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miraclewoozi · 5 months

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DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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thevirgincherry · 5 months

Text

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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carakook · 3 days

Text

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘7. Two Petals on the Same Flower

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader ⚘Synopsis: After your unexpected reunion with Jungkook, you must go on with the night and act completely normal... but shit just keeps going wrong. Surely Jeon Jungkook is a demon. ⚘Genre:Forbidden love ⚘Word count: 11.5k+ ⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, angst, conflict, religious metaphors (the story is not religious but makes references to a higher power, karma, fate, etc.), cigarette use, alcohol use, subtle arguing, jealousy, bullying? (fucking Sena), heavy tension, cheating, mentions of cheating, mentions of falling out of love/breaking up. Let me know if I miss anything! ⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story. ⚘A/N: WOW OK SORRY I AM A DAY LATE BUT I HAD ISSUES WITH THE 4096 ERROR, I FIGURED OUT A LOOPHOLE WHICH CONSISTED OF ME COPYING AND PASTING THIS INTO A WORD DOCUMENT, OPENING IT ON MY PHONE, AND THEN COPYING AND PASTING IT AGAIN IN THE APP. ANYWAYS. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am sorry for the lack of uploads. Please forgive me if there are any typos. Already working on chapter 8! Things are picking up, how do you think things will go? LOVE YOU!

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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪ Secrets - The Weeknd

♪ Guilty - TaeMin

♪ Agora Hills - Doja Cat

♪ Pacify Her - Melanie Martinez

♪ if u think i’m pretty - Artemas

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 It’s incredibly rare for you to smoke, as it isn’t exactly a healthy habit to form… Seojoon hates it, and you grew up watching adults do it all around you, swearing you would never pick up the same habit…

And although it isn’t a habit for you… sometimes you just need a fucking cigarette.

You never used to smoke, but Jungkook introduced you to it. Of course he did. On one of the nights you spent with him a long time ago, he went for a smoke outside. You remember scolding him for the nasty habit, telling him you don’t want to kiss him and taste burnt tobacco rather than his own pretty taste. But then he explained how relaxing it can be, how it’s ok to do things like this in moderation. Bad habits don’t make you a bad person, he said. It’s a quick fix for anxiety in some cases. So, you tried you it… and you realized that maybe he was right. You’re an adult, you’re allowed to indulge sometimes, even if it isn’t the best for you. And as much as you hate admitting it, Jungkook was fucking sexy when he smoked.

So, you started smoking too. Not often of course, only socially or when you needed to calm your nerves. An occasional indulgence, if you will…

Much like the kiss you shared with Jungkook moments ago.

You stayed behind after he went back inside, because there was no fucking way you could keep composed in front of everyone after that. Your lips were fucking swollen from the way he kissed you anyway, he left them pink and glossy with traces of him all over you. You remembered you kept an emergency pack of cigs in your bag, one that you haven’t touched in months, and you indulged.

You needed to get your shit together before facing everyone again. Needed to calm the fuck down and put your mask back on; that pretty, pretty mask, decorated in flowers and glitter, hiding the wilting flower growing underneath it. The flower you didn’t even realize was still there. The flower that you swore died when he left.

A cigarette was really the only way you could cope in the moment, and little did you know, Jungkook stepped out back to indulge just like you. Two peas in a fucking pod; or maybe two petals on the same flower.

You weren’t the only one holding on by a thread thanks to this little reunion. He was just better at pretending… fuck, has been pretending for months now. And tonight, he fears he may have a hard time keeping up the façade. Seeing you has awoken something inside of him that was long dormant, a slew of emotions he has no idea how to process. He needs to get his shit together just as much as you do, or he fears he may do something impulsive and stupid… if he knew his reaction to you would have been this strong, he probably would not have come tonight. But he just needed to see you again; his lilac aster, who isn’t much of an aster anymore…

His beautiful flower. Your biggest nightmare.

After smoking, you re-applied your lip stain for the second time, doused a bit more perfume on yourself, and practiced smiling in the car mirror like an idiot. Realized you have been gone far longer than you should have been considering you were only supposed to be grabbing your purse, so you try to act cool and nonchalant as you walk back inside. As if it was totally normal for you to spend 20 minutes outside when you were just doing a simple task.

You’ll just blame it on the anxiety, which isn’t a full on lie…

And as you glance across to the living room while removing your shoes… Seojoon isn’t there.

Neither is Sena or Jungkook.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

This reminds you precisely as to why you called things off with Jungkook. You fucking kissed him out there, and now you’re paranoid someone saw. Was it Yoongi? Did he fucking tattle tell like a rat? You know he saw something, there is no way he didn’t with the way he stared at you when coming to get Jungkook.

“In the kitchen.”

You flinch hard when you here the deep voice address you, turn to the side to see Yoongi leaning on the door frame in the hallway. Looks like the fucking Chesire Cat, the way he’s smiling with an almost mischievous look in his eyes.

“Sorry?”

You respond stupidly, because he caught you by surprise, and you were wondering where three people were, not one. You should only be wondering where one of those people are, that is, if your conscious was clean. But it isn’t. ‘Guilty’ may as well be written across your forehead.

Yoongi knows better.

He shakes his head as he huffs out a little laugh, a laugh that doesn’t sound humorous at all, but almost sarcastic. “Your friend, he’s in the kitchen. Sena too. Said they were talking about some work shit.”

The way he refers to Seojoon as your friend is intentional. He could see the discomfort on your face when he called himself your boyfriend, just as much as he can see the guilt right now.

“Ahh, ok.” You mumble, nodding your head as you shuffle to your feet. You give him the most awkward smile, and then move to make your way to the kitchen. If you weren’t so guilty, you would probably feel incredibly uncomfortable at the thought of Seojoon being alone in the kitchen with Sena. But as of right now, it’s the human fucking cat making you uncomfortable.

“Your boyfriend went for a smoke, if you were wondering. He’s grilling the pork belly outside too. Looked pretty fucked when he came back inside.”

You freeze, because… boyfriend? Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Now he decides to throw the word around?

Does he know?

“Sorry?” You say again, turning to look at him with what was supposed to be a confused expression, but your eyes say it all. Guilt. Caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Bad, bad, bad.

He snickers at this, because he can tell your mind is reeling with thoughts about who might know. No one knows… other than him. See, Yoongi and Jungkook are close. Yoongi is who Jungkook goes to when he needs advice from someone who won’t be biased, someone who will tell him like it is, call him out on his bullshit. Yoongi is the only other soul who knows about the sins committed between you and Jungkook. He is well acquainted with the secret garden built between you two, much like Sohee is.

Everyone needs someone to tell their secrets to, after all.

Yoongi knew what was happening tonight. Jungkook told him, and Yoongi tried really hard to talk him out of coming. Tried to talk some sense into the idiot’s head, but he knew damn well Jungkook wouldn’t listen. Once Jungkook sets his mind to something, he can’t be stopped. So, Yoongi vowed he would at least attempt to keep the peace tonight, keep Jungkook in check.

Yoongi is also just really fucking good at reading people. Can tell easily when someone is lying. Can look at someone and guess what their trauma is. Always has been a perceptive man… but he’s also great at keeping secrets. A blessing and a curse.

Never one to judge, but always one to tell you when you’re being a shitty person.

And… Yoongi really likes fucking with people.

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

You flinch again because, holy fuck, he did see. Why was he even watching? Is he about to blow your cover? Blackmail you? Scream to the top of lungs ‘they’re dirty cheaters!’

“He is not my boyfriend. Never has been.”

Not a lie, for once. Never was your boyfriend. Was… fuck. You don’t even know what he was.

Lover. Soulmate. Flower boy. Florist. Garden keeper. Guilty pleasure. A fucking demon who you cant escape, apparently.

Yoongi scoffs at you, because he hates this game. Sure, he wants to fuck with you, make you squirm a bit. Doesn’t like the fact that you showed up here for the first time to meet everyone and end up outside making out with someone you acted like you didn’t know. Thinks if you’re going to fuck up, do something that fucking risky, you may as well grow balls and admit to it when confronted.

He clearly knows, so he sees no reason for you to be defending yourself and deflecting. He gets it, he does, and he isn’t judging either of you. But fuck, don’t make him say it out loud.

He will if he has to. But he doesn’t want to throw that awful ‘M’ word around. Calling him your boyfriend is far less heavy than him voicing what he really was to you, or what you were to him.

“Right… well, I’m not here to start shit. I’m not here to tell everyone either, no one else is aware of your… situation. I’m just here to make sure Kook doesn’t act fucking stupid… so please, do us both a favor, and just… don’t.”

You feel your heartrate pickup and that familiar heat all over your body that comes with being called out. Like a scolded child. You’re getting both irritated and nervous. The only reassuring thing he just said was that he isn’t going to tell anyone… but why is he putting the blame on you?

If you knew Jungkook was going to be here, you wouldn’t have come. And you tried to avoid him, fuck, you went outside specifically to get away from him and get your head straight. But he followed you, of course he did, the love sick stray dog he’s become couldn’t help it.

“Scold him. Not me. If you’ll excuse me…”

Yoongi knows he’s coming off a bit harsh, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t know the details of your fucked up affair with him, he just knows the basics. One drunken night recently is when Jungkook confessed, after he found out you were dating Seojoon. Told Yoongi the basics of what happened and how it ended, and how fucked he still is. Yoongi always knew something was eating Jungkook up that went beyond his rocky marriage, and finding out exactly what it was… it made sense.

He doesn’t ever want to see Jungkook in such a bad spot again. So anguished and full of regret and yearning… he’s only trying to protect him, because even if he is the one being stupid, he’s still one of Yoongi’s dearest friends.

Biased? No. But he will do whatever it takes to lessen the messes Jungkook makes of himself, even if that means being a bit harsh towards you.

And you, you’re reeling. You want to ask Yoongi so many questions, such as how he knows, why he knows, if he hates you automatically after knowing who you are and what you’ve done. It definitely strikes you as odd that Yoongi is aware of who you are, because even if he knew about what happened between you and Jungkook, how would he automatically catch on to the fact it was you? Was it the kiss? Did that give it away..?

Or was this all pre-meditated?

So many questions, but now is not the time for answers. Maybe eventually you can ask, but as of now, you have a role to play; Seojoons perfect girlfriend, apparently.

So you once again, begin walking towards the kitchen.

“One more thing Y/N…”

Can he please just shut the fuck up and disappear?

“Hm?”

“Be so fucking careful around Sena. And I’m not talking about with Jungkook.”

Before you can even ask, he’s gone. You turn to question him, ask him why the fuck he’s being so cryptic, demand he just say what he means… but he’s gone. Chesire fucking cat.

You really don’t like what he said or how it made you feel, because… if not with Jungkook, then what? Why would you possibly need to be careful around that snake?

You huff. Run your fingers through your hair as you feel a migraine start to come on. Fuck, you need a drink, because the nicotine is already wearing off.

You finally end up making your way into the kitchen, but pause once you reach the entryway. See Sena and Seojoon… whispering.

You don’t like that either. What the fuck are they whispering about?

Sena looks irritated as fuck, waving her hands around animatedly as she speaks. Seojoon is looking down at her with an expression that mimics worry, and you try really hard to decipher what they’re saying before you’re noticed.

Fuck you wish tonight was over already. Too much shit is going wrong.

“They’re conspiring against us.”

You jump a little when you feel hot breath in your ear, hear the deep whisper of the man who’s been haunting your dreams for the last six months. You hate how the simple act of him whispering in your ear brings back several memories… all of them incredibly inappropriate.

“What?”

You look up at him as you ask, and he has a shit eating grin on his face. His pupils are still blown to shit, you wonder if its because he’s looking at you again or if they jus haven’t calmed down since the kiss. He smells heavily of smoke, cigarette smoke and charcoal, but fuck the way it mixes with his cologne…

Nope. Stop.

“Oh—I—Y/N. Sorry, I didn’t notice you. How long have you been standing there?”

Seojoon addresses you almost robotically, looking between you and Jungkook as you both stand awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen. Immediately, alarm bells ring in your ear. You wonder why he’s even asking that, what they were talking about to warrant a question like that.

But you cant decipher whether this is a gut feeling, or guilt making you project your wrongdoings onto him. That’s what fucks you up the most; a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong, but how can you tell when you’re the guilty one?

You clear your throat, step to the side a bit to gain some distance from Jungkook. Can’t think straight when he’s all warm and smelling like a fucking lumberjack next to you.

“Uh… I just came in a bit ago, sorry I took so long, just really needed some air… what were you talking about?”

The entire time you speak, everyone’s eyes are on you. You can’t read the emotion on Seojoon’s face, it’s almost like he’s purposely masking it. Jungkook doesn’t even fucking try to hide how intensely he’s looking at you. And Sena… well, her look of disdain just grows.

Seojoon chuckles, shakes his head as he walks towards you, drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in as he nods towards Sena.

“We were just talking about work, me and Sena are working on a project together but I haven’t had time to visit her at the office, so I thought it was great timing. Right Sena?”

He looks at Sena with the same expressionless look, and she doesn’t look at him at all. Her eyes are on you.

“Right.” She replies flatly before making her way beside Jungkook, who barely reacts to her linking their arms together.

Odd, in the way she seems so territorial… not just of him, but everything surrounding her. Including Seojoon.

Don’t like that. Not at all.

Seojoon nods awkwardly and then begins dragging you along towards the dining table, but stops when he moves to kiss your temple… looks at you, scrunches his nose up as he leans in to sniff you.

Fuck. Does he smell Jungkook?

You tense up a bit, wait for him to ask you why you smell like another man all of a sudden. Start praying that you will simply drop dead before you can even answer.

“Did you smoke or something? You smell like smoke, I hate it.”

Fuck… the smoke. Not the cologne, but the smoke.

You hate how relieved you feel knowing you haven’t been caught, although you are a bit offended. Hate how he addresses you like some unruly child in the moment.

You’re about to answer, say something snarky, but of course—

“Sorry man, that must be me. Was smoking and grilling the pork belly outside, must’ve rubbed off on your girl.”

Could he have worded it any worse?

Seojoon nods at Jungkook, regards him casually. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go and arching a playful brow at Jungkook.

“Ah, ok. But please, don’t rub off on my girlfriend, yeah?”

He chuckles before nodding towards the dining room, signaling for you to come with. In any other situation, you would have laughed at the dirty joke. But obviously, not right now, not when you still taste him on your lips, not while you’re remembering the several instances where Jungkook actually rubbed off on you, not while he’s standing right beside you.

If only he—

“If only he knew.”

Jungkook whispers as he passes you, turns around and walks backwards with his tongue sticking out and eyebrows wiggling up and down. Fuck, like he read your fucking mind. You have no idea how he can fucking say that right now, what if someone hears him? He’s being stupid, just as Yoongi said, and you aren’t even provoking him. You’re worried he’s going to get you both caught.

It's at that moment that Sena brushes past you, bumps your shoulder, which you are sure is intentional. She enters the dining room, doesn’t even say sorry, and quite frankly, you don’t care. You don’t have the energy for her petty shit, or for trying to dissect why she’s so weird with you and Seojoon. You have bigger problems, problems decorated in piercings and tattoos.

You grunt at him and roll your eyes, move to brush past him as you mumble simply, “Fucking stop.”

He playfully pouts at you, follows you into the dining room and says low enough for your ears only, “Fiiine I swear I’ll behave the rest of the night.”

You ignore him once you get into the dining room, put your mask back on quickly. Smile at everyone as they greet you warmly. Urge you to take a seat and join them for food. The smell of freshly grilled pork belly and many sides wafts through the air, and even then your appetite isn’t present. The only thing swirling in your stomach are fucking butterflies; or worms and flies, you don’t know anymore.

But you don’t make it obvious, instead you take a seat next to Seojoon, who has already made you a hefty plate of food. You thank him, and begin picking at it as you try to decipher what everyone is chatting about.

Until you feel a familiar warmth beside you again… and you swear to god, you are about to whack him with your fucking purse.

You immediately glare at Jungkook for taking a seat directly beside you, his big ass is so close that his thigh presses against yours. He holds his hand up in surrender, makes a pouty face at you.

“Hey! I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear, it’s the only open seat.”

You scoff at him, look around the table because you are fully prepared to call him out on his bullshit… but he’s actually telling the truth. You realize the table isn’t exactly the biggest, and every seat is taken except for the one he’s at. Sena is on his other side, so it makes sense for him to be sitting there… he isn’t lying.

Ah, ok, you just have absolute shit luck. Right. Got it.

You glare at him a second longer before averting your eyes, staring directly in front of you now… where Yoongi sits. Oh, how lovely. His eyebrow is raised as if to silently say ‘You’re both being stupidly obvious.’

You look away quickly, shoveling a bite of food into your mouth to try and distract yourself from how wrong everything is going. You’re thankful that only three people in the room are aware of it, but also… fuck. You really hate having to pretend when all you want to do is fucking scream.

Thank god for alcohol.

Because as the night goes on, you shamelessly drink as if it’ll be your last. You know how to handle your liquor, so you don’t overdue it, but you drink enough to silent your overthinking brain. In your tipsy state, it’s much easier to laugh along with the jokes being told or to join in on the conversation… it’s also much easier to ignore the thorn in your side.

Easy to ignore the way his eyes are constantly on you. Easy to ignore how every time you laugh, he mimics you. Easy to ignore how every time you speak, he pays such close attention that his mouth traces the words coming from your own. Easy to ignore how he’s subtly shifted closer to you throughout the little potluck dinner.

Easy for you to ignore, but impossible for him.

See, he’s torn. He hasn’t felt so fucking happy in such a long time, simply just being in the same room as you has him on cloud nine. But, fuck, he wishes you would acknowledge him. The fact that you’re ignoring him as if he doesn’t exist has made him grow a bit antsy… maybe even irritable underneath the euphoria he feels from being so close to you again.

So, so close… but still so far away.

Everyone is done eating now, most of the food is gone. Of course, your mac and cheese was a hit, and the pork belly went great with it. Everyone else had dishes just as delicious… with the exception of Sena, who brought a fucking salad full of spinach and kale.

You fight the urge to laugh at the fact the bowl is still full.

Now, everyone is enjoying dessert, the vibe is mellow. Of course you’re still on edge, but it’s easier to manage, because Jungkook really has been behaving. Other than the occasional ‘accidental’ touch, he hasn’t provoked you.

Taehyung, being the gracious host that he is, brewed a fresh pot of English tea to go with dessert. He was hell-bent on dipping the cookies you made in tea, said it was the perfect combo, and nothing is more soothing than a hot cup of tea. Everyone is so kind, with the exception of Sena, and they’ve all been very open and loving towards you. Even Yoongi has talked to you some, didn’t make it weird at all. Maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought… You are silently thankful for how much things have calmed down since the earlier shit show.

But of course, the calm always comes before the storm.

Jungkook was full of euphoria, even if he was irritable at the fact he couldn’t openly adore you… until he saw Seojoon’s hand gripping your thigh. If you’re being honest, you haven’t even noticed, alcohol always makes you a bit oblivious to things like that especially when you’re engaging in conversation with others. But Jungkook, oh, Jungkook noticed… and he cannot fucking stand it.

He is well aware that he has no fucking right to feel possessive or irritated with Seojoon’s hands on you; you aren’t his girl, you haven’t seen each other in months, and he knew you were coming here with him as your date. He knows.

But even though he knows, he can’t control how he feels in this moment. How he just wants to rip Seojoon’s hands right off of you, maybe even rip his arms off completely so he can’t touch you again. He feels like he’s gonna turn into the fucking Hulk.

The ugly green monster, big, bad, scary, out of control: Jealousy, an emotion he has never been good at controlling.

He bounces his leg up and down, feeling like he’s gonna crawl out of his skin the more he stares at Seojoon caressing your thigh. Feels like he needs to make him stop, but he can’t just tell him to stop, that would be weird. That would give it all away, and although Jungkook is near the point of not giving a fuck who knows about your shared past… he’s also well aware of how reckless he has been all night.

He knows damn well how reckless it would be to make things so obvious. It’s your secret, too, and he has no right to make it known unless you choose to; and he knows you wouldn’t ever choose that willingly. He wouldn’t either, not here anyway, even if he thinks about it.

But then he sees Seojoon laugh, pick up his cup of luke-warm tea, take a sip, and put it back down.

Gets an idea. An extremely petty one.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he says casually, “Mmm this tea could use some sugar, ‘scuse me…”

He reaches over you towards the sugar cubes, even though there’s a cup of them right in front if him, and he makes a move to grab them. But after grabbing the little cup full of sugar cubes, he ‘accidentally’ knocks Seojoon’s cup of tea off of the table…

Right into your lap, spilling all over you and all over Seojoon’s hand.

Seojoon hisses, yanks his hand away from your thigh. You let out a little squeak, although the tea isn’t piping hot anymore, it’s warm and uncomfortable as it covers your thighs and a portion of your dress.

“What the fuck, man?” Seojoon asks irritably, and honestly is being a little dramatic. He’s cradling his hand as if it burns or hurts, but you know it doesn’t considering it didn’t burn you at all, wasn’t even hot.

You also know this was no accident, judging by that look in Jungkook’s eyes that you’ve seen in the past; the look of satisfaction blended with fake innocence… the same look he used to give you when he would edge the fuck out of you even though you begged him to just let you finish.

You immediately move to grab a napkin, which you half expected Seojoon to do for you, but he’s too busy cradling his hand. Drama king. You begin dabbing at your dress and thighs, shooting Jungkook a glare similar to the one earlier.

He flashes the most innocent, apologetic, fake-ass smile you’ve ever seen, grabs a napkin and starts assisting you in cleaning up the mess on your thighs.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy sometimes. Let me help…”

Two things go through your mind; why is Jungkook helping you, but not Seojoon, and holy fuck, he is touching your thighs.

To the rest of the table, who are stuck between scolding Jungkook and checking on you and Seojoon, his touches probably seem clinical; an attempt to help fix his mess… but to you, it feels as if the tea sticking to your skin is suddenly piping hot. His fingers fucking burn when they touch your skin, and it causes goose bumps to raise all over your body.

You shoot him a look, although you aren’t sure of your expression. He makes eye contact, doesn’t dare look away as he slowly wipes the napkin over your skin, dabbing away the liquid until your skin is dry.

That same needy look he used to get when you were on top. Those fucking eyes that beg you for anything, everything, suck you in. It’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘please let me touch, I’ll do anything.’

You hate yourself at this moment, the alcohol somehow doesn’t dim down the sensations of his fingers in your skin. You wonder why when Seojoon was caressing your thigh, you barely noticed… yet this small touch from Jugkook is setting you alight in a way you haven’t been in so fucking long.

Why are you even thinking about these things? Why are you remembering these things about him? They’re all supposed to be buried in the soil along with your dead flower. Is the flower still alive? Has it somehow survived these months of anguish and healing?

Did you ever heal at all? Did you ever truly get over him, or did you just get better at not thinking about him every second of the day?

Fuck. This is a mess. The way he’s looking at you doesn’t help, and what's worse is you cannot look away. Your thighs are dry now, and he dabs uselessly at the wet spot on your dress as his other hand boldly reaches up and skims the side of your leg… what the fuck is he doing? At a table full of people?!

You don’t even realize that Seojoon is now arguing petulantly with Taehyung. Oh, sweet Taehyung, who is being just as dramatic as Seojoon, fretting over his hand as if it’s the end of the fucking world that Jungkook spilled luke-warm tea on him.

“Jungkook-ah, say you’re sorry! You could’ve hurt him, him and his pretty hands!”

That snaps Jungkook out of it, the needy look leaving his face quickly as he snatches both hands away from you as if you are the one burning him now. He won’t even look at you.

Because he just almost lost control. Genuinley, he was not paying attention to those around you both. He got fucking sucked into another dimension, full of flashbacks, pictures of flowers and your face, and all he fucking wanted was to touch.

As much of a little shit as he is being, he doesn’t want that. He feels crazy. Just scared himself a little bit.

He glares at Taehyung and then addresses Seojoon, “My apologies hyung, was an honest accident. Is your hand ok?”

Seojoon nearly wants to scoff at the use of the honorific because something feels so fake about it… because it is fake. Meant to butter him up and make him believe Jungkook didn’t just purposely spill some tea all over him out of jealousy.

Luckily, Seojoon is none the wiser. He’s just irritated with Jungkook in general… for other reasons that don’t exactly involve you or Jungkook directly at all.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect it…”

Seojoon mumbles as he realizes you also got drenched in tea. He looks down, notices you’re already as clean as you can be, and is thankful he doesn’t have to fret over you too. His mood is a bit soured now, but even then he nudges you and gives you a small smile.

“You good baby? Didn’t ruin your dress, did you?”

You nod at him, try to hide how shaky your hands are as you straighten the hem of your dress to cover your thighs. You feel a bit too exposed, your skin still burning from the intensity of Jungkook’s touch… begin to wonder if he has turned into poison ivy, rather than a flower.

You can’t recall him being quite this intense in the past. Lot’s of unanswered questions go through your head again.

You nod at Seojoon and smile, “I’m good, it’ll come out if I wash it. No worries.”

You let out a deep breathe, and Seojoon goes back to talking to Tae about some work thing. You look up through your lashes, make eye contact with the Chesire cat.

His expression is unreadable, which is unsettling for reasons you don’t understand. You wish you knew how much he knew… did he see Jungkook touching you again?

“You should be more careful, you’re really like a child sometimes, it’s exhausting.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of that grating female voice, and you feel another surge of irritation. Sena, speaking to Jungkook like that… oh, it pisses you off almost as he does.

What he did was childish, and you’ll pull him aside to scold him later probably, but why is she saying something like that in front of everyone? Isn’t that embarrassing? It is, it’s fucking humiliating. If Seojoon said some shit like that to you, you’d walk out.

Jungkook’s friends don’t know the exact issues in his marriage, but they’re used to this kind of thing. They know it is far from perfect, and have become accustomed to Sena’s behavior. They always make sure to check on him when she’s not around, but he always tells them to mind their business.

It doesn’t change the fact that it’s always a bit awkward when they overhear it.

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t care anymore. Nods at her. Agrees with her, even. If he doesn’t, she’ll just argue, and he doesn’t really have the energy for that right now. Not when he still has the lingering feeling of your skin on the tips of his fingers, or the satisfaction he feels at the fact Seojoon hasn’t even attempted to touch your thigh again.

Messy, but… Mission accomplished.

You, however, it isn’t so easy for you to let go. You aren’t accustomed to her behavior like him and his friends, and you don’t plan to be.

“It’s fine, really, accidents happen.”

You shoot her a tight smile, try to be polite and reassuring… and she scoffs, rolls her eyes, and then waves a fucking hand at you.

“See? That’s something a mom would say to their kid if they spilled something. Even our new friend is talking to you like a child Jungkook, do better.”

You swear you feel your eye start to twitch.

“Sena, enough. I get it. My bad.”

Jungkook tries to get her to shut up, can tell you’re getting irritated. Part of him secretly likes it, the fact that you hate his guts right now but still try to defend his honor. But he’s also embarrassed because you’re finally seeing what his wife is like.

He wishes he was proud of his wife, but when shit like this happens? He’s anything but.

You try really hard not to start seething at her. You nearly want to jump across the table and pull her blonde fucking hair.

“No, I’m not speaking to him like a child, I’m stating the fact that accidents do happen and it’s nothing to get bitchy over. You’re the only one addressing a grown man as if he’s a child over something so small, Sena.”

“Excuse me???”

You know that scene in Mean Girls when the cafeteria turns into a jungle, and everyone starts fighting? It feels like that’s about to happen.

“Alright! Who wants more margaritas?! I do!”

Hoseoks voice carries across the table, clapping his hands with the brightest smile on his face, sounding a lot cheerier than he should in your opinion. But thankfully, it works. Clearly everyone heard you, and now you’re embarrassed. You just inadvertently called this woman a bitch over a man everyone presumes you met tonight for the very first time. You’re certain you’ve just made yourself look bad, could have handled yourself a lot better. But, fuck, you couldn’t help it. You hated hearing her speak to him that way and then try to make it as if you agreed with her! You tried to be nice, but she fucking pushed it.

“No thanks. My apologies.”

You bow your head slightly, and Hoseok just keeps that smile on his face. Rushes over to Sena’s side, badgering her to go in the kitchen and help him make more drinks. She groans at him, but gets up with an eyeroll and follows him.

You have a feeling that he did that specifically to get her away from you, and you’re unsure if that’s in your favor or hers. Fuck. Way too much shit has happened tonight.

You glance around the table, notice Jin and Namjoon are gone, must gave gone outside or maybe in the living room. Seojoon and Taehyung are in their own little world, you wonder if they even heard the little argument… and if they did, why hasn’t Seojoon said anything? God, you hope he isn’t mad now, although you wouldn’t blame him if he were.

That’s when you look straight ahead. Yoongi again. And he has the littlest smirk on his face… except this time, it almost seems genuine, not sarcastic or misplaced.

It's full of respect, because you just did the one thing everyone else around you refuses to fucking do for Jungkooks sake, which is speak up against Sena and her shitty attitude.

That’s the moment that you decide that you don’t regret it, and you don’t care if Seojoon is mad. If Yoongi, the man who apparently knows bits and pieces of your deepest darkest secret, is looking at you like that? Then you know you did the right thing. You’re a little proud, even.

You nod to Yoongi, a silent exchange between you two. Then you look beside you, and see Jungkook, with that needy expression on his face again. He’s sitting with his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his palm. Looks like he’s drunk, cheeks red, eyes heavy, lips a bit pouty… but he only had one beer.

He is drunk. Drunk on you, on the way you just defended him in front of everyone against his fucking wife. Nearly got hard because of it, which is why his cheeks are so flushed. He never expects the guys to defend him, in fact, makes it clear that they stay out of it when her attitude flares up. But you, oh you… You met her for the first time tonight, met everyone here for the first time tonight, and even in a room full of people you’re trying to impress… you defended him.

You still love him, he just knows it. He knows deep down inside, you must fucking love him. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have done that.

He almost feels giddy at the knowledge.

You have a hard time looking away once again, you’re amazed that no one has noticed how intensely you both have locked eyes several times tonight. Jungkook just has that effect on you, he’s fucking beautiful, and the way he looks at you is enough to make you weak to this fucking day. Drives you mad with conflict.

And as you stare at him, you finally notice the little purple star patches on his face. Looks just like the ones you use… you wonder where the fuck yours even went, now that you think about it. Haven’t seem them in months.

You point to his cheek and mumble almost stupidly, “Those look exactly like the ones I used to use.”

He hums in response, sticks his tongue in cheek. Fights a grin, because if only you knew he fucking stole these from you the night he left.

Maybe he’ll confess one day.

“Weird,” is all he says in response.

He stares at you some more, like you he can’t look away. Looking at you, being near you, is the equivalent to a thirsty man finally getting a few sips of water. He was fucking thirsty, and his eyes drink you in as if you’re water straight from the spring.

He mouths the word ‘pretty,’ at you, uses a finger to point at your face and then your dress. Whispers, “So pretty.”

Fuck. You are going to die. You are going to have a heart attack.

“Jungkook, I’m ready to go home.”

Ok, maybe you won’t die, because you’re interrupted again… or maybe you will fucking die for that very reason.

Butterflies again. Not worms and flies. Butterflies.

Sena is staring at Jungkook with an irritated expression, her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed grumpily. Seems Hoseok’s margaritas didn’t sway her or improve her mood, seems you ruined her mood for the rest of the night, seems she’s the fucking child after all…

You just hope your little outburst doesn’t cause problems for Jungkook at home.

“Alright.” Jungkook says flatly, eyes still never leaving you.

You wonder if she notices. That thought alone makes you finally look away.

Seojoon eyes Sena almost wearily, but his gaze shifts to you once he realizes you’re staring back. He gives you a tight lipped smiled.

“We should get going too, you ready?”

You nod at him, because as much as you really would enjoy staying to chat, or making love with your eyes at Jungkook, you are fucking exhausted. Emotionally, anyway. Tonight has been so unnecessarily dramatic and you just want to go to sleep. You want to be able to take a shower, sit in there until the water runs cold, maybe cry a little, and process all of the shit that has happened tonight.

“Yeah, getting a little tired. Must be the alcohol.”

Or maybe it’s the headache staring at you like a sad dog right now.

You get up, force yourself to not look at Jungkook as he gets up as well. He nearly pouts, but he also thinks right now is a good time to wrap it up… although a sense of dread fills him at the thought of not seeing you again.

He won’t let that be an option. Nope.

You make your way to the living room where most of the guys have gathered, say your goodbyes. Each of them insist on hugging you, thanking you for coming. Taehyung especially, gives you the biggest fucking bear hug and makes you agree to hangout again, says he adores you, begs you to make him more cookies.

Seojoon is less than pleased with this, but tries not to show it. Tries not to feel threatened or jealous… tries not to feel guilty about the fact his own head was a bit all over the place tonight. Was barely paying attention to you after the whole girlfriend fiasco, if he’s being honest. Was worried Sena may start shit…

You don’t need to know that, though.

Yoongi is the only one who doesn’t hug you, which you don’t mind. Would feel far too awkward giving this mysterious man a hug. But he does offer you a head nod and a lip purse, so that’s something, right?

You don’t say goodbye to Sena, although Seojoon did say goodbye in both of your behaves.

You don’t say goodbye to Jungkook either. Don’t know if you can stomach uttering the words ‘goodbye’ again. Makes you feel all kinds of fucked up, so you just… don’t.

But of course, he won’t have that. Absolutely not.

Because right as you are following Seojoon out the door after putting on your ‘thrifted’ coat and shoes, he grabs your arm, pulls you back in. You let out a huff of air and yank your arm away. Not that the touch makes you uncomfortable, but… him touching you at all is causing some very confusing feelings, just like when he ‘accidentally’ spilled Seojoon’s tea and then cleaned you up after.

“You didn’t say bye. And you forgot your purse at the table.”

He states simply, handing you your purse and then sticking his hands in his pocket politely as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Giving you that same fucking look. It’s so subtle, but his eyes practically beg you to at least say goodbye to him.

He's gonna make this hard, isn’t he?

You nod at him awkwardly and sling your purse over your shoulder. Fail to realize that it’s a bit lighter than it was when you originally brought it.

Because Jungkook, being the thief that he apparently is, impulsively took something from it. This time, he doesn’t intend to keep it, quite the opposite actually. See, he knew you would probably refuse to see him after this. He can’t take that. He needed an excuse to see you again, anything, something that you wouldn’t be able to say no to since he is certain you probably won’t even unblock his number after this.

He isn’t even sure what he plans to do when seeing you again. His intentions aren’t necessarily to start things up again, he isn’t that stupid, but… just to be in your life again. He would do anything to be in your life again.

Will do his fucking best to control himself if you do come around and show him mercy.

So… he took your wallet. Yeah, probably a very shitty thing to do. But you need your wallet, and he needs to see you… he can just say you dropped it and he picked it up for you. Maybe you’ll meet him for coffee, take it back, and then he can get on his knees and beg again for you to please, please, please give him another spot in your life.

Maybe it’s reckless, but he has been reckless all night. Maybe he will regret this tomorrow morning.

You don’t know this though, have no clue, completely just done with this shit tonight. Don’t even think to double check and make sure you have all of your belongings before leaving.

So you mutter, “Thanks… see ya.”

And you turn to walk off. Try to ignore how fucking terrible it feels to act so indifferent with him, but you don’t know how else to act after the past, and after the shit he pulled tonight. Reckless is an understatement in your opinion.

He's actually satisfied with this… because ‘see ya,’ implies that you will see him again. Whether it’s a subconscious choice of words, or intentional, he isn’t sure; but it still implies you are at least considering seeing him again.

It makes him smile to himself as he watches you walk off.

“See ya.” He echoes in response.

Now he just needs to figure out a way to contact you when you aren’t face to face, since you’ve blocked his number…

The drive home was fairly quiet, other than Seojoon thanking you for coming. He seemed a bit on edge, didn’t really say much after the vague praise of how well you did with his friends… but you chalked it up to him just being tired. You aren’t sure what the fuck the deal is between him and Sena, but you assume maybe she’s just someone who is very hard to be around. Seojoon works with her, so of course he would be a bit awkward with the way she acted, you wouldn’t want things to be awkward for him at work just because you don’t get along with her.

But also… you find it incredibly odd that he didn’t say anything when you stood up to her. He didn’t scold you, didn’t defend you, didn’t even tell you to watch your mouth. He didn’t bring it up at all… you swore he would. If it were you in his position, you would have stood by him and supported him in speaking up.

But he just said… nothing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to argue, or maybe he didn’t notice it; it’s been a long night, and you’re both full and tired. You’re more tired than him considering you drank a bit heavily, thank god he didn’t drink more than a beer.

Regardless, he takes you back to your place, decides he’s going to sleep over because he’s way too tired to drive back. You sometimes forget the fact that he’s older than you, and nearly make a joke about him being an old man… but decide against it. He seems a little grumpy.

You really just wanted to come home and wallow in your own self pity, but you suppose you will have to put that off.

Besides, this will be a good chance to bring up the fact that he called you his fucking girlfriend. Labeled you without giving you a heads up. And after you deal with that, he can fall asleep, and you can cry into your pillow about fucking flower boy and his antics.

You do take a shower first, although it isn’t two hours long like you wished it was. You stay in there for about 45 minutes before getting out, let the warm water wash over your body as you decompress. Tried not to think too much about those needy eyes or fiery hands.

Key word: tried. And you fucking failed. The moment you started to get aroused at a bunch of unwelcome memories, you turned the water to the coldest setting. Then you got out, dried yourself off, did all the girly thinks like skincare and lotion, and then got dressed. Pretended it didn’t happen.

As you make your way out of the bathroom, you see Seojoon has already made himself comfortable in your bed. He’s dressed down into his boxers, laying on his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep because you can see the stress lining his brows.

Normally such a sight would be comforting… you don’t like sleeping alone. But tonight, you almost wish he went home so that you could have a few moments of peace.

Or maybe so you could have a complete mental breakdown without him being near.

You sigh and make your way to lay beside him on the bed, plug your phone into the charger and then look down at him. Cross your arms as you lean against the headboard, and he can feel you staring at the back of his head, so he turns to face you.

He knows what you’re about to say. Doesn’t want to deal with it, really, but he knows he needs to. So he keeps his mouth shut and waits for you to say it.

“So I’m your girlfriend now?”

There it is.

He shrugs, keeps his eyes closed. Says simply, “Yeah.”

What more is there to say? Do you expect him to apologize for putting that label on your relationship finally, after several months of basically being boyfriend-girlfriend? It’s essentially what you are to begin with, he doesn’t see the big deal. It’s just a stupid label.

And it protects him from losing you. He didn’t like the way Taehyung doted on you, or how Hoseok called you pretty. He needed everyone there to know you were taken… especially that Jungkook guy. He swears he saw him looking at your ass.

(He did, by the way.)

If Seojoon knew the truth behind Jungkook’s little glances, he would probably have had a heart attack. Thank god he doesn’t know, even though you are unaware of the jealousy festering inside of Seojoon.

But that isn’t the only reason he claimed you as his girlfriend, Sena was a huge reason. The guys doting on you was just a bit of a push to get the words out, but he needed Sena to know he was exclusive with you considering she was far too comfortable when she greeted him.

Exclusive for now, anyway. Things between him and Sena are… complicated.

Just like things between you and Jungkook.

And neither of you have a fucking clue.

“Well, we never talked about it so it was pretty off putting to hear you just blurt it out like that. I didn’t like it Seojoon.”

You keep your voice leveled when speaking to him, calm, because you don’t want him to think you’re trying to argue with him… but you also want him to know how you feel. Boundaries and all that.

“Ugh, Y/N, it isn’t that serious. We are basically in a relationship as it is, you’re my girlfriend even without the label. You know it’s true, babe.”

You huff at him, because he doesn’t get it. He isn’t wrong exactly, but… you feel pressured now. The label isn’t the issue, it’s the fact that yesterday you were comfortable with whatever you and Seojoon are; now you’re unsure. A bit nervous, even.

“I get that Seojoon, I do, but you know how I am… I told you I wanted to move slow.”

“Yeah, you wanted to move slow, yet I have a key to your apartment and basically live here. Don’t be so stubborn, just let it be…”

You’re conflicted… because he’s right. You did say you wanted to move slow, yet you contradicted yourself in several ways. You don’t think you lead him on, because you do want to be serious with him… but also, pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, and you do not like it.

You begin to speak up, but he cuts you off.

“Baby, just stop overthinking. We just needed a little push, that’s all, and I pushed. Now you’re my girlfriend. As simple as that, yeah?”

He reaches up and pats your cheek lazily before turning on his back and grabbing his phone. You’re speechless momentarily, have no fucking idea how to respond to that. Start to question whether you’re being too uptight or not, because he’s making it sound as if you are. Again, he isn’t wrong… but you feel a bit manipulated. He literally silenced you.

Fuck, you hate this. You don’t hate the idea of being his girlfriend, but the way he’s handling it all is throwing you off completely.

You begin to wonder whether or not seeing Jungkook has anything to do with how fucked you’re feeling about it all. If you hadn’t seen him tonight, would you be more accepting of the new label? More willing to hear Seojoon out? Is this all just you being unreasonable?

Or is Seojoon being a fucking dick?

“I leave at six in the morning tomorrow, quite a few coworkers are joining on the trip. You sure you don’t wanna come? I can buy your ticket and everything.”

“Huh?”

Seojoon breaks you out of your silent thought, speaking of some trip you don’t remember discussing. You’re all over the place really, can’t seem to focus on a single thought at a time, and you kind of hate how he just brushed over the topic expecting you to accept what he said…

… even though you kinda did.

“Work trip to New York? For the fashion convention? It’s only for the weekend, I told you about it last month. You really should come.”

You blink at him, start to vaguely recall him telling you about a trip at some point. He invited you, and you declined because you thought you would be working. Also, you didn’t know how you felt about traveling with him at the time so you thought it was best he went on his own.

Funny how he so easily made you forget the problem at hand, isn’t it?

You realize you actually don’t work this weekend, which is rare. Weekends are normally busiest, all the couples and families come in on the weekends to get in their quality time. But you switched your shifts this weekend to Sohee, because she needed Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off to visit her parents unexpectedly.

Speaking of Sohee, you need to call her and fucking tell her what a mess you’re in. Later, though.

A trip to New York doesn’t sound terrible… you could use the mini vacation, especially after tonight. He wouldn’t offer if he didn’t want you there, and maybe this can warm you up to being his girlfriend, since that’s apparently a thing now. You’ve never really been one for impulsive decisions, but you decide this could be good for both of you. Maybe fate is throwing you a bone, freeing up your schedule like this.

Or maybe fate is fucking with you. You can never be too sure…

Going to New York would mean no chance of seeing flower boy, no reminders of him, just a complete distraction. That’s something you really need right now…

“And you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble? I mean, I don’t work like I thought I did, so I could come… but only if it isn’t too much trouble.”

You nibble your lower lip as you look down at him, and he side eyes you. Gives you the most sheepish look.

“Uh, well… no, no trouble at all considering I already bought a plane ticket for the seat next to mine… Don’t look at me like that! I did it just in case, and I don’t like sitting next to strangers so even if you didn’t come, I had a reason. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. Anyway, yes, please come.”

He gives you a sweet look, fights a laugh. He’s lying, of course. He always intended on you joining him, which is why he bought that second plane ticket… he would have convinced you last minute even if you said no.

You roll your eyes at him, not as irritated as you should be at the gesture because the more you think of a little weekend trip to New York, the more you get excited to get the fuck away for a while.

You reach over and tug his hair playfully, “Ugh, you’re ridiculous… but I’ll come, since you so kindly offered.”

He grins at you, locks his phone and gets more comfortable in the bed. Knowing you’re coming along, and actually seem to be excited about it, is relieving for him. He doesn’t need to do any extra work to coerce you into coming. He gets his way and you remain happy.

“That’s my girl. I’m gonna leave your place at like four, go home to grab my luggage. Taehyung is watching Simba for me. You can pack while I do that, you only need to pack enough to last until Monday.”

You nod at him, “Ok, that sounds good, but you should really take a nap… it’s late and you’ll be tired.”

“Mmm, yeah, guess I should… but I’ll just sleep on the plane. I’ll be fine, long flight.”

You’re thankful that you stay organized because it won’t take you long to pack. Your makeup is already in a bag, and you can just stuff your girly things in your toiletry travel bag… your room is still sort of messy from earlier, but that’s fine. You can pack some clothes quickly in the morning. You feel lighter at the thought that you’re getting to go away for a while, clear your head, so you can’t really find yourself too bothered or stressed at the moment.

As far as sleep, well… you’ve had many sleepless nights the last few months anyway, you’ll be fine as long as you nap on the plane. You’ll deal with the jet lag fine as long as Seojoon supplies you with caffeine.

He falls asleep quickly after that, seems to be at peace… because after you dropped the girlfriend issue, and agreed to go with him so easily, he felt he has no problems worth losing sleep over.

Must be real nice.

You lay back against your pillow and grab your phone, you’re about to search up things to do in New York… when you see a slew of Instagram notifications.

Your stomach fucking drops when you see the name of who has flooded your inbox with DM’s.

Jeon Photography… in other words, fucking Jungkook.

You reluctantly open the DM’s, fully prepared to block his work account.

But it doesn’t work out that way.

Ok, so… you didn’t block him. You messaged him back. And he has your wallet.

You can argue that you messaged him back for that reason alone, you need your wallet to go to NY. And it seems to have worked out, you’ll get it in the morning.

But now, rather than being excited about your little trip, you are full of fucking conflict again. Because one, you have to see Jungkook. Two, Sena is apparently coming and you are pissed that Seojoon didn’t mention that to you. And three… you were fucking smiling at your phone while you messaged him. You liked it far too much.

While Seojoon is right beside you.

You know you shouldn’t be getting involved with Jungkook more than necessary, it isn’t right for several reasons. But, ugh, it was cute how he was acting all sweet and desperate for your attention. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to laugh at him purposely misspelling Seojoon’s name.

But, you gave none of that away. You need to put distance. You don’t want to let Sena ruin this trip for you, and you hope you don’t have to see her much. You need to try and calm down once again, can’t let this ruin yet another occasion you are supposed to be spending with Seojoon. Besides, you won’t have to see Jungkook long, you’ll grab your wallet and go.

And you swear you won’t message him again… even though you make no effort to block his Instagram. You don’t unblock his cell number either, though… so there’s that.

Although a bit giddy at his messages, you’re upset with him. Replay tonight’s events in your head as you try to sleep. The fucking shock of him being there, the passive aggressive comments made, the kiss, the declaration that he isn’t done with you, fucking Yoongi, the tea incident, fuck… all of it. And when you finally got it all off your mind, swept it under the rug, he messages you. Puts himself back in your head.

You need to sleep, not fret over Jeon Jungkook or the guilt that is now resurfacing with Seojoon sleeping soundly beside you.

You can worry about it another time. You can ignore how good it felt to be casually messaging him. You can pretend the kiss didn’t happen. You can refuse to see him after tomorrow.

Sweep it under the rug. Bury it in the dirt. He has no say in whether you’re done or not, and you are done. You swear you are done with him. Have been for a while…

That’s what you repeat to yourself, anyway, all the way until you fall asleep.

Silly girl… you never should have told him you were going on that work trip.

You wake up the next morning to Seojoon nudging you, mumbling something about leaving and packing quickly. Kisses you on the forehead before saying he will be back in 45 minutes to pick you up. You regret staying up late, because fuck, it is hard to get out of bed.

But you do. You don’t want to be late or miss this trip, not after last night. You barely think about the fact that that you must see Jungkook briefly today, you just wake up robotically. Coffee will help.

You go through the motions of taking out your dusty suitcase, throw in a bunch of clothes without really paying attention to what you’re packing. You’re sure it’s fine, you see underwear and bras, the clothes surrounding it looks fine enough. You grab your makeup bag, stuff it in, and then grab your travel toiletry bag and put all of the girly things inside before stuffing it in with the rest of your stuff.

You impulsively grab the polaroid camera you have and pack it with your stuff, think it’ll be nice to grab some photos of New York while you’re there. A little activity to create some memories.

After packing a few other mundane things, you get dressed. Decide to go comfy, put on an oversized sweater and some leggings, some sandals to go with it. You put your hair in a messy bun, and don’t bother to put on makeup because you’ll most likely be sleeping the entire way there anyway.

Time flies, of course. You’re tired as fuck, and judging by Seojoon’s grumpy face he is too when he arrives to get you. He helps you pack your luggage into his trunk and pats you on the back for being able to pack so quickly. He may look grumpy, but it seems he isn’t actually. He’s usually pretty sweet when in the mornings.

He stops to get you both a quick cup of coffee on the way to the airport, and you feel lighter already. You have a lot of shit to unpack mentally, but you are thankful that you said yes to this impromptu trip. You’ve never been to New York before, although you have been to the states a few times, New York was always one place you wanted to experience. Who better to experience it with than your new ‘boyfriend?’

When you arrive to the airport, Seojoon drops you off at the terminal with the luggage while he makes arrangements for the car. You wait patiently while sipping your coffee, sitting on one of the empty benches. People watching, seeing the plethora of strangers who all look different, you wonder where they’re coming from or going to. Its fascinating, really, knowing you’ll never see these people again, you like to imagine what they’re like anyway…

And then you see him.

No, not Seojoon, but Jungkook. And Sena. Sena looks fucking mean as she walks through the glass doors, and Jungkook looks far too chipper considering it is 5:15 in the fucking morning.

…why are they carrying so much luggage?

Its funny, how Jungkook immediately starts looking around, surely looking for you. He spots you quickly, and you swear you can see his invisible tail wag when his eyes land on you. He starts sprinting over carrying two big bags of luggage, while Sena pouts and trudges behind him while she drags another large bag. When he finally gets closer, he lowers his face mask and smiles so big that his eyes crinkle up and dimples pop out prominently.

Fuck.

You try to stay neutral, give them both a friendly smile as they approach.

“Hey. Good morning.”

Jungkook fucking grins, “Good morning sunshine.”

For fucks sake, it is too early for this.

You get up, set your coffee down next to the bags and awkwardly ask, “Umm, my wallet? Kinda need it to board the plane.”

He nods at you, digs into his pocket and pulls it out, his deep ass pockets in those comfy sweats you recognize far too well.

He also pulls out a passport… no, two passports… why two…?

He hands you the wallet, “Here, I kept it safe for you.”

He winks playfully, and Sena just rolls her eyes. Barely even looks at you as she mumbles, “So Seojoon brought you? Guess it’s a fucking couples trip now.”

“Hm?”

You blink at her confusedly. Her rude tone doesn’t really phase you, you were a bitch to her last night (although it was well deserved,) so you don’t expect her to be happy to see you. But what the fuck does she mean by couples trip? Is someone else bringing their significant other?

God, Jungkook has that shit eating grin again, and if you weren’t so tired you would have probably put two and two together by now.

“Oh, I decided to tag along. There’s a photography expo coincidentally, and I wanted to check it out.”

No fucking way.

You don’t say anything at first as you put the pieces together. Two passports, the large amount of luggage, Sena’s grumpy face, Jungkook’s happy fucking mood.

Did he do this on purpose?

He won’t admit it to you, but yeah, he absolutely did. The moment you said you were going to New York, he decided he would too. He didn’t lie completely, there really is a Photography expo being held, but that isn’t the reason he’s coming; that’s just his excuse. The reason he’s coming is… well, you. To be near you. To coax you into letting him back in.

This actually started a lot of shit with Sena. She was in a bitchy mood last night after leaving Taehyung’s house, tried arguing with Jungkook about so many different things. And this morning, he invited himself, which she fucking hated. To her, he was a burden, almost embarrassing to bring along. This was her fucking job, she didn’t need her manchild husband tagging along.

She tried to tell him no, but he also wasn’t having that. He didn’t fucking care. He told her he was coming and she could get the fuck over it, she didn’t even have to share a room with him if it was that big of a deal.

She latched onto that quickly, said she refused to share a room with him because she was planning on having colleagues over to discuss the fashion expo over drinks. Rented a fancy pent house like room just for that. He knows damn well that’s not normal, she shouldn’t be so hesitant to share a room with her own husband.

But again, he stopped caring a while ago. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, so it’s not that big of a deal to him. He has one goal in mind…

Be with his Aster. Even if it’s just as friends. He is determined to earn a place in your life again, and he hopes this trip will give him a chance to convince you to give him a chance.

You? Oh, you are in shambles, because this trip was literally supposed to get your mind off of him. Turns out, fate isn’t on your fucking side, fate really is just fucking with you.

Or maybe Jeon Jungkook is fucking with fate.

You nearly want to slap him, demand that he leaves. But you can’t. You have no proof that he did this in purpose, but your gut tells you that he did. He’s acting crazy, after a single night of seeing each other again, and he suddenly keeps popping up? Pushing you to communicate again?

He wasn’t lying when he said he isn’t done. He fucking meant that. In his perspective, this is a chance at redemption. He doesn’t know in what context, but fuck, you’re dating his wife’s coworker, who is also close friends with one of his best friends… it’s all connected.

It can’t be coincidence. He see’s it as a tragic gift, a fucked up second chance. He isn’t going to pass it up. Not until you explicitly say, ‘fuck off, I never want to see you or talk to you again.’

And you haven’t said that. You’ve told him to go away, but you’ve yet to seriously set the boundary.

Contradicting yourself, yet again…

It's at that moment that Seojoon shows up, places a hand on your back. Greets Sena politely, and then she informs him that Jungkook is joining as well. He makes some joke, too tired to feel some type of way about Jungkook coming along. But you aren’t paying attention, not really.

Because Jungkook is giving you those needy eyes again. Smile soft, eyes glittering with stars you were once so find off, skin almost glowing as if he just got laid.

He mouths at you ‘Unblock my number.’ And then fucking giggles.

Holy fuck. It is going to be a long weekend. You can’t catch a break, can you? Karma really is a bitch.

Karma or fate. Both you have grown to sincerely despise within the last 24 hours.

#bts #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook angst #bts fanfction #18+ only #bts imagines #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts fanfiction #bts jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook cute

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findingyouagain · 9 days

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help needed please

today has just been the absolute worst day and it just spiraled into one thing after the other. i havent really stopped crying or panicking but i took a long enough shower to be able to talk about it.

i know its a long post but if you could take a moment to read it & possible help or at least reblog it would hopefully take some of my stress away about the entire situation.

my car just got towed. i thought i had auto payments turned on for the account but apparently i did not which is 100% my fault and i should have kept better track of it. ever since my dads parent plus loan repayments kicked in, moneys been really tight and i think around then is when i must have turned auto pay off because the amount due for my the parent plus loan is about $620 each month and thats not much more than my monthly car payment atm.

i was able to make a payment and with my dads help hopefully get caught back up & pick up my car tomorrow from the towing company but that means i am going to be negative for any other expenses the rest of the month until i get my teacher paycheck on the 30th. i still have my car insurance i need to pay, which is roughly $300.

this was all of course after earlier in the day where my laptop suddenly decided to crash. i was teaching my 3rd block class and closed it for student presentations and when i opened it back up at lunch it wouldnt turn on. it seemed to be running—it was slightly warm and the it had a charge before i closed it, but the screen is black & the keyboard wont light up. i finally got the apple logo for .2 seconds when i got home but almost immediately it went dark again. thats an issue im obviously going to have to worry about later but as the yearbook and newspaper adviser my mac is something i use everyday for both personal and work stuff. it just made everything else feel compounded. im also now realizing i havent picked up my migraine medication from the pharmacy so now im going to have to figure out how to pick up snd pay for that before they restock it.

i know i dont have many followers on here or anything but i just really need the help right now. if you could spare even just a $1 or honestly just reblog this it would mean so much. i hate asking for money and i know ive had to do it before but hopefully this is the last time.

my paypal is https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/findingyouagain and my cashapp is https://cash.app/$findingyouagain

anything is helpful even a reblog

also sorry if there are typos or its not formatted nicely again im typing this on mobile while i try to get my computer to work again (if you have any suggestions on how to fix it, ill take those as well)

#psa #please help #signal boost #car issues #need help #reblog please #please boost #tumblr #idk what to tag this

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manicrouge · 2 months

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Episode Four: New Beginnings

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 12/02/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Money is rolling in, as are the enemies. Price makes a purchase in an attempt to apologise and cover his tracks.

[𝙲𝚠]: religious mentions, suggestive content, mentions of PTSD, suicidal ideation, threats of violence, blood, gore.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 10.5k

[𝙰/𝙽]: I am so deeply sorry this took so long to come out... I hope this is enough of an apology for my absence !! There may be typos because this is admittedly very long although I have done my best to read through it. This is now the longest part... whoops.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

She was as unforgiving as the harsh tide in the sea.

Whenever she has her mind set to something, he knows she will not change. Not for him- not for anyone. So, the night after, when Kyle was safe in his bed with no more threats coming his way, he felt little shock as she walks through the door of his office. He offers her a look and nothing else, turning his eyes towards the book settled in front of him.

His cigar hangs out of his mouth, grey smoke filling the air as he runs his eyes over the figures they have made. Surprisingly, he notes the sudden increase in just today- the blessing of the horse and Fisher’s death has proven to be beneficial in one regard.

‘I can’t believe you,’ Kate begins, closing the door behind her. ‘The detective is here for the guns.’

‘I know,’ John affirms, keeping his eyes turned down towards the page, ‘heard everythin’ Kyle said; I was in the room when he said it.’

A scoff escapes her as a bullet does from the chamber of a gun. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tugs at the string of her silky blue nightgown, approaching his desk. Pulling his eyes from the page, he takes the cigar from between his lips and sighs.

‘I know I’ve messed up—’

‘You’re lying to them,’ Kate states sharply, ‘he looked up at you with a swollen, bloody fucking face, and you lied, John,’ she sharply says. ‘That detective is going to figure out just exactly who has the guns if you don’t fix this mess.’

John leans further back into his chair, tipping his head up towards the direction of the ceiling. It’s bruising, of course it is. To have looked into the eyes of one of his practical brothers and know that it’s his fuck up that got them all there in the first place.

But, that's the business.

‘We… I can’t get rid of the guns now,’ he confesses shortly.

Her grip on the back of the chair in front of her tightens as she clutches it. Part of him wonders if she’s dreaming of that chair being his neck. It’s a stupid thing to wonder; of course it is. Her fury is written all over his face, he sees it. Sucking on her teeth, she lowers down as her shoulders bunch up, and when she opens her mouth, he notes that she’s clenching her jaw.

In response, he brings his cigar back to his lips for another favourable puff of nicotine.

‘You’re getting rid of the guns.’

‘Not with Fisher’s men doing the rounds. They almost killed you this morning,’ he says, being sure to maintain a low tone as he addresses her.

‘I don’t care about Fisher’s men, John,’ Kate snaps, ‘I care about our own. Kyle is lucky he only got away with a broken nose- but what if that isn’t the end of it? What if they get Simon or Johnny- or me?’

‘They won’t,’ he says, ‘I’d kill them before I left anything like that happen—'

‘It already has happened!’ Kate exclaims, throwing her hands in the air, ‘Kyle got caught out and he got hurt bad. And all for what? A shipment of guns you were doing fine without until you got your hands on them? You don’t need those, you’re capable enough as it is.’

Her words are far from praise.

‘If you keep going like this, John, people are going to get hurt.’

‘Fisher’s men want me dead,’ he says, ‘you know, when I got out of the trenches, I thought I’d seen the end of all this shit,’ he confesses, ‘I thought, when I got home, things would go back to normal. There would be none of this ‘cause everyone realised how bad things can really get- I thought they’d appreciate the fact that they got to come home.’

Clenching his fist, he rolled his neck.

‘But everything we fought for, every man we lost, it’s just the same fuckin’ cycle. Someone thinks they know better- someone thinks that they should be top dog and then a fight breaks out. You weren’t there Kate,’ he says, ‘you know the racing business like the back of your hand, but you don’t know war.’

She stares at him, her hands finding the top of the chair again.

‘But I know you, John,’ she says, all the frustration in her mind coming out in a pitiful plea to be listened to. ‘I know you.’

All the fight in her is gone in the end, he notes the disappointment in her eyes as she lets go of the chair she has been holding onto so tightly and retracts her hands, moving them to fall against her side.

There’s a bitterness in the air, but there is nothing that reeks of ill-will. She offers him one more look before she turns sharply on her heel and heads towards the door of his office.

He knows better than to call out her name, he knows better than to attempt to apologise; in the end, is he really sorry for something he is willingly doing? Or are his apologise simply that of connivence> Had he truly been remorseful, the last thing he would have wanted would be to sit alone in the silence of the room listening to the door shut with click.

Yet, this is where he is and he doesn’t make any effort to move. Instead, he turns his focus back to the book of figures, retrieving the pen he settled down at the side of it. And in her absence, he finds himself reaching for the bottle of whiskey perched at the edge of his desk.

—

In the loneliness of the night, he finds that it is the prime time for the thought of sin to sneak in. Like an insatiable itch that can never be scratched. Every night has been the same. He strips of his clothing when he retires from his duties for the night and retreats to his shabby little bedroom.

Never one for luxury, only ever caring for money's advantage, not what it can buy him.

In his room he's left exposed, his underwear being the only thing protecting his decency from whatever is watching him. It's difficult to describe so he never really talks about it; whether he likes it or not, he is still the same old Captain he was when he was sleeping in the muddy trenches.

Before he sleeps, he lays in bed and smokes a cigar.

Whatever is in it helps ease his weary brain, the faults of the day he has just experienced being forgotten in a brief kiss from nicotine. She lingers in his mouth for a while, even when the stench of his cigar is gone.

Today has been particularly draining so he keeps his cigar in his mouth for a little longer than usual.

The thought of the barmaid is difficult to escape, even though he runs from it as fast as he can inwardly. Inners mean nothing; unless he acts upon this sudden feeling, there's nothing that can be traced back to him. No evidence, no criminal- and he is familiar with that. But, he can't help himself while alone with only himself to think of the flustered expression on your face earlier today. It's different from the mischievous glint he has seen in your eyes, and he's quite sure the pout on your lips is enough to challenge the fires that await him in the depths of hell.

He's melting at the thought, his body feels like water and his pores exude sweat as he attempts to quench his appetite with a kiss of nicotine- the very same thing that has kept him from formidable thoughts in the past.

Yet, you don't feel formidable to him. Much rather permanent.

It's your flattering purity, he's sure of it, and the dishevelment of someone who is clearly unfamiliar with how brutal his line of work with has his heart pounding against his chest. He feels like he's a teenager again, shamefully, unable to escape the emotions running through his veins.

His jaw is clenched as his mind persists on the thought of you- he's hardly seen you and he's thinking of you in ways that would even make Lucifer seem like a committed apostle.

It's not him either, typically, he knows better than to indulge in women; they only ever really cause issues. No one ever wants to commit to him for him either, it's always in terms of status and he's unsure if he's even selfish enough to indulge in desire all to put the life of a pretty lady at risk. And whether he likes it or not, giving his name to someone who isn't prepared nor deserving of the repercussions is not something he's particularly fond of.

He's done it to himself, he know he has. Even then, without the status, without the money, without his name, he's unsure whether anyone would want to stay with him.

He's a fool for even daring to think you would be any different; he's hardly spoken to you, he doesn't know anything about you. All it is is the help you gave Kyle and the panicked expression on your face this morning. Your bravery is admirable and your heart is grand- that much he knows.

Perhaps even too big to fit inside of your chest.

This is the whiskey talking.

Tipping his head back, he rests it against the wall behind his bed, allowing a grey cloud of smoke to spill past his lips, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows hard. His free hand rests across his stomach, and while lying against the mattress, he finds his hand taking the skin on the side between his fingers and pinching at it.

The sting is delightful- the tasteful sensation of living.

The delightful sensation of having some form of humanity.

Accompanied with the taste of nicotine and he dare might confess that it's the best he has felt in a long time. But he doesn't speak, keeping to pinching himself every couple of seconds as his eyes grow heavy. The mixture is deadly with the thought of you nestling firmly in his mind. His body is hot at the thought and he knows his thoughts are crude.

You're a stranger. You hardly know each other. Yet, the thought of how his hands fit around your waist and your defiance towards him has his saliva caught in his throat and his mouth dry. Despite such thoughts, he fights against them, using the same old discipline he had used on his troops in the war, telling himself that it's enough.

You know better than to fall into this shit.

So, he relents with the blooming thought in his mind all to find some source of peace in order to drift off and forget he ever thought of you in such a way in the first place. Moving further down his bed, he keeps the covers off of him, his body still beaming with heat. His tongue trails his bottom lip, the saliva drying down with a satisfactory cooling sensation as his eyes slowly grow heavy before they're shut.

His breaths are loud, primarily through his nose. His fingers twitch against his side, maintaining a pattern of allowing himself to drift off before pinching his side just to make sure that he's still very much where he believes he is.

And it's working.

Until he hears it.

It's faint at first, but he hears it.

It's as though a starving dog is located on the other side of the wall as there's this sound. It's slow at first, perhaps his brain is slowing due to his exhaustion or perhaps they're growing tired of the same act that has been following him around since the trenches. It starts from the top of his head, and slowly, it trails downwards, the sound similar to the clinking of a shovel being dragged across gravel.

Then, they get impatient and it's as though they have a spurt of energy when he finally succumbs to the temptation of resting for the night; they know if he did have the energy, he would have gotten rid of them a long time ago. There's someone there, that's what his mind is telling him anyway.

And as he falling into sleep with the image of you standing beside a bloody Kyle, he finds that he isn't overly concerned if he never opens his eyes again after that moment; he caused both the damage to Kyle and the look of distress on your face.

He'd deserve it.

—

There was blood on his hands again. It was there, staining his skin, the feeling of shredded flesh settled beneath his palms as he writhes and fights against the urge to pull away; he's the Captain. He is supposed to know everything- he is their leader and if he falls, then it will be he who punishes the rest of his brigade for their weakness.

There was a stewing anger in his veins as he blocked out the calls from an artificial accent over his shoulder. He swallowed the urge to tell them to leave him alone- to let him handle things; he didn't need a yank telling him what to do. He hadn't for the long four years of the war before they joined in, and he sure as shit wasn't going to fold there.

'Move, you're gonna kill him. You don't know what you're doing,' a brooding voice demanded, grabbing him by the shoulder.

John didn't budge, he stayed and look at the weeping man lying on the ground in front of him, keeping his hand against the bullet would in his knee and thigh as he huffs out a short breath. How could he be expected to do something so careless?

'Captain—'

'Shut it,' he snapped sharply, 'I don't need you telling me what to do, yeah? Do me a favour and go and find out where Garrick is,' he firmly stated, not bothering to look at the man standing behind him as he shrugs his shoulder.

There's a huff, he catches it through the howling guns shots and the sniffles of the man lying on the ground in front of him. His brow is wet with sweat and his hands are soaked with blood as it poured out of the wound. Fortunately, he heard the wet squelch of mud and the calling for a name, allowing him to look back at the man on the ground.

'You're almost outta here, Blake,' he said firmly, 'just have to wait this out and then you'll never have to think of coming to the trenches ever again- you have my word, my promise.'

Despite the snotty, muddy state that the man in front of him has gotten himself into, he offered Price a shaky smile as he reaches his hand forward, placing it on top of Price's red hands. He squeezed his hand tightly, remaining curt with the shake of his head.

'Thank you for everythin', Cap'n.'

—

Over the passing days he gets an idea in his head which sprouts whenever he’s in the Hindsight. It’s a difficult idea to address, even when he has a glass of whiskey in front of him, and most of the time, he finds himself trying to come to terms why he has even conjured up such an idea.

Kyle is slowly getting better, he’s been sure to see to it while keeping his eyes out for the detective, the knowledge that the man is looking for the guns only worsening his mood as he attempts to find some for of way to keep the guns from the grubby little hands of that yank. He has half the mind to blind the bastard and toss him into the docks for injuring his own brother in such a terrible manner.

But he doesn’t.

Rather, he remains reserved and cool knowing better than to make anymore enemies during this time; truthfully, the threat of the Fisher’s is frightening. Fisher’s business spans the entire country and with the attack on Kate, their silence afterwards has been treated with caution.

Of course, he knows his men are the furthest thing from stupid- it’s him who they want. But, he knows better than to make the assumption that they’ll stop at him because, in reality, he knows anyone marked with the hat of a Blinder will be treated as though they are John Price and there’s nothing he can do to fight against that. The framing of the murder is unfortunate, and the longer he and the others have sat with it, the more he’s grown convinced that it’s the work of another group- more specifically the Adams’.

It arrived just after the betting business saw an increase in it’s profits- after news spread that Johnny was going to bless the horse. They might be bigger than their business, yet, that means jackshit and he knows it does. The big guys can squash the small competition when they please- he’s seen it before and he doubts it will be something that will stop. However, the big guys dislike getting their hands dirty, so, instead of doing it directly, they send their little lapdogs to do the dirty work.

In the Adams’ case it was killing Fisher and leaving a razor blade at the scene of the crime- tying the Blinders directly to it.

He’s unable to quite process why the workers would think he’s responsible for such a crime; while he has done some abhorrent things in his life, the last thing he would do is put a deal to risk. The deal they had was something he absolutely wouldn’t ever want to risk and by killing Fisher, it made life harder, not easier. His life is on the line and there’s virtually nothing he can do to make the situation any better… unless he can find the perpetrator of the crime and prove his innocence- but what type of criminal would ever care enough to do that?

And as he’s sitting in the pub, watching as you pour the drinks for the group, he looks around and takes notes of all the money sitting in his back pocket. He’s a rich man- too rich. If he’s to die to one of the men looking to seek some form of sick revenge, the last thing he wants to do is leave the boys without something to fall back on. His death will most likely result in the death of his business. Besides, why would he sit in a place he didn’t own?

‘We should buy this place,’ he says, picking up his glass.

Johnny raises an eyebrow in his direction.

‘What?’ he asks,

‘Well, we have the money, don’t we? Why are we drinkin’ in a pub that we don’t own?’ he says, looking around the place. ‘It’ll be another stream of income- keep the money coming in even if something bad happens to the betting business, ey?’

Despite the mask covering Simon’s face, he notes a glint in the man’s eyes. It’s a rarity, that much he knows. He reads it as excitement before the man even opens his mouth.

‘You really think Kate would say it’s a good idea?’ Kyle says, ‘you know what she’s like with money- and if this purchase doesn’t benefit the business then I don’t see her sayin’ yes to such a big purchase.’

Price pauses for a moment, taking time to reflect on such a possibility. As much as he does respect Kate, he finds he has little care for her input concerning this purchase- and if anything- he’s sure she’ll be more than happy to endorse a payment which will put more money in their pockets. So, he brings his drink up to his mouth, taking a sip from it.

‘Don’t see the harm in doing it; we’re making more than enough money to justify spending it to buy this place,’ he says, turning to the bar where you’re standing idly.

You look tired, standing awkward as you hold a glass in one hand and a cloth in the other. Clearly, you’re supposed to be cleaning them, yet, you’re standing their in a mind of your own, not moving an inch, too busy in that head of yours.

As he observes you, he wonders what you’re thinking of, perhaps something of important or maybe you’re just daydreaming about something random. A part of him wants to know, although, as his brain treads such territory he turns his attention away and takes another sip from his drink.

‘The more money the better,’ Simon agrees, ‘sure James would take a decent deal for this place; he doesn’t really have a choice.’

Price grins.

‘He doesn’t.’

—

It's in the middle of the afternoon and ordered in the pub has been maintained following the absence of James. It's been a few days since the attack against Price's boy and you're more than sure Graves has a death wish. Upon listening to their conversation from behind the door, the only thing you discovered was who was behind the attack. Nothing else of value escaped their lips- other than the fact that they know the detective in town is adamant on finding the guns.

It's difficult to know what exactly Price's reaction was following Kyle's confession and the proposal that they should help the police in finding the guns, only, you know there was some form of disagreement as you heard Kyle's back go up as he addressed an angry sentiment towards Price. Perhaps he simply provided him with a sneer or something along the same lines of such as even Kate seemed confused by whatever he was doing.

Either way, you kept the conversation to yourself, not even planning on sharing it with Graves when you next intend to meet; it seems so minuscule, you're confused why you have even been debating on whether or not you should tell the man. He doesn't need to know everything happening with the gang- only if they have the guns. He's sure they have got them, although now, as you cleaning a glass, you're feeling an uneasy churning sensation in your stomach as you're considering the fact that they might not have the guns and you're been following the stupid fucking trail Graves has persuaded you to stick to.

Truthfully, the lingering sent you caught on to in Mr. Churchill's office is beginning to fade and you're becoming worried that you might have chasing your tail all because of some stupid yank.

Setting the glass in your hand down against the counter behind the bar, you let out a heavy breath, placing the cloth in your hand beside it. Planting your hands flat against the counter, you look down at the ground at you black shoes, taking a deep breath. Being confined to the pub surely isn't helping your nerves; for all you know, Graves could be causing more harm than good and you're standing her serving drunks.

Your heart is beginning to grow fickle at the thought.

The door opens, creaking as it does so. Your back tenses at the sound and a dull ache pulses through you skull. You almost can't bring your head up to address the customer. Yet, when you hear the drunken rambling stopping and a shallow gasp from one of the women, your head shoots up at the possibility that you could be disrespecting Mr. Price.

When you look at the man approaching the bar, your struck with the realisation that he does have a similar head of hair to the man, however, it is not John Price who is approaching you. His smart attire is telling of the fact that he's belonged to a much wealthier part of the country than the place you currently find yourself in. His suit is well tailored, a thick black tie hanging around his neck as he offers you a grin when he catches your eyes.

Taking a seat at the bar, he rests his forearm against it and brushes his thick fingers through his hair. His build is grand- unlike anything you've seen really. All you can liken it to are depictions of Greek Gods you've seen in books during your time in eduction. His forearms are notable in the fabric of the blazer and he has the eyes of a siren as he drags them down your body.

His not subtle in the slightest, and when he grins, he shows you gleaming teeth. He's like one of the stars you've seen in the paper from States.

'What can I get for you, sir?' you chime, managing to find a spare smile somewhere in yourself, offering it to the alluring man.

A strand of brown hair falls from atop his head, resting against his forehead as he tilts his head to the side to get a better look at you. His upper lip is marked with a thick moustache- though it's nowhere near the moustache Mr. Price has. His finger draws a pattern on the dark oak of the bar as he clears his throat.

'What's the dearest bottle you have, lamb?' he asks, his words horrifically smooth as he addresses you. The nickname drips from his tongue with ease- you're no fool, of course you're not the only one he's addressed with the sorts.

'Uhm,' you begin, looking over your shoulder at the array of drinks, 'we have expensive whiskey but─'

'It's reserved for John Price,' he finishes.

You still at the mention of his name, slowly turning your head in the direction of the man as you slowly nod your head. You expect to see a look of frustration etched on his face, however, you find he's smiling at you. It's gentle, yet, you would prefer a scowl to the look on his face right now.

'I'll have a glass of whatever other whiskey I'm allowed to have then, lovely,' he shrugs, pulling out a wad of cash from the inside of blazer, placing a few notes down onto the table with a sly grin. 'Get something for yourself too,' he offers kindly.

To refuse a man who is oozing such a coldness surely isn't the smartest thing you can do in that moment, so, you take the notes he's pushed onto the table and put them into your apron. Grabbing two glasses, you pour yourself a glass of whiskey alongside him one too. Turning around, you set the glass down onto the table and he takes it in his hand.

He almost swallows the glass whole with the grip he has on it and you can only really see any of it because of the small gaps in his fingers. Bringing it to is mouth, he sips the drink before setting the glass down onto the table. You copy him- not meaning to, only realising as you place your glass down onto the counter just as he does.

'Would you mind if I pick your brain for a little while?' he asks. You narrow your eyes in the direction of the man, wrapping an arm around yourself. He chuckles as you do such, shaking his head. 'It's nothing to be afraid of, little lamb, just some questions.'

'About what?' you ask, taking a breath before continuing, 'who are you?'

'Well, if you must know, my name is Caleb Adams,' he begins, 'I'm the owner of one of the biggest race courses in the country.'

'So... you're here about Mr. Price?' you ask.

Smiling, he offers you such a sweet look you feel inclined to reach for his tie and force his head against the counter. But you don't, you play the role of the quaint, cute barmaid as you sweetly nod at the man.

'Smart girl,' he praises, 'have you ever thought of working elsewhere?' he asks, 'I have a feeling you'd be better suited anywhere but here,' he admits.

Oddly enough, he is right, you don't belong here.

'I like working here,' you shrug, to which he nods.

'I'm sure you do,' he says promptly, sucking in a breath, 'what's your relationship with Mr. Price?' he asks with a furrowed brow, 'would you say you're friends?'

'No,' you answer, 'I'm the barmaid at the pub he comes to- there's nothing more to it.'

There's something in the way he looks at you that shows apprehension- almost as though he's fighting against his better judgement to refuse to believe the truth you're telling him. You're not friends with him, you've hardly spoken to one another during your time in the pub.

'Are you here to get dirt on him?' you frankly say, not caring for the attempt of subtlety; it's nothing you've ever really been fond throughout the course of your life, and despite your mind warning you of the repercussions of annoying a man who appears so wealthy, you can't help but let your true character seep into the conversation.

Your comment is something that stops him for a moment. It's unlike him, you're aware of that; he has been forward during the entirety of your conversation, and here he is rendered speechless from your words.

Grabbing the glass you placed down, you swirl the remaining whiskey around in your cup on a baited breath. Despite your nerves, however, you do not look away from him.

'Why does it matter to you?' he asks, ‘if you’re nothing but a barmaid, the my enquiry should mean nothing to you,’ he says, narrowing his eyes, ‘are you telling me the full truth about your association.’

There’s a bubbling rage in the pit of your stomach the longer you entertain this fool. You’re accustomed to all of the games men like him like to play; you’ve built your entire fucking career around being treading like some dumb girl. Still, you fight to maintain the act, to keep your composure.

‘Keep smiling,’ a voice calls. ‘Cause, if you frown at the wrong man… well, it very well might be your last day.’

So, you insist on you act, persist with your calmness and bite back the urge to throw the drink he bought you in his face.

'I have no reason to lie to you,' you respond frankly, 'I don't even know who you are- my assumption about you wanting to get dirt on him is wholly based on how eager you were to ask me questions.'

It's stale and brooding the look his gives you in the midst of your small rant is a tad unsettling, but you can't help yourself. He's sitting right in front of you, accusing you of lying about something you have no involvement is. There's a sour air between the pair of you now and you busy yourself with finishing your drink, looking past the man at the door to the pub as it opens once again.

A small sigh escapes you at the very thought of having another customer to serve to get you away from this uptight asshole. Yet, with your saviour in sight, you startle as you see both Kyle and Mr. Price walking through the door together. Kyle looks somewhat better, one of his eyes is still slightly swollen from the blow he was dealt and his nose is a tad to the left. Only, he can stand on his own and walks with only a small wince with every step.

Any pain is easily masked with the grin plastered on his face and Mr. Price walks with his nose in the air, all for his head to drop at the sight of the man sitting opposite to you. Caleb picks up on your gaze and chooses to turn his head to peer over his shoulder. No one in the pub dares to speak, opting to keep their mouths shut as Price's brow furrows.

'John Price, I thought you'd never show up,' he says, grabbing the glass of whiskey you poured him, holding it out to the man as though to cheers.

'What do you want?' Kyle asks, not giving the man beside him a chance to speak.

'I came all the way out to congratulate you,' Caleb begins, pushing himself up off of the stool he was sitting on with a bright grin. 'I never considered you nor the rest of the Blinders to be a true threat until I opened the newspaper and saw that you were responsible for Fisher's death.'

'It had nothin' to do with us,' John firmly says.

'Sure it doesn't,' you hear the man scoff and imagine him rolling his eyes at his words. You note how Caleb keeps his eyes on Kyle. 'Everyone in the racing community are quite disgruntled at the death of Fisher, you know? There are a lot of people who have invested a lot of money into his company, and none of those below him are good enough to lead it.'

You look at Price with a furrowed brow, tilting your head to the side slightly. Kyle offers you a look similar to yours, his eyes falling to the empty glass in your eyes.

'Real big man you are, yeah?' Kyle asks, 'comin' to our pub and asking our barmaid about us?’

His sudden shift in tone startles you and you're unable to really put together his use of 'our'. Maybe it was just something to make it seem like he has come to the wrong place, or maybe he truly meant every word of it. Besides, the longer you stand and think in the pregnant silence between the men, you're more than aware that James has never really been the owner of the Hindsight.

'Your barmaid?' he asks, looking back at you.

'That's right,' Price affirms, slowly stalking up to the man. ‘And if you ever think of steppin' foot into this pub again- if you ever think of talkin' to her again- I will cut you up, make sure you have no eyes to see her with.’

It's unlike anything you've seen as of you, although, it is everything you've heard. While he is an admittedly large man, the floor barely creaks as he stalks up to Caleb. Tilting his head to the side, he holds the brim of his hat between his fingers. His features are shadowed by the man standing in front of you, although, you don't miss the low chuckle that escapes him.

His voice is low, almost a whisper as he says so to the man. You find all the hairs on your arms stand up as you idly stand by and simply watch.

'I assure you I meant no harm in coming here.’

'You know the business,' John calmly says, 'you know what it means to walk into a place you have no claim to, and while I know me and you haven't talked to each other before, I'm not a idiot.'

Caleb slowly nods his head, holding his hands either side of him as he steps to the side of John, shuffling away from him. He laughs as he does so, looking back at you while you stand behind the bar, holding the empty glass of whiskey he bought you in your hand. Your chest burns as you turn your head away and look at John who offers you a small smile.

'If you continue to treat people like this, Mr. Price, then I assure you you will have a lot of bad people after you,' he warns, his brows furrowing, 'and right now, I assure you that is the last thing that you want to happen.'

John tugs at the hat atop his head, shaking his head at his words, 'get out,' he says frankly, 'if you want to discuss something concerning me, Adams, you talk to me, not the girl, yeah?'

Caleb tilts his head to the side, mustering out a deep sigh. Tugging at the cuffs of his blazer, his fingers curl around the fabric and you watch as he nods his head as though he's agreeing to something.

'Mr. Price,' he says, sucking in a breath, 'as I said, I meant no harm by coming here, I was simply... asking questions; Fisher has been a pain for myself and my family for many years and you got rid of him. Quite frankly, I wanted to strike a deal with you.'

'We don't need anything of yours, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're the one who got Fisher. Y'u just didn't wanna deal with the fall out of it so you blame me and my boys,' he says.

Mr. Price doesn't care for whatever sweetness he is being shown in that moment, instead, he has his back up like a feral cat. Of course, you don't need his protection- in fact, if Graves had been there with you, you know for a fact that such a fact most definitely would have been relayed to you.

Still, there's a little part of you that takes a slither of sinful pride, relishing in the way Price so effortlessly defended you in the eyes of a threat. Really, you know nothing of the man who has just bought you a drink and the way he looked at you made you feel so uneasy that you simply find comfort under the watchful eyes of the men who you do know well.

'Well, Mr. Price,' Caleb says briefly, brushing his clothes with his hands as he swallows harshly, a short breath escaping him. You imagine that his formalities are beginning to wear thin. 'I assure you that I have heard you loud and clear... but before I go, I must tell you that you are making a fatal mistake.'

Instead of offering him any form of response, Price moves past the man, settling in the seat he has just been sitting in, keeping his back to him as Kyle also pulls a seat beside him, sitting down. Caleb turns around to look at you again.

'A very big mistake—'

Your temperament seems to dissipate in the brattiness of the posh man, the fire in your stomach raising to flood your throat before you have the chance to fan the flames.

'Did you not hear him?' you ask sharply, narrowing your eyes. 'You're not welcome here. Get out.'

You expect him to want to get the final word in, to allow the patience he has harboured since Mr. Price stepped through the door to melt. Yet, much to your surprise, he simply nods his head without saying another word to you, and with that he heads towards the exit of the pub without a word more.

You almost deflate as you see the door behind him close, placing both your hands on the counter behind the bar, taking a moment to catch your breath.

‘If he comes back in here, don't serve him,’ Mr. Price firmly instructs.

'I'll let James know,' you say, nodding your head.

'Nonsense,' Mr. price says with a smile, 'he's not comin' back here, love; he doesn't own the place anymore.'

Your eyebrows raise as you slowly turn to Kyle who offers you a bright grin. Still, as you're looking at him, you struggle to see him with his healing injuries. It's something that strikes you with guilt for all you see in front of you right now is the bloody and beaten down man who you had helped a few days ago.

'What do you mean?' you slowly ask.

'We own it now,' Kyle confirms, 'John bought it off of James.'

You stare at the man as though he's grown a third head unable to quite understand what exactly he has said to you. For a moment, you take time to process what this means. You're not stupid, of course you understand that you're now working in an establishment owned by the Blinders- John Price is your boss now. Although, you can't help but question what exactly this means in terms of your position.

He seemed pretty sure that I was his barmaid, I doubt he fire me.

'Why didn't he tell me?' you ask, almost offended that the man you have been working under disappeared without even offering his hard-working barmaid something as small as a 'goodbye'.

Decency was never his forte, you suppose, so, you settle by chewing on the corner of your mouth, balling your fists as you tilt your head to the side.

'Busy man,' he simply says, 'he wanted to get out of the city while he still had the chance to, 'thinks things are getting worse. As selfish as it sounds, he was only really thinking of himself,' he explains.

You slowly nod your head, chewing on your tongue as you manage to let out a short breath. You're right in the lions den at this point and while you dislike the fact that you're the one who has to fan the flames, you try and find some form of faith in Graves; he is your partner after all. Besides, you are in the lions den.

You.

'Are you gonna fire me?' you ask.

John laughs.

'Why would I fire you, love?' he asks, 'you're decent at your job and you keep everyone here happy enough not to rip the heads off of each other, yeah? I'd be an idiot to get rid of you.'

They have no idea of your intent and you have slid in so easily you can't help but allow yourself to smile at the thought, your core beaming with excitement as you address both of the men once again by discarding of the glass sitting in front of Mr. Price and grabbing two new glasses from behind you.

'Well, how about a drink to celebrate, hey?' you chirp brightly, noting the smile of Mr. Price's face as you pour a drink of whiskey into his glass. They both take the glasses in their hands and you pour yourself a fresh glass, copying them after Price motions to you to lift your glass up.

'To new beginnings,' he says firmly with a smile as he looks at you. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, your face growing warm under his eyes as both yourself and Kyle nod.

'To new beginnings.'

—

The sun manages to peak through the clouds, a streak soaking him as he walks down the street with his head held high. Sometimes, it's difficult to find the will to smile; his mind has been destroyed. It's no different to the shrapnel discarded from a soldiers wound: plucked free from where trouble reins, all to cut the fingers of those who handle it.

Still, he smiles and takes a moment to inhale the thick air of the city, pulling his hat off of his head. Rubbing his bald head, he firmly plants his hat back onto it, hoping the light action would chase off the demons which left his mind a muddled mess. One could dream, he supposes. At the very least, he is doing something to fix all the issues going on inside.

He does a lot more than some people do and he knows that.

A true family man at heart is Blake, one who works so hard that he never really knows when to give it a break, only really caring to take a seat when he is forced to and not when the old wound in his leg tells him to; that's not what his Captain would want from him and he has been loyal to him since they first met on the battlefield, and even outside the war, he vows to keep his promise to him.

So, he walks with a slight hobble after his shift at the shipyard keeping his head high as he approaches the home of the Blinders with a few minutes to spare before his shift starts there.

It's typical to see the coppers around and on the street during his walk and he's not afraid of them for he knows they'll do very little to him because they truly have no reason to accuse him of anything. Even then, as he's walking, he spots a swell of tall hats gathering at the top of the street. They're similar to a swarm of wasps in the manner that they move, all of them remaining together as the push past the stray people on the street.

From the centre of them emerges as man with light brown hair- he's the only one without a hat. The Queen Bee. He walks with a face like a slapped ass, brooding and commanding as he calls out orders. He stops in his tracks as soon as the man opens his mouth- anyone would think he'd heard news of his arrest as he listens to the man bark like a feral dog.

His face pales as his heart thuds in his ears, and that wretched buzzing in his head returns in the blink of an eye. It's strange, how normalcy can be stripped away from him in such a quick fashion. In a moment, he goes from standing in the street on the way to the Price's house all the way back in time to the trenches.

The road isn't covered in gravel, rather, he feels as though he's sinking into the ground, similar to the thick, gooey mud which caused him to stagger and stumble during his time at war. And then, the police were no longer the saviours, rather, enemy soldiers coming towards him with the intent of killing him.

In a matter of seconds, he sprinting away from the group of men, his eyes trained on the Hindsight with a pounding in his head. The Captain would be in there, he's sure- he needs to warn them that they're back- that the betraying scum are back and they're searching for him. So, he breaks into a sprint, he can’t stop the thoughts once they’ve started and a clear mind is miles away from him.

He runs as though the group of officers are chasing after him, all the while his mind is wrecked with the sounds of gunshots and the fire from the iron works is something he accustoms to the scent of war. It’s everywhere, the enemies are everywhere. It’s impossible to explain how his mind functions during these moments; even he’s unsure why his mind chooses to punish him. When he got out of the war, he thought it was over. Yet, here he is, standing in his home still plagued by the memories of the very thing that ruined him.

A startled breath escapes him as he collides with something and through foggy eyes, he spies an enemy. His words are muffled in his ears, his shouts are something of a threat and he's unable to quite make out what is being said to him. All he knows is that this man is a threat. He's going to do something bad and the aggression in his tone is preemptive to how he is going to hurt him- how he is going to hurt other people.

Blake refuses to back off, not hearing the man's demands to get away from the front of his business. His mind clears momentarily, long enough to see the shining silver in the man's hand, and in a state of terror, he's quick to grab the item and without a second thought, he shoves it into the man's stomach.

A wretch escapes him, and as a wetness soaks his hand, he's back on earth. Back home.

Gasps catch his ears and as he slowly blinks himself back to reality, he's horrified at the sight of the grunting man in front of him. Letting go of the end of the pocket knife he has driven into the man's stomach, he backs away with bloodstained hands, looking around himself at the surrounding civilians who saw what he has done. And then his eyes fall back to the sign located about his head.

Costello's Cures.

A panicked breath escapes him and in the matter of seconds, he sprinting in the opposite direction of the Hindsight, rushing towards home without stopping as people call out for him to return to the scene of the crime.

—

When John hears about the news, his displeasure is imminent, and that night, he's quick to be at Blake's home. It's cold, the night air nipping at his ears as he walks with a stern look etched on his face, all to find the address of the man.

Johnny had sheepishly wandered in his office with the confirmation of who exactly Blake had injured during his episode, and as he sat and listened to the account Johnny had heard, he found his chest tightening the more he continued.

Nothing can ever be easy and it seems as though he's been cursed with bad luck ever since he was sent home and striped of his title.

Standing on the man's doorstep, despite his anger, he was sure to knock lightly before shoving his hands into his pockets, shifting on his feet as he stands idly and waits. There's a creak beyond the door, the sound of heavy footsteps on wood, and before long, the door is pulled open.

Light is situated behind the man at the door, his bulky frame blocking most of it out, the strong smell of lingering dinner filling Price's nose as he stands and observes the man, his lips forming a thin line/

'Cap'n I—'

'Where's your missus and the little one?' he calmly asks, narrowing his eyes.

'Uhm, Dorothy's sleepin' an' Maggie's making supper for the pair of us,' he explains, toying with his hands, 'do you wanna come in and join us? I'm sure we have enough.'

'You know why I'm here,' Price says, 'close the door.'

Blake looks at him with a glint in his eyes as he slowly steps from out of his house, pulling it shut. It closes with a small click and Price steps away from the doorstep with a short breath.

'Cap'n I'm sorry,' blurts the man, 'I- I swear I didn't mean to kill him.'

'Do you have any fuckin' idea what you've done?' Price snaps, looking at the man. It hurts his heart when he sees the man flinch at the harshness in his tone, although, he isn't discouraged. 'Out of everyone you could've done it to, you did it to one of the fuckin' Costello's.'

'H- He wasn't a part of the family.'

'That doesn't matter, Blake,' Price says, 'blood bounds are forever and you know what they're like- they're always lookin' for a reason to start shit between us. Just because Joey is in London doesn't mean anything.'

'I- I—'

'What started it this time, ey?' he asks, 'cause the more you do this, the more I'm convinced there's nothing I can do to help you.'

'I heard that new detectives voice,' he confesses, 'he sounds familiar.'

'All the yanks sound the same,' Price states.

Blake simply stares at him. It' s a look which renders him unsure as there's a teary glint in the man's eye. It's telling that, despite his wounded mind, he knows something.

'I swear 'ave heard his voice before Cap'n, back in the trenches,' he warns.

Price only nods his head.

'Meet me at the boat yard tomorrow,' he simply says, narrowing his eyes. 'Half seven.'

He could tell him why he is wanted, but the gulp that sounds from the man is enough to tell him that he knows exactly why he is wanted there. With that, Price turns away from the man and proceeds to head down the street, his breath fogging in the wind. Despite Blake's adamance, he finds the words they shared together of very little importance as he heads down the street, his mind far too clogged with the issues awaiting him in the morning.

His head aches and as he exits the street and catches sight of the Hindsight with the lights still glowing inside, he's quick to make a change in his journey, opting to head in the direction of the pub rather than the direction of home.

—

In the lateness of the night, you find yourself growing bored of the same tasks you have been committed to for the past few weeks. Your shoulders are stiff and you're growing tired of the smell of tobacco and booze.

John walks through the door of the pub and you're more than happy to grab a glass as he approaches the bar. Despite his high held head and the smile on his face, you're far too aware that there is something else in his eyes. His eyelids droop slightly, highlighted by the slight greyness under his eyes. It subtle, just as he is- you suppose- but you don't miss it.

'Is everything okay?' you ask.

'Just need a drink,' he answers, 'scotch please, love.'

You offer him a short nod as you. turn your back to him and grab a glass from behind you along with the scotch per his request. As you turn back to him, you notice his eyes on you and a distracted air about him. Still, in a state of assumed misery, he appears wise. It's quite striking, hitting your heart like cupids arrow.

'Before James left, he mentioned you used to sing in the pub you worked at,' he says as you pour his drink into the glass.

'I did,' you confirm, 'helped settle people's minds, you know? Everyone needed something uplifting- something to make them forget about everything happening during the war,' you explain.

He offers a short hum, picking the glass up from off of the counter, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip from it. He has little reaction to it, although, you're not surprised counting on the fact that that is all he drinks. Still, you observe him in the hope of seeing his face change.

'We used to sing in the trenches,' he admits, 'nothing special, don't have the voice on me to sing.'

A smile forms on his face as he trails his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb., wiping away the residue of scotch. 'Distract from the gun fire and explosions. Haven't sung since- don't think I ever will.'

His sudden openness with you is somewhat frightening. He addresses you as though you're good friends, not just owner and barmaid, and part of you finds yourself falling into the conversation, the hardened image of John Price melting with the warmth of his body stationed right before you. And how strange it is to address a criminal as a human being- almost inhumane knowing all he has done and why you are there in the first place.

Yet, the heat welling in your stomach with each glance he offers you burns hot enough to melt down the bars of his prison cell and set him free from persecution. Such a fact is something you’re ashamed of even thinking. Truth of the matter is, no matter how terrible of a human he was, he was just like you, a human being.

‘I’ve sung a few times here,’ you confess, ‘nothing special.’

A pass time if nothing else. Something to break up the day and something fun. Besides, your ego absolutely isn’t beyond being fed by the drunken praises of clientele at the Hindsight. In fact, during your time here, you have grown to appreciate it.

‘How come I’ve never heard you sing?’

‘James said you don’t like songs,’ you say, ‘I didn’t want to purposefully upset you if that’s the case.’

He shortly nods, letting out a short breath as rubbing his mouth.

‘It reminds me of the war,’ he explains, ‘I never thought I even think of missing that place, but sometimes I do; at the very least, amidst the chaos, there was still some form of order you know? You shoot a gun without repercussions there, whereas here? Nothin’s the same.’

You perk your ears up at his confession, your eyebrows knitting together.

‘You miss the war?’ you ask.

‘Parts of it,’ he says simply, ‘know I’m probably the one who feels sentimental about the early days, but it’s the truth whether I like it or not.’

He seems to be weighed down by something as he speaks and after finishing, he’s quick to finish off the last of his scotch in his glass before holding it out to you for a refill. You nod your head, happily pouring more into his glass, inwardly hoping that the more he drinks, the more open he’ll be to tell you more. Perhaps even going as far as slipping up.

‘It’s a unique sentiment,’ you confirm, nodding your head.

‘Military has been in my life since I was a teenage,’ he confesses, ‘I served in the war as temporary Captain; had enough experience to get into the position- had been promised by the general that if I made it out alive, I’d be promoted,’ he says.

‘Then how come you’re here?’

He looks at you with a weary look on his face, drinking more liquor from his glass as he stifles out a short laugh. ‘Got caught doin’ somethin’ I shouldn’t have been doin’ and they got rid of me. Lead a brigade which had a hand in winning us the war, but as soon as they’re made aware of one mistake, they threw me to the fuckin’ wolves.’

Anger is present in his tone, and despite your curiosity, you choose not to pry him for answers. So, you simply hum and nod your head, ensuring to maintain politeness. It's the only thing you know for a fact you can do.

'Enough of that,' he says, 'what about you, doll? I hardly know anything about you.'

Unashamedly, you talk into the night with John and the entire time it's as though you're talking with an old friend who you have just only been reunited with. Conversation comes easily to the pair of you and you find yourself being honest for a change. You tell him of your childhood in London, about your position as a barmaid during the war- most things that you know won't cause him to raise any eyebrows.

In return, he tells you of most of the stuff you have read on his file: his rebellious streak during his early years, how long he served in the army, alongside about the boy's in his brigade. During which he speaks how you imagine a proud father would talk about his children. Oddly, you find your heart warming as he speaks about them.

The pair of you talk into the night and it's only when you look past John during a conversation that you've realised the last drunkard has returned home and it's just you and him remaining in the pub. Immediately, your cheeks flush red.

'I- I'm sorry, I didn't realise the time,' you confess, breaking out of the conversation.

John turns to look over his shoulder, acknowledging the empty pub. Despite the conversation the pair of you have shared, you find yourself awaiting some sort of regret to be on his face; he's a busy man, of course.

'It's fine, love,' he reassures, 'c'mon, let me walk you home,' he offers, 'i's too late for you walk home alone.'

—

Rain pours as you step outside of the pub with the man, your gloved hand rooting in the bag across your frame to ensure you haven't forgotten anything inside. You hear his breath fogging in the winter air as he keeps his eyes trained on you, not daring to look away. It's oddly comforting to feel his eyes on you and you feel as though you're safe from any possible threat from the world the pair of you reside in.

A man like him could chase away a cold. Probably be better than any cure from the chemist.

Turning away from him, you hold the keys to the pub in your hands, pulling the golden handle of the open door. Pulling it closed, your eyebrows furrow upon catching the sound of a metallic scraping against the door. Taking a step backwards from the doors of the pub, you knock into John who is standing behind you. Your mouth falls open as you disregard whatever made the sound, finding yourself all too concerned with you misstep.

'I'm sorry- I didn't mean to─'

His fingers dig into the fabric of your red dress as he gently moves you to stand to the side of him. Moving past you, he approaches the door, his hands grabbing whatever was making that noise. It's difficult to see whatever is in his hand as his broad back shelters you from the very thing that has him letting out a short breath. It's easy to hear in the quiet night, although, even if he had been quiet his attempt of secrecy would have been betrayed by the cold weather.

'What is it?' you ask, 'have someone broken the handle?' you proceed, taking a step closer to the man. Resting your hand against his shoulder, you look to see a leather strap in his hand. Your eyes move downwards to see the metal chain of a dog lead. A small laugh escapes you, 'can you believe how stupid people are? Like, why would they─' you quickly shut up when your eyes meet the end of the leash.

Instead of seeing the end as you expect, it curls upwards. The part of the lead which is supposed to be attached to a dogs collar is clipped to form a noose. You swallow thickly, looking to John for some form of answer. There's nothing on his face from what you can decipher through the shadows- he's void of emotion.

Despite not understanding the very basis of why something like this is left outside the pub, you feel your stomach twisting as your brain fights to come up with some form of satisfactory answer. Had James not been half way out of the city right now, you're sure you'd be more than happy to make the assumption that someone has made a mistake by leaving the lead there.

Although, with Price's money in his pocket and the Hindsight being under new ownership, you're more than sure that this being left here is not some silly mistake. It's as intentional as a violent blow to the stomach of an enemy.

He clenches his fist around the leather strap of the leash, gritting his teeth as he nods to himself silently. You expect him to say something, perhaps a choppy one liner to ease the tension swelling in your stomach, yet, there's nothing. Just that look on his face.

'John?' you quietly ask, grabbing his forearm.

Lifting his head from the sight of the noose hanging in the wind, he looks to you and small smile forms on his face. Chewing on the inside of his mouth, he shifted on his feet as he nods to himself.

'How would you like t' come the races, love?'

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @iizx7y @phantomreadsandreblogs @talooolaaloolla @guiltgoreglory @corpsebasil @ferns-fics @racheldoyle

#cod #call of duty #alternate universe #john price x reader #captain john price #peakyblinder!johnprice #simon riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #phillip graves #john price x you #captain price #peaky blinders au #cod mw2 #john price #price cod #captain johnathan price #john price cod #kate laswell

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breachverse · 1 year

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Breach: Chicago War Zone - WIP Update 14 - 10th of February 2023

I didn't think I'd be able to finish it this month considering my hard drive decided to corrupt itself, but, goddamn, I did it.

WIP Update 14 has been released! Chapter 2 Part 2 for both routes have started all the way up to the first chance of a downtime. Though you can't hangout with anyone, except for Hayne, you can now enjoy the limited shop for both the Archangel AND the FBI route, as well as the completed skill training feature.

Breach: Chicago War Zone (Updated)

DEVELOPMENT LOG#14 (10-February-2023)

(B2.1.1.22.12.20)

Alpha - 14

Tons of bug fixes typos and grammar fixes

Added the ability to buy plasma cutter pre-hangout

Added ARC skills training and store (limited)

Added FBI skills training and store (very limited)

Fixed FBI armory not being free. (Everything should now be free)

Tweaked a few of the weapon's descriptions to be available for both routes

Tweaked several weapon accessories token modifiers

Tweaked available accessories for the UTS-15

Added Flash Grenades

Added AR-10 Battle rifle (I know, I'm calling it one)

Added KSG-12 Shotgun

Added RPD Machine gun

Added AK-12 Assault rifle

Alpha - 14

Added Chapter Part restart feature to Show Stats screen (Testing)

Added Settings tab to the Show Stats screen (Testing)

Added Cheats tab to the Show Stats screen (Testing)

Added Hayne's 1st hangout

W.I.P.: Chapter 2 Part 2 of The AA branch (23%) W.I.P.: Chapter 2 Part 2 of The FBI branch (23%) W.I.P.: AA Hangout (9%) W.I.P.: AA Store system (60%) W.I.P.: FBI Hangout (9%) W.I.P.: FBI Store system (50%) W.I.P.: Stat screen upgrade (30%) COMPLETED: Chapter 2 Part 1 of The AA branch (100%) COMPLETED: Chapter 2 Part 1 of The FBI branch (100%)

Word Count: 656,856 words including codes (Last update was 637,822)

The private testing for this was uploaded last month so technically I managed to get an update out once month but still… it was quite a delay and I'm terribly sorry.

For those who don't know, I had a horrible setback in which my computer's hard drive decided to bork itself and I had to reinstall windows. I lost a small number of data but it took me some time to rebuild my database and retrieve data from my corrupted hard drive. Thankfully, Breach itself is saved due to the number of backups I've made and the precaution of having multiple copies on different hard drives.

More detail on the situation on this post if you want to see the exact problem I was having.

But, all of that is past now and though I am still building up everything again, I was able to get my workspace back in order and thankfully, I've managed to finish this damn update before the end of the month for private testing, and added a few things for the public update.

The update also consists some scenes for the ARC route where if you choose to do the prep work for the grate work or wall work in the tunnels under the bank, as well as some new scenes for the FBI route where [spoiler]if you let Greg escape during the raid, he'll want to meet with you and he'll give you some secrets about the trio.[/spoiler]

I'm sorry it's taken so long, and thank you for being so patient. It's not a huge update, but it features the shop and the skill training system in-game where you can buy and change your gear however you wish, though the FBI armoury is quite limited for now.

Thank you all for your patience.

Much love! ❤️

-------------------------------------

Link to the CoG Forums post

I also have a Discord server!

As always feel free to drop however many screenshot feedbacks you'd like, either in the forums or in our Discord channel!

#breachverse #breach update #breach: chicago warzone #choice of games #interactive fiction #bcwz #breach the archangel job #if wip #choicescript #hosted games #cyoa #dashingdon #if game #interactive novel #breachverse news #btaj

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dcbbw · 9 days

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Catch and Release

I’m back, Tumblr! Unsure if anyone even realized I was gone, but I have missed sharing stories with you guys. I am slowly easing my way back into writing on a somewhat semi-regular basis; currently working on a couple of items on my WIP Wishlist, and Stormholt.

First up is a story that is my “hold my beer” response to a recent conversation I had with @ao719 about how Liam would never be a cold-hearted asshole EVER, even in the face of betrayal. This is a rewrite of the Drake and candles scene during the Homecoming Ball, sans assassins.

This is a one-shot, but already toying with an alternate version ….

THANK YOU to all who read this over in parts and pieces! The key smashes and follow-up questions reminded me why I love writing, and sharing on this hellsite.

To those who will read this, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you realize.

Please excuse any and all typos, grammatical errors, and missing/extraneous words. MS Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.

Song Inspo: Fine Line, Harry Styles

Pairings: Liam x Riley, Drake x Riley

Rating: M for Mature for a smallish, unripe lemon

Word Count: 3,213

I can’t breathe.

My arms are stiff by my sides, hands tightly clenched into fists. The pain in my heart aches and pulses with every breath I draw. The rage that boils my blood also tightens my throat. Images flicker through my brain, snapshots of the scene I walked in on. Even as my mind reels from the betrayal and my heart falls into a million pieces that shred me from the inside out, I still try to justify and deny.

My eyes are fixed on my fiancée who still sits on the edge of her bed; her eyes are trained on her slip-covered lap. I notice the fingers of one of her hands comb through her hair; the other hand lays limply against silk sheets.

Her skin is golden in the candlelight, her hitched sobs mixing with the crackle and hiss of the wax torches’ flames. For reasons known only to Drake and Riley, there are dozens of lit candles covering nearly every available surface. No lamplight, no overhead lighting.

Just candles.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the only woman I’ve ever hated.

No. I don’t hate her, not really. But in this very moment, I see why crimes of passion are committed.

Drake. Naked. Kissing her neck before their lips lock in a heated kiss.

Riley. Clad in only a slip. One of her hands stroking his member as she slides to her knees.

“Liam,” she says softly in a quavering voice.

I shake my head slowly. “No, Riley. Whatever you have to say right now, I don’t want to hear it.”

She swings her leg; it’s a nervous habit she has. One of the swings increases into a stretch and I wonder if it’s deliberate. Her leg is long and tanned; my eyes take in a luscious thigh leading into a toned calf that flows into a shapely ankle. Her perfectly manicured toes point downward as she arches her foot.

Her limb is suspended for a moment too long before it falls.

The moment it takes for my cock to stiffen and butterflies to take up residence in my stomach.

She turns her face towards me; I see her lipstick smeared across her mouth, shiny streaks on her cheeks, and regret in her eyes.

Regret. Not remorse.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” Her voice is thick with tears.

Our relationship has been littered with apologies … always from me … beginning with our first meeting. If I could, I would laugh at the irony that the one apology I find myself repeating stemmed from accusations of the American suitor being unfaithful to the future King.

The rumors weren’t so unfounded after all.

This is her first admission of guilt and/or wrongdoing our entire time together.

She has no choice.

I attempt a deep inhale, but my chest is too tight.

The wedding is in one week.

“Yes, Liam yes!!! A THOUSAND TIMES, yes!”

Tonight is the Homecoming Ball; a celebration of many things, including our engagement.

I caught her … them … the woman I love madly, truly, deeply and the man I trust more than anything in the world … preparing to indulge in an act I consider so sacred, I have never dared to ask her to perform it while we are merely engaged.

I manage to choke out a single question. “Why?”

Her shoulders slump as her head falls forward, causing her hair to cover her profile. “It hasn’t been going on long; it started on the Engagement Tour. I told him in Vegas that what we had would have to end.”

I watched her leave the stag-and-doe party arm-in-arm with Drake Walker. My best friend, with whom Riley wanted to have a fling. She swore it was a one-time affair; she was so much in love with me, but she wished to satisfy her curiosity.

I attempted to leave first, but I was not only one of the honorees, I was also King.

Per traditional protocol, the King is the last to leave.

So I remained behind, drinking copious amounts of American liquor, making small talk in a loud voice so as to be heard over noisy music, and dancing with women I had previously rejected.

All while Riley spent the night with another man.

“But it hasn’t,” I interrupt harshly, abruptly.

Her gaze lands briefly upon me, an irritated scowl marring her features. “I don’t love him,” she says simply, as if that excused everything.

I turn away from her; as disgusted as I am, I still find Riley Brooks distractingly desirable. I say that as if we’ve been treading this road of infidelity and discovery for years and years. Except it’s only been months since we first met, and if I hadn’t come looking for her this evening, I still would be none the wiser.

She was in my arms, kissing me deeply as we waltzed our way around the ballroom barely an hour ago.

We beamed brightly at each other and the crowd as the gathering toasted us with champagne and strawberries.

I smoked a celebratory cigar with Drake.

An hour ago, I was the luckiest man in the world. I was happy.

Now ... I’m heartbroken.

I stumble my way towards a wingback chair, pausing to shrug out of my dinner jacket and drape it across the back of it. I sit heavily, legs spread slightly apart; I push off my shoes and undo my tie while maintaining eye contact with my fiancée.

“I’m highly upset with you, Riley. This … this has hurt me. Deeply.”

“I know,” she whispers as the back of her hand swipes at errant tears. “Other than promising that this will never happen again, what can I do to make it up to you?”

The pad of my forefinger taps my chin thoughtfully as my eyes scan the room. I see the flames flicker and dance in silhouette against the walls. One of Drake’s shoes lies on its side near her night table.

When I cleared my throat to announce my presence, his eyes had gone wide as his face paled. Drake gathered his clothing, trying vainly to make eye contact with Riley; however, she was suddenly fascinated with the pattern decorating the carpet.

I could practically hear his unspoken question to her: What does this mean for us?

In less than a minute, my “best friend” was half-dressed and ran out, not speaking one word to either me or Riley.

“I’m not sure. You know I harbor trust issues about being open, honest … vulnerable, with women. No one’s ever wanted Liam for Liam; I have always been merely a conduit to bigger and better.”

And apparently, best friends.

“Liam, I love YOU. Not your moniker, not your wealth. Tonight … with Drake … was a moment of weakness! YOU are my bigger and better!

I arch an eyebrow. “Whatever the excuse, your love for me doesn’t diminish the lust you have for him.”

She has the decency to look ashamed.

“Please, Liam! It won’t happen again, I swear it! You mean too much to me! Just tell me how to make this up to you!”

Her pleas are urgent, not fervent. Insincere, almost.

I find the lack of apology perturbing.

It is obvious she has no idea the jeopardy she has put me, and our relationship in. Very few at Court are in favor of our impending nuptials due to the simple fact that a union with a foreign commoner yields nothing for the Crown. A marriage with Riley does not increase Cordonia’s landholdings; it does not give the country seats at tables where we are already overlooked; I, and by extension Cordonia, gain absolutely nothing from this.

Riley is the only winner here.

And I don’t care.

The last thing my country is worried about is its fiscal health. Our prosperity is guaranteed for the next 80 generations without investments and development. All I wanted from Riley was her love and loyalty; with that, I would be able to scale mountains and slay dragons. But even the bare minimum I require is too much for her to give.

But I’m in love with her. Even now, I can’t not be with her in some fashion. I need to know that she is still mine, even if only in the basest of ways.

I unfasten my belt buckle and undo my pant button; my cock is uncomfortably hard. I crook my finger, beckoning her to me, wondering how many times the woman I have put first, the woman who influences my thoughts, actions, my very decisions has given me sloppy seconds.

An expression fleetingly crosses Riley’s face; I am uncertain if it’s hope or smugness. After a moment’s hesitation, her walk of shame towards me is contrite, yet confident. Like a child who knows they’ve done wrong but realizes a way of escaping punishment.

I tug my zipper down before slipping my hand inside to release my raging erection. The head of my cock is purplish in the muted lighting and pre-cum leaks from the tip. My hips arch upwards as I begin to pull my pants and underwear down. My eyes glance up to see Riley standing expectantly before me.

It reminds me of our first meeting in that bar in Brooklyn.

“A little help would be nice,” I quip with a small smile that doesn’t feel quite right.

She kneels before me, pulling and tugging at my trousers and silk boxers. My eyes are trained on the rounded tops of her cleavage as my hand slowly slides along my member. Once Riley’s task is finished, she looks up at me with repentant eyes.

“Do you forgive me, Liam?” Her voice is hesitant, her tone tentative.

I lean forward, the back of my fingertips caressing the curve of her cheek. “I’m in love with you, Riley. There’s nothing to forgive,” I assure her in a soft whisper.

She leans into my palm. “I love you so much. I’ll never lie to you, or hurt you ever again,” she promises.

I aim my cock towards her plump lips, still smeared from her earlier kiss with Drake. Small halos of smoke wreath her hair.

“Would you … could you … perform oral on me?�� My voice is shy, hesitant. Even in the face of her obvious infidelity, I am uncomfortable asking her this.

Her eyes fill with relief that forgiveness would come so easily, and wariness at the request. “You’ve never asked for that before.”

I lock eyes with her before quietly replying, “We’re betrothed.”

She nods in understanding. If that act is good enough for her lover, it’s certainly good enough for the man who will make her Queen.

Riley places her palms flat against the top of my thighs; her head dips and I feel the tip of her tongue lightly lick my balls. It tickles, but no mirth escapes my lips. Without thought my hand drifts to the top of her head, fingers combing through her soft hair.

The flat of her tongue licks wetly up the underside of my cock while she cups a hand to fondle my balls. I stare down at her cleavage, the rounded tops of her breasts teasing me as they rise and fall in time with her breathing and ministrations.

My head falls back against the chair’s headrest when her mouth opens wide enough to engulf half of my cock. When she has a tad over half of me in her mouth, she hollows her cheeks and snakes her tongue around my erection while stroking its base.

Memories and images flash in my mind as my hand tightens its grip on her hair.

Kismet.

The Masquerade Ball

Hedge Maze

Cronuts

Forgotten Falls

Deep pants escape my lips as I simultaneously lift my head and slide down further into the chair; my hips arch upwards. Riley’s head bobs as she sucks me. A thin line of drool ekes from a corner of her mouth. My cock eases deeper down her throat, and my hand pulls and pushes at her head to get to take all of me.

I close my eyes as her warm mouth tightens around me.

Coronation Night

Fydelia

Barn Raising

Italy

Her gagging breaks my reverie and hardens my cock even more. I sit up, my palms pressed against either side of her skull as I begin fucking her mouth. Her eyes are closed; bliss or boredom, I don’t know. Her lashes are dark against her skin.

“Look at me,” I order in a voice that isn’t mine.

Obediently her eyes open; her jaw and chin are wet with spittle and pre-cum. She continues to suck me, emitting low moans over my member. My strokes get faster, longer, rougher. My balls are heavy, and I feel a tightening in my muscles before the last image flashes before me.

The scene I walked in on.

With a harsh yank, I pull her even further down onto my cock as I push myself down her esophagus as far as I can. A primal yell rips from my throat as an intense orgasm comes over me. My body shudders and convulses as ropes of white cream pulse out of me.

As my seed fills my fiancée’s mouth and spills down her throat, I forcefully tug her hair so she is looking up at me; her eyes are questioning.

It takes me a moment to compose myself and catch my breath. I watch Riley swallow all that I have given her.

“The engagement is off. Our relationship is over. I am finished, do you understand me?” My voice is gravelly, tone firm. “You shall retain your title of Duchess, and ownership of Duchy Valtoria, but you will never be my Queen.”

Fright and fear fill her eyes. The heels of her hands press deeper into my flesh as she attempts to pull away from my cock, but I don’t relinquish my hold.

“A press release will go out tomorrow afternoon, after security and housekeeping move you and your belongings to the South Wing. I think you will appreciate being closer to Drake Walker.”

I release Riley’s hair, and she falls back on her haunches.

“WHAT are you talking about??” she demands angrily.

I stand and begin collecting my clothing; I step into my boxers, glancing over at her.

“I trust you fully comprehend what I just stated. I believe I communicated openly and honestly what our next steps are. Already, I have offered you more than you or Drake have ever given me.”

I glance at her left hand; the engagement ring glints in the light. “I would like my ring back, please.”

I am tucking my shirt into my pants when I see her rise from the floor and come at me, fists flailing. Her pummels upon my arm and shoulder are no surprise.

“YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” she rasps as her fists beat on my shirt. “YOU JUST SAID THERE IS NOTHING TO FORGIVE!”

I do not defend myself against the attack; I merely sidestep and continue dressing.

“And there isn’t. I will once again assume the guilt and blame for your lack of transparency and communication. But this is the last time. We’re over.”

I reach for my jacket from the back of the chair and begin to pull it on. Riley’s face is twisted in rage and hurt; her eyes are narrowed into slits.

I look her over impassively and hold my hand out, palm up. “The ring, Lady Riley.”

“FUCK YOU,” she shrieks. “This is ALLLL your fault, and you KNOW IT! If you had never picked Madeleine …”

“I picked her because neither you nor your lover felt the need to tell me what happened in Applewood, something I have never been offered an assurance or reason for. I made a decision for your safety and protection with absolutely no context. I have apologized and explained this to you over and over and over again.”

Riley blanches before playing her last card. “My BEST protection would’ve been with you, under your care!”

I cut my eyes at her. “Presumably you were too busy justifying spending all of your time with another to even consider that I was the doing the very best I could in a situation that I was blindly thrust into.”

“My engagement to Madeleine was the most viable protection. With all eyes on me and my fiancée, it took the target off you, and freed up our friend circle to freely pursue Tariq with the aid of my HEAD GUARD!”

I jostle my hand impatiently. “The ring,” I remind her.

Her mouth hangs open slightly, her eyes baffled as she slowly pulls off the engagement ring. Her fingers hover above my palm before dropping the jewelry into it.

“Liam, why are you doing this to me? To us?” she asks brokenly.

I am slipping the ring into my jacket pocket; I pause to look up at her in puzzlement.

“Me? You did this, Riley. You have been holding onto one incident our entire relationship while committing multiple transgressions against my love for you. You accepted my proposal. You betrayed my trust when it was unnecessary. I’ve been the one saying sorry, being tormented by guilt, feeling less than for not being there to protect and defend you. And the whole while, you were with Drake.”

“I was single when I was with Drake!” she hollers.

“Were you single after accepting my proposal? Were you single tonight when you were getting on your knees for him?” I challenge in a cold voice.

Riley looks around helplessly before offering more feeble excuses. “I was tipsy! He caught me in a moment of weakness! I SWEAR to you, it’ll never happen again!”

I am at the door, my hand on the doorknob, twisting it.

“Liam, you still love me! I never stopped loving you. We can work through this!” Her words are rushed, laced with desperation.

But they strike a nerve, sparking hope.

My head drops and my eyes close; my feelings and her words tumble in my brain. I breathe out a deep sigh and turn to look at her.

“You want me to forgive you, yet you have never forgiven me.”

The door is slightly ajar and light from the hall spills into the doorway; chatter and merriment from the party can be heard. It muffles the last break of my heart. But I do not leave immediately. Instead, my hand falls from the knob, and I deliberately make my way back to her.

The merest of fractions separates us. My eyes take in her tousled hair, ruined makeup, her curves and swells making an hourglass of the slip.

I pull her in for an embrace, which she eagerly responds to. Her body fits perfectly against mine as it always has. Familiar scents assail my nostrils: strawberry shampoo, coconut rose lotion, jasmine and vanilla perfume.

I wonder if I’m making a mistake.

“Riley, I am in love with you but it’s apparent that even with all my wealth and resources, it isn’t enough for you. I’m not enough for you. We both deserve to be people who will find us ... sufficient, not supplemental.”

She is silent as tears fill her eyes again; I brush them away from her lashes and cheekbones before I place a gentle, lingering kiss on her forehead.

Her lack of reassurances and promises tells me I’m not.

“Thank you for giving me the Drake Walker treatment,” I say politely as my eyes burn from smoke and unshed tears.

And I let her go.

Her hand reaches for me, but she lets it fall as she watches me exit the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

Tagging: @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm@gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @queenjilian

#dcbbw writes #trr au fanfic #liam x riley #drake x riley #writer on tumblr #it's been 84 years

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kingofangst · 5 months

Text

A Senpai's Sacrifice

OKAY RIGHT NOW I AM IN MY FEELS OF ANGST AND SADNES. I AM COPING RIGHT NOW.

So here is a bittersweet one-shot I created, where surname-san makes a tough decision and sacrifice! While I incorporated some of the lyrics of Unravel by TK Ling (DIsclaimer: I do not own the rights to this song) to darken the mood. This has nothing to do with my Jujutsu Kaisen fanfic au: A Nexis's Peril, this is a totally different oneshot I wrote myself. Enjoy the derpession!

Characters: Itadori Yuji, Kugisaku Nobara, Mahito, past reader, past Satoru Gojo, reader-senpai, reader is gender-neutral

Warnings: Graphic violence, past bullying, that's about it

P.S: Made some edits when I noticed I saw some typos and I had to change it from "he" to "they" to make it gender-neutral. Sorry about that!

-------------------------------------------------------

There were...there are two Mahitos. That explains why Nobara damaged Mahito's soul, she fought a clone and used her resonance to Mahito's clone as an effigy to damage Mahito's soul-

Their blood freezes when the real Mahito switches places with his clone

"RUUUNNN!!! KUGISAKI!!!"

The pain in Itadori's voice made Surname-san recoil, but pales in comparison as they watch the real Mahito charge at Kugisaki who is in shock at the scene before her. Then everything went in slow-motion…

No...no no no no no no no no NO!

This wasn't how things were supposed to end...they didn't expect things to turn out this bad without Gojo-sensei…

Kugisaku...Kugisaki...Kugisaki...Kugisaki...KUGISAKI!!!

They can't afford to see their own kouhai, who they watched grow in the past months, this fiery and passionate girl of steel taking out two Special Grade curses with Itadori 5 weeks ago, die in front of them or Itadori who has already lost so much...from Shibuya's destruction...Nanami-sensei's death…

There's no place in this world that they would want more than to see their kouhais safe and happy, away from all of this...Okinawa sounds like a happier place to be in than here…

"Cursed Technique: Kyomu no Ten'i..." They manifest with their cursed energy, having their hands out, creating a sphere of black energy, getting lighter and lighter as they prepare themselves for their last stand…

"...Shin'en no Kokan!"

"You're a weird kid, you know that?"

"Huh?" They question, looking up at a classmate in their 4th grade science classroom, eyeing the other kid.

"I said you're weird...how are you even good at making things explode when you can't even make friends?"

Those were the words that stuck inside of 10 year-old Surname-san's head since the 4th grade. They weren't the most sociable kid, nor the funniest, nor the most popular. But they knew they were different from anyone else in that classroom and in the school. How does one explain to someone who is purely human that they can see curses at a young age?

Oshiete oshiete yo sono shikumi wo

Surname-san saw the green and purple curse swarming around the antagonistic kid's shoulders like a cobra, it's weird seven eyes staring back at their eyes. Of course, Surname-san didn't do much except leave, as the kid continued to shout and bully them as they walked away. School was horrible, life was horrible as a foster kid, they had no will or desire to even fix things. They thought they were cursed since birth.

Boku no naka ni da ga iru no?

A week after their hardships, a tragedy happened, one that happened in their school. The day that they lost their entire class and grade to a horrific curse…the very same one that was on the kid that bullied them…

Kowareta, Kowareta yo kono sekai de

The hideous, cobra-like curse, slithering towards them from corpse to corpse, taking one life after another while they watch the carnage before them, shivering in fear

Kimi ga warau nanimo miezu ni

Running through the bloodied hallways of the school while the curse was hot on their trail wanting to consume them and their soul, shouting eerily “you’re weird!” “you will never make friends!” “why can’t you just die?” the words are all too familiar, from the very voice of the boy that is now dead. Now they stood in a corner and trapped between a wall and the path of where the curse was, hissing with a maniacal grin. The individual felt scared, horrified and was the only one alive against this very strong, hideous being.

Beings they have seen on a regular basis, the sheer malevolence and disturbance of them from humans. As the curse leaped forward and went in for the kill, the individual shielded their faces as if to not face the gruesome fate that awaited them, unknowingly producing black circles that shot out to the curse. Instead of hearing their flesh and bones crack, they heard thuds and sounds of pain yelps. They open their eyes to see a shocking sight before them. The curse, in pieces, held separately by black swirling voids, crying in pain before starting to vanish into thin air.

Kowareta boku nante sa iki wo tomete

They never knew they could produce such abilities from their hands. How on Earth did they do such a thing? The crashing of windows burst through, shattering on the floor, startling them when a tall figure with white hair, all dressed in black with shades lands on the floor, their feet crunching the glass that shattered. The male, looking between them and the now evaporating curse and the odd, circular black things exorcising the curse, is surprised and impressed. He watches the curse being destroyed, before walking up to the frightened child that began crying silently.

Hodokenai mou hodokenai yo shinjitsu sae freeze

“That was you?”

“H-Hai- I don’t know I- I don’t know what I did b-but everyone d-died and it chased me and I-I…I was running and I d-didn’t want this to eat…eat me-!” Their hiccups and sobs overtook their voice as the taller figure realized what this kid had before pulling him into a hug after a traumatic and grotesque event.

Kowaseru kowasenai kurueru kuruenai anata wo mitsukete

“Kid, what’s your name?”

“Surname first-name…” They sobbed into the male’s chest, finally letting out their pent up emotions of being bullied from school and foster care, not being seen as a person, not being defended by the guardians at foster care, not being able to have a happy life since birth. They felt cursed and just wanted to be erased from this world.

“You’re not a curse…” Is what the male tells them is what makes them realize they said it out loud. “You are a special human being. One that can control your cursed energy and can be able to use a cursed technique. Surname-san, my name is Satoru Gojo, and you are a sorcerer. I see you’ve had a rough life judging by what you said out loud. So let’s forget about that, forget what life throws at you, and let me help train you?”

And so, they took his hand, out of awe and pent up emotions of what this male told them, saying “You’ll be doing amazing things, surname-san.”

“SURNAME-SENPAI!!”

YURETA YUGANDA SEKAI NI DANDAN BOKU WA SUKITOTTE MIENAKU NATTE

One second, Kugisaki found herself in shock, staring at Mahito’s hand inches away from her face, then the next second being pulled in a black void that was endless, before seeing light and same beige tiles of the place she was in, falling beside Itadori whose pained shout she heard echo the hallway. She turns in time to see her senpai, in the exact place she was in, horror taking her features as Mahito’s hand swipes Surname-san’s face. They switched places with her!

"Surname-senpai! What the hell did you do!?"

MITSUKENAIDE BOKU NO KOTO WA MITSUMENAIDE

So this is what it feels like to be touched by Idle Transfiguration, they think as Mahito’s evil cackle erupts in the atmosphere before gripping their head in discomfort. They already felt their soul begin to unravel, their brain starting to become painful.

Kugisaki didn't want to admit the grim truth of their senpai's actions. But no matter how much she tried to think otherwise, she couldn't think of one. Because...Surname-senpai sacrificed their life for her by switching places at the exact moment Mahito was supposed to touch her, and taking her place.

DAREKA GA EGAITA SEKAI NO NAKE DE ANATA WO KIZUTSUKETAKU WA NAI YO

“SENPAI!!!” Both of their voices called them out, fear and horror in their tone. This isn’t how they wanted to die, or go out. But if it means to save someone younger than them, then it’s worth that sacrifice. The memories of them since entering Tokyo Jujutsu Tech pouring in like a movie film, each memory of them with their classmates…

Maki…Toge…Panda…Yuta…gomenasai…looks like I won’t be treating you all to sukiyaki at Ginza…

"Gomen, Kugisaki but I promised Nitta-chan and Maki that I'd help you survive." They chuckle sadly, knowing the pain is only increasing and seeing Kugisaki's angry and horrified expression with Itadori's terrified one.

OBOETEITE BOKU NO KOTO WO

The drops of blood from both of their nasal holes, dripping rapidly, along with their head feeling as if it is going to implode, makes them gaze up to the scared eyes of Itadori and Kugisaki, their eyes widening in horror at how Surname-san is looking. I am so sorry you have to see this…

Oshiete

Maki…Yuta…Toge…Panda…Hakari…Hoshi…Gojo-sensei…Fushiguro-kun…Yaga-san…Ieiri-san…I…I am so sorry for this…I can’t make my promise…but…arigato

Oshiete

“Itadori-kun, Kugisaki-chan…thank you…for making me believe I was a good person…live a long life…both of you…”

Boku no naka ni

Those were the final words of their senpai, before hearing a gross popping, then witnessing their head explode into flesh, blood and brain matter scattering the floor and their uniform before the headless corpse falls to the floor with a sickening crack to the floor.

Then, the hallways echoed nothing but Itadori’s and Kugisaki’s cries…while Mahito was cackling at the demise of someone important to them

Dare ga iru no?

Itadori's cries echo the hallways the loudest alongside Kugisaki's crestfallen and tear-gazed expression. Itadori couldn't take it anymore...the tears cascacding down his face as his eyes lose the brightness in them completely.

Their senpai's bloody, mutilated and headless corpse was in front of them.

-------------------------------------------------------

Congratulations, you'll have depression now. You're welcome!

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spitinsideme · 3 months

Note

Peach blossoms and wolfsbane

Belladonnas

Chapter 3

By writer anon

Sorry if there is any typos or mistakes in advance

Winona is walking down the steps of the manor at 7:45 and is trying to figure out how to tie a Bow tie since she has never tied one before. “C’mon now blasted thing.” She let out a loud groan. Agatha tapping her foot at the base of the stairs “What in Tarnation took you so long?” She said with a huff. “It’s this darn get up you have me in it took forever to put it all on”She said as she struggles some more with the tie before exclaiming “Damn this tie how the hell is am I supposed to tie it?!” Winona growled. Peggy over heard Winona’s little fit and came over to help. “Here let me” Peggy said. As Peggy fixes Winona’s bow tie. Winona looks away in embarrassment while Agatha continues to lecture about being on time. “There! All done.” Said Peggy with a smile. “might I say you look rather dishy this evening.” She said with a lingering touch on Winona’s chest “Uhh thanks Miss O’Nell.” Said Winona. “It’s no problem love.” Peggy said she winked at Winona and left. Agatha now confused what was that about?” Agatha asked. “Uhh beats me.” Said Winona equally confused. “Anyways we should get going.” When they headed outside there was a worker carrying some potted wolfsbane.Agatha stopped for a brief moment before asking the worker to stop for second. “Didn’t you say we have to get going?” Said Winona “oh hush this will only take a second.” Said Agatha. She plucks one of the wolfsbane flowers and sticks on the outside of the pocket by threading the stem through the shirt Winona was wearing she also did the same with the suit jacket pocket. “There! Your outfit needed just needed a little something” said Agatha.With that Winona let out a very loud groan once more. They hop in a carriage and they are now heading to the gala that the duke is holding. On the way there Agatha remembered something important about the gala that she forgot to tell her loyal guard. “Oh I almost forgot about these.” Agatha stated as she fished under the seat for the something she forgot. Winona interest suddenly as little peeked “Whatcha forget? “Ah ha found ‘em!” Agatha exclaimed. In Agatha’s hands were a horse and coyote mask in her hands. Winona now even more confused and interested piped up and ask “what are those for?” “These are for the gala it’s a masked ball I forgot to tell you my bad.” Agatha stated. Winona now even more disgruntled said “Great even More reason to hate this damn ball. The food better be good at this place I swear.” She huffed. “Must you always think with your stomach you really are a dog.” Then Agatha got a cheeky grin on her face “You know what you outta take this mask then” Agatha hands Winona the coyote mask. Winona snatches it and growls at the older woman”Whatever.” she mutters.

They finally arrive at the hall and they are greeted at the door by a butler. Winona wearing a coyote mask is sighing an is bit slouched. Agatha elbowed them in the gut a bit. Winona let out an oof and quietly snarled to her boss “ What was that for?!” “ for being rude now stand up straight and quit your belly aching.” Agatha said. “Whatever.”Said Winona. Agatha took a look around the room and saw that the room was armed to the teeth with all the guards standing near every corner,exit, and entrance. She glances over to her body guard whos shoulders are currently tensed and a scowl is present. She sighed ‘wish she wouldn’t scowl like that its party she needs to relax a bit.’ Then announcement was made on top of the stairs

Meanwhile behind the pillars near the stairs

“Are you ready my lady?”Pomni asked. Spitzy sighed “As ready as one can be.” She said with a frown. She dawned her mask. Pomni handed her the broach that Spitzy’s fiancé got her. It was a belladonna flower with some golden leaves. She pinned it to her her dress near her chest.Then her husband to be made his appearance and held out his arm for Spitzy to latch on to. “Don’t embarrass me tonight understand.” The duke hissed. ‘As if you need my help with that’ she wanted to say that so badly but instead Spitzy held her tongue and said “I understand.” On queue the unhappy couple were announced and they make their way down the steps arm in arm.

All the while Winona finally looks to where all the commotion is happening and hears what she assumes is the duke and lady of the manor are making their grand entrance. Winona looks at the “couple” descending the stairs. And what she sees she will never forget.’wowzer’ was the only thought running through her head

Spitzy is all ready over this whole shindig and wishes for it to be over but then she feels a certain pair of eyes in the crowd watching her and she briefly locks eyes with someone in what looks to be a dog mask or a fox? She isn’t quiet sure. She wished to look at the person in the mask a bit longer but she blinked and the person wearing the canine mask was just gone ‘How peculiar’ Spitzy thought to herself. she could not help but ponder who that beautiful stranger was

The reason for Winona’s disappearance was in the form of her boss Agatha. “So why did you drag me over here?” Winona asked. “I just wanted to tell you have the night off thats all.” Agatha responded. “What?! Why?!” Exclaimed Winona which got the attention of a few party goers. Agatha sighs and said “Look around this place already is armed to the teeth there ain’t no need for you to be on guard,so go on have some fun!” Agatha only spoke half the truth you see she heard rumors that the lady of this manor is also unhappy with her husband to be and with the way Winona looked at her with such awe she hasn’t done that with any woman before. She didn’t know how this will end either badly or strangely wonderful she hopes it all works out and that she didn’t set something awful in motion. ‘Besides whats the harm, the duke is a swine and chases skirts of other women when his fiancé’s back is turned.’ Agatha thought to herself. Now all the piece are set in place lets see how this plays out.

Spitzy was listening to some big shot lawyer drone on and on about hope much money he makes. She wasn’t really paying attention and something else caught her eye. It was the person in the fox mask or was it a dog still she wasn’t sure. The canine masked person was leaning on a pillar and just sipping what looked like to whisky on the rocks. She took in what she was wearing the mysterious woman was wearing a suit jacket that was a very dark gray draped over on her shoulder with a white button up, dark leather gloves,belt,dark brown leather suspenders,Some formal slacks,a black bow tie,some kind of laced up boots and a top her head was a top hat that was slightly skewed to the right. Spitzy’s mouth was slightly a gape she wanted to look away but she realized she couldn’t ‘oh dear’ she thought. She finally was able to look away when someone else had called out to her to ask her a question. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman she saw…

Winona grabbed a drink to calm her nerves but it didn’t do much she leaned against the pillar and glanced over to the crowed when a certain masked woman got her attention. The very same one she herself was staring at. she was wearing this elaborate and delicate looking gown with lace and bit a of frills.it was yellow and cream colored the fabric of the dress made her look like she was gliding rather than walking. Winona’s mouth goes dry and it isn’t because of her drink she noticed the mask the person was wearing it was basic one that is just a human like mask but with some feathers adorned on it. She quickly looked away not wanting to draw attention to herself ‘after all why would someone like that want to talk to me.’ She thought to herself. She sits and takes a sip of her drink.

Spitzy getting tired of socializing with the fat cats around her decided to rest by a pillar that was just slightly out of view of the guests. She lefts out a sigh but instead of leaning on cool marble she feels a something else or rather someone. Said someone who let out an little oof and who should it be but the person with the canine mask that she was staring at earlier. Being a tad frazzled Spitzy quickly apologized” I’m so sorry” she began but instead of getting upset the masked person seemed unfazed in fact one might say she was amused.”Hey now, don’t fret it’s not everyday I run into a pretty lady such as yourself.” Said Winona while holding her suspenders with her thumbs. Spitzy can feel herself getting flush and unfortunately for her Winona took her long silence as something else and decided she best make herself scarce. In actuality the reason for long pause is because of two things one Spitzy was not expecting such a beautiful voice and rich accent to come out of this woman.Two She was just called pretty by some hot mysterious southern woman of course she will be a flustered speaking to her afterwards. “Well I’ll get outta your hair besides I doubt I make good company compared to the other guests.” Winona said. But as she was about to leave Spitzy held out a hand and shouted a bit too loudly” No wait!” Winona stunned paused in her movement. “I’m sure you will make far better company than the people out there.”she gestured with her shoulder while moving both her hands out.”So please stay?” She asked a bit shyly meanwhile it was Winona’s turn to sit in stunned silence. She scratched the back of her neck and head she was puzzled. ‘Why would she want me to keep her company’ Winona finally shook herself free from her thoughts and said “Well if that what the pretty lady wants I suppose I’ll keep you company then.” She goes to lean on the pillar again.

Spitzy smilies at her softly and is giddy.’suddenly this evening might not be so bad’ they both thought to themselves as they stare into each other. This moment would be the start a spark that will later turn into a raging fire. But will that fire give them strength and warmth or will it destroy everything they hold dear.

End of chapter 3

Belladonna: falsehoods,hush,loneliness,silence,warning

Wolfsbane:beware,mistrust in people, protection,chivalry

I picked these two plants because spitzy is stuck with in a hopeless situation with her gross chad fiancé which is lonely I imagine and for southern anon got wolfsbane because I feel like they aren’t the type to expose themselves like they like who they like and hate who they hate. They aren’t very trusting of people I’m guessing. Both of the plants will eventually change in later chapters:)

Music inspo:Venus by sleeping at last,patience,first by penny and sparrow,head over heels by tears for fears, patience,please by penny and sparrows

Author note: oh boy chapter 4 is gonna get all romance and butterflies like pretty soon so stay tuned! fun fact Peggy O’Nell is the representation of that one person who tried to steal southern anon from you so she is a romantic rival ooooh spicy. Please let me know what you think spitz! Also if anyone has music suggestions that would be swell! Also I tired adding some British slang and words but I don’t know much please let me know if I’m correct with these terms and such! Also also thank you so much for posting these I’m surprised people like them this much I’ll maybe think about an ao3 account

From,

Writer anon

SUSPENDERS !!! WE ARE HAVING ACTIONA SIWRH SUSPENDERS !!!writer anon i hVe kust one request pleasepleaseolease if i get to kiss southern lesbian anon PLEASE let me pull hrr in by hrr suspsndrds i am beghing you on my knees my one request ..... aslo you used the broths fine i can really imagine myself as a posh little brotish lady eith my sillt southern lover !! what a flirt .. i lkve the oufit we are searing also 10/10 i better beat that peggys ASS for southern lesbian anon

#WRITER ANON STRIKES AGAIN !!!!#i lovd thos #yhis ks so enertaining #i am having a blast #k love this liytle story #i hondstky look fltssrd to it

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visualtaehyun · 7 months

Text

Hi ✨ chances are you're here because of one of my posts about language in Thai shows (mostly BL tbh). And since I kind of keep writing more of those, I thought I should do some better housekeeping and neatly collect them in a pinned post. So here ya go!

- all posts about language in Thai series: #local woman harps on about linguistics Thai QL fandom 101 & 102

Be My Favorite ep. 10 - "We should stop using rude pronouns" ep. 11 - thoughts | the poem ep. 12 - thoughts and some translation notes

Hidden Agenda ep. 5 - food, tongue twister, misc. ep. 6 - the friendzone article, the meaning of sunflowers according to Zo, observations about boundary pushing misc. - ep. 6 cuddle and ep. 10 video call

Only Friends ep. 5 - SandRay and the word 'friend' OST MV "So What?" - on-screen subs translated ep. 12 - Big Bug and Little Rabbit

Naughty Babe ep. 2 - "What do I usually call you?" ep. 3 - How the main four speak with each other ep. 4 - "Ai...!" - "Hia." | names and pronouns between the two families | What's in a name? ep. 5 - Devotion ep. 8 - Yi's mom and sisters

Lucky My Love ep. 1 - Consulting the stars ep. 2 - care vs. care ep. 3 - subtitle addendum ep. 5 - misc.

Love Senior ep. 1 - Names, puns, and pronouns galore! ep. 2 - bits and bobs ep. 4 preview - Title drop! ...and SOTUS explained

Last Twilight ep. 5 - The phi-nong of it all | Of Partners and Pronouns ep. 1-6 - "You're good! - "I sure am~" parallel | Mork and August's changing language with each other | Evolution of MorkDay's language use ep. 7 - Bam bam in the ham ep. 8 - The Little Prince | The brothers, Day's anger, and Night & Mork ep. 9 - Rung the rainbow | Bam bam in the ham updated & in gif format | Different expressions for Sorry ep. 11 - Phi Night vs. Lung Night & Porjai vs. Poomjai ep. 12 - no explanations, just vibes (mostly Porjai and Night)

Dead Friend Forever ep. 1-8 - misc. translations and observations ep. 9 - more language notes ep. 11 - Tee's conscience vs. Non's fury, and more news headlines | Phee-New & Tee-White pronoun breakdown and New's disposition by the end of ep. 11

1000 Years Old ep. 1 - Title, pronouns, and WHOMST ep. 2 - Hashtags, ghost girl, and "allergic" ep. 3-5 - "You are mine", Pun does a pun, etc. ep. 6+9 - Puns, pronouns, and shenanigans

23.5 ep. 1 - Pronouns and puns ep. 2 - The Fixed Stars, haplessness, and more ep. 3 - Names, particles, aliens and ghosts, oh my! ep. 4 - Fortune favors the bold

Only Boo! pilot | official trailer

La Pluie - #bella watches la pluie Cutie Pie - #bella rewatches ning hia

ONE-OFFS Wedding Plan ep. 2 - Wa & Rine Wednesday Club - Wednesday's child is full of woe | Naming conventions of Tam's yadom Cooking Crush ep. 1 - Onion-or-kiss pun Pit Babe ep. 13 - CharlieBabe NC Love Sea Intro trailer - pronouns & predictions

MISC. re: a BossNoeul clip - sugar daddy/DILF meme and song (ฟ้ารักพ่อ by Badmixy) re: a Last Twilight post - A clownery of typos and homonyms in romanization DMD Friendship the Reality - A pun explained (ft. FirstOne and Latte) re: a Pavel tweet - an attempt to explain and contextualize ผัว /pua/ and เมีย /mia/

- all posts not about Thai language but still about Thai shows: #ql musings (meta, thoughts etc.) #bella and the blorbos (gifs, edits, memes)

- other language related posts: #thai | #linguistics Love For Love's Sake - Hyung

#local woman harps on about linguistics

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devflamme · 6 months

Text

BRUTUS.

Summary: Simply, young Nicholas Scratch fucking around and finding out.” (that's literally what I wrote on the google doc.)

Warnings: Religious themes, child abuse, talks about parenting, Agatha being fucked up, literal murder and then resurrection, violence, the normal™

Word count: 1,6k+

Note: I wrote this purely based on a leak from the Agatha series that will release next year. This is not canon, never will be, if it ever is canon, I want credits for it /J. Also based on the song Brutus by The Buttress, as I am obsessed with this song for so many years now. By the way, I haven't started reading the comics yet, I only know Nicholas Scratch by what I've read on his wiki and Agatha's. Another thing: English is not my first language, if you see any typos, please tell me and I'll fix it!

On AO3: 🔮

The boy could feel his mother's eyes on him. Piercing through him, hurting his feelings, hurting his heart — his little boy, going through her things like a little rascal. Has she not educated him enough? She was gripping his ear scoldingly, her long and curly black hair swishing around his forehead while all the things the little boy could see and hear was her blue eyes, shining with that purple aura he always were afraid of, and her voice - booming through his ears and making him cry and whimper like a lost puppy.

"I'm sorry, mother! I'm sorry!" He would scream. He would wail. He would plead.

"You're not sorry. Nicholas, you're not sorry." She would grit through her teeth, her smile scary and making little Nicholas Scratch shiver in fear. His mother was strict, the strictest of them all, while mama was so loving. Mama was sweet. He was a mama's boy, as mother would call him. The biggest mama's boy — pathetic and weak, as Rio would just defend him for anything wrong he did when he looked at her with those big eyes and pathetic pout. He wasn't strong enough. He never will be strong enough in Agatha Harkness' eyes. "Why did you touch that damned book? What's wrong with your head?"

"I was curious, mother!" Nicholas wailed, tears going down his face in angry streaks. Agatha was carrying him through the wood cabin, towards Rio, who was at the basement mixing up potions. Another weakling. Too much interested in potions and nature to be strong and able; the Darkhold used to whisper to Agatha about how her wife was pathetic. About how her son was pathetic. "I was just curious. The book... The book was calling out to me... I h-heard my name..."

Agatha stops in her tracks, almost dropping the boy down to the hardwood floor. She looks at Nicholas, who was still crying profusely, his face red and face puffy, some snot in his nose. "What? What did you say?"

No. That shouldn't be possible. He wasn't- He couldn't. He was her son, obviously — But... How? How could he be worthy? At such a young age?

"I heard my name... I thought you or m-mama were calling me... So I searched for you." Nicholas answers, his voice small and broken, hiccuping through his sentences. Nicholas dries his tears with the back of his chubby hand, looking up at his mother and looking for some softness in her eyes. He didn't find any. "I went into the- The library. I thought- I thought you were there. But it was only that book you told me n-not to read... I only touched it once! I'm sorry, mother!"

"We can't have that. I told you to not touch it. I told you to not even look at it." Agatha rasps out, her eyes closed and her breath uneven, as if she was controlling herself to not do anything she would regret afterwards. She felt like God, when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit from Heaven. "Why did you disobey me?"

"I'm sorry! Please, mother, forgive me." Nicholas whispers, gripping Agatha's dark robes and hugging Agatha, his tears staining Agatha's linen clothes. She looks down at Nicholas, her eyes shining with her purple magic, but she could also feel another thing. Darkness. The darkness from the Darkhold's magic — the thing holding her from committing one of the biggest mistakes in her life.

"Nicholas, can you come with me? I want to show a place to you."

Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.

Agatha didn't want this.

She didn't want to be a mother - that was Rio's dream, not hers. Her dream was to get even more powerful, to find ways to decipher that one damned book, and to just conquer everything. She didn't have time for this. For a child.

The first time she saw Nicholas, she knew he wasn't going to be the best kid. The most intelligent. The most powerful. He was just a normal kid, with his eyes green and curious like Rio's, his curls rebellious like Agatha's, and his chubby hands that loved to play with the wet dirt in the forest next to the family's cabin. He was, most of all, curious and nosy. Nicholas loved to snoop on Agatha's things, to watch while Rio brewed her potions and made her rituals in the cabin's basement — he wanted to learn, but he wasn't going to learn anything. Agatha created a futile heir, so futile that she didn't want her surname, Harkness, powerful and almighty, to be related to that child. Nicholas Scratch it is — only a scratch of what Agatha wanted him to be.

As they went into the dark forest, hand in hand, Agatha was growing tired of hearing Nicholas' sobs, pained as Agatha squeezed his tiny hands in hers, her own boney and scarred and most of all, corrupted. Corrupted by the very thing that was convincing her to do that — to sacrifice her own... creation. Her own vessel. To get stronger. To finally achieve what she wanted.

Power.

"M-mother, where are we going?"

Agatha didn't answer. She threw Nicholas on the wet grass, next to a big boulder that was covered in mud and moss. She flicked her wrist, taking out the Darkhold of the pocket dimension she created to store it in. As Agatha pulled the Darkhold, in a cloud of dark purple and black magic, Nicholas started to cry louder, his weeping making the birds on the trees fly away to somewhere they knew they wouldn't be hurt by the monster in the woods.

O mihi potestatem. Propitius esto, et intende conatus meos ut hoc tibi do.

Agatha would whisper, her eyes closed and sparkling purple through her eyelids. She lifts her wrist, her whole body sparkling purple, the noise and Nicholas' pained screams echoing by the until now silent forest. She looks down at the body in front of her, now lifeless and cold, dry and dead — just like that one damned day in 1693, where she looked down at the dead bodies of her coven members and coven leader. She couldn't call Evanora her mother - a mother wouldn't do what she did with Agatha. Her own daughter. Her own blood.

No mother would.

Brutus betrayed him.

Brutus killed him.

Brutus sacrificed him.

As he got up and looked around, he saw a forest covered by snow and darkness. How much time passed, he couldn't say. He didn't know what date it was — and yet, he knew exactly where to go. With his body full of hatred, Nicholas Scratch got up, feet weak and unsure, as he got used to the bigger body he now had. He was now an adult — what his mother's magic did to him, he didn't know. Only thing he noticed was now he had an adult body and the mind of a troubled kid who wanted nothing but to avenge what was done to him many, many years ago.

His hair was long just like his mother's. Curly and unruly, getting past his lower back in a mess of black and some white strands — he was literally a portrait of the one who betrayed him. Nicholas had nothing in common with his mama, the one that really loved him for what he was; only the troubled green in his eyes that contrasted with the weak green from the leaves that were not covered by the thick snow. Nicholas couldn't even feel the cold, piercing through his body. He was blind. Blind by hatred, sadness and by the desire of revenge.

As he marched through the forest, his feet unsure, he pulled strands and strands of his hair, hissing through his teeth. He didn't want this. He wanted to rip every part of his body that reminded him of Agatha Harkness. He could cut his head off, then give it to some wild bear to eat, together with his own body and skin and meat and soul.

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.

He ripped a tuft of hair from his head, looking at it being held by his trembling hand. Nicholas growls, throwing the tuft out in the woods and running — running in bare feet as he gets out of the woods. He could see an old cabin, full of moss and broken, the wood chopped and glass shattered. His family's old cabin.

Nicholas runs even faster, getting to the door and just throwing his body against it, the door falling on the other side of the cabin in a loud thud. He gets up from the floor, looking around in an exasperated manner, his eyes crazed and twitching. The state of the cabin was chaotic — things on the floor, dust in the air. He could still smell the darkness and electricity from Agatha's magic, contrasting with the familiar scent from Rio's magic, calming and misty. He knew that the magic that stayed in the cabin wasn't recent - if it was recent, there would be the magic aura mixing together, purple and green. There was nothing.

"Mama?" Nicholas rasps out, his voice gravelly and throaty. He walks through the cabin, going straight to the stairs that went to the bewitched basement below him. He jumps to the last step, his feet almost failing and throwing him to the ground as he holds himself on the wall. Nicholas enters the basement, the basement looking even messier than the rest of the cabin. Nicholas could see some dried blood stains on the walls - that made him almost puke, thinking about what Agatha did to Rio.

Mama can't be dead. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. Nicholas would chant, his hands holding his own head while he walked around the basement, looking for anything that could be proof that Rio was okay. Anything.

Nicholas screamed his mother's name, hatred dripping from his tongue, his voice echoing through the walls.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #nicholas scratch #rio vidal #my writing #agatha coven of chaos #agatha darkhold diaries #love writing 1k+ words just because of a LEAK.

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jaelijn · 4 months

Text

Fic Writer 2023 Review

Based on this. I always want to do annual reviews but then don't get around to them and then it feels weird doing them in February, so here we go for once. Under a cut because long (There's 30 things and I ramble. Not sorry.).

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I suppose that I wrote a fic from Blake's POV counts. I didn't have a big plan for trying something new for Whumptober this year, but I always find myself doing it because everything starts to feel stale if you write 30 fics in so short a timeframe. So the POV was supposed to be what I tried with that fic, but the fic got away from me a bit, so in retrospect the unusual (for me) POV feels comparatively insignificant. There was also more Jenna this year - I think I'm getting there, so yes.

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

I have no idea. I have a very long list of WiPs that I am sure I have added a sentence or two across the year, or maybe I just opened them, fixed a few typos and closed them again, and then I have a few handwritten things that I haven't typed up yet. But *at least* it's 35 published things (31 of which are Whumptobers) and the longfic, so 36. Put like that, it sounds terribly prolific.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

I enjoy creating without expectation - immersing myself in the longfic with no idea when it will be done or how long it will get was terribly freeing. The downside is that I also realised that I'm not really intrinsicly motivated to post and share anymore, or at least that thought generates no positive pressure at all because scales. It would be really easy for me to never post another fic right now, but I'm not stopping writing.

4. What piece of media inspired you the most?

Always and ever, Blake's 7. There's nothing else that makes me want to write right now.

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Accordingly: Blake's 7

6. What ship(s) captured your heart?

Avon/Vila. Though they had me already.

7. What character(s) captured your heart?

See above.

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

No. Since a lot of my writing, Whumptober aside, went into the longfic, I didn't do much experimenting - not even during Whumptober, really.

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

Longfic aside, because as ongoing project that obviously matters, possibly Wet Towels, because it feels like I nailed a tonal direction I want to go in with my Avon/Vila.

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

By far, the longfic. Some of the Whumptobers were just the right kind of painful, but the most joy creating - yes, the longfic.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

Impending Destiny. I know I keep harping on about this fic, and maybe I'm the only one who thinks it's the best oneshot I've written this year and everyone else hates it, but it was so intense to write and so satisfying.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

I did a few "second takes" on Whumptober this year, so I guess those and no, but then again the second take wasn't difficult, I just wasn't happy with the first and haven't touched those since. Fic I stuck with, possibly either Ghastly Aftermath, because ouch (it's difficult to write while you're crying at your own writing, all right?) , or Mistaken Trust because the final scenes were difficult to get right.

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

Nothing strikes me as particularly easier than the rest, really, but then what published writing I've done has been mostly in my comfort zone either way. So I guess all of the ones that weren't difficult?

14. What were your shortest and longest fics this year?

With Every Single Kiss has literal drabbles, so that, though all of the drabbles together are longer than my shortest oneshot. Longest is the ongoing longfic (duh) currently sitting at approx. 91k.

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

I am once again begging you to read Impending Destiny, lol. But if that isn't you're cup of tea, try Mistaken Trust or Spun Gold.

16. What were you go-to writing songs?

I didn't have many, this year. There's usually at least one or two, but I had a weird year with music, I feel, with few new songs that I really fell in love with, so there's been lots of playlists on shuffle and there's no song I could point to.

17. What were your go-to writing snacks?

I don't really snack when I write for fun, and I've had to cut down on my chocolate intake, so unless it's a chocolate praline, none.

18. What was the hardest fic to title?

Is "all of them" an answer that's allowed? I guess I could say Free Fall, not because of the fic, but because it was the first Whumptober and I was trying to figure out the "title format" for the rest of the Whumptobers. (I don't know if anyone has noticed that the Whumptobers have had title formats for three years now, but either way...) Other than that, the no-longer-so-untitled longfic was the one I put most thought into titling, but I'm not telling yet.

19. Share your favorite opening line

So... the thing about Whumptober is that it makes you *incredibly aware* of opening lines, or the format of opening lines. I try not to start all of them the same way, but I also tend to... slip into self-referential facetiousness doing that, in that all of them become funny when considered side by side.

I suppose "Avon was high." and "When the rebel forces of Carin IX finally managed to fish Avon out of the river, he was drenched to the bone." still amuse me (Spun Gold and Wet Towels, respectively).

20. Share your favorite ending line

Now I have to open all of them again, haha! Uh, let's do a not-Whumptober for once:

But lying curled up in the embrace of his most trusted companion, his link with and buffer against the world, Avon sometimes wondered whether it had been a curse at all. (The Price, from R&F #7)

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Uh... spoiler for Impending Destiny, but I keep it vague and not post the whole thing?

“Whoever said that love is the most powerful force in the universe was a bloody liar,” Avon spat, “or a colossal fool. [....]"

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

Oh for... just... just read Impending Destiny, okay?

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

Oof, I guess the final lines of Mistaken Trust. It would have been so easy to just let them hug and kiss but Avon resisted and once that line was there I had to do something with it that didn't feel unkind to Vila in a plot that... wasn't kind to Vila. I think I managed the balance and once Avon had said no I didn't want to go back to the easy ending, but it wasn't easy to get right.

24. What’s something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

... Impending Destiny. It was supposed to be a fix-it fic!!! It's... not a fix-it anymore. The shift was so striking that I made a tumblr post about it.

25. What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

Word and paper & pen, very occasionally a note app on my phone. All of the Whumptobers had a paper version before I typed them, but I've only written snippets of the longfic on paper. I enjoy not writing at a screen every now and then, but it *is* slower.

26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

I don't know, because my writing has been so unevenly balanced (very slow but steady progress for most of the year and A LOT of writing in September/October). I suppose finishing the Whumptobers again? Or perhaps when I realised that the longfic was going to be longer than BDaS without it feeling forced.

27. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

No. Once the longfic is done, maybe I will.

28. How did you recharge between fics?

Recharge? What's that? Or rather: between fics? What's that? Hahah.

I know what I would have *liked* to do, which is read a fanfic once in a while, but there's not much new out there to my taste these days. I guess watching other shows counts. I have resorted to rewatching B7 as final measure.

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

The numerous people who kudosed, the few people who commented, @oxideblack for the incredible art and for the appreciation of my fics from their circle of fans, @quordleona03 for the inspiration, and @comarum and @foreignobjecticus who know why.

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

Ah, it would be nice to finish the longfic this coming year. But I'm not making any plans. With how I feel about the sharing & posting, I'm counting it as a win if I don't lose my motivation entirely.

#jaelijn writes #jaelijn talks #if you came here wondering why you are tagged look at the bottom of the post hahah #untitled pgp longfic #just because i want this post in the record of that #read impending destiny lmao

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stark-boys-simp · 1 year

Text

madly.

cyrano!au, cyrano!aemond/reader, christian!jace/reader.

warnings: SO MUCH ANGST, language, major character death, probably ooc everyone but who cares, some sexual references

a/n: i forgot to proofread this before posting it so sorry about that, just tell me any typos you see and i’ll fix them :D

prologue

tags: @valeskafics

“what in the seven sweet hells is that frey girl wearing.”

aemond smiled to himself as she whispered in his ear. “it would appear to be a dress with a pattern of their house sigil around the bottom.”

y/n snorted. “you and i both know exactly what those ‘towers’ look like.”

he raised an eyebrow at her. “how do you know what… those look like?”

“i am a lady, not a septa.”

“is the discussion of such things in public balls really ladylike?”

“are you attempting to say that knowledge should be withheld from a lady who seeks it?”

he opened his mouth to respond, then closed it.

“that’s what i thought. besides, what business is it of yours whose cock i see?”

he felt a distinct pain in his stomach, sharp and stinging. it was stupid, certainly, and beneath him, but he hated even the thought that she had been with someone else. still, though, he could not bring himself to say anything to her of his own feelings towards her. it was his fate, he reasoned, to love her from afar. “i suppose none,” he said, in his best imitation of completely un-jealous amusement.

“mm. none indeed.” she absently took a sip from her cup of wine. “do you want to dance again?”

“not particularly.”

“do you want to see if we can trick aegon into thinking he’s being haunted by the ghost of maegor the cruel?”

he gave her a look. “i believe that is some form of treason, but i cannot say for certain which law it is breaking.”

she shrugged. “‘twas only an idea. you are too dour tonight, my prince.”

he looked at her curiously. “you have not called me your prince in years. why so formal?”

she smiled up at him mischievously. “and you have never been so formal with me in all your life. or my life. our life?”

his heart skipped a beat despite himself. our life. “hm. i’m sorry, then. i didn’t mean to offend you.”

“you didn’t offend me. i was just worried about you.” she reached towards him and brushed his hand with hers. “would you like to talk about something else?”

“what do you have in mind?”

she didn’t hesitate in her answer. “love.”

he inhaled the wine he had been sipping, coughing violently. “what?” he said between wheezes.

she seemed not to notice. “love! i love love, aemond, you know that. it makes… the entire world go round.”

he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “does it now?”

“it does! i’m convinced of it. you and i have both always been avid students of philosophy, poetry, literature, how can you say it does not? it’s everywhere, aem.”

“have you ever even been in love?” he asked. there was a tinge of hope creeping into his tone, he could tell.

“no. at least, i don’t think so.” her eyes shone brightly in the light of the torches, making them look like stars. “i want to, though. i want to be in love, to be loved for who i am. i’m not a pet, or some bargaining chip for my father to use, marry me off to some old man for a few more gold coins. i’d give anything for someone to love me as i am.”

i love you as you are, he wanted to say. he settled for, “isn’t it a little naive to assume you’ll have the choice to marry for love?” i will never marry for love.

she smiled brightly up at him. “well, if i am naive, why does every poet and storyteller and bard say that i might? i could be the heroine of the next great ballad. you never know.”

aemond couldn’t help but be entranced by her. if only she knew that she was the heroine of everything he wrote, the goddess-muse he prayed to in the pages of poems that would never see the light of her eyes. her father waved her over to speak to the tyrell boy and she left aemond with a wink and a smile, and he watched her walk away, her hips swaying in her green silk dress, utterly aware of her beauty and entirely unaware of how it affected him. he needed to clear his head.

out on the balcony, the moon shone brightly down. he could see the lights of king’s landing below, hear the smallfolk reveling during the festival of the maiden. footsteps walked up behind him, stumbling a little with drunkenness.

“you love her,” aegon slurred triumphantly.

aemond scoffed. “you’re drunk.”

“doesn’t mean you don’t love her.”

“it does mean your perception is impaired.”

“you’re the one without an eye. you. love. y/n.” aegon tilted his head back, grinning. “you love her sooooo much. hey, how did it feel dancing with her in that tight little green dress? her tits were practically spilling out of it, probably couldn’t take your eye away-.”

“alright!” aemond interrupted. he turned to his brother and glared at him before stealing a sip from the flagon of wine aegon held in his hand, much to his brother’s indignance. aemond glared at him. “if i talk about her, will you shut up?”

“absolutely. that’s what older brothers are for, we’re here to listen-.”

“i am only talking to you because you’re drunk and will hopefully not remember this in the morning.”

aegon mimed locking his lips exaggeratedly and motioned for his brother to speak.

aemond took a deep breath and looked down. “i feel as though i’ve held my breath ever since i saw her,” he began.

aegon looked dubious. “come again?”

aemond grunted in frustration. “like, if i make any sudden movements or noises, she’ll be frightened away and never look at me again.”

“is she a squirrel?” aegon said dryly.

“shut up. she’s like… a nymph in a forest. i know i should look away from her, but she’s as tempting as the trees themselves. if i touch her, all her beauty will be gone, set ablaze, but… i can’t help but keep watching her. i know her in such perfect detail. even made a list once. of everything about her. the exact color of her hair. each perfect little imperfection.”

“that is… fucking pathetic.”

aemond glared at him. “i will stop talking.”

aegon yawned. “please don’t. this is the best entertainment i’ve had all night.”

aemond continued to scowl at him, but resumed, his voice trembling despite himself. he closed his eye and saw her turning in his mind, the way she smiled at him, every part of her. he took a breath. “sometimes, when i first wake up in the morning, i think i see her on the balcony, shining like the sun rising. when i sleep at night, i dream of her. i undo her hair and feel it in my hands, i see her skin glowing in the candlelight. i write her a new letter every day, keep them in my pockets and i want to give them to her, i just… never know how. no matter how much i rearrange the words, it all comes out to ‘i live for you, i love you.’ i’m… i’m lost, aegon. i’ve been lost for years. she is my light in the dark. the mercy i do not deserve but receive from her very presence anyways. and she has… no idea. none. i love her like insanity, completely and entirely, and she’s a vision that will slip away in the night if i ever try to touch her.”

there was a long silence. when aemond opened his eye again, aegon was looking at him with surprisingly clear eyes. there was a mixture of grief and pity on his tired-looking face. “you should tell her,” he said quietly.

aremond scoffed. “she is the maiden made flesh, beauty incarnate. she would laugh in my face.”

“she’s kind. even to me. she wouldn’t.”

“she would.”

“she wouldn’t.”

“she would-.”

“prince aemond.”

the two brothers looked up. there was a servant boy standing there looking nervous. he spoke quickly, his words running together. “the… the lady y/n wishes to meet with you. in secret. tomorrow morning. is there a place where you may meet privately?”

aemond blinked. “in secret?”

aegon started giggling. “in secret indeed. ow!” he rubbed his shin where aemond kicked him.

“not like that.” aemond continued to glare at his brother for a moment before turning back to the servant. “er, hm. where is a good place to meet privately?”

“there’s a place in flea bottom that’s very discreet.” aegon waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “the madam there keeps quiet about anything for the right- ow! you cunt!”

“not a brothel. where else?”

aegon glared at him, rubbing the bruise on his leg. “i’m not telling you shit.”

aemond rolled his eye. “yes, you are. where else?”

aegon sighed. “there’s a tunnel outside the kitchens. secret entrance behind a column. no one will see either of you go in or out.”

the servant boy nodded. “i’ll tell her, your highnesses.”

as he walked away, aemond buried his face in his hands, unable to keep himself from smiling. “she wishes to confess something to me,” he said, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. “oh, fuck, i hate having hope, hope is foolish, hope is illogical-.”

“hope is life!” aegon crowed. “she loves you!”

“we don’t know that-.”

“i know that,” aegon declared. “and i am older, so i’m always right.”

“that is not even in the slightest bit how that works.”

“that’s exactly how it works.”

———

his heels clicked on the stone floor. there was sunlight streaming in through a few small windows in the top of the wall. it turned the dust motes into tiny sparkles in the air, floating up into the ceiling. where was she, when was she coming-.

“where did you get that cut?”

he turned around abruptly and y/n was there. she was wearing a light blue dress today, one that made her look like a cloud. in a good way, he thought.

he looked down at his hand. “er, nowhere. it’s nothing.”

she looked at him dubiously. “if you don’t bandage it well, it will not heal well. let me re-bind it.”

he sighed and held out his hand in resignation. she moved forward immediately and began to undo the too-tight knots. “where did you get this, anyway?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the cloth bandage.

“i fought a hundred men.”

“ha. i am not impressed.”

“you pretend not to be.” her fingers danced over his skin as she undid the final wrapping, silken fingertips brushing the inside of his wrist. he inhaled sharply at the feeling, but she seemed not to notice.

she wrapped the cloth over his thumb a last time, then secured the knot. “there. all done.”

“hm.” he stood there silently for a few more moments, silently soaking her in. her fingers lingered on his arm. “you had a confession to make?” he asked hoarsely.

she blushed and looked down. “give me a moment. it is… strange to say.”

“strange?”

she nodded. “strange. do you remember our conversation of last night?”

he arched an eyebrow. “the one about the-.”

she chuckled. “no, not that one. after that. about love.”

of course he remembered it. in every detail. “vaguely.”

“and how i said i didn’t think i’d ever been in love?”

his heart skipped a beat. “i remember.”

she looked down at her feet. they were so close at the moment, she could kiss him. “i feel i have come to a realization. i am… in love.”

he could not trust to hope. but oh, how he wanted to. “tell me about him. or her. this person you love.” he added a small smile afterwards, praying to the maiden that his thoughts were not obvious.

she giggled and looked away, still blushing. “well, he is a member of your family.”

please. to all the seven, please. “oh?”

she nodded. “yes. a prince.”

please. “is he now?” he couldn’t help but let a smile creep over his face.

“yes. a handsome prince. we danced last night, you know.”

thank you. to the maiden, the mother, the father, whoever was listening. “did you now? is he a good dancer?”

she laughed again. “not particularly. i didn’t mind, though. not at all.”

he laughed with her. “if i may make a confession of my own?” he asked, joy shining in his eye. finally, finally finally.

“not yet, i’ve not finished mine,” y/n interrupted.

“of course, do continue.”

“i’m afraid you will not like it.”

“i could never hate any confession you wish to make to me.” not when i have been waiting for it for so long.

“i am…” she was blushing and smiling delightedly.

“yes?”

“in love…”

“yes?” i love you too, my darling, i love you too.

“with prince jacaerys.”

a sword to the heart. “ah.”

she frowned. “see, i knew you would be displeased.”

not displeased. devastated, maybe. destroyed. other words that begin with d. “i could never be displeased with you.”

“be kind to him for me though, won’t you? treat him well.”

“if i must.”

she sighed, seeming to think his hesitation was out of petulance. “ask him to write to me. i know you hate him, but… for me, please.”

“if i must.”

“you are angry with me?” she asked, her voice slightly hurt.

his gaze softened. “i could never be displeased with you,” he repeated.

she raised an eyebrow. “and yet you seem displeased?”

“it’s just the cut,” he said through gritted teeth. “just the cut.”

she smiled at him softly, noticing in the way she always did that he was hurt. “how many men did you fight, aem?”

he smiled as best as he was able. “a hundred.”

she raised an eyebrow.

“ser criston.”

she smiled and squeezed his uninjured hand gently before walking out of the hall. she said over her shoulder, “still. what courage.”

he watched her go, watched how the light shone in her hair. he whispered, half to himself, half as some plea for mercy from whatever cruel gods were watching, “i’ve done braver things since.”

———

swish.

slice.

swish.

the training yard sang with aemond’s steel. in his mind’s eye, the training dummy had jacaerys’s face, his idiotic bastard face without any scars and with another eye-.

“something bothering you, little brother?” aegon’s voice drawled from behind him. aemond ignored him, hacking away at the fake jace’s right shoulder. “what, she wouldn’t bend over after you professed your undying-.”

thwack! a particularly hard strike took off the dummy’s arm. aegon walked closer to him and met aemond’s eye, which aemond could tell was brimming with unshed tears. aemond sent him a red-rimmed glare before turning back to brutalizing the straw man. aegon’s mouth parted in realization. “she doesn’t love you.”

“don’t-.”

thwack!

“ever-.”

thwack!

“speak of her again,” aemond panted out. the dummy’s head had rolled off to some far corner of the yard. he looked back over at aegon, a rivulet of sweat pouring down his face. or perhaps it was a tear. he couldn’t tell anymore. “you were supposed to be drunk. you were supposed to forget.” his throat was tight with the words and he walked closer to aegon, unable to tell whether or not he meant to hit him. “you were supposed-.”

“uncles!”

he turned to look. jacaerys was walking towards them, looking disgustingly cheerful. fucking cunt.

jace walked up to them and glanced at the headless, armless training dummy. he raised an eyebrow. “was he threatening you, uncle?” he joked.

aemond glared at him wordlessly. aegon, who was a little bit more friendly with their nephews, nodded dryly. “he was threatening to steal away the lady y/n-.”

jace gasped. his face broke out into a smile. “you know the lady y/n?!” he asked excitedly.

“we are friendly,” aemond said through gritted teeth.

“childhood companions,” aegon interjected.

jace nodded. “so, you know her, then?” he asked hopefully.

“…yes.”

“my brother knows her well.” aegon took another sip of his wine. gods above, did he ever shut up?

fuck this. aemond grabbed jace’s arm and began dragging him to the hall towards the kitchen courtyard, ignoring his nephew’s protests and pulling him into an alcove. “she told me of last night,” he said to jace with gritted teeth. jace stopped speaking and listened intently. “the dance, the love at first sight, all of-.”

“she loves me?” jace’s eyes looked horribly hopeful.

aemond’s throat tightened again. “she believes so- ow!”

jace released him from the embrace. “sorry, sorry- she loves me!”

“don’t start skipping,” aemond said dryly. “now, listen- she wants you to write to her. she loves that sort of thing.”

jace’s face fell. “fuck.”

“hm?”

“i can’t write letters.”

thank the gods. but y/n would be sad. “write what you feel. you can’t go wrong.”

jace sighed, pacing around the stone corridor. “a lady like y/n wants to be romanced, she wants poetry and wit and i- i have no sense of it.”

good. excellent. y/n would be heartbroken, though. he hated jace, but he hated seeing her heartbroken more.

before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, “but i do.”

jace sent him a glare. “no need to be patronizing.”

“no, no.” aemond cleared his throat, leaning against the cool stone wall and closing his eye without looking back at jace, he said, “let me write in your name.” he looked back over at jace, who was staring at him, dumbfounded. aemond cleared his throat. “i am a poet. this will be good practice, will it not?”

“i suppose,” jace said uncertainly. “is it not dishonest? i do not wish to lie to the woman i love.”

“some illusions are kind. read a book for once and find out.”

jace glared at him. “that was definitely patronizing.”

aemond looked down. “sorry,” he muttered.

“apology accepted.” jace sank to the floor, leaning up against the wall. they sat there for a few moments. aemond was just staring at the floor, wondering how he’d gotten into this. shit.

“i’d give anything to have what you have, you know.”

aemond looked up at him, brows knit in confusion. “come again?”

“your-,” jace waved his hand to indicate some word. he looked frustrated. “your skill with words. i can ride a dragon, i’m a prince, i’m not bad-looking, i think. i can fight well. but the one thing i need, the one thing i want to win the heart of the woman i love, i- i cannot have. i can never have it. i wish-.”

aemond groaned in annoyance and pulled that day’s letter from the pocket of his trousers. “shut up and write your name at the bottom of this.”

“when the bloody fuck did you write-?”

aemond groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “it’s a sort of romantic custom here. to carry a letter in your pocket to an unnamed woman.”

jace turned the letter over in his hands, scanning the words. “doesn’t it have to be specific to her?”

aemond smiled to himself before replying. “count on vanity to make y/n believe it is specific to her.”

jace leapt up suddenly and embraced him. “thank you, uncle, thank you- wait, where is her room?”

“west wing, second floor, the northern hall.” gods, he was lucky that jacaerys was stupid.

———

y/n-

my darling, my beloved, i hunger for you. every night, i fall asleep to thoughts of you, my dreams are dreams of you, every morning the sun rises and i long to wake up beside you. every night you haunt me- why do you torture me so if you say you love me? every day i am plagued by visions of you. i wonder what your lips taste of- of the lemon cakes you shared with helaena at tea today? of the orange you slipped into your pocket? i need-

“aemond! we have a fucking problem!”

aemond groaned and slammed his head onto the desk. “i am in the middle of writing your stupid letter, you stupid motherf-.”

jace burst into the room, a look of distress on his face. aemond glared at him for a moment before resuming his work. “talk, and then shut up.”

“i spoke to her.”

aemond squinted at the page. “isn’t that usually a good thing?”

“not in this case. i- i froze up. i couldn’t speak to her. even look at her. i started talking about the weather!”

aemond blinked. “the weather.”

“the weather! and i think she was angry because i didn’t… sound like myself. well, like you sounding like myself. ‘pretty neck, give it a peck,’ gods, i am such an idiot!”

“i will not dispute that.”

jace crossed the room in three steps, kneeling beside the desk. he looked up at aemond imploringly. “please, uncle. i have to win her back. i… i don’t know how to live anymore if i don’t have her.”

and i do not know how to live if it’s not for her. i understand that. aemond leaned back in his chair and groaned heavily. “fine. where is she?”

jace looked at him in confusion. “in her chambers, i think. it is late, after all.”

aemond nodded, his jaw tight. “you will stand under the balcony. i will stand behind the wall and tell you what to say.”

“but-,” jace started.

aemond shot him a glare. “do you want her back or not?”

jace nodded.

“then you’ll listen to what i have to say.”

———

“my lady!”

aemond pinched the bridge of his nose again. “too loud!” he hissed.

jace nodded sheepishly. “y/n!” he called again, this time more softly.

aemond heard rustling, then soft footsteps on the balcony. she hadn’t taken off her shoes yet. was she still wearing the same dress as earlier?

y/n’s voice floated down through the air. “who is it?”

“jace.”

she hummed in an annoyed tone and her heels started to click away.

“please, my lady, i must speak to you!” jace implored.

“i’d rather you write to me,” y/n answered coldly.

“please, i…”

a moment of silence. but she had stopped walking away.

“do you regret what you said in the garden?” she asked.

“yes.” aemond almost pitied him, he looked so sorrowful.

y/n, however, scoffed. “‘yes?’ that is your considered explanation and apology? you may be a prince, my lord, but i am not a wilting maiden who will be at your beck and call. perhaps you do not even love me, but simply wish to use me. goodnight.”

aemond couldn’t see y/n, but jace looked panicked. he sighed and muttered to jace, “say, ‘i could no more stop loving you-.’”

jace nodded and began to repeat his words clearly. “i could no more stop loving you…”

“‘than i could stop the sun rising.’”

“than i could stop the sun rising.” jace spoke with more confidence than he seemed to have at the moment.

y/n made a noise that sounded disbelieving. jace motioned for aemond to continue speaking.

aemond sighed. “i am… haunted by the cruelty of my love for you. it tortures me, consumes my every waking moment.”

jace repeated his words uncertainly. when y/n’s reply came, though, she sounded less disappointed. more curious. “if your love is cruel, you should have killed it.”

jace’s regurgitated reply came faster now. “if i could, i would have. it has the strength and fire of balerion the dread.”

y/n hummed softly, and aemond dared to peek from behind the wall at her. he had guessed right, she was still in the same dress as from earlier that day, but her hair was loose now, framing her face like a crown on a queen. her lips parted to form her next question. “why do you speak so haltingly?”

oh, fuck. jace seemed to have the same thought, because he looked over at aemond, alarmed. he started to stutter a reply. “i- erm, well, i-.”

“your words fall. mine must fly.”

jace looked over at aemond in surprise. aemond was frankly surprised at himself too. he hadn’t meant to speak. he hissed at jace to, “act like it’s you talking!” jace nodded subtly and began to move his hands like he was speaking.

aemond continued, closing his eye as he thought. “my words must float up to you despite the heaviness of my hesitance.”

her voice was soft and coy. “perhaps i should come to you then?”

“no!” aemond cleared his throat and closed his eye. he imagined her standing in front of him, the way her lips curled, the way her eyes shone, and the words came easier. “i like being invisible to you. i can’t be struck mute by your smile this way.”

she was leaning forward now, he could tell, smiling teasingly. he could hear it in her voice. “why is your voice an octave lower?”

jace looked over at him and smirked, as though daring him to find an explanation. aemond gave him a smug look before responding. “i am daring to truly be myself.”

“tell me what your truest self feels for me, then.”

oh, that was easy.

“the way i feel for you is like an acolyte. you are a goddess, of what i cannot tell, only that i worship you. you consume me, body and soul, and i offer myself to you as the most willing of servants.” he exhaled, a rush going through his body as he finally said it. the words were flowing through him like fire from a dragon’s mouth, unable to be stopped. “i have tried to tell you, more times than you know, how much you mean to me, but… i cannot find the courage to speak without fear.”

“and yet, your letters to me are bold and full of poetry.”

“a mask that a lonely coward must wear in order to speak to the sun.”

she laughed, and he felt more words spilling from his lips like a tide he couldn’t stop. he could feel jace looking at him in shock, but continued anyway. “you wore white once last spring, to the sept. your hair was loose and crowned with small flowers. i remember thinking you looked like a bride. i wanted to marry you right there.” fuck, fuck, fuck that was stupid.

y/n didn’t seem to notice. “if you loved me then, why didn’t you say anything? or even introduce yourself?”

aemond chuckled wryly. “i am a coward, remember?”

“you are no coward. you make me feel alive. i fear sometimes that if i told you what you make me feel with your words, you would think me mad and run from me.”

oh, gods, did this hurt in the sweetest way. “y/n, if only you knew the truth,” he said, half to her, half to no one.

“i know you.”

he grinned wryly, his eyes half-full of tears. “do you now?”

“i do, jace. i know you, and i love you. there is no nuance to you that would drive me away.”

“kiss me then.”

aemond looked over at jace in shock, horrified that his nephew had dared to say that. jace looked back at him, somewhat smugly.

“i apologize for my boldness, my lady,” aemond hissed, more at jace than y/n.

“you do not demand it, then?” she sounded disappointed.

“not demand. request,” jace said before aemond could stop him. he looked over at aemond as if in apology before stepping further into the light. “i will request a kiss.”

y/n laughed, and aemond could feel his heart crack inside his chest. “your request is granted. come claim your kiss, sweet prince.”

jace smiled triumphantly and walked out of aemond’s line of sight, up to the vines that scaled up the walls to her room. aemond turned away from them and started walking numbly away. she wants him, he reminded himself. not you. that is her choice, and she does not choose you.

———

perhaps it had been the residual anger that had made him snap at jace two nights later, at their family dinner.

aemond hadn’t seen y/n in months. after the king’s death, her father had whisked her away, back to her home. he and jace still met once a week, though, in a cave in the stormlands that they had deemed neutral territory, for aemond to give him the weekly letter. when he got there, jace was slumped against the wall, looking tired and wan. he looked up with weary eyes when aemond entered, his face hollow. “uncle.”

aemond nodded stiffly and held up the scroll for him to take. jace did so with thin and trembling hands- had he been eating?- and unfurled it, scanning the words. “i wish i could see her, one last time,” he murmured.

“i do too,” aemond said softly, mostly to himself. he regained himself after a moment and added hastily, “want you to see her again. you make her happy-.”

“is that a tear stain?” jace interrupted, pointing accusingly at a mark on the parchment. aemond opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak. jace looked up at him, glaring furiously. “you cried while you wrote this.”

“i was simply moved by my own writing.” aemond paused before whispering again, half out of his own mind with weariness, “and i cannot bear not to see her again.”

“you love her.”

“i-.”

“don’t bother fucking denying it,” jace snapped. “i am done with lying.” he got up and started pacing around the room angrily. “we have to tell her.”

“she wants you,” aemond said imploringly. “she never wanted me.”

jace laughed derisively. “i am not so sure. in her last letter, she said she loved me for my soul, for the ‘beauty on my inside.’”

aemond blinked. “good for you?”

“are you truly blind in your mind’s eye as well as in your left?! you are my soul, aemond! you write to her and she has fallen in love with you! i was only a passing fancy!” jace’s voice shattered at the end and he sank to his knees, gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly. “i… she never loved me,” he added brokenly.

aemond simply looked at him, unsure of what to say. jace inhaled after a long moment and looked back up at him through angry, tearful eyes. “now you fucking listen, uncle. you go and tell her. you tell her everything. tell her and she will make her fucking choice.”

“she will choose you,” aemond whispered.

“and why would that be? i have nothing to give her.”

aemond pointed half-heartedly at his eyepatch.

jace laughed derisively. “do you so doubt the woman you claim you love? fucking pathetic. fuck you, aemond. fuck you.”

“if she chooses you,” aemond whispered, grasping desperately for a sense of what to say, “you have written to her more often than this.”

jace glared at him. “twice a week?”

“more.”

“three times?”

“more.”

“four times? five?”

“every day!” aemond roared, suddenly furious. “every fucking day!”

jace stared at him for a long moment, his mouth twisting in fury. he took a deep breath, as though preparing himself to yell back, but stopped short. “tell her to make her choice,” he whispered, before running out of the cave and to vermax, leaving aemond standing silently in the cave.

the next time aemond heard of jacaerys targaryen, he was dead.

———

his shoulder hurt.

he didn’t know how long vhagar had flown after caraxes nearby ripped her throat out, but she had finally crashed now, in the middle of a forest clearing. he could tell that he was starting to bleed out too, his head fuzzy and vision blurred. he stumbled away from vhagar’s body, leaning up against a boulder. as his eyes fluttered shut, he heard faintly, “where did you get that cut?”

———

when he awoke, she was there.

the sheets were clean, the air was light and sweet-smelling. he could see vials of herbs and tinctures lined up next to the bed. y/n was reading quietly and apparently hadn’t yet noticed him. he croaked out her name softly.

she looked up from her book and met his eye, rushing over to him and taking his hand in hers. “hush, aem. you need rest.”

“you’re here,” he croaked.

she smiled at him again, and his heart skipped an all-too-familiar beat. “i am.”

“i thought i died.”

she shook her pretty head. “no. i would kill you if you died.”

he smiled faintly. “that’s treason. i am still a prince.”

she chuckled again, and he tried to laugh as well. it was painful.

she cleared her throat. “jace sent me a letter. before he died.”

he nodded. “that makes sense.”

“in a different handwriting and style than he usually used.”

oh. oh, fuck. “he was starving, his handwriting was probably shakier than usual, he-.”

she cut him off with a kiss. all he could think about for a few seconds was whether or not his breath was bad. then he pulled away. “i don’t understand, he’s…he’s dead. your lover is dead.”

“he is. and i did love him. but you were always there. and i always loved you too. i just didn’t know it.”

his eye brimmed with tears. “i am… i am a monster. i am the cruel prince, the one eyed prince-,” his voice broke, “-the kinslayer-.”

she cut him off again. “i know you, aemond. i have always known you. you are no monster. i love you.”

he reached for her hand weakly and she took it, squeezing his palm gently. she leaned down again and kissed him, and he kissed her back this time, trying to say everything in his heart with his lips on hers: how sorry he was, how much he adored her, how much he didn’t believe it. she loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

she broke away after a long moment, smiling down at him. “i love you, aem,” she whispered.

she stood up abruptly, releasing his hand and pulling open a curtain to let more light into the room. “now, i am going to fetch a maester, don’t do anything stupid while i’m gone.”

he smiled, weakly but genuinely. “what could i possibly do?”

she glared at him playfully. “you could die. and if you die, i’ll be very angry. i refuse to lose the one i love twice.”

he laughed again, louder this time, almost giddy. he pulled her down to press one last kiss to her lips before she left. “i won’t die, i promise.”

she smiled down at him. “good. if you do, i’ll kill you.”

#aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond x reader #jacerys x reader #jace x reader #hotd aemond #hotd jacaerys #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #jace x you #aemond x you

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