyrule is known for anything, it’s his infinite stubbornness.

“Come on, old man,” he urges, softly. “Promise me you’ll ask someone to help tend to your wings when you need it. It doesn’t even have to be me. Just ask someone, please.”

Time’s wings are beginning to improve now. Threads of vibrant red glow from beneath the green. Like blood on new cloth, they spread, engulfing the other colors. He watches, slightly awed.

“I love you, Time,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you enduring pain just cause you don’t want to be a burden.”

For a long moment, Time says nothing. The only sounds are the subdued jingles of the spell twined about Hyrule’s fingers and the harmony of their breaths. It is peaceful in a pensive sort of way.

Then, “alright,” he says in a voice taut with emotion. “But only if you allow me to help you when you need it. Don’t think I don’t see how you struggle to remember your own welfare. You are too selfless for your own good.”

Hyrule chuckles. “Well, I could say the same about you.”

A small smile lifts Time’s lips. “Such is the path of the hero, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” The traveler’s gaze goes to the scar once more. “I guess.”

Silence pads in on soft, silken paws and settles down cozily. Time goes back to rotating his ring, though the motions are slower, calmer this time. Hyrule turns his full attention to finishing his task. Above them, the sun smiles, and Time’s wings transfer it in panes of pale red upon the blades of grass.

“Traveler?” Time’s voice is so quiet it is hardly above a whisper. It nudges aside the quiet, murmurs with the wind.

When the hero is in his fairy form, it is as though he is of the nature that surrounds them; as at home amongst the towering trees and great sky, stones and moss and gurgling streams, as the fleet-footed deer or furtive foxes.

Hyrule looks up, head cocked in question. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. And…” Time smiles, so soft it erases years of anguished hardship from his visage. “I love you too.”

The traveler smiles.

[ihni]

Introductions

For @harringrovemicroficandart, November prompt "Moon", 965 words

~~~

”That was so cool! Do you, like, howl at the moon at midnight too?”

Billy didn’t even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes over this stupid kid’s stupid question. He did resist growling though, due to the fact that the kid had just seen him transform back to human after his monthly Change. Wouldn’t want to freak out Max’s new classmate on their first week in town, after all.

Speaking of Max, she was the one to answer (since Billy sure as hell wasn't going to); “What? No, of course he doesn’t!”

Since it was Billy’s first Change in a new territory, she’d offered to stay in the car to keep an eye out in case the cops or curious locals passed by and got suspicious about a strange car on a random road in the middle of the night. So she’d been there when Billy got back after his Run – and unfortunately, she hadn’t been alone. One of her new classmates – a curly-haired kid with weird teeth – had apparently been biking past and seen her and decided to strike up a conversation, and she hadn’t been able to get rid of him before Billy showed up, still half wolfed-out.

Honestly, the kid had taken it pretty well. Anyone else would have screamed and made a run for it at the sight of a naked teen with claws and glowing eyes stumbling out of the woods.

God, Billy wished the kid had just screamed and made a run for it. It would have sucked to have been outed so soon, but at least it would have beat the kid excitedly trailing after him and blabbering, even as Billy walked around the car and putting his clothes back on.

“That’s good actually, that would be suspicious, there hasn’t been wolves in Indiana since, like, 1908. There are deer, though. Do you eat deer? Do you hunt deer?” An excited gasp, then, “Ohmygod, do you turn into a wolf and hunt deer?”

Billy didn’t deign that with a reply. He had Maxine for that.

“What the fuck, Dustin?!” Oh, so that was the kid’s name. “He doesn’t ‘turn into a wolf and hunt deer’ –” Billy pointedly didn’t say anything about the dead rabbit, “– why would you think that?”

The kid made a duh-face that made Billy want to punch him. “I’ve read it in comic books!”

“Oh, and I guess you believe everything you read in a comic book?”

“No,” the kid replied, drawing the word out and sounding way too sassy for his own good, “but I learned about werewolves from them and since that proved to be real, maybe the rest is true too. But if I got it wrong, feel free to correct me. In fact,” and here he shrugged off his backpack and reached in for – a notebook and a pen? “Please tell me everything.”

God help him, Billy was gonna strangle this kid.

Before he got a chance to, though, the rumble of a car engine caught his attention, and soon after the headlights of a car bathed the road in light. All three of them – Billy, Max and the annoying kid – turned to look as the car rolled to a stop next to the parked Camaro. The door on the driver’s side opened and someone stepped out, and Billy realized two things simultaneously:

The guy was his age, and really handsome.

The guy was a werewolf.

The guy must have realized the same about Billy, because his eyes didn’t leave Billy’s even as he addressed the kid. “Dustin, what are you doing here? Claudia sent me to pick you up at the Byers’ house but when I got there, Joyce said you’d already left. You know your mom doesn’t like you biking in the dark by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself though!” the kid said, breathless, “I’m with Max, this is Max, she goes to my school. I found here out here and I thought she’d been kidnapped or something because, like, a girl sitting in an abandoned car in the middle of the night –“

“It obviously wasn’t abandoned,” Max snarked, oblivious to the newcomer’s status since she hadn’t had her first Change yet, “since I was sitting in it!”

“– but it turned out she was just waiting for her brother, and Steve, you’re not gonna believe this –“

Billy and the newcomer – Steve – had been standing stock still since their eyes met, tensed and waiting for the other to make a move, but as soon as the kid began gesturing wildly towards Billy, Steve reached out to pull him behind him.

“Dustin, get in the car.”

Smart – you shouldn’t trust strange werewolves around kids. Which was precisely why Billy had subtly placed himself in front of Maxine.

Dustin protested, loudly. “No but Steve you don’t understand –“

A glance at Steve’s perfect hair, and Billy felt the sudden urge to ruffle some feathers.

“He already knows, kid,” he therefore said, and got to see the kid’s head whirl around and stare at first him, then Steve, then Max, and then back to Steve again.

“What? Have you met already? I thought you were home sick from school these last few days?”

Which must be why Billy hadn’t seen him around yet. He grinned, showing a hint of fang. “A wolf always recognizes another wolf. We can smell each other.” He nodded not-so-subtly to the notebook the kid was still holding. “You can note that down.” He looked up at Steve’s face, and let his tongue run over his teeth.

“You can?” the kid said, and then seemed to realize the implications of what Billy just said. “Wait – Does that mean –?” A gasp, and then a shriek, loud enough for birds to flee the nearby trees. “You’re a werewolf, Steve?!”

[trekkiehood]

I Wore The Mask Up High (MotA Fanfic)

Ao3 link

Rating: T Words: 3.7k TW: Canon typical violence, Panic attacks, threats of assault (very mild)

Summary:

“Buck!” The shaking brought just enough clarity for him to hear his name. “Gale!” This time shouted directly in his ear. He flinched away and only then realized how accelerated his breathing had become. “Breathe Gale. Come on.” --- Gale's mask finally starts to crack after a run in with some guards. Bucky is there to help paste it back together.

Authors Notes on Ao3

"I wore the mask up high on a daylight run That held my face in its clammy hand" - The War Was in Color by Carbon Leaf

Buck felt the tension before he saw the crowd. As he wormed his way through the uneasy prisoners he heard the murmurs and eventually the angry shouts be lobbed at one of the guards. 

He had no idea what this lieutenant was upset about but he was about to get himself shot. The German sergeant took a step forward and Gale knew they were already working with borrowed time. 

“Lieutenant!” He barked, making it to the front of the crowd. “Stand down!” It didn’t matter what the argument was about. It didn’t matter who was right. What mattered was keeping the guards from using their guns or fists on one of his men. 

The man, a boy really, they seemed to get younger with every shipment of prisoners, didn’t listen, rearing his fist back. 

Gale didn’t have time to think, he grabbed the boy’s wrist, yanking him away from the guard. The lieutenant fell back and was caught by a few of the guys who had gathered around “Get him to his barrack, now.” he ordered the first man who dared to make eye contact with him. 

They nodded, pulling the stunned man back through the crowd. Buck had only managed to take a single step before he felt a hand grasp his left arm. He fought the initial urge to fight back, freezing instead. A gasp ran through the men at the same moment he felt the cool barrel of a rifle level against his right temple. A second guard had joined and apparently wanted an example. 

Gale didn’t move. He barely breathed. But he saw the men before him and knew he couldn’t risk showing fear right now. He had to focus on keeping the men calm and not getting shot. A few men broke away from the group and he could only imagine they were running to grab the Colonel. Hopefully he could get here before things escalated even further. 

Finally, he slowly held his free arm out, palm forward and clear. His left arm was still tightly grasped by the initial guard and he didn’t want to risk being accused of an act of aggression. He wasn’t sure what to do. There seemed nothing to do except to wait and see the outcome of his fate. The Germans were speaking to each other and maybe he could have picked up some of the words if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his breathing even. 

A commotion had broken out and Gale wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Then he saw the cause. Bucky had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, followed closely by Benny. His eyes blazed with anger but that wasn’t what Buck saw. Gale saw the fear. The panic. The grief.

Buck watched him, begging with his eyes for him to not do something stupid. He should have known better. With a growl, Bucky lunged forward. DeMarco grabbed him around the waist, yanking him back and frantically whispering something in his ear. He wasn’t sure what Benny was saying but after a final shake, Bucky stopped fighting to get free and was released.

All his attention had come to rest on Bucky. He should have known better. Gale couldn’t hold back the surprised grunt when his left arm was twisted backwards and pressed against his back. The guard was going to break his arm. It may not even be intentional. Gale hated how weak he had become. How fragile, brittle, his time in the stalag had made him. He could feel the bones wanting to give under pressure.

The anger sparked in John’s eyes, he grit his teeth and seemed to be using every ounce of control he had left to not lunge forward. Benny’s hand snaked up, grasping hold of Bucky just in case that self control broke.  

Another hand gripped his upper arm in a bruising hold, bringing his attention away from his friend and back to his current predicament. “You are very pretty, ja?” The words whispered accompanied by the hot breath on his neck caused Gale’s mask to slip, if only for a second. His breath caught, eyes seeking out Bucky. “We could have so much fun with you.” A small pause, the crushing grip on his wrist tightening. “But shooting you now would also be fun. Such difficult decisions.” 

Something in John’s face shifted and Gale knew he had to reel in his panic, control himself. Bucky couldn’t come in guns blazing to save him. Not this time. But he would try. If Gale couldn’t manage to tamper the panicked glint in his eyes… 

He couldn't show weakness. He had to bring his breathing back under control. The guard behind him laughed at his obvious distress. 

Slow breaths. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

Don’t look at Bucky. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

Look anywhere else but at Bucky. 

“Entscheidungen.” The man with the gun said with a chuckle. He may have brought his breathing under control, but he couldn’t hide his pounding heart. Not from the man who pressed up against him. Holding him in a way that made every fiber of his being want to lash out. 

Buck wasn’t an idiot. He knew how some of the guards looked at him a little too long. It made him cautious to walk alone in less populated areas. To avoid one-on-one interactions with any of the guards, just in case. 

But now there was no avoiding it. The thought lingered in the back of his mind that this whole ordeal had been planned, strategized. They knew he would stand up for his men. Goad any kid into a fight and Gale would be there ready to play peacemaker. Ready to take the fall and whatever punishment they deemed fit. 

Against his will his eyes returned to Bucky. He didn't know what his own eyes said, felt too disconnected from himself to control anything except the steady breaths he had to force, but he saw Bucky's jaw tighten. 

He tried to beg with his eyes. Plead with him to not do anything stupid. To not let Gale’s fate dictate his own. But he knew Buck wouldn’t listen.

John’s eyes only blazed with fury and a desperation that scared Gale. It would spill over soon. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. 

“What is going on here?!” 

Buck’s eyes flicked away to where Colonel Alkire was marching towards them with authoritative steps. A few men followed behind, clearly out of breath, but not stopping until they personally saw that Major Cleven was still alive. 

Nails dug into the flesh in his arm, but the Germans remained silent. 

“Well?!” The Colonel demanded again, now standing only a few feet to their right. “I assume you have a good reason for treating one of my officers like that?!” The Colonel tried not to throw his weight around unless it was unavoidable, trying to save it for when it was really necessary. Buck was thankful that he was deemed necessary. 

“He should learn to watch his tongue.” The sergeant behind him hissed, but released his arm. 

Gale’s breath caught at the sudden change in position, but he steadied himself, slowly bringing his left arm up to match the right. In doing so, his weight shifted, causing the barrel of the gun to be pressed more firmly against his temple. 

Fine.

 If they were going to kill him, better for them to do it quickly. With one bullet. He had no interest in living out the war in some Kraut hospital or having to be put down like a dog. 

All eyes were on the Colonel, but when Buck’s eyes flitted away he saw that John was only looking at him. Their eyes met and Gale knew with sudden certainty that the second the gun went off, Bucky would be dead too. DeMarco’s hand wrapped around his arm wouldn’t be able to hold him back. Nothing would be. 

A riot would break out. Chaos. More men would die.

The Colonel knew that too. 

He stepped forward until he was at Buck���s right shoulder, inches from the man with the rifle.His voice was low, but held no room for disagreement. “If you pull that trigger I won’t be able to control them. Neither will you.” 

“Lass ihn gehen.” The sergeant behind him did not sound happy as he ordered his friend to let Gale go. 

“Nein, das ist unsere Veränderung. Er gehört uns!” 

Buck’s German wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he understood enough. It wasn’t the “no” that had his eyes breaking from Bucky’s to watch the Colonel’s response. It was the, “He’s ours.”

“Then you can explain to the Commandant and the Red Cross why there was a riot that took out half your prisoners. If you survive it. Because you’ll be the first one they go for.” It was not the normal imposing voice of the Colonel, but one that commanded the same respect. He wasn’t bluffing. They all knew it was true.

The only answer was the same voice from behind him, “Gehen!” 

A harsh pressure on his back had him stumbling forward. The sharp stinging on the side of his head flashed and then went numb with the intense ringing that seemed to come from inside of him. His knees failed and his outstretched arms were the only thing that kept his face from losing the war with gravity.  

For a moment it was like living in the space between a heartbeat. The world, still around him. The only sound, blood rushing in his ears and his own labored breathing. He blinked, hearing muffled voices grow louder. He should know what they were saying. The pisces felt meant for him. But he couldn’t comprehend any of it. A warm sticky substance was dripping down the side of his face, gathering in the corner of his right eye, but he didn’t think his shaking arms would be able to reach up and wipe it away. Or if they would be able to hold him up for much longer. 

Then the world came screeching into a painful clarity. A hand was on his back, words all around him. So much light and color and sound. It was like he was trying to focus a camera while the radio played at full volume.

He was surrounded, his men having pressed themselves between their fallen major and the Germans. The claustrophobia warred with a deep gratitude and love for them. 

“Buck!” The shaking brought just enough clarity for him to hear his name. “Gale!” This time shouted directly in his ear. He flinched away and only then realized how accelerated his breathing had become. “Breathe Gale. Come on.” He thought it might be nice to just lay his forehead against the ground. Yeah. That might be nice.

No. 

Right. 

Breathing first. 

Gale closed his eyes, letting his head drop slightly. 

The grip on his shirt tightened, but he ignored it, focusing on slow breaths. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t let his men see him like that. He couldn’t let the Nazis win. Not today. Not ever.

“Alright,” He said quietly, shaking his head. His voice was calm if not as strong as it normally was. His breathing was under control now and the ringing in his ears had died down. “Alright. I’m okay. I’m okay, John.” Gale began to push himself up, Bucky quickly moving to help him. Someone else was there too, on his other side. Normally he would push away the help but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to get back on his feet without it. As soon as he was standing, he shook away his friends. The first step almost caused him to stumble. “I’m alright.” He assured them, stepping out of their reach. Needing to prove to himself and the others that he could stand on his own. The adrenaline was wearing off. He needed to get to the barracks now or he wasn’t going to make it. 

But the crowd around him was getting louder. Angry shouts mixed with conspiratorial whispers. He couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let his men die for him without cause. 

“Alright!” He shouted as best he could above the crowd. The ones closest to him turned but the rest didn’t seem to notice him. “Alright, fellas, listen up!” A few more looked at him, but it wasn’t until Bucky let out a shrill whistle that all eyes turned. He gave his friend a small nod of appreciation before addressing the crowd. “Everything's fine. I’m okay. Nothing happened. Go to your barracks and cool off.”

“You’re bleeding!” Came a shout from the crowd. 

Gale's hand came up to where he was only just starting to feel the sting of the cut near his hairline. “Just a scratch.” He said confidently, even though he had no idea what had happened or how it had gotten there. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, and you are too. Now cool off before something does happen.” 

This time the murmurs seemed discontented, but not on the verge of a riot. Good enough. 

Buck decided to set the example, turning towards his barrack. A handkerchief was shoved in his hand by someone, probably Benny, and he held it up to his face. Bucky was close on his left side and Gale was glad as he felt the last dredges of adrenaline start to fade. Not wanting to appear weak in front of his still frustrated men, he carefully reached out and hooked two fingers into Bucky’s belt loop. It steadied him enough without giving away his current state to the rest of the men. It was also about all he could manage, his arm screaming at him with every small jostle and movement. His fingers felt clumsy and stiff. 

John stepped closer, hand coming up to grip the back of Gale’s shirt. He should push him away, reassure his friend that he was fine and didn’t need the help. But he did need the help. His hand was trembling too much to make the handkerchief of any use, so he dropped his hand, tightening the grip on the cloth as it rested by his side. 

The last several feet from the yard to their own room faded in and out. The only thing he seemed to be aware of was his inner monologue.

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

It was the same rhythmic pattern he would follow before a flight. Or after a bad one.

He blinked and found himself sitting on the bench seat next to their table.

“What can I do?” He heard Hambone say but it sounded like it was from a long ways away. Like he wasn’t even in the room. 

“Keep the rest of the guys out. Send them to the rec hall or something, just don’t let them in here.” That was Bucky. He sounded intense. Buck should probably snap out of it and get him to calm down. “Benny, get some water.”

Gale blinked and found Bucky in front of his face. “Buck? Hey Gale, you with me?” 

He wanted to say yes. He knew that it was technically the correct answer. But he couldn’t get his tongue to move. He also suddenly found that he couldn’t breathe. 

It wasn’t until now, in the relative quiet and privacy of the barracks that he realized that he had been scared. Freaking terrified. And his body was just now giving him permission to fully react. 

He’d been scared before. He’d had bad flights. Lost men. Gotten shot down. Captured. Then the rest of Bucky’s crew had arrived but as the days trudged on, no word on his best friend.  He’d been scared before. 

But nothing like this.

He didn’t know what had happened. What had clicked. Felt different. But it was. 

And he couldn’t breathe. 

“Gale, come on, look at me. Look at me!” 

He obeyed, finding Bucky’s worried eyes boring into him. 

“Hey,” His right hand was taken, the handkerchief falling to the floor, and pressed against Bucky’s chest. “Hey you need to breathe for me. Come on, in for four, you know this.” 

Buck blinked, but he could feel the pulsing of Bucky’s heart and the controlled rise and fall of his chest. 

Right. 

In for four. 

Out for four. 

His forehead found Bucky’s shoulder, finding comfort and stability,

In for four. 

Out for four. 

It was like a rhythm. 

Like flying. 

In for four. 

Out for four. 

“Here.” 

Gale flinched back, head jerking up to find Benny holding out a cup of water. 

Feeling steadier than before, Gale untangled his hand from Bucky's, taking the cup in a shaky hand. 

“I got it.” Bucky said softly, retrieving the water. “Go get the doc.” 

“Bucky-” Gale began to protest, but Benny was already half out the door. “I’m okay.”

“Sure you are.” 

“It’s just going to make them worry.” 

“Well maybe they should.” 

Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and the concern he saw there opened something in his chest. 

“Here.” 

Buck reached out, grabbing the cup, but John didn’t release it, helping to guide it to Gale’s mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after pushing the water away. 

“Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A small quirk to his lips. “You weren’t even there when it started.”

“No but it doesn’t matter. It was a power play. They wanted to intimidate us.” He reached down and grabbed the handkerchief, dipping it in the water. Then looking directly into Gale’s eyes. “It didn’t work.” He wasn’t sure if that was an observation or an order. 

The cloth came up and began to wipe away the blood. 

“When did I hit my head?” He cringed at his own words, knowing that it further reinforced the fact that he was far from okay. 

“The Kraut with the gun.” The pressure used to wipe away the blood increased, but Gale didn’t react. “He wouldn’t let you go. Even when the other one told him to. The gun was so tight to your head it left a dang circle imprint.” 

“It scraped me when I fell.” 

He grunted affirmatively. “Most of the bleeding has stopped now. It don’t think it needs stitches but it’ll probably scar.” 

What was one more souvenir from paradise? 

They sat in silence after that. Buck slowly felt more like himself, Bucky slowly swiping away the blood. It wasn’t necessary. Gale could do it himself. And the medic was on his way. But it really wasn’t for him. John didn’t do well without something to do. 

“What did they say to you?” 

“Hm?” Gale hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes until he was opening them again.  

“The guard. He said something to you. What was it?” 

A whooshing sound came from somewhere and he could feel his heart rate pick up. 

He let out a breath, hoping it was disguised as an amused laugh. “Nothin’ important.” 

“Come on Buck, you need-” whatever he was going to say was cut off by the door opening. 

The camp medic wasn’t a trained doctor. If something was really bad they could go to one. But it was easier to keep things in house. To avoid the aid station and keep things off the official records. 

“Let me see.” He said without preamble. Bucky moved to sit beside Gale on the bench, the doc taking his place. After examining his head, he nodded. “Shouldn’t need stitches. If it opens up or you start having head trouble let me know.” 

“Check his wrist.” Bucky chimed in and Gale had almost forgotten about it. It had remained unmoving since arriving back in the bunkroom. 

The doc frowned, taking the swollen hand in his own. 

“It’s not broken.” Gale was quick to note. He’d had broken bones and he knew this wasn’t one. A sprain maybe. But more than likely just a straining of the ligaments. 

“It’s hard to tell with all the swelling. Hopefully it’s just bruised. Can you move your fingers?” Gale found himself relieved when the honest answer to that question was yes. 

The medic sighed. “I can wrap it but I don’t have anything to give you for the pain right now. Hopefully the Red Cross packages will be here soon.”

“That’s all right.” He hardly felt the pain right now he was so tired. “I’ve had worse.” 

Bucky made a noise beside him, but Gale was too focused on not falling asleep to decipher it. 

It was a struggle, but he made it through the doc’s ministering. 

“Try not to use it too much. Get me if it worsens.” The last part was directed towards Bucky. 

“Benny, see the doc out.” Was Bucky’s answer. 

Gale’s lips twitched at the eyeroll given in response. 

As soon as the door closed, John was on his feet. “Alright, here we go. To bed.” 

“I’m fine.” But he didn’t even believe himself. Come to think of it, he wasn't completely sure the words came out of his mouth.  

He was moved to his feet and was glad that someone else was doing all of the work. Gale was flying all engines feathered. 

“Sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow.”

Gale grunted. There was nothing to talk about. It was over now he was fine. 

But sleep. Sleep sounded good. 

His head hit the pillow and he was already halfway gone. 

“You're not allowed to die.” 

The words were spoken quietly while a think blanket was suddenly covering him. 

“Just… just don't die.” 

He wanted to answer the words. Respond to the words they weren't supposed to say out loud. 

He wanted to tell Bucky that they'd be fine. That they'd both make it out. 

He wanted to make him promise that if Gale did ever die he wouldn't follow. 

But his mouth wouldn't move and wrist was starting to hurt and there was still a strange ringing in his ears. Maybe all of that could wait for the morning. 

Notes:

I rambled about fic ideas here if you're interested :) Please let me know what you think!