#'I need to prove how woke and straight I am'

[carsontumbleweed]

Im convinced everyone misinterpreted the point of the Topher being gay headcanon

[chososdiscordkitten]

Just A Taste.

Synopsis: Gojo wants to taste readers breast milk •⩊•

Pairing: Gojo xFem!Reader Content: some plot, mostly nasty stuff, no penetrative sex, nursing handjob, ADULT NURSING, he tries to convince reader to let him suck a lil sum, gojo being weird, mentions he didn't have a mom, BREASTFEEDING, mommy kink if you squint, PREGNANCY KINK, whiny satoru, overall just a lot of nipple and breast play

Dedicated to: @busyreader17 , my beloved for hyping me up to write this, ty<;33

(a.n) why do I only ever write about gojo being a pregnancy freak? has to be studied. wrote this listening to very dramatic classical music

MDNI

Gojo has always been hard headed, never thinking twice on talking back or starting an argument just to prove he was right. And that little quirk about him only enhanced when his child was born.

Even if you were the one who spent countless hours in the emergency room trying to give birth to his big headed child- Satoru insisted that he knew best for his offspring. And in extension- he knew what was best for you. 

“Formula isn't good enough for my child.” he retorted when you mentioned how painful it was to breastfeed his gnawing child.

And when you'd bring up that you were ready to start working again- “You don't have to work- that's why you have me.” 

Little by little Gojo started dictating most of the aspects of your life. There was little to no resistance from you though- you didn't mind his overbearing fatherly tendencies when it came to protecting his family.

But there was one thing, just one thing you'd complain about if you could.

As stubborn as Satoru was in day to day life- he was equally, if not more stubborn in bed. Especially in one specific area.

Gojo begged. Begged on his knees as he watched you pump. Sitting on the couch and bouncing your knee as his hands held onto your calf, “I just want to taste-” he pouted, eyebrows pinched upwards. 

“Satoru.” you gritted through your teeth- hearing the whirr of the machine on your chest. He sighed as he placed his forehead to your knee, mumbling something about how mean you were to him.

This newfound need to taste the milk from your breasts was mildly irritating, not being able to take your shirt off without his eyes prying- parting his lips before asking again.  

Satoru would be lying if he said that anytime your breasts would leak against his chest midway through fucking- it didn’t take every ounce of strength he had to not trail his lips down to your puffy nipple. 

So, so, very tempting. But he'd refrain from acting on his urges, knowing you'd probably shake him off or tell him to stop completely. So instead of doing it without your permission, he settled on asking you anytime he could. 

At first you thought this was just him wanting to know what it tasted like, but when you offered him a small sip from a cup he said- “If i'm gonna drink it, I want it straight from the source.” to which you said, “I guess you're never gonna taste it then.” before tossing the small sip down the sink. 

He must've asked 3 times a day. Gojo needed it so bad- he would beg on his knees at your feet, looking up at you like an abused puppy that you were being far too cruel to.

And you always said no. 

But, your objections sounded like ‘maybe one day’ to his ears. 

So one very early morning, 4 maybe 5 am- you were standing at the kitchen counter, holding the little pumping machine to your right breast as your face churned with a grimace. Your nipples were sore, from the machine sucking harshly and from how often you had to do it.

You had just started filling one of the little bottles, and as though Gojo knew what you were doing, he walked in. Squinting at you, almost asking what you were doing at this hour- till his eyes landed on your breasts you didn't bother to cover. “Go back to sleep, I'll be done soon.” you muttered in a groggy voice as the whirring woke Satoru up from the hazy state he was in. 

He took a few steps towards you- resting his elbows on the counter as he watched the machine milk you. Jealous that a stupid machine had the right to and he didn't. 

The sun not even breaching the skyline made the room dim and dusky. 

You didn't mind if he watched- but that's all you'd ever grant him. But directly after sex- when his chest would be drippng with the light cream colored liquid that leaked from your breasts while he fucked you- and as he looked down to his sculped body in the bathroom, the sink running on a hand towel as you waited for him to come back to help clean you up.

His fingers couldn't help but swipe at the liquid before placing it on his tongue. The whisper of your taste on his tongue made one thing clear in his mind. If he couldn’t wrap his lips around your nipple and suck till there was nothing left- if you wouldn’t grant him that one favor, the closest thing he had was to fuck you in missionary from now on. Hoping one day he would ask you mid way through- and you’d be too fucked out to say anything but yes.  

True if he really wanted to taste you- he could just reach into the freezer and thaw a bag of the pumped milk to try it. But he didn't just want to taste it- he wanted to feel it fill his mouth directly from the source. How warm it would be as it slid down his throat. And god- from the small tastes he's gotten, it's so sweet. You taste so fucking sweet.

His eyes watched as the plastic bottle filled up with milk, almost hypnotized by the liquid. You winced as the machine sucked at your sore nipple, which only made the cogs in Satoru’s brain start churning with schemes. 

With soft eyes he fluttered his white eyelashes up to you, “Does it hurt?” he whispered, looking at your expression that looked more irritated than pained. You nodded your head slowly, “It feels like when your foot is asleep,” you muttered, “but not the ‘numb’ kind of asleep, like the kind that hurts anytime you move it.” you continued as you closed your eyes, exhausted and very ready to go back to bed. 

Satoru raised himself from the counter, taking steps over to you as you felt his presence loom next to you. “Nd you have to do it all the time too-” he scoffed, playing the sympathy card so you'd think he was on your side. 

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “They always look so full,”  he murmured against your skin, you hummed in response, agreeing with what he was saying as he wrapped his hand around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder. “So painful.” he hummed as his hands dared to trace up your bare torso. 

“I can help, y’know.” The tone he said those words sounded sincere- almost as though he was just trying to make this easier for you, you let out a hum in disbelief, “Unless you're a baby who refuses to latch- no you can't.” you mumbled with a groggy voice. 

Your words came out as a retort- but in Gojo’s ears they sounded like a challenge. 

It was true, his child had the same stubborness as Satoru, refusing to eat anything that didn’t come from a plastic bottle. Thus the pumping and the overproduction of milk that was piled high in the freezer by now. You had half the mind to sell it or empty them down the drain, I mean what child is gonna drink that much? Even if it was a Gojo heir- no child drinks that much milk. 

But the thought pained Satoru, it only reminded him of the times where that frozen milk could have been in his mouth rather than in plastic bags. 

Satoru kept a light touch as his hand trailed to the side of your ribs, scooping the bottom of the free breast you hadn’t pumped yet. Feeling the weight in his hand as he lifted it lightly, and you were just tired enough to let him. “They're so heavy.” he whispered in a coo as you blinked your eyes open, fully registering what he was trying to do. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Don't be gross, ‘toru.” you spoke in a clearer voice, earning a small laugh to ring into your ear as his hand gently grasped the side of your full breast. “What's gross about wantin’ to help?” He murmured in your ear, his hand keeping a light graze as his pointer finger brushed past your tender nipple, you hissed at the feeling causing Satoru to hum an understanding ‘I know.’ into your ear. 

You couldn't see his face but you were sure he was pleased with himself, “That's all I wanna do.” his words sounded wholehearted. Almost earnest as his large hand held onto your breast with a light touch, “I'll be sooo gentle, I promise.” he closed his eyes feeling your breast fill his palm with ease, “I just wanna help you,” he whispered as he pressed the off button on the little machine, guiding your hand to place it on the counter as he pressed an honest kiss to your ear. 

You knew that filling those little bottles would have taken way too long, then the thought of how much faster it would be if you let him- “Let me help you.” 

Satoru’s silver tongue was never your favorite part of him, you never liked how easy it was for him to hide the truth behind seemingly sincere words. 

His brushing fingertips against your sore nipples didn't help either, his fingers were very, very close to squeezing the suede ring of color around the hardened peak- Satoru wanted to see if small rivulets would spurt out of your nipples if he squeezed. 

You inhaled feeling the warm pads of his fingertip caress at your tender nipple. If Satoru wasn't trying to convince you of something, you'd admit it felt nice. You scoffed, “Don't make it nasty ‘toru-” you caved, sighing with an exhausted tone, feeling his warm palms lift your heavy breasts.

Gojo’s mouth had been salivating from the second he walked into the kitchen, and as you said those words he gulped hard. “Course not~” he mumbled, allowing the truth to seep out in his words. 

And as he guided you to sit onto the couch as you've done plenty of times when you'd pump, he already knew how he wanted to be fed, he had thought about it over and over again. And settled on this position, his back was pressed against the tops of your thighs. His long legs extended onto the couch- unashamed of his cock rising from staring at the cream droplet that threatened to fall from your nipple.

Even if this act was obscene and borderlining on too far- you were grateful he didn't make any teasing remarks on how little it took for him to convince you this time. That and how his mouth would have been filled soon enough, so you wouldn't worry about that. 

Your hand was on the back of his head, fingers filled with lily white hair as he fought back a smile. Only the gleam in his eyes showed you just how excited he was. Satoru’s lips parted as his eyes darted back and forth from your sore nipple up to your face that was warm with embarrassment. All but asking for permission as you watched his bottom lip quiver in anticipation. 

With pinched eyebrows, you guided his head towards your aching breast, Gojo’s lips parted awaiting your puffy nipple. His tongue covered the bottom of his teeth- a low groan rumbled onto your skin as he lightly pressed his parted lips onto the skin around your nipple.

You watched with a grimace look on your face, not knowing why he would offer this- let alone enjoy it. 

Satoru’s tongue circled at your hardening nipple, lapping softly as he tried to keep his promise of being gentle as the essence of the milk lingered on his tongue. A small huff left your lip as he rested his tongue at the bottom of your nipple, protecting it from his pearly teeth. 

His hands rested atop his tummy as you caressed the back of his scalp, you nodded your head as a form of permission, giving Satoru the ‘ok’ that he could start- his lips were slow to start sucking, pulling your nipple further into his mouth with a lactogenic motion from his tongue.

Before now, Satoru wasn't fully sure how to nurse if you let him, he knew it wasn't like just sucking your nipple. But the second he felt the sore apex of your breast press against the roof of his mouth, sucking in as much of your breast as he could, his tongue massaged the bottom of your tit to coax the milk to come out. 

The motion came to him as an instinct, as though nursing was engraved in his marrow from the minute he was pulled into this world. 

It took very little effort to pull milk to the surface. But the moan that reverberated onto your breast from a fat droplet hitting Satoru’s tongue- it was bordering on pornographic. It was as though he saw the pearly gates of heaven when the droplet infiltrated the taste buds of his tongue.

No matter how much fantasizing he did, or any of the ghost-like tastes- nothing. Nothing, could have prepared him for how fucking heavenly you tasted.

Your milk was warm, thick enough to leave a light cast on his tongue as he tried to suckle more liquid from your nipple. Gojo’s mouth was latched onto you in a way you knew it would hurt to pull him off.

Satoru’s gaze threatened to shut as you looked down at him. His head coddled in your hand as he kept faltering eye contact with you. Only making this feel even more salacious than it should have. 

No, this was only supposed to be a way for him to help- a way to remove the aching pressure from your breasts and save some time.

But that look in his eyes, the way his eyebrows were furrowed- almost as though he was sucking your tit in spite. 

That was till a bigger wave of your milk rushed into his mouth, earning an almost anguished whimper to pulse against your skin.

Your eyes squinted trying to figure out if he was exaggerating- only the way his eyes struggled to stay open, the blush across his cheeks and the satisfied smile on the perked corners of his lips, convinced you he was being genuine. 

With every ooze of the prized liquid he suckled from your plump breast, Satoru swallowed. Not wanting any to spill from his lips as you placed your hand on his chest that was threatening to start hyperventilating. Too focused on suckling as much milk as he could to even consider keeping a steady breathing pattern. The warmth of his mouth on your tender nipple was soothing, comforting almost.

Gojo’s eyes were half lidded and hazy- trying his very best not to let them roll to the back of his head as the dulcet milk trickled down his throat. 

Unwillingly a small whimper fled his latched lips as his eyes closed, chest heaving from the taste of you coating his mouth. You huffed a small breath from his greedy tongue sucking harder on your nipple. 

Rubbing your hand on his chest to soothe the little whimpers that rumbled your breast, thankful his eyes were closed when they rolled to the back of his head. His trapped cock was shouting at him for attention, be it instinct or just wanting to relieve the ache- his hand slowly trailed down his tummy, only your eyes were too focused on his seemingly intoxicated expression to notice. 

Your hand holding his head up started rubbing gently at his scalp, seeing frustration form on his delicate features- unknowing why. But you were almost trying to soothe him as whimpers vibrated onto your breast. Watching his eyebrows furrow and the growing blush on his cheeks to deepen as his eyes fluttered open.

Looking up at you from the slightly obstructed view from below, your palm on his chest being able to feel how hard his heart was beating. And as your eyebrows furrowed with a breathy sigh- you watched the familiar look in Satoru’s eyes glimmer past white lashes. 

You inhaled sharply, feeling his tongue trail from massaging the bottom of your nipple to the little mound that provided the milk. Tracing the tip of his tongue on your bud causing you to hiss his name in a warning. 

That's all it took for him to continue suckling on your sore nipple. You were about to rest back onto the couch with a sigh, caressing the back of his head as you felt relief wash over your shoulders, allowing him to take what he needed and then some. 

That was till your eye caught his bicep flexing- and you trailed your eyes down his pale arm parting your lips in shock as you watched his unashamed hand palm himself through his gray sweats. 

You huffed- only it came out in a breathy sigh rather than in the reprimanding tone you meant it to. Satoru only moaned as he heard his name fall from your lips, feeling his mouth suck rougher in order to pull more milk from your heavy breast that threatened to suffocate his nose.

His hand hesitantly removed itself from the stiff bulge of his sweats, landing on your wrist that was on his chest. His hazy cerulean eyes filled with the kind of mist you only see when he's premeditated something long before you knew of it.

Satoru’s fingers wrapped around your wrist as he greedily drank from your nipple, so greedily that the corners of his mouth were threatening to leak the honeyed fluid- he was suckling so much, he couldn't swallow fast enough.  

And as the little droplets stained the sides of Gojo’s jaw, trailing down his pale skin- he led your hand to extend over to his strained bulge. Knowing if you truly were uncomfortable by this, you would've pulled away the second you saw him palming himself.

You inhaled as his hand led you to his cock by your wrist, gasping softly with a tingle on your cheeks from how hard he was. Satoru placed his larger hand atop yours, pressing it onto his painful erection with a whine rippling through your skin. 

You flashed your eyes from the gray fabric that trapped his neglected cock, back to his eyes. Threatening to blink shut as you kept a gentle grasp on his bulge. Even if he was the one in your lap, nursing at your breast in a way that can only be described as voracious. That look on his face was smug, almost as though he was right this entire time and you were the hard headed one.

Satoru trailed his hand onto your forearm, smiling to himself as you started softly palming his prominent bulge. 

Your eyebrows were pinched upwards, trying very, very hard not to shift your thighs beneath his back to relieve the ache forming between them.

You felt bad, like the only reason he was palming himself- almost in a sad way, was because you allowed this to happen. It wasn't guilt- but you wanted to apologize in some way. 

Satoru’s mouth suckled in no pattern, his only goal was to drain every single gush of milk you offered. No matter how fervent he must've looked right now, he didn’t care. As long as he could feel your warmth in his throat- your taste coating the cavern of his mouth- he didn’t care if he looked like a starved man.

You sighed almost in pity as he let out various throaty whimpers, firmening your fingers around the print in his sweats. “Oh ‘toru~” you soothed, knowing how hard he was- it had to be painful. Your cheeks tingling and warm as his hips bucked up into your hand for more friction. 

And as your hand cradled onto the back of his head, you maneuvered the hand on his bulge to free it from its torment. 

For the first time since he latched onto your nipple, his lips parted from your breast with a low moan. The cold morning air hitting his pinkening tip causing him to furrow his eyebrows, but all it took was for the feeling to settle before he attached onto your draining nipple once more.

You didn't hesitate to place your hand onto his base, feeling the light trails of his precum on his shaft from how worked up he was, tempting a gasp to leave his lips, you looked at him.

And as though he was made to do it- Satoru lightly ran his tongue at your budding nipple, lapping up the white sweetness that leaked from your breast. 

You kept a light touch on his cock, his hand on your upper arm before gently resting it on the swell of your other breast. Thinking to himself how rude of him that he was neglecting your other equally tender nipple. 

Satoru lightly thumbed your nipple, feeling light drips wet his thumb. Enticing you to slowly start stroking him, stopping your grasp right before your fingers could roll onto his flushed tip. Knowing he wouldn't last long if you worked over his cockhead. 

The moans that rumbled from Gojo’s throat and onto your sensitive skin were full of desperation and bliss. You watched him in almost pity- trickles of your milk falling from the sides of his lips, making trails of white drip down his cheeks.

It didn’t take long for him to finish draining your breast, somewhere in his mind he knew there was nothing left in your left tit, but that didn't stop him from trying to slurp up any remaining droplets.

Gojo’s cheeks felt like they were boiling on his face, and with one last lap of your nipple, he unlatched from your breast. Huffing softly as his breath tickled your damp nipple, he looked up at you, an amazed and out of breath expression formed on his face as you wiggled your eyebrows. 

It was embarrassing, the way your milk left trails of a light white film on his cheeks, the way he was breathing heavily with his cock in your hand. Vulnerable. 

Satoru saw your flushed face- and to comfort you he raised himself from the tops of your thighs lightly, keeping a massaging hand on your unsucked breast as he pressed his plump lips to yours.

It was filthy- Mouths dancing against each other in pure delirium. Being able to taste yourself on his tongue- on his spit laced with milk. It was like Gojo did that to show you just how exquisite you tasted. Only for your hand to keep its snail pace, avoidant of his crying tip. 

His lips pulled from yours, looking into your eyes and thumbing your weeping white nipple. Soft opened mouth moans coming from his lips as your hand stroked tenderly.

Rare were the times when Satoru was silent during intimacy, usually babbling teasing nonsense. But this time, the carnal look in his eye told you everything you needed to know. His senseless prattling wasn't even a thought in his mind right now, burning beneath his skin was pure and utter hunger. Hunger, to taste you- to drink from you. To nurse, over and over again. 

The one thought that lingered in his mind was to make sure to keep you pregnant- keep you in a state to continue producing the warm comfort he hardly had as a child. 

Gojo licked his bottom lip, mouth salivating as he felt the warm liquid trickle onto his palm. He leaned back slightly, looking down to your swollen nipple rolling between his fingers. Then trailing his gaze to your slow stroking hand, Gojo was sure he had never been so hard in his life till now. 

He licked his lips before cupping the side of your heavy breast in his palm, slowly shifting himself down to align himself with your right breast. Your hand followed the back of his scap, guiding him to latch onto your dripping nipple. 

Satoru opened his mouth, closing his eyes when he felt the skin of your breast fill his mouth again. Running his tongue across your neglected nipple and tasting the essence his fingers had squeezed out. A throaty whine leaving his nose as he started suckling, so enthralled by your taste and the gentle way you stroked him. Keeping his kneading hand on the side of your breast to assist in guiding more milk into his mouth.

Your cheeks were warm, tingling from how lewd he looked at that moment. The little whimpers that came from him didn't help either. 

Happily, Satoru let those unfiltered whines pour from him, if it meant you'd know how much he was enjoying himself. 

And as your hand slightly passed his tip on the upturn, he gasped against you. Almost as a warning, he sucked harder on your sore nipple in return. Gojo let out muffled cries from your hand stroking past his tip, even if you couldn't see it- his eyes were rolled to the back of his head as he suckled instinctively. You looked away from his face- churned with an insatiable greed. 

Looking at his pinkening cock in your hand as the veins on his lower abdomen stood proud beneath his skin. His chest was heaving once more, forced to take heavy inhales through his nose as he felt the knot in his tummy tighten. 

Satoru’s whines started to rumble louder against you, watching an inhale reach down his torso, his tummy caving from how hard he exhaled. He was so close. So fucking close and fighting it at this point. You could see it in his scrunched eyebrows and desperate suckles. 

You lightly scratched your nails onto his scalp, “It’s okay ‘toru,” you sighed softly, gaining his cerulean eyes to open slightly and look up at you. You were flustered sure, but you wanted to assure Satoru that he could cum whenever he liked. He didn't need to hold off for your sake. 

Only when he saw the soft smile on your lips- something deep within him snapped. It didn't click before, even with your hand tenderly stroking him and your tit in his mouth, even as he was nursing directly from your breast. It still didn't click. 

But when you soothed his whimpers, the tender smile you had on your lips as he took and took from you. The nurturing tone you assured him with. That's when it made sense. That's when he realized why he had been longing to help you in this way. 

Before he didn’t really question it- thought it was just something weird he found hot amongst all his other strange fantasies. But now. Now it made sense. 

Your mind was a mess, barely able to process the words that fell from your lips naturally. Gojo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as you polished his cockhead, his hips bucking up into it in response. You watched as he let go of that final reservation, sucking harshly causing more of your milk to spill from the corners of his lips with frustrated whines. Being able to feel his orgasm tighten in his stomach. 

The hand on your breast was practically milking you, squeezing milk into his mouth rather than his tongue nursing at it, his nose was scrunched as he exhaled a ragged breath through his nose. Your nipple was starting to ache from the vibrating whimpers and moans, and instead of telling him to stop, you raked your fingers through his hair gently. “Shh, I know, I know.” you crooned, keeping a steady pace on his cock as he simmered his whimpers. 

Ever since Satoru told you he had little to no memories of his mother, you knew he had mommy issues. And when he started asking to taste your milk you were hesitant, knowing once that pandora's box was opened there was no use trying to close it again.

Only as you looked down at him, how content and blissful he looked- unlike anything you've ever seen before, you didn't mind if it didn’t close again. 

Satoru parted his eyes, feeling his orgasm slowly slip in his tummy, you watched as his eyes fluttered back to his head- mumbling something in the sound of ‘m’cummi-’ against your skin as you sped up your pace. His hips twitching up into your hand as you jerked him quickly, his lungs could barely handle how little air he was inhaling, his brain fuzzy as he slurped and lapped at your nipple. 

Gojo saw stars as you stroked him past the pinnacle you worked him up, his eyes squinted harshly as his lips unlatched from your breast, throaty groans mixed with whines fell from his lips as his orgasm oozed over your hand. When your thumb caressed the opening on his tip, his cock spurted out another pump of his cum with a whine. 

As you helped work through his orgasm, smaller pumps of his seed assisted in the wet strokes you gave him, Satoru latched back onto your breast with a content sigh, needing to drain as much as he could, his cock slowly softening in your hand. 

And as he drank the rest of your milk you rested your hand on his lower belly, waiting for him to finish taking what he needed. His mouth wasn’t suckling as frantically nor hurried as before. You relished in the warmth his lips provided with a sigh, closing your eyes as the sun started rising. Being able to see the light through your closed eyes. 

When Satoru couldn't taste any more milk coming from your drained breast, he hesitantly pulled away. Resting his head in your hand as he looked up to the ceiling hazily, milk drunk as your breasts obstructed his view.

He inhaled, “Throw away that stupid machine.” you sighed, knowing he’s hated the breast pump since he saw you use it for the first time. 

“What am I gonna do when you're not around?” you murmured, thinking of a world where you wouldn't have access to a pump. 

“Call me and I'll find you.” 

You let out a small laugh. Leaning your back onto the couch as Satoru setted on your hand. “So fucking weird.” You murmured, hearing him let out a smiley breath. 

Satoru sat up, turning to you with an endearing gaze, “Only cause I like you soooo much.” he claimed, pressing a kiss onto your temple before standing. Reaching out for your hand, ignoring the mess on his tummy, pulling you to stand as he led you to the master bathroom. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” you muttered behind him, watching him halt his steps and looking back at you, “What?” he asked with a smug smile and creased eyebrows. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “...Breakfast?” not understanding what was confusing about the question. 

Satoru scoffed, “What for? You just fed me.” he spoke sweetly, watching the grimace on your face churn with an appalled ‘ugh!’ as you snapped your hand away from his. You scoffed as he reached for your hand again, pulling you into his arms. Peppering kisses over your features as you groaned.

“You’re so nasty.” you scoffed as he stepped forward, leading you into the bathroom with various kisses on your cheeks. 

You were sure this little activity Satoru found so much attraction in, would make its way into your daily routine. Only you didn't mind it as much as you thought you would.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

writing this added 3 years to my life dead ass.

[charmedreincarnation]

When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 6 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

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

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mutual pining, SLOW BURN, mentions of smoking and other questionable decisions

words: 9.8k (🤐)

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 6 ► the fighting that i keep inviting could lead me to my grave

Two 4 AM trains in the span of 48 hours were more than you or Jungkook could handle, so both of you slept through nearly the entire nine-hour ride from Paris to Berlin. You only woke up for the transfer in Mannheim, but barely—hunger carried you both to the train station where you could buy warm pastries before going back to sleep.

By the time the two of you rejoined the band, you felt exhausted and disoriented. Although you didn’t regret the detour to Paris, you still struggled to imagine how Jungkook was going to manage to perform a show in Berlin tonight. You hoped the exhaustion from the trip would numb him down to just the right level of insanity that he’d be able to pull it off.

In any case, you sent him to get some sleep for a few hours before Rated Riot’s soundcheck, while you went to check up on the crew that you’d left unsupervised while you were in Paris.

Unsurprisingly, everything was under control: Seokjin kept a tight grip on the stage management crew—you probably wouldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it time and time again, but someone who joked around at every chance he got still managed to have one of the strongest work ethics on tour—and Namjoon had kept the remaining members of Rated Riot busy.

If you hadn’t been exhausted to the point of confusion, you might have felt offended about how little you were needed here.

Half an hour later, Luna found you stumbling back into the tour bus.

“How was the wedding?” she asked straight away.

She wasn’t the type to conceal her eagerness when she was particularly curious about something—it was not even the wedding in this case, but your confrontation with Jungkook—but she still made sure to help you climb up the bus steps before you tumbled backwards and broke your neck.

You were far too tired to understand the expectations that hid behind her question, however, as you mumbled dejectedly, “I caught the bouquet.”

“You—” she began to say and then burst into laughter so unexpectedly that the roadie, who’d been unloading the stage equipment outside the bus, flinched in surprise. “You caught the bouquet! Of course, you caught the fucking bouquet.”

You wondered if you were too out of it to understand why this was so funny to her that she couldn’t stop laughing the entire ride to the venue, but you lacked the energy to ask.

“There was no ex,” you said as you glided towards your bunk while your amused friend stood back, covering up the sharp angles on your way with her hand. “Sid was just being an idiot. If I see him—well, I probably won’t do anything because I don’t know what the laws for assault are in Germany—are we in Germany? I’m so tired.”

Noticing your haphazard stream of thoughts, Luna pulled herself together and stopped laughing—but only for a short while—as she helped you reach your bunk.

“We are in Germany,” she confirmed. “Although I’m not sure where you are. How about you take a quick nap while the band does their soundcheck?”

“No, no. I have things to do now that I’m back. To make up for leaving.”

“Things are fine,” she assured you. You knew she was right, but your guilt was persistent. “Nothing fell apart while you were gone. The guys took care of themselves just fine. You’ve raised them well.”

You acknowledged the joke with a small, tired smile. That was good enough for Luna, who was starting to get worried your condition would require medical attention, considering how adamantly you were resisting her attempts to sit you down in your bunk—despite looking like you may fall asleep standing up.

“Are you sure?” you asked again.

“I am,” she said. “Sleep, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Somewhere deep in your exhausted subconsciousness, you realised how unprofessional it would be to take a nap while the band you managed went to the soundcheck on their own. But your eyes were closing without your say so, and you hardly could have helped anyone in a state like this anyway.

When you woke up several hours later, Rated Riot were doing their Meet & Greet according to schedule, and you felt much better—or, at least, good enough to return to your regular duties. You grabbed a Snickers bar from the mini-fridge, and then went out of the bus and into the venue.

As it turned out, it was only the stage management crew and the producers who had kept things in control; they were the ones who hadn’t noticed your absence. Unfortunately, everyone else had.

Luna was kind when she told you that nothing fell apart while you were gone.

Some things wobbled, and there were several rushed phone calls you had to make to fix it—namely, to make up for one of the interviews that Rated Riot missed because they were doing another interview, which wasn’t initially scheduled— but you were grateful for all of it. The sudden rush of adrenaline completely woke you up.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was doing jumping jacks in the changing room to keep himself awake after he managed to survive the Meet & Greet. It wasn’t terrible—it was, actually, very inspiring as these events tended to be—but he couldn’t stop apologising to the fans for his incessant yawning. It just wasn’t right. He was better than that—the fans deserved his complete presence.

The other Rated Riot members were getting snacks at the buffet on the first floor; they planned to go exploring Berlin for an hour or two before the show. Aware of that, Sid, Jude, and Minjun found their way into the changing room.

Their arrival stopped Jungkook’s exercise before they even announced their entrance. For a minute, the four of them regarded each other in complete silence.

Even Jude was quiet this time. As it turned out, his earlier sneezing was a lesser-known withdrawal symptom that one night out in the city seemed to fix—at least that’s what he informed everyone in the group chat. Jungkook wanted to know nothing about it; he rarely drew lines with his friends, but he drew one here. His preferred method of intoxication had always been alcohol and cigarettes, he never needed more thrills.

“Well!” Jungkook finally exclaimed. “If it isn’t my four-thousand dollars.”

Even if his friends hadn’t seen you two leave together the other day, everyone travelling with Rated Riot was aware that the manager of the band was going to be gone for a day, because she was taking a trip to Paris with Jungkook.

Sid mumbled something incoherent while Jude shook his head, and Minjun just stood there, hands in his pockets. He was the one who spoke up first, glancing between the three other boys.

“It seems like he won fair and square,” he said to Sid and Jude, both of whom appeared to be looking for loopholes. “I see no appeals.”

“That’s right,” Jungkook declared. “I did win fair. Even though some of you tried to play dirty.”

He only glanced at Sid as he said this—the insinuation obvious enough—but his friend reacted like he’d been shot.

“I didn’t even say anything to her!” he defended. Jungkook couldn’t help a knowing grin—he hadn’t even said anything about Sid talking to you. Irritably, Sid continued, “and how did you even win, exactly? We bet on a date, not a—whatever the fuck you two did.”

“We went on a date,” Jungkook said again, taking pride in his calm tone and the way it seemed to cause steam to come out of Sid’s ears. “To a wedding. Do I get an extra $500 for how romantic that is?”

Really, he didn’t care about the extra money. He cared about Sid’s reaction—and it was satisfying. The older boy rolled his eyes and kept toying with his hands: crossing, then uncrossing them, stuffing them in his pockets, then resting them on the back of a chair in front of him.

Finally, he said, “you went as friends.”

“She was my date,” Jungkook reiterated. “That’s how weddings work. You don’t bring friends, you bring dates.”

“That’s not—” Jude tried to interject, but Sid extended a dangerous hand and cut him off with this gesture alone.

“Did you kiss her at the end of this date?” he asked, the last word sounding more like a synonym for a massacre than a romantic night out on his lips.

Jungkook frowned at him. “How is that relevant to the bet?”

“It’s the most important part. That’s the one thing that separates your—your outing from actual dates.”

Jungkook swallowed and looked at his other friends. Jude seemed distracted, not paying much attention to the conversation at all, while Minjun just appeared uncomfortable like he had the first time he found out about the bet. Neither of them jumped to his side or even offered a sympathetic nod.

“That wasn’t what we talked about when we agreed to the bet,” Jungkook said. His voice lacked certainty and Sid picked up on it immediately.

“That’s literally how dates go,” he said and broke off into a leisurely stroll around the changing room. His previous resentment had long but faded as he explained, “you spend time together, you talk, whatever—then you kiss.”

“Sid, my man,” Minjun waited until Sid stopped walking, then patted him on the back, mocking comfort. “This reasoning is not on your side at all.”

“Yeah,” Jude agreed, snorting. “By this logic, you’ve never been on a single date in your whole life.”

Sid pushed his tongue into his cheek in annoyance, and even Jungkook grinned as the two boys high-fived over Sid’s head.

“It was a date,” Jungkook repeated once more. “Stop looking for ways out of it and go get my money.”

Jude pushed his hand into his back pocket where he kept his wallet—this didn’t seem to faze him much; for someone who had an abundance of it, this was just money—but Sid extended his hand again, signalling for him to stop. Clearly, it wasn’t just money for him. It was a matter of pride.

“Dude, you have got to stop doing that,” Jude said as Sid’s arm smacked him on the chest. “I’m not a fucking dog.”

Ignoring him, Sid narrowed his eyes at Jungkook. “You went to that wedding as friends and you know it.”

“Actually, thanks to you, I barely went to that wedding at all,” Jungkook shot back. He took one step closer to Sid with each sentence that followed, “but I did. And I took her as my date. Just like I said I would. So, pay up.”

By the time he finished speaking, he was right in front of him—and, therefore, had the best seats in the house to witness Sid actually hesitate, likely for the first time in his life.

Still, Sid clicked his tongue and said, “I don’t think so.”

Throwing his head back with a groan, Jungkook placed his hands on his hips.

“Sounds like you’re too idiotic to admit you lost,” he said. “Now what?”

He’d meant the question for the rest of his friends, but it was Sid who needed less than two seconds to offer a solution.

“We’ll use a referee,” he said, turning around. “Minjun?”

Clearly not having expected to be assigned this role, Minjun opened his mouth in surprise, then closed it again.

“What—why do I have to referee?” he asked after a moment. “I wasn’t even there when you made the bet.”

“That’s exactly why,” Sid said. “Jungkook, Jude and I are involved. You’re the only one who can be impartial.”

Jungkook didn’t protest; he didn’t see the point. Minjun was more level-headed than Sid, so he liked those odds. Not to mention, he’d always had a different friendship with Minjun, one that actually felt like a friendship. So, he only shrugged when Minjun glanced at him as if asking if he agreed with this.

Noticing this, Sid wondered, for a split-second, if Minjun really could be as impartial as he thought he’d be (and he’d thought that, of course, Minjun would swing more in his direction—all of Sid’s friends did, that’s why they were his friends).

“Fine,” Minjun decided, making his way to the middle of the changing room. “Sit down. Tell us about the date.”

All three of them obediently relocated to the couch. Jungkook had to sit on the armrest because Sid and Jude took up the entirety of the loveseat with their exceptional talent at manspreading.

“What else do you want me to say?” he asked. “I already told you everything.”

“That was barely anything,” Sid protested next to him.

Jungkook was about to argue back, but Minjun spoke first, “Sid’s right. I need to know more details so I can make an informed decision.”

Jungkook didn’t know if that was fair—he’d taken you out on a date, he’d won—and he didn’t want to share anything else with them. This seemed like Sid’s way to rile him up even more, and the rest of his friends played along with it.

“We went to a wedding,” he said.

“You already said that,” Minjun pointed out.

“Okay,” Jungkook clenched his jaw. Then added, “we took a train to get there.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jude was the one who got annoyed first as he groaned and locked his hands behind his head. “If that’s all you did, you definitely didn’t go to that wedding as dates. You barely went as friends, my man.”

Offended, Jungkook shuffled in his seat, trying to throw one leg over the other, but nearly losing his balance on the armrest as he did. He settled back into his previous stoic position.

“That’s—that’s not all we did,” he said awkwardly.

“Okay, so what else?” Minjun encouraged. “Did you talk?”

“No, we mimed to make it more fun,” he deadpanned. “Of course, we fucking talked. We talked the whole time on the train.”

Ignoring his wit, Minjun gave a thoughtful nod. “Okay. So, that’s what? Fifteen hours of non-stop talking? That’s a point for Jungkook.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sid immediately perked up, leaning forward with so much force that he nearly knocked Jungkook off the armrest. “But how do we know he’s not lying to us?”

Jungkook thought he might start throwing things. He wasn’t sure how he felt about whatever this was, but it sure reminded him of an interrogation, and he couldn’t help feeling defensive—to the point of physical violence if that’s what it took. But Minjun took his role as a referee very seriously.

“Because I have to pry information about this date out of him,” he said. Sid leaned back in his seat, smacking his lips in resignation. Minjun added, this time throwing a warning look at Jungkook, “and because if he says something I have a hard time believing, I’ll go straight to the other source.”

Jungkook widened his eyes, near-frantic. “You can’t ask her. She’ll kick me out of the band. She’ll never fucking speak to me again!”

Unsure which consequence Jungkook was more afraid of, Minjun nodded and said, gentler now, “then don’t lie.”

“I haven’t lied once,” he argued, picking up a decorative pillow off the floor—it must have fallen there when the two boys sat down on the couch—and tossing it at Sid, who caught it before it hit his face. “Your distrustful ass needs to shut up and quit whining. You fucking lost.”

“I didn’t fucking—”

“Focus,” Minjun said firmly—like a teacher, trying to discipline unruly kindergartners. “Jungkook. What did you talk about? How many mentions of your feelings for each other?”

Jungkook closed his eyes at the question, pushing his chin forward, an expression of blatant disbelief on his face.

“How many mentions of—what the fuck?” he spoke, unable to repeat the question without scoffing. He opened his eyes to look at each one of his friends. “Have any of you ever been on a real date?”

“I’d be on one right now if we weren’t holding court about a fucking bet,” Jude mumbled, his stare vacant as he clearly shifted in and out of focus on this conversation.

“I take it no mentions, then,” Minjun concluded.

“Of course, no mentions,” Jungkook groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Who the fuck—”

“1-1,” Minjun declared, cutting him off. Cursing under his breath at the ridiculous, almost unrealistic turn that this bet had taken, Jungkook pushed himself deeper into the armrest, his side purposefully digging into Sid’s. Minjun asked, “how much time did you spend together—just the two of you—excluding the time on the train?”

“Wh—okay,” the vocalist inhaled, figuring he’d have to actually answer this one or else his friend would vote in Sid’s favour again. “We took a cab to the wedding. And walked around the Champs-Elysées.”

“Good, good,” Minjun nodded. “Was there any sort of—"

“Wait,” Jungkook stopped him, “don’t I get a point for that?”

“For what?” Sid interjected. “Walking down the street with her?”

“It wasn’t a fucking—”

“You get half a point,” Minjun said. “Now was there any sort of physical touching? Any hugs? Embraces?”

Again, Jungkook was forced to give his friends questioning looks. He felt incredulous—not just because it was starting to seem likely that he’d lose the bet, but also because they were forcing him to share the parts of his life that he’d never shared with anyone other than you before.

“You’re exploiting the shit out of me right now,” he said.

Minjun groaned and proceeded to curse as he spun around his axis, finally losing patience—not with Jungkook per se. He was just tired of being the middleman in a very stupid, childish game.

“We’re literally trying to find out if you were on a date or not,” he said louder. “Why is it so hard for you to just answer the questions and get this over with?”

“Because it’s my fucking business!” Jungkook snapped, jumping to his feet. “We never agreed that I’d have to share any details about the date. Just the fact that there even was a date was supposed to be enough.”

“But we don’t know if there was a date,” Sid argued—in every way that Jungkook appeared agitated right now, Sid came off as victorious. He knew this wasn’t looking good for Jungkook. “That’s the whole point.”

“Why the fuck would I take her to Paris,” he demanded, aware that he was yelling now, “if not for a fucking date?!”

“Because you’re in love with her,” Sid shot back. The relative calmness of his voice in comparison to his only pissed Jungkook off more.

Both of them were standing now, but Sid, who was only taller by a few centimetres, somehow always had the upper hand—not just in this conversation, but in their friendship, too.

In barely fifteen minutes, the tables had turned completely, and Jungkook was the one losing control of himself.

“That has nothing to do with—oh my God,” he covered his face with his hands and turned his back to his friends, giving up. “Okay. Fine. I can’t do this shit.”

“So, you admit defeat?” Sid asked—Jungkook could hear the grin on his friend’s face without looking at him.

“I admit nothing,” he grumbled.

“If you can’t prove it was a date, you lose.”

Turning around to look at him, Jungkook shrugged with exaggerated intensity as he asked through a humourless laugh, “how would I prove it? Everything I say sounds like a joke to you three.”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Jude spoke up suddenly—another return to the home planet—and then mumbled, “you’re not very funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be—” Jungkook stopped and inhaled sharply. He’d grown tired of playing this courtroom drama with the three of them. “Alright. I need to get ready for the show.”

All three of his friends understood the subtle indication that Jungkook was kicking them out of the changing room—Minjun turned towards the door and Jude stood up from the couch. But Sid stood still.

“The keys,” he said.

Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“Hand over the keys.”

Clenching his jaw, Jungkook kept eye contact with him for a minute before saying firmly, “I’m not handing you anything.”

“You lost the bet,” Sid said—his voice gaining a dangerous edge now that Jungkook wasn’t complying. “The Katana is mine.”

Jungkook pursed his lips as he continued to stare defiantly into his friend’s eyes.

“If I can’t prove it was a date,” he said, “then you can’t prove it wasn’t.”

The two of them watched each other for another minute until Sid licked his lips and nodded, signalling that—for once—he agreed to disagree.

“Alright,” he said, looking around the room. Jungkook did not feel relief. He felt tension. “I see how it is. How about we adjust the conditions of the bet, then?”

Even though he was sure he didn’t want to know, Jungkook still asked, “what does that mean?”

“If you manage to get back together with her,” Sid proposed, “we’ll all pay you $5000 each.”

Just as Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, Minjun furrowed his, declaring right away, “don’t include me in your shit.”

“Fine,” Sid agreed. Then clarified to Jungkook, “Jude and I will pay you $5000 each.”

It took Jude a moment to react, and he, too, tried to back out of this. “I don’t think I—”

“You were in the original bet,” Sid said, shooting a warning look his way, “you can’t get out now.”

Jude wasn’t very pleased with having to go through this again—even if the first bet didn’t, technically, cost him anything. He relented, though, because he always did, “fine, you bitch.”

Sid looked back at Jungkook, waiting for his response.

Aware of the predicament that he’d found himself in—or, rather, that Sid had manipulated him in—Jungkook crossed his arms on his chest and took his time before speaking up.

“And if I disagree?” he asked.

“Well, you have two options here,” Sid said, “either you give the keys to me because you lost the previous bet, or you hand the keys over to Minjun, our impartial referee, while I wait for you to lose this updated bet.”

Minjun rolled his eyes again, annoyed that he still couldn’t escape being involved in Sid’s game.

Jungkook, on the other hand, needed another minute. He’d definitely prefer to give Minjun the keys—just because he knew Minjun might give them back to him.

“So, just to be clear,” Jungkook started slowly, “you’re saying that if I get back together with her, I’m keeping the Katana and getting 10K?”

“Yes,” Sid confirmed. “And if you don’t, the bike’s ours. We’ll find good use for it. How does that sound?”

Like signing your soul over for the devil, that’s how it sounded.

Jungkook shook his head. A date was a date, he thought you would find a way to let that slide if you accidentally found out. But his relationship with you wasn’t for sale.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Sid took it well, merely shrugging as he extended his hand, palm up. “Well, then hand over the keys.”

Agitated again, Jungkook smacked his palm against Sid’s. “Get out of here. I’m not fucking—”

“You lost the bet,” Sid repeated, enunciating each word so loudly, it cut Jungkook off. “The Katana is fucking mine, I’m just generous enough to give you another chance to win it back.”

“It’s not fucking yours.”

“He’s right,” Jude spoke up again—very unhappy that he was only remembered when the topic turned to him paying. “It’s technically ours.”

“It’s mine,” Jungkook said, taking a moment to look at both, Sid and Jude, as he repeated, “I didn’t lose.”

“Then you have no choice,” Sid concluded. “The bet is ongoing.”

“How is it ongoing?” he argued. “It’s one thing to go on a date—”

“Which you didn’t,” Sid interjected.

“—which I did,” Jungkook countered, his eyes burning with a flame so angry, it was almost a miracle Sid didn’t immediately catch fire. “But you’re suggesting a completely different thing now. Starting a relationship is not the same. Especially if it’s a relationship with someone you already dated before.”

“I know,” Sid said, seemingly unbothered. Jungkook wondered why, because his friend didn’t look pleased, either. He didn’t look like he’d tricked him, like he knew he’d win for sure.

Clearly then, Sid had to think that the odds of winning this bet were, more or less, equal for both of them. That had to mean that a part of him believed that Jungkook could really get back together with you.

Consequently, Jungkook realised that Sid wasn’t, really, suggesting anything at all. He was simply telling him that this was how it was going to be from now on.

“I can’t do that just randomly,” he said. “I can’t just approach her and ask her this. It’s—”

“Two weeks,” Sid said. “That enough for you?”

Jungkook swallowed.

Even though he wanted this, he knew that attempting to get back together with you now could jeopardize everything that you’ve done in the past two years as Rated Riot’s manager. Jungkook didn’t think he wanted to burn down the same bridges that the two of you had built back from the ground up.

That being said, there was a glimmer of hope—very obscure, barely there, not even visible, really, just faintly humming somewhere about his chest—that you would get back together, and his reward wouldn’t just be $10 000.

It’d also be a future with you; the very same one that he could sense in Paris.

He knew he didn’t need a bet to bring this future to the present. If anything, the bet might hinder the progress of your relationship. But if there was a possibility that he’d get everything: you, his bike, and the defeat of Sid; if there was a possibility that, for once, the idiot would lose and all of his shit-talking would come back to make him miserable… Jungkook was on the edge of considering it.

Smirking as the younger boy bit his lip in anxious contemplation, Sid looked at the other two guys in the room and announced cheerfully, “you’re actually doubting this!”

“I’m not doubting the time frame,” Jungkook said. “I’m doubting if you’ll keep your end of the deal since you’re very much fucking me over right now.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“We can write the conditions down and have Minjun stamp it if that makes you feel better,” he said.

Minjun—the designated lawyer, apparently—groaned, but did not audibly object. This wasn’t a conversation involving him—it barely involved Jude, who was, technically, part of the bet—so he stood back and watched the face-off on the sidelines.

“Stamp it with what?” Jungkook asked, finding this excessive. “Our blood?”

“Anything that makes you feel better.”

Jungkook brought his tongue over his teeth as he thought this over.

He couldn’t do this.

But how could he not? If he gave his bike up now, if he dropped out of the bet, Sid would be free to find you and tell you about it—acting like he didn’t mean it. Like he was just showing off the bike that Jungkook gave him, and the bet simply came up. And then, not only would Jungkook lose his Katana, but he’d definitely lose you, too.

No, he had to be the one who told you about this in hopes that, once your initial anger faded, you would cooperate with him. Not for the Katana, but to make Sid fail. And maybe that could be what brought you together, what made you stay together even after the bet ended.

It’s the only way he could win.

Sighing, he asked. “What are the conditions?”

“First of all,” Sid started—glancing at Minjun who pulled his phone out to write it down. iPhones seemed more formal than bar napkins and Jungkook bit his lip, realising this was serious as Sid dictated the rules, “you both have to be aware that you’re back together.”

“That’s already a given.”

“Not with you it isn’t, you sneaky shit,” Sid disagreed, the seemingly innocent smile on his face concealing his anger about not having gotten his way with the first bet.

“Fine,” Jungkook agreed and immediately offered his own condition, “then you can’t talk to her about the bet or attempt to ruin this for me. Just sit back and wait until it’s over.”

Sid considered this. “Alright. But you can’t tell her anything, either. If I find out that the two of you plotted against me, the deal’s off and the bike is mine.”

Jungkook was the one who needed a minute this time.

Obviously, Sid had single-handedly ruined a plan that, Jungkook now realised, wasn’t very well-developed to begin with. But Sid’s satisfied mug pushed him to clench his jaw and agree anyway.

“Fine,” he settled. “I won’t tell her anything.”

It could still be okay, he hoped. He would just have to find a different way.

Perhaps, he thought suddenly, he could drag this out long enough that Sid would forget about it. Even two weeks could be plenty if enough happened to distract him—or if Jungkook stopped talking about it altogether.

Both boys looked over at Minjun, who typed for two more seconds, then looked up at each of them and nodded.

“The keys,” Sid reminded Jungkook.

Groaning, he pulled them out and passed them over to Minjun who had the decency to look apologetic as he took them from him.

“So,” Sid continued then, grinning mischievously as he extended his hand. “Do we shake on it?”

Jungkook knew he had a big head when it came to talking about this, but he also knew that actually making this happen would be a true challenge. He wasn’t sure if he could do this. He was sure he didn’t want to do this.

But if he succeeded—fuck—he’d get you back. There was hardly anything else in this world he would still want. Maybe a nice meal every now and then, but he’d make do with dry ramen noodles until the end of his days if he had to.

Fuck.

He liked his odds; the date at Kihyun’s wedding went well, after all. But Jungkook could also recall—very vividly—you telling him that you didn’t believe in second chances. Not to mention, you’d been very explicit when you’d asked him not to lie to you again.

Fuck.

“You’re sure taking your sweet time,” Sid teased, his hand still hanging in the air. “Not so sure of yourself anymore?”

It had to get worse before it got better, Jungkook told himself.

He had to agree to this, first of all, to find a way out. Then, he had to win to turn this bet into a distant memory with minimal consequences, to make it almost like it never even happened before—without you knowing, without him losing his bike, without Sid fucking winning.

And, most importantly, through this, he had to find his way back to you.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he lied—he did it well and he could tell, based on the way Sid narrowed his eyes when Jungkook’s palm touched his. “You’re fucking pitiful. But I’m still going to win this.”

Jungkook was worried he’d have a hard time performing after agreeing to the bet, but the concert in Berlin, surprisingly, worked as a distraction.

He sensed the irony: once, he’d used the bet to distract him from the anxiety of the tour. Now he had to perform in order to distract himself from the bet.

Still, once the show finished, Minjun saw the vacancy behind Jungkook’s eyes, and it unsettled him. Wanting to take his friend’s mind off this, he suggested getting drinks once the bus arrived in Copenhagen.

Jungkook took that to assume it’d only be the two of them going out, leaving Sid and Jude to occupy themselves with something else, and he didn’t mind that at all.

But this was where unforeseen circumstances altered their plans.

While the band was having after-show drinks backstage in Berlin, the crew dismantled the stage set: several bars of batten were dropped, causing minor injuries for the staff members in charge of the deconstruction. They didn’t need medical attention, thankfully, but the equipment had been broken—decorative light fixtures with Rated Riot’s logo that were supported on the battens had shattered and the metal pipe constructions had come apart.

You were informed that it would take approximately two hours to salvage what was fixable and load the equipment back onto the buses before you could leave for Copenhagen. Naturally, you were concerned about the state of the staff—if they could even drive after this—but they assured you they were fine. Still, you insisted they rested after having reassembled the equipment and assessed the damage.

Finally, everyone settled on leaving Berlin at five or six in the morning—that gave you, at least, five more hours in the city.

While this might turn out to be a logistical challenge for you and the rest of the roadies, it was an opportunity for Minjun, who immediately pulled Jungkook outside, already looking up the closest bars.

“No time like the present,” he’d said after Jungkook questioned what happened to getting drinks in Denmark. “We grab something here, get some sleep, and then grab something else once we arrive.”

Most unfortunately, Sid and Jude also saw this as an opportunity to get drunk, and did not hesitate to invite themselves to join the other two boys.

Technically, Jungkook and Minjun didn’t even realise that they weren’t the only ones entering the bar until Sid ordered them to get a table while he and Jude went to get drinks.

They were always the ones who picked the drinks for the night, and, for the first time in his life, Jungkook felt a little concerned—Sid and Jude always, without a fail, chose the drinks with the highest alcohol concentration.

“Why do you care?” Minjun asked as the two of them settled in the booth of the bar. “You’ve only passed out drunk, maybe, three times in your whole life.”

“I haven’t slept properly in two days,” Jungkook said. “So the fourth time might be tonight. And if that happens—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll personally carry you home,” Minjun replied. “I’m not getting your girl involved.”

“What girl?” Sid asked, returning with a tray. The question was unnecessary, really; he was already grinning anyway. “Last time I checked, she wanted nothing to do with you and only went to Paris with you out of—”

“One more word about it,” Jungkook said, “and I’m leaving you stranded in Germany.”

“Sensitive,” Sid commented and sat down next to him while Jude climbed into the booth next to Minjun. “Alright. Let’s get you loosened up, you’re awfully uptight.”

Minjun noticed that whatever Jungkook prepared to respond with wasn’t going to be pretty. He wanted to avoid confrontation and pushed the highball glass towards him.

While Jungkook drank, Minjun made sure to shift the topic: staying close enough to the bet so that Sid would remain entertained, but making sure to drift away from you, so Jungkook wouldn’t be triggered, either.

“How’s the engine on your Katana?” he asked. “All good?”

The question seemed innocent enough, but Jungkook saw through this plan as he swallowed his drink. He gave his friend a look—Minjun wasn’t sure if it was grateful or just confused—as he put his glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.

“It’s fine,” he said. “The oil’s leaking, though. I still don’t know why.”

“The gasket has worn out, probably,” Jude offered right away. If he didn’t have a trust fund bigger than ideas what to do with it, he might have genuinely considered becoming a mechanic.

“It couldn’t have,” Jungkook said. “I just changed it.”

“Did you change all the plugs, too?” Sid asked. He could tell from the look in Jungkook’s eyes as he took another sip instead of answering that he hadn’t. “You don’t know how to take care of it properly. I told you that you should have let me look at it. It’s why I’m going to be—”

“You break everything you touch,” Jude accused before Sid could elaborate further. “Let me take a look at it when we get back.��

Jungkook’s three friends – although significantly wealthier than he was – had always had a soft spot for anything that had wheels. It started out with tuning their bikes when they were fifteen and turned into purchasing their own vehicles when they got older: which meant Sid, Jude, and Minjun getting their first cars at seventeen, and Jungkook purchasing his Katana as soon as he made enough money for it. Minjun had known this when he asked the question that started the conversation.

And so, for the next hour and a half, the four of them immersed themselves in a discussion about Jungkook’s Katana, Sid’s vast collection of chevies (nevermind that he’d inherited the first Chevrolet from his grandfather, and the rest were gifted to him by his parents), and Jude’s latest hobby: restoring his 2002 Nissan Skyline after he’d wrecked it drag-racing.

“See, I knew no one should let you drive,” Sid said—he’d already had five drinks at that point and was, therefore, rocking gently in his seat.

“You’re one to fucking talk” Jude heated up, equally as drunk. “You can’t tell the wheel from your ass.”

Jungkook snickered as he sipped his drink.

Minjun took over the argument, “you’re both shit, actually. As far as I remember, Jungkook and I won most of our races. But I was driving in all of them, of course.”

Here, Jungkook raised his head, his eyebrows furrowed in offence.

“Not true,” he said indignantly. “I was driving at least once when we won.”

Minjun gave him a look. “You crashed into a wall that time.”

“We still won, though.”

“Because Sid dented someone’s fence and lost a tire a minute before you!”

“Still,” Jungkook said with a pout that he was not aware of. Then, he added a very important, “I’m not that bad of a driver.”

There was irony in Minjun’s laugh as he shook his head and began to list off the consequences of their win, “both of us had whiplash. The car was totalled. Your girlfriend nearly left you.”

Jungkook put his glass down with more force than intended—any mention of you sent a signal into his subconsciousness, as it seemed. “Okay, that’s—that’s a different thing.”

“How is that a different thing?” Minjun did not relent. “You’d even named the car after her.”

“Are you implying I crashed it because I’d named it after her?”

“I’m saying if you can’t drive a car you named after your girl, then how can you—”

“You know what?” Sid cut in, growing bored. He pulled his phone out and nearly dropped it as he smacked his elbow into the edge of the table. Hissing in pain, he lifted his phone off the settee and clutched his arm, “fucking shit. God. We need a new race to settle it. You and Minjun wouldn’t be on the same team for once. You think we could rent out cars here?”

He was already browsing on his phone when Minjun snorted. “Definitely not at four in the morning.”

“We could do it tomorrow,” Jude suggested. Sid nodded right away. Jude pointed his glass at his friend’s phone and said, “look up rental places in Denmark.”

If Jungkook wasn’t so tired—and the two Manhattans he’d consumed didn’t help, either—he would have been surprised that Jude knew his European countries well enough to recognize Copenhagen as the capital of Denmark. Instead, he pulled his own phone out of his pocket.

“Actually,” he said then. “Maybe we should go. The bar closes soon, and we have to get back to the bus.”

Sid lifted his eyebrows and looked at his friends for support—Jude was already gathering his belongings, and Minjun was already halfway out of the booth, too.

“Wow,” Sid said, despite being the only one who had a problem with Jungkook’s statement. “What’d she do to you? You’re no fun.”

“I agree with him,” Minjun cut in before Jungkook could say—or throw, as he clutched his empty glass—anything else. “We should go.”

Rolling his eyes and grunting about how boring everyone had gotten in Europe, Sid pushed past them to exit the booth and headed to the bathroom before they left. Minjun made him swear not to drink anything else on his way back, and the rest of the boys went outside to wait.

Meanwhile, you had been busy helping the roadies out—before they politely escorted you outside, claiming that they were stressed out by the endless phone calls you were getting from the label after they heard of the problems with the stage set—so you hadn’t seen Jungkook leave with his friends.

But Maggie—friend, tour photographer, social drinker with an alcohol tolerance that could have knocked Jungkook out—had spotted them. And it gave her a wonderful idea the second she saw you lingering by the exit of the venue.

“Since we’re stuck in Berlin,” she had announced to you, “let’s do something with it.”

It had sounded like a suggestion only for a second—immediately after she said it, she grabbed your hand and pulled you after herself to find Luna. It wouldn’t have been a proper night out if the three of you weren’t together.

Not many bars were still open at nearly four in the morning, but Maggie seemed to have a radar—the three of you were in a booth at the very back of some half-deserted pub before the remaining 20% of your phone battery could run out.

“I don’t think I should have left, to be honest,” you said, your hand hesitating around the cocktail glass that Maggie had ordered for you as soon as you walked inside. “We were having kind of a crisis back there.”

“You weren’t doing anything,” Maggie replied. She was sitting next to you and leaned over to pat your back in a comforting manner as she admitted, “I overheard Otto call Seokjin to come pick you up and get you out of there.”

Otto was one of the roadies and Seokjin’s right hand backstage. You didn’t know he initiated your removal from the venue, and you didn’t particularly like being excluded when you thought you could have been helpful. Clearly, the stage management team thought otherwise.

“I’m with Maggie,” Luna said; she knew you’d expect her to back you up, so she spoke before you could. “If something happens, you can still go back. A few drinks won’t hurt.”

“Yeah, and besides,” Maggie raised her glass, “if the boys get to drink, we should, too.”

The two girls laughed at this, clinking their glasses—it seemed like an appropriate toast—but you needed another minute in your managerial role before you could fully detach yourself.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Who’s drinking?”

You directed your attention at Luna—your gaze inquiring about her boyfriend’s whereabouts—and she swallowed her drink before speaking. “I don’t know. Taehyung is asleep on the bus.”

“It’s Jungkook,” Maggie answered you. “I saw him leave with his friends.”

You closed your eyes, realising that you should have expected this.

Everything seemed to have been decided for you – you weren’t required back at the venue and you couldn’t, exactly, stumble around the streets of Berlin in search of Jungkook and his friends, either.

If anything, you were required here as your friends watched you expectantly.

They were right, really. A few drinks weren’t going to be a problem if you’d get a call (that is, if your phone wouldn’t die until then). And you were tired, anyway—to the point where sleep evaded you sometimes, just because you craved it so much. Alcohol might even help in this case.

However, as soon as you finally tasted the cocktail in your glass, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You glanced at your friends first—they were either lifting their eyebrows (in Maggie’s case) or rolling their eyes (in Luna’s)—then you swallowed and turned around.

“What a coincidence!” Sid exclaimed when your eyes met.

A part of you—a dark impulse that you didn’t try particularly hard to control—wanted to toss your remaining drink right at him; like holy water at a possessed child. Begone, demon.

Before you could react, however, Jungkook rushed into the bar from outside. You merely had enough time to grasp what was happening—the bar that Maggie had picked happened to be the same one that Jungkook and his friends had been drinking in—before Jungkook pulled on Sid’s shoulder, forcefully dragging him away from you.

“He was just leaving,” he said briskly.

Sid tried to resist, but Jungkook had more strength—and far more determination. “I wasn’t. I’m actually—”

“He’s leaving,” Jungkook repeated with a strictness in his voice that you weren’t sure you’d heard before.

“What are you even doing here?” Sid whined at his friend as he was tossed to a side that was furthest away from you. “I thought you were waiting outside.”

“You took too long,” Jungkook mumbled. “Go.”

Sid groaned, but allowed the younger boy to literally drag him away. Once Minjun was close enough, he took over and grabbed the side of Sid’s jacket, pushing him through the door of the bar.

Jungkook looked back at you and gave you a small nod—as though encouraging you to stay with your friends instead of going after him to check up on him. You nodded back, thus allowing him to walk outside after Sid.

Jungkook was fuming.

Things had been going well tonight; he’d actually had a nice night with his friends and even forgot that these were the same people who pushed him into this bet.

But then he was forced to watch—in horror—as Sid approached you back at the bar, and he remembered everything.

So, while Sid pushed Minjun off of himself, Jungkook snarled, “I thought it was clear that you can’t fucking talk to her.”

Sid only shrugged and pulled out a cigarette from a pack inside his jacket pocket. “I just went over to say hi.”

“Don’t.”

Sid rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to mention the bet,” he spoke and offered cigarettes to Jude and Minjun first, then to Jungkook. All three of them took one each. Sid lit his up and continued, “you can’t forbid me from talking to her altogether.”

“Actually, I can,” Jungkook replied, still irritated that he hadn’t been there—once again—to stop Sid from approaching you. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing now.”

Despite the argument, Jungkook took Sid’s lighter when he offered it to him. In doing so, he realised that the paradox of this situation summarised their friendship fairly well. It had always been like this between him and Sid: constantly bantering and arguing, but staying friends, nevertheless.

“Why?” Sid asked with a grin, perpetually amused by Jungkook’s protectiveness. He blew smoke out and asked, “scared I’ll steal her from you?”

Jude and Minjun snorted in unison. The mocking sound took Sid’s attention off Jungkook as he glowered at them.

“You’re drunker than I thought,” Minjun commented, bolder than Jude was under Sid’s glare.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sid challenged. “You all know I’m one of a fucking kind.”

Now Jude and Minjun were nearly howling with laughter, and even Jungkook couldn’t resist smirking. Meanwhile, Sid’s frown deepened. He liked to tease others; he didn’t like to be teased—never mind that he was setting himself up for mockery.

“You’re not shit,” Jude retorted, too drunk to come up with a wittier comeback. “She would never go for you.”

“No, he had a point,” Jungkook said. “She’s never hated anyone for as long as I’ve known her. Except for him.” He turned to Sid with a derisive grin. “So, you really are one of a kind.”

“Oh, I see,” Sid laughed humourlessly. He took another drag and then said to Jungkook—not even blinking as he watched him, “tonight was fun. But it’s going to get even better once you lose the bet.”

Jungkook remained apathetic as he removed the cigarette from his lips. “I won’t.”

“You will,” Sid insisted. His intense staring was an intimidation tactic that Jungkook had already grown accustomed to. He did not twitch or back away when Sid leaned in closer. “And you know why? Because you’re in love with her.”

This time, he wasn’t going to argue otherwise. Sid had used this as a weapon, he meant to ridicule him with it. But Jungkook—in this tipsy and tired state—realised that his self-esteem didn’t depend on whether his friends thought he still loved you or not.

Before, he had been eager to show them that he didn’t care about you—he thought that was the only way he could prove that his friends weren’t significantly better than him just because they weren’t in love with anyone.

Now he was going to show them that he did care about you, and caring still didn’t make him inferior.

“This might be disappointing to you,” Jungkook retorted, “but I can be in love with her and still make you lose.”

“See,” Sid said, grinning because this confession was precisely what he was coaxing out of Jungkook. And it was precisely the reason why Sid thought Jungkook would never win against him—be it a bet, or just in life in general. “But I don’t think you can.”

“Sit back and watch me, then,” Jungkook replied, blowing smoke out in Sid’s face. He pulled back immediately and the dissatisfied frown on his face was, simply put, beautiful.

Back inside, the girls chose to avoid discussing what had just happened with you. They had their reasons for changing the topic, too: Maggie had a policy against all boys who dared to interrupt your girls’ night, and Luna simply knew that if you continued to talk about this, you’d be more tempted to go out and check if Jungkook wasn’t getting into trouble.

But not even ten minutes later—just when you’d finished your second glass—Jungkook himself unexpectedly returned to the bar. You’d noticed him from across the room, and the second your eyes met, he made a beeline for you.

“Sorry about that before,” he said to everyone at your table, nodding apologetically at Luna and Maggie. “I, um, wanted to let you know that I’m going to be heading back. The bus is about to leave, right?”

Still surprised by his sudden reappearance, you were slow to pick your phone up. The battery had finally given in; you couldn’t tell what time it was. Both girls noticed this and were about to pull their own electronics out, but Jungkook reacted first.

“It’s four-thirty,” he said helpfully. “The bar is closing soon.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “Yeah. The bus is leaving in an hour, probably. Where’s the rest of your posse?”

“They already left,” he said without a further comment. Instead, he asked, “actually, can I talk to you for a second before I go?”

You looked back at your friends—both of them gave you permissive nods with grins that might’ve made the Cheshire Cat run away in shame.

“Sure,” you told Jungkook and turned your head away from your friends as if you could pretend you hadn’t seen their teasing smiles—that only made them giggle more.

The two of you walked towards the nearly empty bar—reasonable people were asleep this early in the morning—which wasn’t very far from your booth, but you figured the music played loud enough to drown your conversation out.

“So, um,” Jungkook began slowly—awkwardly—as he leaned his elbow against the bar top. “How are you feeling after the trip and… everything?”

There was something endearing about the uncertainty with which he’d asked you this. Pursing your lips lightly to hide your smile, you said, “it should be me asking you that.”

“It’s not. I’m the one asking,” he said so matter-of-factly that your smile only widened. He added, “I’m fine anyway.”

“I’m okay, too,” you said. “Tired to the point of taking a nap right on this bar, but other than that, I’m fine.”

He glanced at the bar after you’d mentioned it—as if assessing if it’d be a comfortable enough place to sleep on.

“Will you, um—will you be okay going back?” he asked then.

Your smile was plain and obvious now; hiding it required too much effort. Maybe the drinks Maggie got you were laced with something.

“It should be me asking you that, too,” you said.

“I’ll be perfect,” he replied, waving his hand around dismissively. “But I can, uh, stay back,” he looked at your friends over his shoulder—you noticed them both turn away, having been caught staring. “But I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, yeah, no,” you agreed, your eyes still locked on the girls. “Maggie has a strict no-boys rule.”

You weren’t sure if she heard you or if her sudden snickering was unrelated to your comment.

“Oh?” this seemed to pique his interest. “Are you going to get in trouble now?”

“Probably,” you said casually enough. Trouble with Maggie usually meant more drinks, so you weren’t particularly worried. “She might already have a penalty for me.”

Despite you making it sound like this wasn’t the first time a boy interrupted your girls’ night to talk to you, Jungkook felt himself smile—he was the boy you’d broken Maggie’s rule for tonight.

“Because of me?” he still asked, a noticeable sense of entitlement behind his words.

“Don’t get excited.”

He snorted. “What’s the penalty? I’ll do it for you.”

“I’ll do it myself,” you said with a sigh as you extended your hands and laid your head on the bartop. “But some other night. I’m shutting down now.” You noticed the flash of concern in his eyes after you’d said that and added, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be heading back soon anyway. Get back to your friends.”

Your last sentence made him pause.

“That’s—” he stopped for another moment to mentally rewind through all the years that he’s known you. “That’s probably the first time you said that.”

You shrugged, having just enough energy to tease, “I trust Minjun.”

“Minju—but not me?” he questioned, offended.

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, how do I speed that up, then?”

“You can’t.”

He watched you for a minute, analysing your face for a possible option. He offered, “another trip to Paris?”

You knew he was joking, but you still grunted in refusal—that only made his teasing smirk widen.

“That’ll do the opposite,” you said. “I’m not going off-tour again. Look what happened tonight.”

You weren’t completely serious, but you couldn’t help but still feel uncomfortable that you had the leisure to travel Europe and drink with your friends, while the rest of the staff had to struggle with a stage set that was, apparently, falling apart.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you genuinely blamed yourself or if this was just an illustrative exaggeration—your tired face was hard to read.

“Our trip to Paris is unrelated to what happened with the stage tonight,” he assured you in any case.

“Related or not,” you said and yawned mid-word, “now I can’t get proper sleep.”

His reaction was immediate—with one hand on your palm that you’d rested on the bar top, and another one on your waist, he encouraged, “come on, then. I’ll take you back to the bus. Let’s sleep.”

You were tempted—not just because his touch was warm and soft, but also because the thought of sleep seemed so satisfying right now that even the music in the bar faded into the background.

Still, you resisted, “the girls—”

“We’re fine!” Luna hollered; her glass raised. She was already tipsy and, obviously, had been waiting for an opening to give you permission to leave. “Maggie and I are going to stay back a while.”

You lifted your head to look at your friends again and caught them both smirking at you. They had seemingly overheard the entirety of your conversation, never mind the music.

“The bar closes in half an hour,” you reminded them with a frown. Jungkook’s hands were still on you—more supportive than before as soon as he felt the gentle sway of your tired body.

“We’ll find a way to keep ourselves busy until it’s time to leave,” Maggie added—which surprised you. Normally, it was the three of you against anyone who dared to interrupt your night. “You two can go ahead.”

You turned to Jungkook, who nodded at the door and seemed to make this decision for you. You really needed that today and you were quite unashamed about it; if anything, you appreciated everyone else deciding what you’d do for once.

You stood up properly and took a step away from him—he had to let go and did so reluctantly—to pick up your phone and your handbag from the booth. Your friends watched you, beaming, and you caught yourself before you began to smile, too.

Then, you allowed Jungkook to take you back to the bus.

It wasn’t a long walk, but you felt too drained to even take your shoes off when you got back. Plugging your phone in to charge, you laid down on your bunk, still in your clothes, and looked over at Jungkook.

Stubbornly, he refused to go to sleep until he was sure you were settled, so he was leaning against the partition wall between the opposite row of bunks.

“I’m still waiting until my phone will charge some,” you said, trying to make him reconsider. You paused to yawn again, then explained, “so I can check on the rest of our staff.”

“I’ll wait with you, then,” he said.

“No,” your firm voice got him to stop unexpectedly—he was already approaching you. “You hadn’t gotten any sleep, either. And you performed a whole gig tonight. Go to sleep.”

He resumed his journey and took a seat next to you on your bunk. “I’ll wait.”

You rolled over on your back to look at him. “You literally don’t have to do that.”

“And I’ll do it anyway.”

You exhaled, far too tired to argue about this. Your eyes could barely stay open enough to make sure he really was sitting on your bunk, and you hadn’t just dreamt him—the possibility wasn’t far-fetched, after all. It’s happened before.

“You shouldn’t,” you said softly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m an adult, right? You said so,” he reminded you. You were worried that your words at the wedding would come back to bite you. “So, I can stay up waiting with you if I want.”

You sighed in response, your mind refusing to think of any more arguments or questions about why he found it necessary to bother waiting with you.

Satisfied, Jungkook scooted deeper into your bunk and crossed his legs, getting more comfortable.

He did as he’d promised—waited with you until your phone charged enough to make a phone call. Then he brought you water, because you called Seokjin and couldn’t say a word, your throat too dry to speak.

And then, half an hour later, when you were already asleep and he was sure you wouldn’t remember, he pulled your duvet over your body—so you wouldn’t get cold—and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your forehead—so he wouldn’t, either.

chapter title credits: palaye royale, “toxic in you”

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[bucksangel]

okay you’re straight up ATTACKING ME!!!! It’s been two days and i’m still losing my mind (which is the natural response to seeing sebastian) this will be quick but it’s giving me soooo many ideas😫😫

pairing: alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

word count: 870

warnings: 18+ minors dni, mention of oral (f receiving), alpha!bucky being a complete menace, kinda dom/in charge!reader??, that’s it i think

It’s hard, so fucking hard trying to ignore him. It helps that you’re standing with your back to him, but you can feel his gaze - glare more like. He’s been like this ever since you woke up this morning: pouting when you refuse to kiss him, whining when you wiggle out of his hold every time he manages to wrap his arms around you, he even shuffled to the couch and flopped onto it with a dramatic huff when you slapped his hand away when he tried holding yours.

Bucky Barnes is a baby, but you’re too stubborn to give in to his wishes.

“Come on, darling,” He whines from the couch, and the low rumble he lets out soon after makes you want to give up the act, makes you want to sink to your knees and crawl to him, forgiving him for the earlier incident. “I said I was sorry, don’t you wanna come let your Alpha apologize properly? I’ll get on my knees -”

You cut him off by throwing a nearby pillow towards him, glancing over your shoulder for a brief moment to see that he’s now sitting up, resting one hand on his thigh with his other arm thrown over the top of the couch. It takes all your might to force yourself to look away and focus back on making your tea, but you do it anyway.

It lasts not even five seconds, because then Bucky pulls out the big stops, lowering his voice as he says, “Omega… Come on.”

With a huff, you turn on your heels, placing your hands on your hips and glaring at the man you’ve called yours for over two years. His pout is gone, replaced with a smirk and a raised eyebrow as he waits for the inevitable.

“No,” You say harshly, but your heart’s not in it. You want to forgive him so badly, but he needs to learn his lesson. “You threw away all of my underwear! What am I supposed to wear when I go out now?”

“First of all, I didn’t throw all of them away. I left you a couple of thongs and those sets I love so much.” Bucky’s musky Alpha scent is slowly filling the room, the sheer dominance he radiates is clear to anyone who comes in contact with him but it’s more prevalent now with his leather jacket hugging his biceps. “Plus, we hardly leave the house anyway. And you know very well how I feel about you wearin’ panties around here.”

It’s true, you do know. In the beginning of you two living together, you quickly learned it’s best to not wear pants. You don’t like wearing them in the comfort of your own home anyway - something Bucky is extremely appreciative of. But especially panties, they merely get in the way of his desire to fill you up at any chance he gets. And it’s not like you’re complaining, oh god no. The day you’re not ready to take Bucky’s cock at any given moment will be the day you die.

It’s just… You liked the pairs you had, and they were expensive. So for Bucky to just throw them away - even if you know he didn’t mean any actual ill-will by it - kind of irks you.

Though not nearly as much as the infuriatingly smug grin on his face as you falter, he knows you’re going to cave, you always do. You’re weak for him, always have been, and always will be.

It’s just good that he’s the same way. He’d jump fifty feet in the air if you asked him to, he’d go out at one in the morning and get you food if you even suggested you were hungry, and he’s proved time and time again that he’s worthy of being your Alpha.

But right now, all you want to do is continue to gripe and make him buy you more. But then an even better idea pops up, and it’s your turn to smile deviously.

“You’re right,” You start, crossing your arms over your chest and slowly walking towards him. “You and I both know how you feel about my panties, and I guess you did leave me the good ones. But a verbal apology isn't going to be good enough.”

“Ome-“

“No.” Your harsh tone shuts him up, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “You’ve already ripped up quite a few because you’re too impatient to actually take them off. But throwing them away is too far.” Stopping about a foot in front of him, you have to will yourself not to laugh at the shock on his face.

“Your ‘apology’ will be me sitting on your face until you give me as many orgasms as the underwear you tossed out, okay?”

At that, Bucky straightens up one of his eyebrows raising as he leans forward with his forearms resting on his knees. “Omega, you have no idea how okay with that I am.” With that, Bucky shoots up, wrapping you in his arms and literally sweeping you off your feet as he carries you toward the bedroom.

It’s going to be a long day, and it’s a good thing you don’t have anything planned.

[helionpegasus]

ceilings part 2

azriel x reader

Part 1

summary: Reader always had lucid dreams, due to her Seer heritage. But everything changes when she stats dreaming with a misterious male she have never seen before.

warnings: mention of blood, mention of death, beginning of anxiety attack. i think that’s it. :)

words count: 1489

author’s note: this took quite some time, i’m sorry :’) uni have been wild these past days. but i really hope you like it! i guess we have a series now!!!

I couldn’t see anything. It was a dark place, like I was surrounded by mist and shadows. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it took me some time to become conscious in the dream.

The place was silent. But it was not a silence of bliss, it was a silence of awareness. Like the shadows trapped in my ankles were telling me to be careful.

I got the courage to start moving. Maybe there is an exit and I’m just in a dark room, there could be a door somewhere.

I only take 5 steps before being crushed by the voices. It came from everywhere, all of them saying at the same time, probably thousands of them. It was suffocating, getting too much information all at once, like my head was a hundred feet under water.

“Help him.”

It’s the only thing I understand. The voice is sore, like it’s strength is falling apart and this was the last try.

“Help who?” I asked. No answer.

The shadows had become a lot more aggressive. Twisting and turning around me like a storm. Almost like it was expelling me from the place.

“Who do I need to help?”

The voices only got louder. My head was not bearing it anymore, it was too much to handle.

I woke up in a blink, the sheets soaked with my sweat. My hair sticking everywhere they could. It was hard to breathe, like I’ve been holding my breath all of this time. The window in the room was closed, I remember closing it last night. I jumped outta bed going straight to open it, getting a full inhale of the fresh air. The day was cloudy, the rain coming anytime by now.

Once my heartbeat slows down I go downstairs in the shared apartment. Bryce was almost never here with all the things she’s been doing, and today was no different.

Deciding to make a tea to calm my nerves, I go directly to the stove and heat the water. 

The sound of the boiling water was the last thing I heard before the silence. Complete silence involved the room, my fae ears not able to listen anything.

Then it came. The sound of a chord. A deep one like those that begins in orchestras. And everything went black again.

When I woke up in this unknown place, I don’t remember exactly what happened. I just remember feeling like I was in a free fall, and nothing more. I must have blacked out.

I looked around me and found myself in a forest. The sky was dark, a storm probably coming, a sign to find somewhere to hide.

My back hurts when I stand up. I try to not be anxious and think straight.

How to get out of this situation?

Where am I?

Was the only thing I could think about.

The smell of my fear must have gotten strong. Because I heard a screech from behind me. My eyes shot everywhere trying to find something that I could use as a weapon, but there were only trees everywhere.

“Fuck.” I curse under my breath, and start running.

I knew this was not the best choice considering that I had no idea where I was heading. But my body was reacting out of instinct at this point, hearing the loud steps behind me. I didn’t dare to look back and face the creature following me.

My legs and lungs were burning, Ruhn’s voice coming to my head saying that I should be more active and not just stay in labs and libraries, that I would need this sometime. His theory proved that when my legs fail me, my body collides with the ground.

That’s when I see the creature. With dark big eyes, slender figure and pale skin. Coming with their claws directly at me. I found a rock beside my arm but had no time to react before one of the creature’s hands met my ribs. The sharp pain sent an electric shot through my body. 

I hit the rock with all my strength in the side of their head. They come off of me with a high shriek. I lose no time before hitting it again, now directly in the middle of his face. My arm in a constant move ‘til I be sure they’re unconscious, although it didn’t save me from multiple little cuts from their claws. I catch my breath, letting go of the rock. The cut in my ribcage hurt more than before.

There was a cave a few meters from me. I didn't know if it’s empty but the rain started to pour and I’m in no condition to deal with any more creatures.

I arrive in the cave soaked. The bleeding on my side with no show to be stopping any time soon, and I had nothing to put pressure on it. I was only in leggings and an old t-shirt, even barefoot.

My body was starting to feel tired from all the happenings and the blood loss.

“Not even breakfast.” I say to myself, clicking my tongue. “What a morning.”

The dream from earlier flashes my mind.

Help him.

“I guess I’m the one needing help now.” A weak smile appears on my face. 

I couldn’t help the tears. Gods, what the fuck just happened?. 

I was trying not to black out, but my body was so sore, my eyelids heavy.

Found myself in the dark space again. The voices were so much calmer now, nothing more than whispers.

“Where am I?” I asked to the emptiness in front of me. Met with no answers. Again.

“I cannot help if you also do not help me.”

“What do you need help with, traveler?”  A dark voice says. My face twitched in confusion.

“Take me somewhere safe.” That’s all I thought to ask. I couldn’t help unalive.

A soft breeze brushes my face before I go unconscious again.

*

Azriel

The chaos of the River House was setting down. The High Lady and the Heir are no longer in danger.

I felt like I could finally breathe after holding it for too much time.

We were reunited in the living room, waiting for Madja news. Mor’s leg bouncin’ nonstop besides me.

“I’m sure they’re all okay.” I said to her. The golden eyes meet mine searching for comfort.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been quite a night, I’m still on my nerves.” She says to me. I only nod agreeing.

We all stand up when we hear footsteps. Madja and her assistants finally leave the bedroom they’ve been stuck in the whole night.

“They’re completely fine.” It’s the first thing she says. The sighs of relief came from all of us instantly. “I’m gonna monitorate them for the week, but they seem perfectly fine. Like all those things didn’t happen at all. Nesta really made a miracle.” 

The healer left, and everyone got to their own course slowly. Cassian, Nesta and I went back to the House of Wind right after. 

I was drinking water in the kitchen when I received the barrier warning.

Someone got in.

Cassian appeared in the door seconds later.

“You got it too?” He asked me. I only nod.

When I open my mouth to say something, the shadows start to increase and I become agitated. Swirling around my shoulders and legs.

They all started saying at the same time. Cauldron, it’s been a long time since they acted that way, and I could only think the worst.

Help.

Bleeding.

Dying.

Was the only thing I could fully understand from them.

“She’s on the training ring.” One of them says.

“This blood smell doesn't come from you, right?” Cass asked. The wings going up, body going straight in alert.

I found myself mirroring him before heading straight to the balcony.

My hand finds the truth teller out of muscle memory. The warlord found a weapon in the way of the house. None of us in leather, just the hand siphons. Both of us were heading to bed.

“You got it?”  Rhys spoke in our minds.

“Already on our way.”  I answered.

Once we got to the training ring, the blood smell got so much stronger. The shadows detected no harm, so we got in straight to the edge.

I couldn’t hide to be surprised to see a body there. A female body.

But I was certainly shocked when I realized the shadows protecting her body. My shadows.

“Shit.” I heard Cassian curse under his breath.

“What in Mother’s sake is this?” I looked at the female. Hair messy, face pale for the blood loss, and shirt soaked by the open wound in her ribs. But she was beautiful.

“Somewhere safe.”  The shadows said. But that didn’t answer anything.

“Rhys…”  I said in my mind to him. “I think your ‘dad moment’ will need to wait a little more.”

taglist:

@humanpersonlasttimeichecked

[occasionallyprosie]

"A Song On Repeat"

Chapter 2

Legend may have passed out, but he was also now accustomed to staying awake for three days straight. He didn't stay down long, and he wasn't going to sleep until he knew for certain that the loop was over.

Febuwhump 2024 | Alt Prompt 7: Last Words

<<Previous

Event Masterlist

Read On AO3 Warnings: Panic attacks

----

Legend couldn't sleep the night after he woke up. The magical exhaustion had knocked him out to start with, but once he could wake up he did and falling back asleep was a hard no.

The others didn't question him immediately, clearly he looked worse than he thought if they were all shooting him concerned looks.

They made camp in the same place as the night prior, and Legend ended up staying vigil the whole night despite the clear reservations and opposition.

"You need rest, vet," Sky told him softly. "You passed out, we don’t know what's going on but we know that something happened... at some point, and the Old Man knows what, even he says you need to rest."

"I'm fine," he said in an equally low voice. "I just... I need to make sure."

What if the moldrum wasn't the answer? What if that horde was a distraction? What if--

He startled as a weight settled around his shoulders and another presence took up the place on his left, opposite of Sky.

"Then let us keep you company," Warriors said, Legend realized it was his scarf that was settled over his shoulders and he couldn't help but stare before huffing softly.

He redirected his attention to the wider area, letting out a steady breath and just waiting, watching.

He knew it wouldn't prove anything to himself, this was a defendable camp, there was a reason why he never had to fend off the ambush within the first six hours of the seventy-two.

He'd stay up tonight, and he'd let them get to the original second night camp, the original scene of the slaughter. He'd stay up then too, none of them could or would stop him.

Nayru may have released her hold on him, Farore may have promised that it was over, but Legend wasn't going to let his guard down until these three days were up.

He wasn't sure if he'd dare explain anything beforehand, he wasn't sure he could share it multiple times.

Warriors stayed by his side, Sky too, Sky got up and woke Twilight and Time before he returned to his side and slipped into a half sleep. Warriors did well at staying up, settling in a restful state that wasn't quite sleeping. Twilight shot Legend worried looks but Time was the one to approach.

"Veteran," Time crouched down in front of him, drawing his attention, "is it over?"

Legend gave a bitter smile, he felt Warriors shift at bit at his side. "We'll find out, won't we?"

"What can I expect?"

"We'll find out," he repeated because he didn't know. He slaughtered the horde, they killed the moldrum, but was that enough? Did the Shadow have more up in the wings to drop on them through a portal? Would another battle begin that didn't count for the three days? He didn't know what would happen.

All he knew was that he had to make sure they all survived the next 54 hours.

"Will you rest?" Time asked this time.

"When it's over," he promised. "When it's done, I'll rest and then I'll explain, I promise."

"Alright," he agreed quietly. "I'm sorry--"

"If you say you're sorry for cursing me with this terrible fate, I'm going to stab you."

Time startled, he stared at him in surprise before he laughed weakly. "Why am I not surprised."

Legend glared. "I don’t think you realize how many "terrible fates" I've been apologized to about. I've experienced worse, even if this is up there."

Koholint and it's un-reality would continue to be the worst experience of his life, the ideality of it, he would've loved that life. Koholint and Marin, living on a quiet island but maybe having a ship to go and explore with, an ever-changing and ever dangerous ocean to traverse, a lover who would voyage with him, who had just as much wanderlust as he did. Koholint had been perfect, but what made it the worst thing he'd ever experienced was the fact that he experienced it and it wasn't real.

He had been given what he wanted only to have it stolen from him. Even then, this time loop thing also didn't compare to the people who he had lost and couldn't save. 

The second day, Time spoke to everyone individually, quietly, and nobody demanded answers from Legend, they only pestered him about his health.

He let that slide, he ate the food Wild shoved into his hands every hour of the day, he let Hyrule cast diagnostic spells and Sky hover. Twilight would appear often and Wind hadn't left his side, but he was chattering on about various stories that Legend always enjoyed listening to.

Warriors hadn't taken back his scarf, and Legend wasn't going to give it back at the moment. He'd seen the captain get strangled and killed for it more than once that he didn't mind seeing it absent from his shoulders... it was also extremely soft, comfortable, and warm, he found he couldn't fault the Captain for always wearing it.

The day went by smoothly, as Legend was used to at this point, and they made camp in the questionably defendable grotto.

Legend took up vigil again, much to the dismay of his companions but Time somehow had stopped them from bothering him.

The night went by the same way the previous had, quickly, quietly, and surrounded by the other heroes.

The day repeated and Sky told him he needed to rest when they stopped for lunch.

He didn't have the energy to argue, he just shook his head. Twelve more hours, only twelve more.

Legend found himself beside Warriors and Time that night during second watch. Time seemed a bit anxious but as nothing happened. He counted down to midnight.

"How long, old man?" He muttered, head dropping against Warriors shoulder.

"It's midnight now, veteran," Time reported. "Is that it?"

His body said yes, that it stayed awake the whole time like he'd asked of it. It begged for reprieve, to finally rest.

"It better be," he huffed. "I don' think I can stave off the rebound of cutting off how much rest I got after getting magical exhaustion much longer."

"You can get some rest then," Time told him. "Time's up, you’re done."

Legend hoped it was, because he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He passed out on Warriors.

Legend woke up to being carried. He tried to move only for whoever was holding him to tighten their grip.

"It's alright--I got you vet, it's okay. You can sleep."

He was frankly too tired to actually make a coherent response, much less be coherent, and just hoped his curl tighter into the warm arms and chest translated to: I'm trying.

The chest rumbled as they laughed. "Alright--hold on then, we're headed through a portal."

He didn't get the chance to process that before he was hit by the dizzying slam of a portal and its magical drain.

The next time Legend woke up, he was someplace soft and warm and listening to murmuring and chatter.

They turned out to have arrived at Time's Lon Lon Ranch by noon after Legend passed out.

Malon all but force fed him a meal that he willingly ate, although a bit reluctantly considering how much meat filled the plate. He held back the usual nausea that came with that and just sat back as she went to let the others know he was up... and that dinner would be ready soon so they better clean up.

Soon enough, everyone cleaned up and fed, Legend sat perched by the warm hearth and waited until they settled.

They did so quicker than usual, which wasn't too surprising to be honest.

"So, do we get an explanation now?" Wild asked. "Because I really want to know about the giant worm in the ground and why you jumped into it."

Legend blinked and realized... did they even know about the horde inside the moldrum?

"Yes," he said before anyone could comment on Wild's choice of focus. "It's... simple, honestly. Temporal magic is very powerful and provides a lot of options. Certain items are good focuses for temporal magic, I have a harp that is one, and I used an item that allowed me to travel back in time and retry after... after things went wrong. I did it to such an extent that it set a loop, seventy-two hours from midnight to midnight, that would remain until I achieved what I aimed for."

"Which was?" Warriors asked.

Legend faced the fire, the burning hearth and its warmth was welcomed, it also let him hide his face from the others.

"Making sure everyone survived."

Someone made a strangled noise, Wild--Twilight too, Legend was fairly sure. Sky inhaled sharply.

"How many times?" Time asked.

Legend hummed. He pulled out the three journals, flicked through the one of everyone's last words.

"I... I'm not sure. I lost count at some point, and... And I never tried to track how many."

He worried that if he knew how many, then he would lose hope of it ever ending.

"What's that?" Wind asked, he had moved the closest of everyone.

Legend glanced at him, then the page in front of him.

"I promised Aryll I'd teach her how to fight with a sword. I'm sorry..." -Sailor, axe in side pierced spine.

Legend let out a shaky breath. "I... I don’t know if you want to see this one, Sailor."

Wind frowned, more confusion than indigence. "Why?"

"Because..." Legend tried to take in a steadying breath but all it did was hitch and make him shudder. "Because it's your last words. I... I wrote them down."

It let him cling to sanity, keeping track of their unfinished promises, their wishes, making note of things asked of him, of goodbyes to make...

Of people to take care of if it happened to end without everyone surviving.

"Oh," Wind breathed. "I... Can I see mine?"

"I don’t think that's a good idea," Warriors intervened.

"No, it's not," Wind agreed, but he met Legend's eyes. "But I know you, and I know you'd feel responsible for anyone and anything we said. So I want to know what I said, even if it might be a bad idea, because I don’t want you thinking you can take my responsibilities from me."

Warriors faltered from pulling Wind back.

Legend stared at him, then he let out a laugh. "You’re not supposed to call me out like that, Ocean."

"It's my job dumbass. Now tell me."

Legend shook his head. "I can't. It's not just your words."

"Does anyone have a problem with anyone else reading theirs?" Four spoke up, eyes flashing blue.

Legend was quick to speak before anyone else could. "I-I didn't include secrets in that one."

They all looked at him, confused.

He moved his hand to one of the other journals. "I kept things separate... just in case. This... This one is more carefully partitioned and I was going to share it with everyone individually, but--This is of secrets, information, that I didn't previously know but that got revealed at some point. I... I figured you'd want to know exactly what I do, but it's also sectioned off so nobody else might read yours when reading their own. T-The last words doesn't really include much of that kind of information aside from names and vague references... goodbyes and the like."

They stared at him, all of them, varying degrees of surprise, concern, and some guarded wariness.

Sky was the only one with pity, somehow that made it worse.

"We'll do that one later," Sky said gently. "Individually, like you said. How about we all work through the other one together?"

"What for?" Hyrule asked.

"Trust, and so we aren't sitting here for ages just reading the same things over and over. It saves time, and then we can all address anything that needs to be addressed with everyone."

"Of course you're willing," Wild breathed shakily. "You don't have any secrets."

Sky didn't react but Legend snorted.

"Throw whatever idea you have about everyone here and how many secrets they have out the window, Champion. I promise you it's inaccurate. Everyone surprises you, in quantity and quality. There's no ranking."

Wind promptly burst into laughter. "Why did three people look at me?!"

Legend snorted while Hyrule, Four, and Twilight all startled.

"You're always telling us stories! I figured you'd run out of stuff to tell us!" Four protested.

"Well if that's how this will go," Time spoke up, "then I am fine with it."

"Me too," Hyrule agreed. "I... I have a feeling I know what mine are."

Legend bit his tongue. He moved over to the coffee table and dropped the journal onto it. Everyone shifted to gather while Sky took the book.

Legend moved back to the fire, other two journals tucked close and away.

""You better fix it this time," from the Smithy," Sky read. ""Please save them next time?" also the Smithy... "Please burn my body, please.""

Hyrule flinched.

"That one was the Traveler, and there's a tally underneath it... five--ten--seventeen sets of five."

Legend watched them, Hyrule looked at him and he just looked guilty.

"I'm sorry," Hyrule said softly.

"Everyone has a right to a final request, and to dictate what happens to their body after they die," Legend responded. "Keep going, Chosen. We'll be here all night at the rate you’re going."

He did, Legend noted he adjusted his position and everyone was leaning to read with him as he spoke one from everyone every now and then.

Legend could vividly remember every single moment.

"I don’t want to die." Spoken by Wild, a blade impaled in his chest and blood filling Legend's vision.

"Take care of the Champ for me?" Spoken by Twilight, he was the first down. Wild survived that time.

"I'm sorry, Malon... I'm so sorry." Time, he didn't know Legend was there, he was already too far gone.

"I'm sorry, Zelda." Wild again, thirty-seven times. 

"If you keep going, tell my Grandma I'm sorry. And tell Aryll that I'll watch her." Wind, his whole arm cut off and legs mangled, the blood loss had take him.

"I've cursed you with a terrible fate, haven't I?" Time, eighty-eight times.

"My world isn't your fault." Hyrule, fifty-three times.

"Tell Zelda I'm sorry." Sky, one-hundred fourteen times.

"One more. Just one more, come on Link." Warriors, three arrows in his back and one in his chest. He took out seven more before an arrow to the throat took him down.

"I'm not done yet!" Twilight, a deep cut in his side and his guts threatening to spill out. He did manage to take out a few more before he was decapitated.

"Come and get me!" Hyrule, he charged the horde... Legend didn't see how he died.

"Fucking try me you sons of bitches!" Wind, he took out fourteen more before he was overwhelmed... and screamed when he was killed. A lot of Wind's last words were spoken with a lot of profanity.

Voices and scenes echoed in Legend's mind, Sky reading the ones that Legend had actually written down faded to the back of his awareness while the ones he never wrote down came to the forefront.

"Please--Vet please, I can't."

"Sailor no!"

"CUB! NO--GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

"I can't die--I can't--I can't leave Malon alone with this."

"H-Hey, Scholar? I-I don’t think... I don’t..."

"Mi...Mipha?"

"I-I promised Ilia I'd come back, I promised, vet." A bitter laugh. "I should've known better."

"Shit... Linkle's gonna kill me." Blood fall from his mouth. "Well... She might not have to."

"Link! No! Don’t--" an arrow through the skull.

"S-Sprite?"

"Hey--Hey no, don’t cry. It'll be okay, you did so well just now. You've done it before, right? You're our veteran, I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry we had to... leave you to finish the job. But... But I know... I know... you... you can do it."

"No, no, why are you crying? I'm fine. It's okay--O-Oh... I-I guess it... I guess it isn't okay, is it Vet? Huh... adrenaline's pretty insane, isn't it? I didn't... I didn't... even..."

"GET OUT OF THERE!"

"No--SMITHY MOVE--"

"There's a Hinox! Look--"

"You’re repeating... That sounds like hell. Have we really not survived? ...Not even once? Oh Hylia..."

"Linebeck? What are... oh..."

"Link! Captain, no, no, no-- where's my-- ...Vet?"

"VETERAN MOVE!"

"Look--Look, you g--you go back and... and you... You kick their asses, you hear me?"

"Make sure you win this one."

"N-Navi?"

"YOU WANNA FUCKING GO?!"

"Alright... Alright. One more time, let's go."

"Please, for once in my life I'm begging you... make it stop."

"Th...Thank you."

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, please--Please, I don’t--I'm sorry."

A thousand apologies.

A thousand battle cries.

A thousand names whispered with last breaths.

A thousand last words left unwritten because it explicitly revealed a secret.

Suddenly, something was touching him and his mind snapped into gear.

He jerked back, knife in his hand and he moved blindly, on instinct--

"Gah!" That voice--

Legend dropped his knife, horror shooting through him as he realized it was Warriors who'd touched him, it was Warriors who now had blood dripping from his cheek from Legend's blade. He had drawn blood from his brother.

He tried to move back but painful heat shot up his palm, his hand hitting the heated stone of the hearth and burning him. He yelped and jerked away.

"Oh s--Scholar no!"

He hit his head against the stone fireplace, and against everything, tears welled in his eyes. A damned head bump just made it all boil over, voices in his head growing loud but at least the visions to accompany them only flickered.

"No, no, hey." Warriors took his hand from the heat and wrapped a hand around the back of his head. "No, it's okay. You’re alright--ohhh, Sky? Hey, he burned his--Scholar, it's okay, just breathe, you’re alright."

"I'm sorry--I-I--"

"No, it's okay. I'm fine, I swear. I shouldn't have touched you, I'm sorry." Warriors stopped him from trying to pull away again, instead gently moving him away from the fireplace and making him give his hand to Sky, who'd appeared with a cold rag in seconds.

He was shaking, why was he so shaky? What was wrong? Why was he wrong? Why did he break from a touch? Why--

"Link," Warriors said firmly and he looked up fast. "Breathe... Do you need to take a break?"

Break--No.

"No, sorry," he forced out, struggling to wrangle his emotions back. His hand hurt. He hated burns. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, I just--zoned out."

"We noticed," Sky said, a note of softness to his tone. "But that's alright, we don’t mind. How about we all just head in for bed now? We can pick up the secrets tomorrow. I don't think we need to read the rest of that book."

"So many names," Four muttered in a voice that Legend barely heard. "I hadn't even thought of half those people in years..."

"You were about to die," Time said in equal volume. "Being so close to death puts things into perspective."

Legend nodded shakily. "Tomorrow, yeah--If that's what you want, okay."

Sky gave him a soft smile, Legend was distantly aware of the worry behind it but that wasn't what was keeping his attention as he stared at the two older heroes trying to help him.

He was more focused on the blood trickling down Warriors' cheek. If he blinked, the blood was coming from eyes that had been gruesomely carved out by keese.

If he listened, the screams of his brothers still plagued his thoughts. Their last words echoing in his mind.

[centralperkchenford]

tim and lucy have a slight argument then lucy gets REALLY badly hurt on a call and finds out she’s pregnant (angst with a happy ending)

tim and lucy have a slight argument then lucy gets REALLY badly hurt on a call and finds out she’s pregnant (angst with a happy ending)

If you have sent prompts in I am doing my best to get to them! I have some really good ones and I may be over ambitious but 🤷🏼‍♀️

It's been occurring to me I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life (But I think that it's best if we both stay)

It starts out little Tim thinks sourly and then somehow it turned into a full blown argument. He’s not even sure what started it. He knows Lucy has been stressed because she is about to take the detective’s exam and she’s been studying non stop. And on more than a few occasions, Tim has woken up with her side of the bed empty. He has found her in the kitchen, the bathroom and even the closet. And maybe that is what this argument is about. He once again woke up without her and wondered in the kitchen to find her at the counter her notecards in front of her. It was 2 in the morning.

“Lucy you need sleep.” He tells her firmly. “If you don’t get sleep you won’t be able to concentrate.”

She glares at him and pushes her hair back behind her ears. “I’ll be fine Tim.” She says dryly. “I just—” She yawns loudly and he raises his eyebrows like she just proves his point. “I just need to study or I won’t pass.”

“You need sleep Luce.” He says softly but Lucy shakes her head. Stubborn woman.

“I’m fine. Besides you have ran on less sleep than this.” She points out. “And you trained me.” Tim sighs and the comes so he is staying in front of Lucy.

“I was trained for that Luce. You were not. If you are concentrating you could get hurt.”

Lucy waves him off and Tim feels a surge of anger and frustration rise up on him. He doesn’t like that Lucy isn’t taking this seriously, she usually is good at heeding all his warnings.

“Lucy.” He says a warning lilt to his voice. “Please get some rest.”

She sighs but doesn’t answer him straight away. “Do you not want me to take the detective exam?” She asks. He reels back a little wondering where that came from.

“Of course I do.” He says calmly. “But if you are exhausted you will not pass.” Lucy mouth turns down into a frown.

“So you think I won’t pass?” She snaps.

Tim sighs and all the frustration that he has been feeling bubbles over. “If you keep getting up in the middle of the night to study and then refuse to go to bed no you probably won’t pass.”

Lucy’s eyes instantly fill with tears and she turns away from him. Tim instantly wishes he could take it back but..

“I knew you weren’t okay with me doing undercover.” She says so quietly he has to strain to hear her. Tim stares at the back of her head, a little stunned. That’s a whole other subject he doesn’t want to broach right now.

“Lucy, that’s not—I’m just worried about you. I want you to pass but if you aren’t well rested you won’t.”

“You made that very clear Tim.” She snaps turning back around. “Just go back to bed.” Her voice has finality in it. He sighs and opens his mouth to say something but he knows it won’t do any good.

He drags himself back to bed and crawls into it missing Lucy’s warmth next to him. She rarely slept away from in the bed instead preferring to curl up into him. And he loved it, he usually couldn’t sleep without her next to him. He did fall asleep eventually, and when he went out to the kitchen Lucy is gone.

***

Tim didn’t see Lucy at work when he walked into the station, he had parked next to her car so he knew she was here. He sighs as he gets changed out and then heads to his office. He plops down and tries to get his mind off of Lucy. He is genuinely worried about her, he knows how much pressure she puts on herself and he knows how hard she works. He just wishes it wasn’t at 2 in the morning.

There’s a tap on his door and then it flies open. Tim looks up and sees Angela with her hands on her hips glaring at him.

“You are an idiot.” She says plainly and he stops what he is doing to look up at her.

“Care to elaborate?” He deadpans. Angela clicks her tongue at him as if he should know what she’s talking about and he has a feeling he does.

“Why did you tell your fiancée she’s not going to pass the detective’s exam.” Angela says frowning at him.

“I didn’t say—look she gets up at 2am to study and then is awake all night. She’s exhausted when she goes to work and when she comes home.” He says exasperated. “I’m worried about her and no matter how determined she is if she doesn’t get some rest..”

Angela comes further into the office stopping just before his desk. “I know you are worried Tim. I am too she looked half asleep when she came in. But you need to encourage her, help her. Don’t say she won’t pass..” Angela says gently. Tim sighs and picks up his pen flipping it around.

“I love her Ange. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her.” He says. Angela steps closer to the desk.

“I know Tim. That’s why you need to be encouraging. Don’t put her down, help her out. Be there for her no matter what.” She says.

Tim nods and bites his lip. “Is she out on patrol?” He asks.

Angela nods. “Yes I believe she’s with Aaron.” Tim sighs in relief because he knows Aaron wouldn’t let anything happened to her.

***

The call comes in the middle of Tim’s lunch. He’s eating alone which he’s not used to. Usually Lucy comes in and eats with him or drags him out to the food trucks. His phone rings and he snatches it up without looking at it. When he hears the voice on the end he suddenly wishes he had.

“Sergeant Bradford?” Comes Aaron’s shaky voice and suddenly Tim is sitting up pin straight knowing something is wrong.

“Aaron?” He says his heart beating fast and bile rising in his through. “Aaron what’s wrong?” He hears the younger man swallow and Tim is suddenly sweating.

“W-we uh we were in a car accident.” Says Aaron his voice shaking. “L-Lucy was stuck in the car but they got her out. Sh-she’s headed to St. Stephen’s.”

Tim is already out of his seat and out the door, his phone pressed to his ear. “Aaron, is she okay?” He asks trying to keep his voice steady but he knows he’s failing miserably.

Aaron huffs out a breath. Tim heart almost stops in his chest. “She’s hanging on.” Is all he says and now Tim is flying out the station doors to his truck.

She’s hanging on floating through his head as he starts it and peels out of the parking garage.

***

Tim’s arrival to the hospital is less graceful and more panicked as he rushes to the emergency room. Aaron meets him and pulls him aside. His face is all bruised and cut up and his hands are covered in blood. Tim’s stomach lurches. No no no.

“Where is she?” Tim asks and Aaron’s lip trembles as if he’s trying not to cry. He doesn’t answer and Tim is about to storm the hospital to look for her.

“She’s in surgery.” He finally says. “She has broken wrist they are trying to fix and some bleeding.” He says. Tim swallows down everything he wants to say. It’s not as bad as he imagined but still.

“What happened?” He asks. Aaron swallows and looks away from Tim.

“A car ran a stop sign and side swiped us. Lucy’s side got the most impact.” He says quietly.

“Was she driving?” He asks his voice low. Aaron shakes his head fast.

“No sir.” He says. “She almost fell asleep before the accident.” Tim sighs running his hands down his face. He is so grateful she wasn’t driving but his heart still feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. His head hurts and his stomach has a pain in it he can’t quite get rid of.

“Are you okay?” He asks Aaron.

Aaron smiles at him weakly and nods his head. “Yes. Sir. Just some bruises.” Tim nods at him and pats his shoulder gently. Not knowing what else to do but just wait.

***

Lucy is out of surgery two hours later and Tim is in her room within 15 minutes. She’s still asleep just coming off of the anesthesia. He holds her hand in between his hands, kissing them softly. She opens her eyes and looks over at him, her eyes filling with tears immediately.

“T-Tim?” She whispers her voice hoarse, her brown eyes wet with tears.

“Hi baby.” He says softly. He stands up briefly to place a kiss to her forehead. He holds his lips there for a few moments before he pulls back.

“Tim I’m sorry.” She says and he opens his mouth to protest but she shakes her head.

“About this morning.” She says. “I should have listened to you. I would have been more alert. I could have seen the car—” But Tim cuts her off with a gentle shake of his head.

“But you weren’t driving baby. And the car ran a stop sign. There’s no way you could have seen it coming.”

“I know. But I was so mad at you and I just—” She cries tears running down her cheeks as she looks over at him. “I’m sorry.”

Tim licks his lips and he’s glad they are clearing the air. “I’m sorry too Luce. I should have been more caring and just listened to you. I should have helped you.” He says and more tears run down her face. He reaches over to wipe them away. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too.” She whispers. He smiles and starts to say something else but someone knocks on the door and the doctor comes in smiling.

“Hi Lucy.” She says softly. “How are you feeling?” Lucy shrugs and looks over at Tim.

“I have been better.” She says and the doctor chuckles a little.

“I bet. Well I have some news for you.” She glances at Tim and raises her eyebrows.

“He’s my fiancé.” She says looking over at Tim.

The doctor relaxes a little, and smiles even bigger. “Well I have news for both of you then.” She says. Tim looks at Lucy confused but she shrugs looking just as confused.

“We took some blood just to run some tests to make sure everything was alright and your HCG levels were pretty high.” The Doctor says. Tim’s heart races because while he doesn’t know everything in the medical field he does know HCG levels being high means—

“Congratulations you two you are having a baby.” She says. Lucy squeezes Tim’s hand a little too tightly and he winces a little.

“Oh my god.” Says Lucy and Tim is surprised to see she’s not.. shocked. “This honestly explains so much.”

The doctor chuckles a little. “It looks like you are 8 weeks along.” Tim gapes at her and then Lucy who cracks a smile at his face.

“I’ve been so moody lately and I haven’t felt like eating because I know I will throw it up. I know I have been stressed about the exam but now that I know my hormones have been on overdrive..”

“I’ll give you two some privacy. Congratulations again.” The doctor says smiling. Tim thanks her and as soon as the door closes again, he’s looking at Lucy.

“Luce oh my god. We-we are having a baby!” He says and now he’s crying. Lucy laughs and tugs him closer, so his head in his the crook of her neck.

“We are having a baby!” She sobs but this time Tim knows they are happy tears. He pulls his head up so he can cup her face.

“Will you promise me you will get some rest now? And I will help you study, as much as you need me to. I am there for you and whatever you need. But promise me you will take breaks.”

Lucy nods. “I promise Tim. And I would love for you to help me study.” She says sincerely lacing her tone.

He nods grateful for the fact that even when they fight they always work it out. There is a moment of comfortable silence before Lucy is speaking again a mischievous grin on her face.

“You know if we have a girl she will be as stubborn as me.” Lucy teases him. Tim groans but he’s smiling so big his face hurts.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[separatist-apologist]

Red Earth & Pouring Rain

Remember what we found? No one can ever take that away. Something forever.

Summary: When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.

Or- that time Rhys fell in love with a stranger writing him letters.

Big thanks to Unhinged Bookclub for help with the moodboard and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant (which consisted mostly of me asking about swear words)

Part 1/2: I've Got Something Burning, Coursing Through These Cold Veins | Read on AO3

Dear Rhysand Campbell-

Today is my sixteenth birthday, which ought to be cause for celebration. I want to be happy about it, but I’m not and I can’t tell anyone. My sisters already think I’m terribly spoiled and my father probably would, too, if he ever cared enough to notice me. Ugh, that sounded spoiled, too. Maybe they’re right. I don’t suppose you understand.

Of course you don’t. You aren’t real. And I guess there’s no danger in telling you about this miserable birthday party (if you could even call it that) or worrying you’ll think I’m spoiled and a miserable brat (like my older sister accused me of) (don’t worry, I pulled out one of her extensions in front of Tomas Mandray which…in retrospect…maybe proved her right on the miserable brat front. It was pretty funny, though. Even Elain cracked a smile.). 

It all started with my father. He woke up one morning a month ago, looked me straight in the face, and asked me how old I was. I didn’t know what to say (I might have forgotten), so Elain told him I would be sixteen in a month. And he said we should celebrate, which made me so happy. I rattled off a list of things I wanted to do, and I thought he was listening.

I should have known he wasn’t when he put Elain in charge of planning. It’s not that Elain is malicious, she’s just…prim. Perfect, really. The sort of daughter he actually wants, I think because she doesn’t make a lot of fuss and maintains his calendar for him like mother used to (she died when I was nine). 

And I definitely should have known we were NOT going camping when Elain had me measured for a dress. She looked so apologetic and I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings when I know she’s trying really hard to fill the gap mom left when it comes to me, even if it makes her spineless when it comes to dad. And I could have asked Nesta to ruin it, but I guess I’m a little spineless, too.

So by the time the day arrived, it’s this huge party for all of dads friends, one of whom is running for parliament and needs money. And I look so very stupid in a floor length ball gown and—I am not joking—a jeweled tiara while all these old men in their fifties whore themselves out for cash. There was a cake (five tiers and chocolate, which is my favorite flavor, at least), there was singing, and of course the aforementioned incident in which several of Nesta’s extensions were pulled from her head unceremoniously. 

Some leering prick told me I was a woman now. Well, he said it to my breasts, not really me. What is it about men that makes them think that’s a normal thing to do? Am I supposed to be flattered? Elain whisked me away, a smile plastered on her face and when I asked her how she stands it, she only laughed and said, “Oh Feyre.” Like I was the silliest person in the world. 

She looked like a princess, and I don’t envy her for it. Every man our father is friends with is trying to trick or trap her into marriage. I think she could be a princess like Kate Middleton if she had the interest. 

Anyway. 

Father made some grand speech right before the cake cutting, where he talked about peace and, for some unknown reason, Brexit. He also thanked God for  our monarchs, which, I didn’t realize he was that religious but I guess for this crowd, he is. 

You know what he didn’t do? Say thank you for his daughters? Imagine, blessing Charles but not the daughters who enrich his life. Nesta was gripping a steak knife so tightly I thought she might actually stab him and Elain’s eyes were glassy and sad, even with that plastered smile.

And despite how Nesta thinks I’m a miserable brat, she DID stand up and demand everyone sing me happy birthday. And Elain led everyone in an off-key rendition of the song, which was nice. Serving staff cut the cake, and there were, of course, no candles.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

And at the very end of the night, some lord (I think—honestly, I wasn’t even listening at that point, I was just thinking about getting those miserable shoes off my feet) told father that his son was single, and also sixteen. I could see father's interest peak and I can’t be like Elain. She’s always letting those awful boys take her on dates, and they always make her cry. So I blurted out,

“Actually, I have a boyfriend.”

Father asked who, but already he didn’t care. So I said the most made-up, Scottish name I could think of—Rhysand Campbell. Maybe you do exist, somewhere. Actually, there are probably hundreds of you, though who's counting? What’s important is that YOU, Rhysand Campbell, are not real and this address is to a post office in the middle of nowhere Scotland. I expect it’ll be shredded. Perhaps the mail worker will read it and have a laugh at my expense. 

Still.

Thank you for saving me tonight. 

All the best,

Feyre Archeron 

Dearest Rhysand–

I didn’t think I’d write to you again, but I think I have to confess my lies, and you are the only person I know who won’t judge me.

Of course, you’re fake, but in my mind you’ve become a little real. Everyone wants to know how we met, and if you’re curious why they would ever want to know that, well, you are very convenient. You see, most girls my age want to date. And in some ways, so do I. There are some very handsome boys, nice boys, even.

But none of my family approves of. If they found out I slept with Isaac Hale, I think they might actually kill me. He’s a fishmonger, which is a very real job thank you very much. It only sounds fake and like something from an eighteenth century book because of the word monger. Which made me laugh the first time I heard it. Anyway, I thought maybe it was better to just get things over with, and he really was so nice that I just…kept going back.

He has a girlfriend now, and I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings a little. Even though I know I could never bring him home. Nesta would sneer and call him smelly and Elain…well, Elain would probably be nice but her eyes would be pitying. So maybe it’s for the best.

I’m sidetracked again.

So Isaac has his girlfriend from Milton Keynes, which I am absolutely NOT  jealous of, even if her eyebrows made her look insane. I admit, I was brooding which Elain says is going to give me frown lines around my mouth. And of course father took that moment to stroll in and say he knew just the thing that would cheer me up.

That thing??? A MAN. In what world has a man’s presence ever made a woman feel better? Even Elain turned her head to roll her eyes, thinking no one saw. Nesta was in a mood, though I didn’t ask why—I don’t care, so long as she keeps yelling at father on my behalf. She told him seventeen was too young to worry about marriage, which made him remember that Elain is nineteen and Nesta is twenty-one, so I suppose we’ll all be dealing with that fall out later.

But the Lord of Rose-something-or-other has a son. Tamlin? Timothy? I was not paying attention. What I did say, was, “You know I’m dating someone already. I’ve told you all about him.”

I probably could have gotten away with that if Nesta and Elain weren’t in the room. We talk more frequently and they’ve never once heard me say your name. Of course Elain was fascinated, and Nesta was suspicious. Father is far easier to gaslight. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, that liar. “Remind me, who’s son is he?”

And I said, of course, that you were no one’s son, but just a regular Scottish man.

Nesta, that traitor, narrowed her eyes. He can always tell when I’m lying. “Oh? How did you meet this London-living Scotsman?”

Murdering your sisters is a crime. I’m saying that as a reminder to myself, because if she invented a fake suitor to get father to leave her alone, I would have gone along with it. So I said we met in a tea shop. I made you charming. I said you saw me from across the room and couldn’t help yourself. In this fictional meet-cute, you were enamored at first sight, and I, of course, believed you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen (I did not mention that because I was talking to my father). 

That was important, because NO ONE thinks that about me. They think it about Elain, who is so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, and they might think it about Nesta if her eyes didn’t promise violence all the time. But not me. And I have mostly made my peace with it, but it would be nice if there was one man who didn’t prefer my sisters to me.

Even if I have to make him up in order for that to happen. 

He told me to invite you to dinner. Please, oh please, Rhysand Campbell, will you do me the honor of dining with my dysfunctional family? Father will want to know all about your father, and if your family could be of use to him and his shipping business. And Nesta will hate you on principle alone, while Elain won’t be able to help but like you. 

Of course I like you, if only because you are not real.

It’s a shame you can’t make it because you’re heading back to Edinburgh to take care of a sick relative. You’re so compassionate, so selfless. This is why I like you. 

Thank you (again) for rescuing me. Too bad you’re just me, rescuing myself,

Your beloved,

Ferye Archeron

Darling Rhysand, 

Last names are formality by now, don’t you think? I’ve officially taken things too far. The nice thing about being overlooked is everyone kind of forgets what you’re doing (or that you exist), which means you and I have been happily dating for the last two and a half years. If I go out with someone else, no one questions it because they assume I’m seeing you.

And no one cares that they haven’t met you, because you’re some nobody they assume I’ll eventually tire of. Which would be all well and good if I hadn’t blurted out, in front of god and EVERYONE, that you asked me to marry you. Let me set the scene:

I panicked. 

Okay, I guess I didn’t need to set much at all. It was another party and as you can guess, I was in another stupid dress. Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind? You know those kinds of dresses? That’s how I feel, no matter how sleek and lovely the dress actually is. And I know I look perfectly fine in them, but I feel out of sorts. Like a doll, like someone who LIKES when men stare down my dress despite their wife right beside them, and tell me I’m beautiful.

They never say that when they’re looking at my face.

Anyway, do you remember Tamlin? Well, he’s a baron and his father and an MP, despite having so much money he doesn’t need to work (I suspect he just misses when the nobility could boss around the english populace), and he is quite taken with me. Rhys (can I call you Rhys? I feel like since you proposed I could probably call you that), he’s actually really handsome, too. The first time I saw him, I almost considered breaking things off with you. No hard feelings, of course, it’s just…you’re not real.

But he’s duller than dry paint. BEIGE dry paint. We have nothing to talk about, and believe me, I’ve tried. I thought if I could get him to talk to me for even thirty minutes, we could get naked.

But it’s like pulling my own teeth, dragging answers out of this man.

And, between you and me, he once told me “your hair looks clean” as a compliment. He couldn’t even lie and say I was pretty? So you and I continue our romance, implausible as it is. Tamlin’s father was saying how handsome we’d be, and Tamlin jumped in to ask me on a very public date and I am a coward, I think. 

Because I said, “Rhysand proposed.”

And Nesta burst out laughing, the bint. It was Elain, eyes brimming with hope and pleasure—she so badly wants to see one of us do whatever we like, father be damned—who asked to see the ring.

Of which there isn’t one. So I’ve made you poor, I’m so sorry. I lied and said you didn’t have one, because you were working toward affording something nice and of course I don’t care about it (because I don’t). Father demanded to meet you and Tamlin was humiliated (a silver lining to this whole affair, truly). 

Any reasonable person would have just confessed the whole plot right then and there. But I am not reasonable, my darling fiance. I am, I think, a little crazy because I slipped out the next morning and purchased a ring myself from Boodles, and since I bought it, it was perfect. Nothing terribly fussy—a sapphire cut in the shape of a diamond, with little diamonds haloed overtop, like falling stars. Set on a delicate silver band, it really is quite lovely. 

I showed father, who was rather impressed with it. I lied and said it had belonged to your mother, who was so overjoyed at the thought of getting a daughter that she solved your ring dilemma on the spot.

It doesn’t fix the problem of everyone wanting to meet you, of course. 

Our engagement is going to be short lived, I think—just as soon as I can figure out what to do next. If I’m not careful, I’ll be saying I eloped and then what? 

What then, indeed.

Yours, faithfully,

Ferye 

Rhys,

Well. 

It’s officially over. Why am I so sad? You were never anything more than a figment of my imagination, and yet telling my family you had ended things drew real tears from me. Elain comforted me, and Nesta called you a self-serving asshole, which is her way of assuring me she loves me. Father, of course, just barely remembered you existed despite the ring I’ve been wearing for a full year. I tucked it in a box as a token of how far I’m willing to commit to a lie (and because it was pretty expensive, and I don’t think I can return it). 

Even though you’re fake, I didn’t have the heart to make you an asshole. I said your mother had become gravely ill and you had to care for her. That it was with your deepest regrets you ended things—that you thought I deserved someone who could be in London fully, and you would always regret me. 

Nesta called it “typical male bullshit,” so I suppose she believes me now. Or she’s willing to pretend, given how sad I am. I’m mostly sad that I think I should probably stop writing to you. I’m twenty, now, and I think it’s time to stop indulging in my fantasies and be real. I’m nearly finished with school, and I should devote more time to paintings.

And besides, Elain is practically engaged, which has taken the pressure of marriage off Nesta and I, for now. Lord Graysen Nolan. How I wish you were real, because you would think he was a total twat, too. Nesta begrudgingly tolerates him because Elain is so head over heels, but he is awful. A scourge, a plague upon mankind and CERTAINLY upon my beautiful sister. He’s going to dump her in some ancient country estate, fill her with babies, and crush her into dirt and she can’t even see it. 

He is handsome and charming, though, and he has my sister wrapped around his finger. I think it’s because he doesn’t think she’s beautiful—though, I think he says so in his effort to break her down. She is so used to everyone finding her impossibly lovely that the first man who insults her is worthy of her heart.

I’m rambling again. Anyway, this is my official break-up, fake boyfriend slash fiance. I have loved you, though you never existed. You were the perfect man (because you were fake), and I’m not sure how any others will compare. Maybe I’ll try boring Tamlin again. 

What’s funny is that we could have been together, if you’d been actually real. Some dead uncle gifted my sisters and I three castles—one apiece—and mine is in the Scottish highlands. Isn’t that wild? He was my mothers uncle, so technically an uncle twice removed? I’m not sure how that works, honestly. But in his will, he left us each a castle in need of repair to do with as we like. Elain has dreams of turning hers (of course it’s located in the English countryside) into a charming bed and breakfast while Nesta wants to live in it as, and this is a direct quote, “the local bog witch all the children are afraid of.”

As for me, well…I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I intend to go visit at the end of the month with my paints to see if inspiration might strike. I admit, I’m curious about a real life castle—maybe I will start a farm and remove myself from society instead. Everyone will ask (no one would, because that would require remembering I exist, but lets pretend they would), “What ever happened to Feyre Archeron?”

And my father would be forced to tell them I own a multitude of cows. All of which are named—and perhaps even treated like my children. Who can say? I am not sure if I’m cut out for livestock, or farming or even castle living. Maybe I’ll make it a museum or something else that requires little effort on my part. 

The caveat seems to be fixing it up. I can do that, I suppose.

This whole letter is rambling. It is supposed to be me telling you goodbye, and putting this whole messy affair behind me. Thank you for being my only friend, which I recognize is pathetic. I hope the postal worker who has been reading these takes pity on my plight, however pathetic it was. 

I will think of you fondly.

Yours, forever, 

Feyre 

Feyre wiped her nose on the back of her hand, breathing rather hard for someone who was in decently good shape. Six months since she’d moved to the highlands, thinking replacing the inner workings of a centuries old castle would be easy. Replace the plumbing and the floors, rework the electric, and fix the broken glass and she’d be done.

If only. Every day there was some new, horrible discovery. Bats in the attic and rodents in the cellar. A crumbling foundation that had to be nearly rebuilt. A leaking roof that flooded water into the great hall, which then ruined all the flooring Feyre had installed, causing it to be ripped up and replaced again. 

It cost a small fortune before the sprawling structure was decent enough to sleep in, let alone live in. And though she had her uncles inheritance to go along with fixing the god forsaken castle. Of course, that money was only for castle repair, and was just barely enough. She’d used her fathers money, too, a paltry sum given just how much of it he had to give away when it was for one of his friends or some do-nothing politician looking to cut taxes in a way that personally benefited her father. 

Feyre also considered she was far luckier than Elain, who’s castle came with a rather surly occupant that swore he also owned the castle—and after a little digging through legal records, was found to be correct. Feyre would have lost it if she had to compromise at all.

Except, now she had a nearly finished castle she had no idea what to do with. As it turned out, Feyre did not have the aptitude for farming like she’d hoped, and rather missed living in the city—though, she didn’t miss London. She missed people, and things to do, but not London itself. 

There were enough rooms to turn it into a hotel, like Elain was considering. Feyre also thought it made a rather nice venue for people looking to host events or get married. The view of the Scottish highlands was breathtaking, and the castle itself was really nice. Stone on the outside, mostly modern on the inside. Full, working plumbing so long as no one shoved too much toilet paper into the drains, claw baths, and big, four poster beds in circular rooms overlooking the hillside. There was a full, working kitchen Ferye had never used, a ballroom, a grand hall, dungeons—anything a person might want, if she could only figure out how to market it. 

It was just a passing idea. For now, Feyre was living in it with a small, paid staff to keep herself fed and the bats from sneaking back in. 

It was pure privilege to spend her days painting, and yet Feyre felt like she’d earned it. Without her father and his obnoxious social circle breathing down her neck, she could run wild like she’d always wanted to. She had a little hammock in the courtyard she frequently fell asleep in, a barbeque she’d spent an exorbitant amount on only to use twice, and was even considering digging out a pool. Why not? Who could stop her? 

No one. 

She’d have to go back eventually—home, that was. Her father’s calls were becoming more frequent and becoming more annoyed. All three of his daughters had just vanished, leaving him to manage his own life for once. Who was he going to build life-long alliances with if he couldn’t move Feyre and Nesta around like pawns. 

Elain was all but sold to the Nolans, if the ugly engagement ring Graysen had given Elain was any indication. Feyre supposed she’d have to come home for that tragedy. Sometimes Feyre wondered if Elain wasn’t dragging out the business with her castle in an attempt to avoid wedding planning.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

Feyre woke that warm, summer morning like she did every day. Breakfast was waiting in the small dining room on the main floor—a simple fare of sausage, beans, and toast. She dressed, braided her hair in a long, french tail, and gathered her art supplies, intending to make her way to the furthest point on the grounds. 

Outside the heavy, rounded doors lay a neat stone path meant to feel old, though it was very modern. She’d watched the workers lay it herself. And standing at the very end of it, dressed in a black shirt and a blue and green plaid kilt, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark, blue black hair ruffled in the wind, while eyes so blue they seemed nearly violet, stared openly at her.

She saw plenty of Scotsmen, given she was in Scotland. And yet there was something about this man, with his toned shins clad in high, black socks and his tall, powerful body, that gave her pause. She could see the hint of ink just above his knees and the curve of his neck, and when Feyre looked back to his face, his mouth was curved into a sensual smile. 

“Feyre Archeron?” he asked with a rich, dark accent. 

Feyre cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s she—I ah—I mean, that’s me.”

His smile widened. “Aye, ye are, aren’t ye?”

She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

He chuckled, placing a broad hand against his muscular chest. “Ma apologies. I’m Rhysand Campbell.”

A soft scream escaped Feyre’s lips. “Liar.”

He took a step toward her, reaching into the leather sporran hanging from his waist. Feyre couldn’t breathe, watching in horror as he pulled a stack of letters out and offered them to her. 

She didn’t take them, shaking her head back and forth. “Prove it.”

He was still grinning, reaching for his wallet. Feyre’s hands shook when he pulled out a license, proving he was exactly who he said he was.

“How…?”

“Did ye think there was no one in all of Dornoch with the name Campbell? It’s quite common a last name.”

Feyre’s heart was mere seconds from jumping out of her chest. 

“It was luck I happened to be named Rhysand.”

“Luck,” she repeated, looking skyward. “All those years and you never thought to write back/”

He merely shrugged, taking back his license from her shaking fingers. “At first? It was charming. I figured ye’d stop eventually. Ye wrote a lot of things.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ferye said stiffly. Prick. 

“I’m sure ye don’t,” he replied with that insufferable smile.

“No, I do. You got my letters, figured out who my father was, and now you’re here for money. Is that it, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not quite,” he replied, coming closer still. 

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Where’s tae ring, darling?” he all but purred. Ice slithered through Feyre’s veins, her eyes landing back on those letters. She’d spent three years writing to him, pouring out her secrets, venting about her family…and telling him all about their nonexistent romance. At best, Ferye had imagined an elderly postal woman reading those letters with a mixture of pity and amusement before tossing them. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine that an actual man was reading what she wrote. 

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he pressed, those eyes flashing with delight. “Sentimental, lass.”

Feyre shook her head again. “No. Absolutely not. Send father those letters—”

“And Nesta? Or Elain?” he pressed, preventing Feyre from turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the garden looking foolish. “What about them, hm? What do ye think they’d think of yer scathing assessment of them?”

Feyre exhaled. “What is it that you want? A sham engagement?”

“Oh, a wee bit more than that. I’ve come to claim my wife.”

“You don’t even know me,” Feyre protested, wondering if she ought to just call the police. He was blackmailing her—into marriage, for a purpose she couldn’t ascertain. 

“We’re in love,” he said, some of his smile fading just a little. 

“So I’m supposed to, what, exactly? Call up my father and tell him—”

“The engagement is back on,” he interrupted, closer still. She could smell him, then—like citrus and the sea, washing over her with the warm morning breeze. Rhysand blotted out the sun with his large body, peering down at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. “And we’re in love.”

“Lies.”

“Ye should be verra familiar with that, darling,” he replied, an edge to his voice. 

Feyre ran a hand down her face. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who could say?”

Prick prick prick! 

“A marriage built upon the foundation of blackmail. You are too charming, Mr. Campbell.”

“Just as ye always imagined,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Now. Are ye going to invite me in? Or do I have to beg?”

“Why not?” Feyre grumbled, eyeing those letters. Rhysand caught her, offering them up again.

“Take them. It’s not like I didnae make copies.”

Still, Feyre snatched them from him all the same, holding them close to her chest. She’d hoped she might undo this mess simply by throwing them away and thus, removing his leverage. In truth, were Rhysand ever to show her father her letters, it would merely force him to pay attention to her. Elain and Nesta would forgive her, with time.

But the idea of her father knowing just how much she loathed him, all while craving his validation and approval, was too much for her pride to handle. It was enough to make her think that, perhaps, this wasn’t such an awful idea. If she could set some hard rules, having a ne’er-do-well for a husband kept her from ever having to get married to someone awful.

Like Tamlin, who still sent the occasional too-formal text inquiring after her help.

And this man was hot. Surely he knew it, too, if that wide smile and the way he kept running his hand down his chest was any indication. How long could he tolerate her? How long before he realized his new wife had no intention of sleeping with him, of showing him any affection? 

He couldn’t blackmail her into sex—even Feyre had her limits and had to assume he did too.

Or hope, anyway. The bar was in hell, even for a man who’d shown up on her doorstep and declared his intention to marry her. 

She forced a smile on her face. “Right this way, Lord Campbell.”

His smile vanished. “I preferred when ye were calling me Rhys. All my friends do. My wife should, too.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Feyre reminded him. “My sisters are going to be so thrilled. Elain will want to throw an engagement party, and father—”

“Elope,” he said, stepping through the threshold with big, wide eyes. “I’m not going to London for a wedding.”

“Your wife is from London,” Feyre reminded him through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to visit them eventually.”

“Why? Invite them here. Surely there’s space.”

Feyre whirled on her heel, smacking straight into the hard plain of his chest. Rhysand reached for her arms, steadying her with a soft chuckle. “Careful, lass.”

“Let me get this straight. You will make no concessions in this sham marriage? Because, despite what you’ve imagined, blackmailing is a crime and my father has a lot of money.”

“Do ye want to go back to London?” he asked patiently, one perfectly groomed brow arched. As if he already knew the answer to that. As if he knew Feyre would have done anything to stay exactly where she was—far from London, far from her father and his circle of friends. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, hating how smug he looked.

“It will be an actual wedding. And you will invite yer family—”

“I have none,” he interrupted, a shadow crossing his handsome expression. Feyre faltered.

“Friends?”

A soft smile. “Aye. Friends I do have.”

“Okay. Then friends. And you will keep your hands to yourself the entire time. Separate beds. Separate lives.”

He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “Aye. I can do that. Any other demands ye have?”

“Once we’re married, I want you to burn those letters,” Feyre said, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “I’ll—marriages are not so easily undone.”

“And how do I know ye won’t back out tae moment they’re gone?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

She considered pleading with him. Was it not enough, she wanted to ask, to make her go through with this? That he knew things about her she’d never wanted anyone to know? He couldn’t let her forget it? Feyre took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of him.

“Very well,” she said, trying her hardest to channel Nesta’s icy disdain. “Let me just—”

She turned, and he caught her by the arm, spinning her around. “Give me a reason to trust ye, lass, and I’ll destroy them.”

“And will you be giving me a reason to trust you?” she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp. 

“I could have gone straight to ye father. Shown him what ye did, demanded he pay me to keep quiet. I came to ye, instead. I don’t want yer money, Feyre. Just…”

“My home,” she finished with a sigh. 

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “A castle that belongs to Scottish blood, not the English.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she snapped.

“Tae only way,” he murmured, and despite the softness of his tone, it was clear he didn’t care for disagreement. Feyre dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and sighed loudly. 

“Call him,” Rhys said, nodding toward her shorts and the phone outline in the tight fabric. “Tell him the good news.”

“He will never accept you as a son.”

Rhys only shrugged. “As long as his daughter loves me.”

“She doesn’t,” Feyre snapped, but it didn’t matter. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Took a breath. And then. 

“Dad? It’s me, Feyre.”

-*-

Living with Rhysand was a mixture of insufferable and tolerable in equal measure. The castle was sprawling, big enough that for the first day, she didn’t see him at all. She’d instructed the staff to serve him and slipped that ring back on her finger in order to keep up appearances. Absurd, given any truly happy couple reuniting might have spent that first night locked in bed together, and Feyre had very much shut her bedroom door with the letters Rhysand had given and begun to pour through them.

They were worse than she imagined. Not only had she complained about her family, she’d divulged personal secrets, told him about her hopes, her dreams. She’d sent him sketches, she’d told him about the people in her fathers social circle, along with all the most embarrassing and hilarious gossip. Things that Rhysand could have sent to a trash magazine and humiliated half of London with. 

She’d treated those letters like a diary, never thinking there was a real man on the other end. Feyre couldn’t sleep that first night.

Or the second.

She did sleep the third, but only because Elain had promised to come down that weekend, delighted to meet the man she’d heard so much about. Nesta had sent back only three words.

Are you sure?

If Nesta came, she’d see straight through Feyre, so Feyre supposed she ought to be grateful Nesta was embroiled in some kind of property dispute with her castle and a local reenactor who took to staging battles of Scottish victory over the English on her front lawn with loud enthusiasm. Feyre suspected Elain was rather happy to escape for a bit, and might soften Rhysand ever so slightly.

And maybe if he realized there were more interesting Archerons, he might take to courting Elain instead of insisting with the sham wedding. Not that Elain would ever agree to it, but…men had always gravitated toward her. Feyre thought Rhysand simply wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

On the fourth day, Feyre slipped back through the castle, lugging her art supplies in a canvas bag with her. She expected the grounds to be empty, that Rhysand would be inside lording about her staff like some kind of king.

She heard the sound of wood splitting in the courtyard before she saw him.

Shirtless, in that kilt and the same black socks, rolled halfway down his shins from sweat and exertion. He’d found an ax and with a mighty swing of his powerful biceps, brought it screaming onto a block of wood.

Feyre couldn’t take her eyes off the slick, taut muscles of his stomach, his back, tattooed in dark whorls of ink. Rhysand seemed far too pretty to do any sort of manual labor, which brought Feyre back to the present.

Though, he’d absolutely caught her ogling him. He halted, pushing one booted foot up onto the heavy stump he was using to split wood while using the hem of his kilt to wipe at his forehead. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Didn’t he know she paid someone to bring in firewood? Besides, there was heating the castle—she’d also paid for that.

“Chopping wood,” he replied, his eyes sliding to the neat stack at his feet. His tone was polite, though perhaps annoyed. As if he really wanted to say, what does it look like I’m doing? 

“I pay someone to do that.”

“Of course ye do, lass,” he said with relish. “I don’t see why—I am more than capable of helping.”

Feyre hesitated. “You want to help?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “What did ye think I was gonna do? Sit around waving my hands like some kind of fancy lord?”

“Yes, actually—that’s exactly what I thought.”

“I already told ye. I don’t want yer money.”

Yes, he had said this, hadn’t he? Feyre sniffed. “Fine. You want chores? There are bats in the attic again.”

He offered her a handsome smile. Coupled with the bright sunshine and his warm, brown skin, Feyre’s knees wobbled a little. Why couldn’t he look disgusting? Her traitor body had not gotten the message that they hated him.

“I can do that,” he said. “And anything else ye have for me.”

“I’ll make a list,” she said tartly. 

But later, when Feyre was alone with nothing but her thoughts and her canvas, all she could think about was Rhysand, midswing over that block of wood. She thought of the tight expression on his face and the controlled movements of his body.

And even though she hated herself for it, she reached for a piece of charcoal.

And began to sketch. 

-*-

Elain arrived at the end of the first week of Rhysand’s arrival. True to word, Rhysand had done every chore Feyre had left for him without complaint. He’d cleared out the bats and fixed several burnt light bulbs, digging out a ladder from god only knew where. And when he ran out of things to do, he turned his attention to the dilapidated stables Feyre had never bothered with. In truth, she’d always meant to tear them down.

It seemed Rhysand meant to fix them up.

He was out there when Elain swanned in, tan from a summer outdoors in the English countryside. She grinned the moment she saw Feyre, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elain said, squeezing tight enough to make Feyre’s ribs ache. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? How are you holding up?” Feyre asked, pulling away to search her sister's expression. A faint blush bloomed over Elain’s cheeks.

“Well—I’m, well, I’m perfectly lovely, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked.

Elain held up her hand, wiggling bare fingers while Feyre just stared. “You got your nails done?”

“You’re so terribly observant. I’ve called off my engagement—just in time for you to be married. I’ve come to see if you want any of the things we put deposits on, so they don’t go to waste.”

“You—what?” Feyre gaped, realizing only then Elain was trying to show her a hand without an engagement ring. “What happened?”

Elain only shrugged, though more pink crept up her neck. “It wasn’t right. I was…I was deluding myself, I think. It doesn’t matter, because I know you hated him, so you don’t have to pretend. I’ve brought pictures so you can see everything, and it would be no trouble to have it all brought here for you. I know how much you hate planning,” Elain added brightly. “I only wish I could be more helpful.”

“This is already too helpful,” Feyre said, pulling her sister through the open hall toward the spiraling stairs that led both to the left and the right. Elain drank it all in as the skirt of her buttery yellow sundress swished around her legs. She looked every inch a princess, and it took no effort at all to imagine her walking these halls four hundred years before while poets and bards sang songs about her beauty. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asked, looping her arm through Feyre’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet him. Nesta used to swear you made him up and I told her you’d never do such a thing. It’s nice to prove her wrong sometimes.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed. “He’s working on the stables. I’ll take you to him.”

This would be the moment of truth. Rhysand would see her and realize his mistake, just as all men did. He wouldn’t be able to look away—and Elain seemed radiant that morning, glowing like the midafternoon sun beating overhead. Her golden blonde hair was perfectly curled, a cascade over her slim shoulders while a set of pearls graced her ears. She’d put on make-up, which Feyre never did, and had the air of someone both effortless and yet unattainable. 

The same air Rhysand had, if Feyre was being honest. They’d make a smart couple. Why did that thought annoy her so much? 

Feyre led Elain over the grounds slowly, giving her a tour and pointing out all the work she’d done while Elain explained how her bed and breakfast was going. She’d created a tentative peace with the other occupant and owner of her castle—a man with a distinctly French sounding last name and decidedly French first one. Lucien Vanserra. He sounded snooty, and given the difficulty he’d created for Elain, likely some seventy year old man looking to exert his control one last time before his time on earth ended. 

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elain said, which was a very Elain sort of thing to say. She could charm a wild bear holding a sword. If the man had eyes, it likely hadn’t been hard to talk him into a small compromise. 

Rhysand was coming out of the stables as Feyre and Elain began to walk in. He didn’t see them approaching as he mopped up the sweat on his brow with the hem of his shirt. Feyre’s breathe caught at the sight of peeking abs, vanished the second he saw Elain. His eyes slid from her sister back to Feyre, some answered question flickering in his gaze.

“Elain, this is Rhysand,” Feyre told Elain just in time for her sister to plant her foot in a wet container of wood stain.

Elain screeched, yanking herself backward. Her lovely white flat was ruined, which was a shame, truly—though Rhysand? wasn’t looking at Elain at all, but Feyre. His expression very much betrayed his annoyance, some shared secret she didn’t quite understand, as if to say oh. I understand now.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain said, looking at the mess pooling around them. 

“No need,” Rhysand replied, though there was some disappointment in his tone. “I was going to do tae floor as well.”

“Of course. Probably not like this, though,” Elain replied with a small laugh. 

Rhysand only nodded, looking back to Feyre for some guidance. But it was Elain who was the conversationalist, and when she realized he didn’t know what to say, pressed forward. “How is your mother?”

Oh, christ. Feyre had forgotten that lie, amid the others. Rhysand became rigid for a moment, haunted by Elain’s ask. “She passed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Elain whispered. Rhysand only nodded, his jaw tight with emotion. So that had been true, in some way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not yer fault,” Rhysand murmured. “But I miss her.”

Elain nodded. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress nervously. “We should ah, probably let you get back to…”

“I’ll see ye both at dinner,” he replied, offering up his most charming smile. And that was that. Elain, holding her shoe by the crook of one finger, waited until they were out of earshot before she said, “You really undersold how handsome he was.”

And when Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, she found Rhysand leaning against the wooden door frame, eyes wholly on her. 

It was that night that both Feyre and Rhysand seemed to realize they could not sleep apart in opposite wings of the castle. Elain had made some little quip about how nice it must be to have all this alone time and Rhysand’s fork had clattered to his plate while Feyre’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

He’d come to her, at least. Feyre sat up against a sea of pillows when she heard him knock, sucking in a deep breath.

“Come in.”

A moment later, the handle turned and there he was. He’d put on plain black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and his still damp hair told her she’d just freshly showered. If she’d been smart, Feyre would have dragged a divan up from another room so he could sleep on it. As it stood, there were two little chairs facing a small breakfast table and then her rather large, four-poster bed. 

And Rhys was a tall man. He looked around, drinking in the cream colored rug and the sand and stone walls, illuminated by an overhanging chandelier. A little potted plant sat half dead in the circular window at the far end of the room, while books were stacked on beneath the television stand haphazardly.

“I’m not sleeping on tae floor,” he told her when he realized their predicament.

“I assumed,” she replied, scooting to the far side of the bed. “No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a theatrical eye roll. As he padded toward her, he asked, “How long will she be here?”

“The weekend,” Feyre replied, trying—and failing—not to notice how good he smelled. “Why?”

“She’s not what I imagined,” he finally said, dragging a hand through his hair with contemplation.

Feyre immediately felt defensive. “She has that effect on people.”

He frowned. “Oh? And what effect do ye imagine she’s having on me?”

“She’s just very…”

“Verra…” he prompted, waiting for Feyre to spit it out. “Dull?”

“What?” Ferye gaped. “She’s not dull.”

“Proper, then. A real English princess,” he amended. 

It was asking for pain, and still Feyre couldn’t help herself. “Then what does that make me?”

He smiled again, his face blooming with warm affection. “Wild. Free,” he added, thinking to himself for a moment, as if he needed to choose his words carefully lest he insult her. “Ye are far more lovely than her—”

“Don’t,” Feyre snapped, unable to stand the lie. “No one thinks that.”

She turned to her side, angrily fluffing a pillow before turning off the bedside table.

“I think that,” Rhysand murmured defensively. “I saw a picture of tae three of ye, once.”

She half twisted to look at him. “How?”

“We do have the internet here too, lass. It was simple enough to google ye. I wasn’t sure which of ye was which—but I hoped ye were…well…Feyre. I thought ye must be Elain, given how much you talked of her beauty.”

Feyre’s heart pounded. “You’re such a liar, Mr. Campbell.”

“Not when it comes to ye, darling.”

There was a pause of silence between them, hanging thickly as Feyre digested that information. Hoped. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It was one of the things I liked about getting tae letters,” he murmured, settling into the bed. After turning off the lights, it felt easier to peel back some of her defensiveness, to listen to him talk. “My sister died when she was wee, and my mother, well. She never quite recovered from it. When ye wrote that first letter, she was ill again and my father was in one of his rages. And there ye were, in a similar predicament. I thought maybe it was fate.”

“Why didn’t you write back?” she asked, turning fully to her side, her head resting on her elbow.

“Cowardice, I suppose. Ye were a bit younger than me, too. Sixteen, but I was nineteen. It dinae seem right, and truthfully, I didnae want spook ye.”

“Is this your attempt at not spooking me, then? Demanding I marry you for reasons you’ve yet to divulge?” she asked, this time without her usual anger. 

“Aye,” he murmured, twisting so he was facing her, too. “I never said I was a good man, Feyre. Only that yer letters were never funny to me.”

“Will you tell me why all this was necessary? I might be able to help, you know—”

“One day,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “When all this is done and ye aren’t so angry, I will. I want to. Not tonight. Hate me all ye like, but I know ye—you’ll be trying to get out of this marriage if ye think you can solve my problems with money. I don’t want yer money.”

“Yes, so you keep saying and yet once we’re married, you’ll have it, regardless. Surely you’ve considered that.”

Rhysand’s pause betrayed him. So he hadn’t realized he’d become unspeakably wealthy the moment Feyre said I do.

It settled some wild, ugly thing in her. “That’s yers,” he finally said. 

And with nothing left to say, Rhysand turned over and left Feyre to fall asleep.

-*- 

Feyre agreed to take the least offensive things from Elain’s wedding, which, to be fair, were few and far between. The cake was nice, along with the flowers of which Elain would always be the expert. Tables and chairs, and of course, the caterer. Elain had been delighted, in no small part, Feyre suspected, because it meant Graysen wouldn’t be getting his money back. What had he done to her? It wasn’t like Elain to be so petty, but with each thing Feyre said yes to, Elain’s smile grew wider and wider until Feyre wasn’t sure how her sister's smile didn’t split. 

And then, with an exasperated sigh, Elain was gone to check on Mr. Vanserra, who was likely wrecking everything in her absence. Feyre thought she’d be sad to see Elain go, but the minute her sister's car pulled out of the drive, Feyre felt the smallest hint of relief.

Rhysand, too. She caught him peeking around a corner, muddy boots on a rather nice ivory floor runner she’d need to wash later. 

“Is she gone?” he asked, as if Elain were some terrible creature and not just chatty and maybe a little nosy.

“For now,” Feyre agreed. “She’s putting together your dream wedding, you know.”

“Ours,” he amended. 

“No matter how many times you say that, it will never be true.”

He stared her down, straightening to his full height. Feyre’s heart leapt into her throat. “Will ye tell me tae truth about one thing?”

“I doubt it, but you can ask,” she replied primly, wedging her way past his obnoxious body.

“In yer letters, ye said I was tae most beautiful man ye’d ever seen. Is that true?”

Feyre froze. If she turned, he’d see her answer written all over her face. “Everything I imagined about you in my letters was a fiction, Mr. Campbell—”

“For fucks sake, Feyre, call me Rhys,” he snapped. “I cannae stand hearing ye call me Mr. Campbell.”

Feyre forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him, turning to argue only to find him so close she could smell him. Eyes wide, she backed up only for him to slam his palm against the stone wall behind her, trapping her with his body. 

“Tae truth, lass.”

“Why does it matter?” she whispered, hating herself for wanting him and hating herself for not being able to send him away. 

His fingers brushed her cheek. “It matters.”

“You can’t have it all, Rhys,” she hissed. He winced as she spat his name, saying it as though it were a curse. “You can’t have your secrets, this marriage and my affection.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!” she shouted, shoving him away from her. Rhys let her, though she knew if he’d wanted to keep her where she was, there was little she could have done to stop him. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of man who just snaps his fingers and gets exactly what he wants. You could have asked me on a date! You could have been honest and told me who you were, that you got my letters! I would have said yes, you know. If you’d just asked. And if you told me the truth, I would have helped you. You want your secrets, fine. Here I am, playing along. Whatever else you want from me, though? Forget it. For the rest of your life, just forget it.”

“Feyre!” he called as she stormed off. “Feyre, come back!”

She didn’t turn, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain she was going to explode. Feyre didn’t pay attention to the direction she went, running through the halls as fast as she could, just in case he was following her.

He wasn’t. She heard a door slam somewhere in the distance, and if she had to bet, Feyre would have guessed he was headed to the stables. It slowed her just enough to make a decision. He wanted secrets? Well, Feyre didn’t. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery that past week to bother thinking rationally, but she’d seen him drag in all his things.

Surely there was some answer to the Rhysand question up in his room. 

Feyre didn’t feel even a little badly flinging open that door. Where she was messy, Rhysand was immaculate. His bed was made for the morning, draped in silken black that was just like him.

He’d tucked his suitcase beneath the bed, and when she opened his drawers to the dresser, everything was neatly folded and in its place. Feyre rifled a bit, feeling like a creep as she shoved aside his underwear and socks. 

The curtains to the windows were pulled open, allowing gloomy gray light to filter through. Outside, she was certain a storm was brewing. If it rained, Rhysand would retreat indoors and she’d have to try again another day. 

She didn’t know what she was looking for when she dropped to her knees, sitting on the plush, circular sand rug she’d put in all the rooms. Feyre pulled out his suitcase, unzipping thinking she’d find a passport with his real name, or maybe a criminal record that would explain this whole thing. And then she could call the police and be free of him.

Her stomach clenched when all she found was a large manilla envelope, unsealed.

Feyre. 

With trembling fingers, Feyre pulled out a stack of letters. They were stapled individually before he’d folded them into quarters. She reached for the one on top, surprised to see it was the very first letter she’d ever sent him, highlighted and starred with a blue pen.

And beneath, was the letter she’d said he should have sent her. 

Dear Feyre Archeron,

Don’t be embarrassed, but I have received your letter. I am curious—do you possess the gift of sight? It seems too much a coincidence that you would mail a letter addressed to Mr. Rhysand Campbell to my home in Dornoch. I’ve decided it’s fate, or at least luck. Tell me, though, this one thing: is your birthday on Christmas? I received this at the new year, and I have been trying to figure out when, exactly, you were born.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though it would be nice to send you a birthday gift next year. If you’re wondering, my birthday is in August. Not that you have to send me a gift. It just seemed fair, since I was asking, to tell you my birthday, too.

And, if it makes you feel better (I’m guessing it won’t, but it did make me feel better), my father also forgot my birthday this year. He was working, and I think he expects my mother to handle those things. I shouldn’t care because I’m an adult, and adults don’t need birthdays (or, that’s what I tell myself at least), but it stings every time he looks me in the eye and asks how old I am. 

I think he thinks I’m disappointing. Maybe I am. 

Anyway. I am happy to be your pretend boyfriend if it keeps you from having to date wankers. If you decide you’d like to write me back, send it to my address in Edinburgh. My mother lives in Dornoch, and I visit when she’s ill (which, to be fair, is pretty often), but I don’t want to miss one. 

That is, assuming you don’t find this horribly creepy. 

Yours in pretend,

Rhysand Campbell 

P.S. I think Nesta deserved to have her hair pulled, just between you and I. 

My silly Feyre,

You keep sending letters (that I devour), but I can’t make myself send one back. I’m starting to suspect I’m a coward, which is a terrible quality in a boyfriend. Maybe you should end things with me and date the beige paint (don’t do that). You’re so honest, and I’m so jealous because without my secrets, who am I? The thought of stripping myself bare makes me feel sick, and so I fold these letters up and pretend you read them and they didn’t disgust you.

In truth, I think you’d stop writing if you knew the truth about me. I’m back in Dornoch and mother is ill and father is working and I am just here. Barely existing, both in Edinburgh where I’m trying to be diligent and finish my education, and in Dornoch, where everyone thinks I’m a good son.

Am I? Can I tell you something? 

My sister died when she was nine. It was no one’s fault—except, I suppose, the man driving the car who hit her. We were out together and Ainsley darted out of reach. Father was closest. He lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough, and by the time mother and I could react, it was all over. 

I was eleven. 

I think we tried to rally together for a while, but the days following Ainsley’s death all blur together. Mother cried all the time and father began yelling. Everyone blamed themselves because we couldn’t blame each other, until we were just festering. Father stayed in Edinburgh, and mother went home and I was in-between. 

It’s like she’s lost in a fog, and I’m so angry sometimes because I needed her, too. I needed them both, and it was like, if they couldn’t have Ainsley they didn’t want me. Or anyone—I think mother wishes she’d died, too. And I think father is too busy punishing himself—and by extension, me—to take care of mother. 

I wonder what will happen to him when she dies. He loved her better than he ever loved either of us. And deep down, I think he’s ashamed he failed her by letting Ainsley die, and it’s better to yell at her, to stay away, to pretend none of it matters to him.

I can’t send this to you, but I like to pretend you’re reading it anyway. That you’d understand, because you feel forgotten, too. That’s how I feel. 

Anyway. Tell Tamlin to stay away. I’m fond of you, pretend girlfriend or not.

Your mess,

Rhysand 

Feyre, my darling,

Engaged? I admit, I laughed out loud when I saw what you’d done. I knew the English were awful, but surely there must be one tolerable man among the lot of them. I’m tempted to drive all the way up there and rescue you, if only to spare you the embarrassment from when this falls apart. I’m also curious to see the ring I got you.

I’d like to have it, if only so I can get on one knee and ask you to marry me myself. It’s strange how much affection I feel for you. How often I think about you, how I miss you without knowing you. I feel as if I do (maybe I’m crazy, too). 

I graduated last week. Father wasn’t there, though he did call in the after to ask me what my plans were. I nearly told him I planned to marry an English lass–but I have no plans for that yet, and no idea how to announce myself to you. It’s been almost three years, and I think I should have been less of a coward back then and just said hello.

I think, sometimes, you would have liked me. More than that other bloke (Ian? I remember his name, but it makes me feel better to pretend I don’t.), at any rate. And maybe my plans wouldn’t seem so far-fetched, and you wouldn’t have to keep lying to your family because I would be asking you to marry me.

For now, things seem possible. I feel like my own man for once, even if I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Only that whatever it is will bring me closer to you. Of that, I’m certain. I am looking forward to hearing of our fake marriage, though—I hope you tell me exactly how you imagine it, so when we do meet, I can impress you.

Is that charming, or does it make me creepy? It’s a question I keep asking, and I think I’m walking a very fine line when it comes to you. Perhaps this will all be charming to you—or maybe you’ll have me locked up. I look forward to finding out. I’m certain I will never live it down, regardless.

For now, just know that I find you endearing.

Yours,

Rhys 

Feyre,

Your ability to tell the future is unnerving. Our relationship is over because my mother is ill—and though you don’t know it, you were right. I don’t think it would give you solace to hear she finally passed, but in a way, it gave me peace thinking you’d written me to say goodbye. That you understood, even if you didn’t know it, why you and I were just a foolish dream. 

Father and I stood in the rain to bury her. I didn’t think he’d come and it would be just me, watching them set her beside my sister. Reunited, at last, just like she’d always wanted. And for one moment, he and I stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silently weeping for all we’d lost and all the things we’d never have again. Ainsley should be here and so should mother. 

Her heart failed. I didn’t think you could die of a broken heart, and today I think I could, too. I thought I’d prepared myself better for this moment. As I so often am, I was wrong. Father left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or if I even want to. Maybe that moment was enough. Maybe enough passed between us to call it even, to start over.

I think I’ve been trying so hard to forget when I should have been trying to remember. And I think you were just another way to pretend I was someone else, at least for a little while. You don’t know me—you don’t know Rhysand Campbell and neither do I. Not your once betrothed, anyway. That man was a fantasy, someone I wanted so badly to be. 

I would have disappointed you. I’m not a good man, Feyre. I don’t think you would have liked the real Rhysand Campbell, and I would have loved you. That’s the tragedy of us, at least to me. You are witty and funny and charming and I am…I am this. I am not the sort of man you fall in love with, but you. 

Oh, you, Feyre. I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. How you don’t walk onto the street and have everyone at your feet, wishing they knew your name. Begging for a second of your time. And even though I know you’ll never see this, and so it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say, I feel as though I’ve been drowning in endless night, and you were the first bright thing that came along.

It would be wrong to go looking for you, no matter how strong the impulse is. You’ve said goodbye, and I am saying it, too. I need to figure myself out and maybe that will take forever. I know one thing, though. I will always be thinking about you. Always be wondering about you.

It’s your birthday (I think), today. That’s what started this whole thing.

Happy birthday Feyre.

Yours, eternally,

Rhys 

A crack of thunder sent the letters flying from Feyre’s hands. Was she crying? For one wild moment she twisted to look up at the ceiling, certain there must be a leak. Only, no, it was just her, dripping salt onto the elegant penmanship of Rhys’s unsent letters. 

“So,” a dark, masculine voice from the doorway intoned. Feyre’s head snapped to the side, drinking him in. His expression was carefully blank, fingertips holding the frame as he leaned forward. Ferye had been caught, had been so engrossed in the parallel lives they’d been living that she hadn’t realized the rain had started or that he’d retreated indoors.

His wet shirt clung to the contours of his chest, slicking that dark ebony hair to his forehead. 

“So,” she agreed, her voice trembling.

Feyre held his gaze. Waiting for his ire.

“Now you know.”

[red-dead-do-over246]

Hi there, Im currently scouring your works and I am in LOVE. The way you write is making me melt and just love. I was hoping you might be able to do prompt #9 from the first prompt list for Arthur?

much love !

Yes! Thank you for reading and liking! I hope you enjoy!💖 Mentions of blood and some angst

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Bloody Nightmares

During the events of Beaver Hollow, Arthur has a terrible dream. You are there to console him during these hard times.

#9 “Here…come closer.”

Blood. There was blood everywhere.

Another hacking cough racked through his body, causing more blood to spill into his hands. His vision was blurry, and the world felt like it was spinning. It was dark enough, and cold, so very cold.

Arthur fell to his knees, coughs followed by blood rattling his chest.

The sound of hoofbeats were heard, but Arthur could barely register them. His heart was beating hard, trying to keep him going as his lungs were trying to drown him in his own blood. But the outlaw found the strength, found the courage, to look up and see whoever approached him.

"And I saw, and behold, a pale horse: and he that sat upon him, his name was Death..."

The words echoed around him in an unfamiliar voice, but Arthur was horror-stricken to see that there was indeed a pale horse before him. And sitting on that horse, dressed all in black, was a man with a skull over his face. Arthur wanted to scream, shout, say anything, but all that came out of his mouth was blood.

He felt like he was drowning in blood. His own blood. It was all around him, pooling over his body.

Fear gripped him tightly, but when Arthur looked back up, he saw that the man on the horse was removing the deer skull from his face. Death was looking him straight in the eye, a chilling smile on his face.

It was Micah.

For the first time ever in the presence of this man, Arthur felt fear. True fear.

"Black lung..." The taunt hit him, echoed inside him.

Arthur coughed up more blood, but it was black now. He could feel with each cough that a piece of him was leaving as well. A piece of his lung.

"Black lung..." The chilling voice of Micah, followed by that manic laughter reached Arthur's ears. He couldn't see anything now. It was dark, his chest was on fire, and all he could hear was Micah. He coughed, but he was running out of blood to spill.

This was it. Death was here to claim him. Death in the form of Micah Bell.

"Black lung!" Arthur could finally feel it, death's cold embrace. But he wasn't ready, but there was nothing left in him to scream and beg for his life.

Fear surrounded him, but this time, he couldn't be saved.

"Black lung! Wake up dammit!" Micah kicked Arthur in the side. The outlaw woke up with a jolt, sweat gleaming off his face from the dim lantern light nearby.

For a second, the sight of Micah instilled fear in him, but Arthur brushed it off quickly.

The pain in his chest, the kicking from Micah, and the sounds of camp proved he was still alive. It was all a nightmare.

"What you want Micah?" Arthur asked grumpily as he wiped at his face, trying to calm himself.

"You to shut up. Some people sleep." Micah said in a boss-like manner, mimicking Dutch to the best of his ability. Arthur wanted to scoff, but his lungs were already shot, and his throat hurt like hell. But for Micah to say that, Arthur must've been saying things in his sleep.

The thought chilled him.

"Don't act like you care all of a sudden. Not like you sleep ya snake." Arthur growled at him, causing Micah to do that iconic mocking laugh of his. But Arthur then started to cough again, and fear rose in his chest.

But this was a dry cough. No blood.

"Be careful there, black lung." Micah snickered before walking off, not realizing how much that one name scared Arthur so much. He grew shaky, and got to his feet to find the barrel full of rainwater that was stored in camp.

He needed to wake himself up.

As Arthur splashed water on his face, he heard the sound of someone approaching him. Fear gripped his heart as he thought of Micah or...the sound of hoofbeats, that pale horse, all the blood...Arthur shook his head. The cool water ran down his face, he could feel that. This was real. He was here and alive.

"Arthur...are you okay?" Your soft voice was enough to slow Arthur's racing heart. You were always enough to calm him and make him feel safe. The one thing left at camp that wasn't falling apart.

"Y/N...did I wake you?" He ignored your question as Micah's earlier comment went into his head again. Who knew how loud he was during that nightmare.

But you shook your head.

"With everything that's happened, I just couldn't sleep." You said while looking around. Everyone else seemed to be moderately sleeping, but the camp was still tense, with some people still being awake and not the people you would want.

"You and me both." Arthur mumbled, hands on each side of the barrel. Peering down at his reflection, he took note of the drained eyes and sickened face of the man who stared back.

"But it's not just that. Did you have a bad dream?" You spoke to him like he was a child and not some scary outlaw. But still, your words caused his lip to tremble slightly, something he hated. However, it proved you right.

"Oh Arthur..." You whispered sadly, gently grabbing his arm and leading him to the edge of camp for some privacy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked once you guys were seated farther away from anyone who was awake. He had his hands in his lap and refused to meet your gaze. Perhaps he was ashamed. A man like him felt like he wasn't allowed to be scared.

Arthur shook his head.

"Don't feel any shame from this Arthur...with all that's happened, you have a right to have bad dreams." You told him, but that seemed to make him look more vulnerable. He was wringing his hands and biting his lip, almost shaking a bit.

Whatever it was, you knew it was bad.

"No...I mean, I shouldn't..." Arthur was choking up, at a loss for words. You didn't know what was really going on, what was actually causing him terror each time he went to sleep with only the sound of his ragged breathing to accompany him.

“Here…come closer.” You said lovingly to him, pulling Arthur closer as if he were a little boy and not a grown man. But he melted into your touch, the one thing that makes him feel truly secure. However, it also broke him more.

"I guess...I am afraid." Arthur confessed and you didn't need to see his face to know he was on the verge of tears.

You gently stroked his back.

"It's okay to be afraid." You told him gently, having had scary dreams and lost hope before. It was hard for Arthur to show, but you were the only person who could get him to do so.

"Not when ya can't find any hope to get out of it. This whole shitshow is going to be ugly...and I can't escape it." Arthur kept spewing more of how he felt, but you didn't mind. You were one of the few people who he could say how he was feeling without mockery. But as he was talking, his chest felt tight and the fear came back.

You frowned, moving to gently kiss his head.

"There's always hope. I mean, we could lea-" As you started to talk, Arthur already shook his head, tensing up his jaw more as he tried to keep any tears from falling.

"I'm...I'm dying..." Arthur said, the verge of another cough being sent from his lungs. He quickly moved off you before coughing violently, you watching him with worry.

"What do you mean? We're all dying Arthur." You said in a scared tone, his recent condition having worried you for some time. But now, it seemed so real. However, you hoped he was being overdramatic.

"You don't get it..." He rasped, his voice on the verge of being gone.

"Then help me." You asked, rubbing his back in hopes of making him feel better.

It was hard for Arthur to meet your eyes. As soon as these words leave his mouth, he knows he's going to feel fear all over again. The words, the truth, actually hearing them, it just makes everything more real. The dream came back to him. All the blood, all the death, the fear, and Micah being in the center of it all. His heart raced just thinking of it, but the hand on his back reminded him of his current predicament. And Arthur knew you deserved the truth.

"I got TB Y/N...I'm dying...and I'm afraid."

[polyhexian]

TMI.

Read a story about sexual abuse that really made me reflect on my own, and I sort of wonder if I kind of acknowledged it without actually confronting it. I've never really hidden the fact my first relationship was when I was eighteen with a man seven years older than me who had spoken to his friends when I was seventeen that he was just waiting for me to turn and had "called" me so everyone else needed to back off, including the people around me that were my age. I moved in with him basically immediately and he separated me from my family and non mutual friends. I remember googling "is sex supposed to hurt?" After I lost my virginity because of how painful and unpleasant the experience was. "did you really think I was going to date a kid forever?" Was something he said when he broke up with me. And he wanted to "be a big brother figure" to me afterward and for months I clung obsessively to every iota of attention he gave me. I remember crying myself to sleep every night, and not like said silent tears, like open-mouthed wailing so loud my neighbors banged on the wall and told me to shut up. But I was in genuinely physical pain, I hadn't known before that how it could actually hurt like, physically, and so BADLY.

And you know I concluded I was asexual when I was fourteen, something he wanted to fix and said so. Actually I recall I was seventeen the first time he gave me alcohol, and how we went to huge parties where I'd chug shot after shot after shot to prove I belonged there.

It's sort of weird to actually think about how incredibly stereotypical it was now, straight out of the textbook, you know, and how even knowing that it always feels like I'm being a little unfair, he might have been bad, but he never hit me or anything, it wasn't truly abuse, and ultimately I WAS a truly toxic person back then, mean as hell. It feels, at times, like it was more mutual toxicity, but I know that it wasn't. No matter what a shithead I was, it was obvious I was a victim there, even if I feel weirdly guilty for thinking that, like I'm being almost manipulative with the way I portray myself as a victim. Real cognitive dissonance there. Even then I've never really been able to apply the r word to myself there even though I literally woke up once to him jerking himself off with my unconscious hand and then rolled over onto my half-asleep body to fuck. What else do you call that? At the same time, I remember finding it really exciting at the time and even saying afterward I wanted to do that again, which I think honestly disappointed him because he never did it again. And then of course there's the time his dumbass sexual idiocy put me in the hospital and nearly got me fucking killed, probably legitimately the closest I've ever come to death. 105 degree fever, man, that's reaching the territory of causing brain damage. It's nuts how many years literally unable to speak about it out loud because how humiliated I was by it.

I suppose the older I get the more I appreciate how genuinely bad it was and how much worse it got when I got dragged to another continent and fully separated from every human being I knew other than him, including internet friends. And how wild it was that by the time I left Beijing I was literally swigging from a bottle of vodka every morning for work and keeping them in my backpack to just drink whenever, straight from the bottle. And how I've cheekily said oh, yeah, I used to be an alcoholic before, sort of in passing, but like- I mean, I was? That's sort of hard to deny now.

It feels quite odd to reflect on this evening and it occurs to me I've never really spoken about it in detail before, I've mentioned individual things, probably all of this stuff separately, but never really at once. I suppose I sort of thought I was over it, and I sort of am? At the same time, the fact I have so much to say really indicates I probably am not, even if it feels like it.

None of this is a secret or anything, I've shared it all publically before and never really been worried about other people knowing- other than that one incident- I mean I fully understand any person that would ever try to make me feel bad or embarrassed about it is like, a fucking sociopath who's opinion is completely irrelevant. And I think virtually every afab person alive has experienced some kind of traumatic sexually flavoured incident in their lives, even if it was relatively minor, so I think no one would ever be particularly surprised by the revelation.

Odd night. They stopped my medication for my seizure study and I suspect a week off my antidepressants has had a pretty profound affect on my mood lol. I think it's starting to restabilize, though, at least, but I suspect it will be a few more days before I feel normal again.

[crossdressingdeath]

Astarion: Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. Astarion: I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Astarion: Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. Astarion: From that day on I was his. Until today. Kyvir: You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force. Astarion: Maybe, but he did take it. There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. Astarion: For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Astarion: Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want. Kyvir: You're the person I love. The person I want. Astarion: I feel the same. Astarion: You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. Astarion: I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that. Kyvir: You won't. Whatever comes next, I've got you. Astarion: Thank you. Astarion: Well, I should probably fix this. ... Kyvir: Pick up a flower and lay it on the grave. Astarion: Cute. Astarion: I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again.

The imagery of Astarion having to claw his way out of his own grave... Once again, Cazador seems to have been being cruel for the sake of cruelty. Unless there's something in DnD lore that I'm not familiar with there was no reason for him to leave Astarion down there and not even clear some of the dirt away! Presumably the graveyard had emptied out by the time Astarion dug himself out, Cazador could've at least tried to help, but he chose not to.

The way Astarion glances back over at you as he's carving the new dates onto his tombstone is fantastic, I love it. The way he's having to come to terms with the fact that the person he was back then is gone and he needs to move forward is sad but also very satisfying! And it's great how having avoided his grave for almost two hundred years Astarion wants you at his side when he finally does go back. The way you can support Astarion and be there for him throughout his quest is so good. I also love how in the middle of all this serious emotional stuff there's that brief moment where Astarion just straight up says that trusting him was incredibly stupid. He's not wrong, either; you meet him when he tries to kill you, you learn he's a vampire when he tries to drink your blood in your sleep, he's constantly pushing for you to make Evil Choices, there's really very little reason to trust him! But if you do trust him and put faith in him ultimately being a good person he proves himself completely worthy of that trust. Like so many things in DnD and related media, it was very stupid but worked out perfectly. We love to see it! And him feeling safe with you when his desire for safety was a huge driving force in him wanting to go through with the ritual to begin with... hhhhhh it's so good I love it. He might not entirely know who he is right now, but he knows he is the person you love and whatever else he may end up becoming he has that for the foreseeable future!

Also, Astarion finding you putting a flower on his grave cute is fantastic. It is cute, I love that you can do that! Just a silly little gesture, but it matters.

[lesbianpanic]

keira's sick - wonze

It was 1 am and Keira still couldn't get to sleep. Her stomach was constantly churning and the nauseous feeling would not go away. She was currently lying on her and Lucy's bed, sipping her water bottle gingerly, breathing heavily and trying not to throw up when she realised that she had finished her water. This meant getting up, and that meant she might wake Lucy. The last thing Keira wants is to be babied by Lucy because she feels ill. Still, the water seemed to be helping her stomach, so she needed to get another bottle. Slowly, Keira got out of bed and made her way to their kitchen and towards the fridge, getting a fresh bottle of water. Once she had opened it and taken a sip, the nausea came straight back to her and she quickly sat down on the grey sofa. Sitting there with her head in her hands, occasionally sipping the water was where Lucy found her girlfriend. 

She had been awoken when she heard Keira getting up and leaving their room and thought nothing of it, but when she didn't return after a few minutes, Lucy became concerned. 

"Hey Ke, you alright?" Lucy asked from the entrance. Keira hadn't noticed her and wondered how long she had been standing there. She didn't want to tell Lucy that she felt ill, having often kept her emotions and feelings to herself, however, Lucy had known her for so long and could read her like an open book, and always knew when she felt anything other than content. Another wave of nausea swept over Keira and she finally gave in to telling Lucy, feeling as though she needed her girlfriend's help. "I don't feel well," she replied quietly to Lucy. Her eyes were pricked with tears and she felt too weak to hold them back. Lucy noticed instantly that Keira had started crying, and walked quickly but calmly over to her as her body shook gently. "Come here, baby" Lucy beckoned, opening her arms, and enveloping Keira in a strong and comforting hug.

Keira rose from her position on the sofa and stood there in Lucy's embrace for what felt like hours but realistically was less than a minute before nausea overtook her body and she let out a small groan. She hoped Lucy wouldn't hear it but was proved wrong by her next question.

"What's bothering you? Your stomach?" Keira nodded into Lucy's chest. "Do you feel like you might throw up?" Again she nodded, this time less forcefully. The last thing she wanted was for her girlfriend, Lucy FREAKING Bronze, to see her be sick, but denying it wouldn't have made Keira feel any better so she gave in to her feelings and finally began to allow herself to admit she was quite ill. The next thing she knew was that Lucy was carefully guiding her to the bathroom before sitting her down on the floor. By now it was at least half past 1 and both Lucy and Keira were exhausted but Lucy wasn't going to leave her poor girlfriend's side anytime soon and Keira definitely wasn't going to sleep soon in her current state.

Keira was sitting by the toilet, shaking and gagging, but nothing was coming up so Lucy suggested she try and get a little bit of sleep. Keira gladly agreed, and soon she was fast asleep with her head in Lucy's lap, still sitting on the bathroom floor. Seeing Keira asleep gave some comfort to Lucy and even she managed to get some sleep, whilst still keeping one eye open. 

Keira had only been asleep for a little over half an hour when she woke suddenly, her stomach churning uncomfortably. She carefully sat up and leaned over the porcelain bowl, waiting expectantly for something to happen. Lucy sensed her movement and opened her eyes to Keira leaning over the toilet, shivering slightly. She sat up and started rubbing her lower back. Keira leaned forward and gagged one more time before something finally came up. Very slowly, everything she had eaten in the last 24 hours was being puked back into the toilet. The whole process took about an hour and a half because her body was very reluctant to let herself throw up and she also found it kind of scary since the last time she had thrown up was a good few years ago. Lucy never left her side the whole time, whispering soft words of comfort in her ear, holding her hair, and gently rubbing her lower back. Keira felt so sorry for her girlfriend as she had also gotten practically no sleep, and she was supposed to be going to training in the morning. She tried telling Lucy that she could handle it herself and that Lucy could go back to bed but she wasn't making a very convincing case as she was still being sick and crying.

It was about quarter to four when Keira's stomach finally settled, hopefully for the night, and Lucy offered her some water to try and drink and not just to rinse her mouth with. She had offered the water to Keira before but it just came back up, however now that Keira was finally getting a break, maybe it was a good idea. She sipped it slowly and hovered her head over the toilet as she waited almost expectantly for something to happen, however, nothing did. 

"Do you think you can go back to bed?" Lucy asked as she crouched in front of Keira, a manoeuvre her most recent knee operation allowed. Her hand was gently running up and down Keira's arm as she leant up against the back of the bath, still shivering slightly, and looking very sorry for herself.                                                                                                                                                                                      "I think so," Keira replied shakily. Lucy helped her stand up and held onto her waist as she brushed her teeth as if Keira was likely to keel over at any second. They then walked slowly and made their way back to the bedroom.                                                                                                                               "I'm just going to grab a few things, I will be back in a minute" Keira just nodded weakly. Less than a minute later Lucy returned with the forgotten bottle of water, some paracetamol and a bin, just in case.                                                                                                                                                                                         "I'm going to place this," she gestures to the bin, "here in case you need to be sick again, now try and get some sleep," she pauses, "and remember you can always wake me, even if it's just for a hug," Lucy told Keira before climbing into bed next to her, stroking Keira's hand as she fell asleep. 

Lucy awoke to their alarm going off at seven. she made sure to turn it off quickly so as not to wake Keira, her girlfriend still sound asleep. Luckily, the rest of the night had been far less eventful, with Keira waking Lucy only once, just to check that she was still there. Lucy had found that incredibly adorable and had made sure that she was holding hands with Keira as they both fell back asleep. For a while, Lucy just lay there, staring lovingly at her sleeping girlfriend, her forehead creasing in worry as she noticed the pained expression on the sleeping ginger's face. She carefully and quietly crept out of bed and onto their landing before pulling out her phone and calling Jonatan, the Barca manager to let him know that neither of them would be making it into training today. She then crept back into the bedroom and into the ensuite to have a shower. Once she was out of the shower and drying herself off, she heard some noises coming from the bedroom. 

Lucy walked back in to see Keira leaning over the edge of the bed, dry heaving into the bin, as the only thing in her to throw up was the small bit of water she had drank. Lucy ran over to her and rubbed her back. Once Keira was finished, she fell back into Lucy's arms and just lay there as Lucy peppered kisses on her sweaty forehead. 

After a few minutes, Keira broke the silence.                                                                                                        "We have to get up for training,". Lucy gave her a very confused look.                                                                                                                                                               "We're not going anywhere, what makes you think that in your current state, you could last even half a training session?" she replied sternly but softly.                                                                                            "I'm not sure," Keira answered, quietly. Both girls lay on the bed, Lucy listening worriedly to Keira's uneven breaths. They stayed there quietly for a while, Keira snuggled into Lucy’s chest, and Lucy ran her fingers through Keira’s hair in a comforting manner. After some time had passed, Lucy made a move to get up.                              

“I'm going to go and get something to eat,” she said, “do you want anything? I can make you some toast”                                                                                                         “Don’t bother, my stomachs still not feeling great, but i’ll come with you to the living room, I want to get out of bed,” Keira replied. Slowly, they both got out of bed, Lucy carrying the bin and a blanket, and Keira carrying her water bottle. Once in the living room, Lucy helped Keira get settled comfortably on the sofa, making sure both the water and bin were in arm's reach, and making sure Keira had enough blankets and cushions. Keira wasn't really enjoying the fuss Lucy was making of her, but felt too tired to do anything about it, so she just lay there and got cosy under the blankets as Lucy went to go make herself some breakfast. As Lucy was eating, Keira was really struggling to get comfortable on the sofa as her stomach had started to ache. It wasn't unbearably painful, however it was incredibly annoying. She fidgeted as she tried to find a comfortable position, but couldn't. It made her want to cry. She hated feeling so useless that she couldn't even get comfortable on the sofa without her girlfriend's help, and that made her not want Lucy’s help even more, but at that point, she was really struggling, and so called out for her.                                                                                                                      “Lucy?” Keira called out weakly, her voice wavering.                                                                   “Yes love,” Lucy replied, walking back into the living room,

“is everything alright?” Keira hung her head, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed.                                  

“My stomach hurts, can you rub it?” Keira spoke so quietly, she wasn't sure if Lucy could even hear her. As she looked up, she saw Lucy’s face soften, more than she thought it could.                                                                                                              “Of course I can. You shouldn't feel embarrassed to ask for these things. I'm your girlfriend,” Lucy responded as she climbed onto the sofa to lay behind Keira. She then placed her hand onto Keira’s stomach and began to rub it slowly. Keira visibly relaxed at that, and sunk deeper into Lucy's embrace. After a while, Lucy noticed Keira's breaths start to even out, and sure enough, she was fast asleep. Lucy smiled at the sight of her sleeping girlfriend, her facing showing a content expression rather than a pained one. She carefully slid herself out from behind Keira and went to get herself a drink and look at her phone. It was well past midday and she had received a few messages, one from Alexia asking if everything was alright, one from the Lioness group chat, someone asking about a meetup when everyone is back England, and one from her mum asking to facetime at some point as they hadn't spoken in a while. Lucy replied to Alexia, explaining that Keira wasn’t feeling great, she opted to ignore the one on the group chat and decided to facetime her mum. She picked up on the third ring and Lucy moved into the kitchen so as not to wake up Keira. Once the call had finished, Lucy realised she was on the phone for over an hour, so she quickly got up to go and check on Keira. Keira was sitting up on the sofa scrolling on her phone, looking a lot perkier than before. She smiled at Lucy when she saw she had walked in. Lucy perched herself on the end of the sofa and rubbed her hand over her girlfriend's knee.                                                                                                                            “How are you feeling? You look as though you feel better,” Lucy asked.                                        

“I feel much better” Keira replied with a smile, “and i’m hungry,”                                     “I think we have some tomato soup in the cupboard, how about that?”                      

“That sounds lovely.”

[hertzwritings]

All is fair in books and war

A/N: It’s the end of monday, which marks the end of one-shot weekend - and what better way to do it than with a request? This is from @one-sweet-gubler who’s literally the best for requesting and wanting my writing! Hope it pleases you! Request: You always know what I want! So I’m back! Can I get a fluffy Henry. Like uber duper fluffy. Life has been kicking my butt and I just need all the fluff and comfort.

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized drabble, one-shot or multichapter fic – whatever you want, you get!

Remember, feedback feeds the soul and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and I have none! Love y’all so much, thank you for being part of this crazy ride.

MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Henry Cavill x female reader

Contains: language, fluff, Henry being a straight up puppy dog

W.C.: 1.550

 All is fair in books and war

 Persuasion

He couldn’t stop looking at you as you walked around set, greeting every, single new person – cater, PA, runner, actor – everybody got a hug and that smile, that graced your lips in the same way, as the sun would light up a day, when it peeked out from behind clouds. Your eyes twinkled and you were talking like you weren’t bathed in fake blood and a thin shirt in minus degrees.

He couldn’t stop the smile on his lips, when he watched you like that. Every scene with you made him feel just a little tight around the chest, every time your character had to touch him, his breath hitched, and your eyes found him in a way, that made him long for you. Your conversations between scenes flowed effortlessly, as if you had known each other forever, simply catching up, and he looked forward to every conversation, you had, however brief. At some point, your hand found his shoulder, bicep, hand and squeezed gently whenever you talked to him. He found yours as well. You talked into the early hours of the morning, hushed whispers on the phone as you both laid in different beds. Press was becoming more and more a fight about who could flirt the most to make the other one blush, and you both sat in the green rooms and laughed lightly at the many edits about “Henry and Y/N being lovesick idiots for 5 minutes straight” that poured out from fans – he enjoyed looking at the tiny screen with you, because your laughter was like a breath of spring, while you were sitting so close, you were almost in his lap.

At one point, an interviewer had asked about the edits and how much truth there was to them, and you had giggled, and he had turned slightly to you. “You know, maybe they have something right.” He had said with his heart in his throat. You had looked surprised. “Oh, really?” He nodded, the interviewer following the conversation with wide eyes. “Why aren’t we something?” “That’s a really good question. Want to be my lovesick idiot?” You had asked. “Always.” He replied with a smile, that rivalled the sun.

North and South

It was funny, how love worked. He fell in love more and more each day, every day proved something new he could love; at first, it was the bigger things. Like how you always made sure he was okay during press and stressful days. The way you hugged him like you wanted to crack his back, because he had told you once, that the squeezing grounded him. The way your pinky always wrapped around his when you were out. Then it became the way your smile was different when you woke up versus your smile at the end of the day. The way your eyes would light up like you were seeing a wonder of the world, whenever you caught his eyes. You learned chess for him. He read out loud to you. You had endless discussions about nothing and everything because you kept him on his toes – you were north and south but fit perfectly together like pieces of a puzzle. He loved waking up with you in his arms. No matter how you fell asleep, you always woke up, curled into him, face boring into his chest and your arms around him – you told him it was because it made you feel safe. He enjoyed your weird coffee-orders, that changed just as often as one would change socks. You loved wearing his button-downs, calling them shirtdresses. He laughed at that, because they weren’t and you were swimming in them, the fabric simply swallowing you.

He asked you to move in with him on a rainy Saturday night, the rain rushing down in droves outside of your little bubble. You were huddled against his side, Pride and Prejudice opened on your lap, snuggled under a blanket.

You had smiled at him in that way, the one where the corners of your eyes crinkled and your nose scrunched up, the right side of your lips curling before the left and he – in that very moment – realized how blessed he was because he met you and you chose him. He felt the insurmountable weight of the words of love resting on his soul, chaining him to this place, this couch, this very moment, and he’d have it no other way. You had said yes.

A room with a view

Yes, Henry considered himself lucky. He had a good life, a good job, and now, he had you. You, standing in front of him wearing a white dress that you had bought from the internet and flats, a bunch of garden flowers in your hands and your smile, that everlasting part of perfection, etched on your face. You had decided to marry in your backyard. He had agreed, just wanting to call you by his last name. He didn’t care how or when, but simply wanted you to be completely his. So, here you were, surrounded by a ragtag group of friends and family, as you both laughed and danced and sang and drank, joy beaming from every cell in his very being. It was the easiest yes, he’d ever given, and whenever he looked down at your intertwined fingers and saw the silver band rest on your finger, a sense of pride and belonging filled him; you were his as he was yours, a forever that couldn’t start soon enough and would end all too soon, even if you’d both live to become 200 years old. Life was simply too short to see and love every facet of you and soak in the reality of your warmth and love, simply too short to experience all of you. Eternity wouldn’t last for long enough, he thought, gazing out on the darkened garden covering in string lights and candles. Eternity seemed like too small a word, like the infinite universe seemed to little, when he compared it to you; for him, you carried universes bathed in endless stars and moons and suns, shining so brightly, he sometimes felt blinded. You were as vast as an endless sea, the depth of you too deep to fully grasp, and he would fall forever, if it meant he was falling into you.

Yes, whatever souls were made of, yours and his were made of the same.

The age of innocence

It didn’t matter how many years would come to pass, nor would it matter much that gray had begun seeping into the brown locks of his hair. He was still laughing and loving like a teenager with you. The endless array of edits, videos and tweets about him being a fool in love made both of you laugh, and later, it would prove to be a piece of your life together, you both used to show your children how you fell in love. Henry cared little about life outside of the family, they had created together; your daughter, who was a spitting image of him and your son, who looked like your grandfather, Kal and you and Henry had made up this perfect constellation of stars, that was meant to shine brighter, when they were lined up next to each other. it was mostly chaos confined in a house, all contained carefully by mother’s love and father’s eyes – the two children were truly, a perfect match of the two of you and it made for a dangerous game, when they put their heads together.

You were always gentle, and he rather loved seeing how the lines of your face became clearer with the years, how your stomach swelled with each child you bore, how your chest puffed with pride whenever the kids did something, you were proud of. He was still in love with you, never falling into the pace of just loving, no, he – even after all these years – was still falling. Every time he thought he knew you as well as he knew his own face, you did something new; it was in the smallest of ways, but it was enough for him to see you in a new way yet again. He never realized just how much the word love meant until he met you. The universes aligned, planets stopped and stars collided in your eyes, his heart fully and willingly in your hands, and he didn’t quite understand how anybody would ever think love was a word, that was enough for the all-encompassing feeling that settled in his very soul, every time he looked at you and the children. No, love seemed too small, too gentle for the way his body would move with yours in perfect synchronicity; nothing would ever be enough to accurately describe the way he felt for you.

The children were running around in the same yard, you’d been wed in, and you sat on his lap, a blanket covering the both of you, leaning against his chest, when he kissed your cheek and watched the kids run rampant with Kal.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but looking outward together in the same direction, he mused, remembering your recently favorite author – another favorite, that would change at the speed of the wind.

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

TAGLIST:  @acaceta @a-skov @angelmather1 @cooldreamlandsandwich @doubletriplepowerbomb @est1887 @enchantedbytomandhenry​ @fionnthebandersnacc @herroyalbubbliness @keiva1000 @kebabgirl67​ @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red​ @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler​ @pandaxnienke​ @perfunctory-username69 @sleutherclaw​ @sofiebstar​ @summersong69​ @spookyboogyuniverse​ @stardusted26​ @thereisa8ella​ @timetraveller4​ @thatonechickhere​ @themanfromu​ @thelastpyle​ @tragicphoenix13 @yourlocalhoney​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​     

[fairycosmos]

hey chloe, i’m really struggling today and i dont know how to carry on living. could you tell me about your day to distract me? also if you know any magic cures to pure suicidal self loathing please lmk <3

so so sorry to hear you're struggling, my lovely. i know words never really put a dent in these feelings when youre in the thick of them but i did want to let you know i get it and i don't blame you for being exhausted and at your wits end and i would be happy to tell you ab my day as a distraction. it was a WEIRD one! i woke up feeling depressed as fuck and super disconnected from reality but i had to go give a presentation at a university building in the city as a part of this job hunting process that im currently doing and it took like 2 weeks worth of mental energy to get up there in front of people not even being dramatic ive been so fucking insane in my head about this. i was thinking of my sister a lot during it all wondering what she would think of me doing it LOL. then on the way home someone stole £20 from me and then someone ELSE kicked my backpack on the train and smashed the bottle of wine i had in there and i was very close to crying but didn't. then i got home and took my pill and listened to music and made dinner which was a chickpea curry and gave my dog some of the treats she was begging for. and since then ive just been sitting and blogging and breathing and i still feel like shit, but the feeling is constantly moving, constantly proving itself not to be completely permanent the way it wants to convince me it is in my lowest moments. i am really sad right now but not enough to kill myself and that is improvement. while there is no magic cure to suicidal self loathing there is the knowledge that you're not alone in this and that no feeling is final and that you deserve better than this even if the thought feels completely fake and foreign in your head. verbalising what you're going through, learning to identify what triggers you, building a crisis plan and a support network for yourself.....none of it is easy or a straight up solution and none of it is really enough, but it is something, it is proof that where you are isn't where you'll always be. as cheesy and as horrible as it is to feel and admit and know. i am gonna leave some links to a few resources that recommend some great coping mechanisms - again, not cures - but if you let them in they can be enough to get you through. it's ok if youre not ready for that right now and need to come back to it later, there is no rush or timeline. just know it'll always be here if you need it and i care very much about your wellbeing, and i believe in your ability to manage and live alongside these feelings even it seems like a complete impossibility in this moment. sending a massive hug, please please look after yourself. X

resource / resource / resource/ resource / useful hotlines

[hils79]

Hils Watches Oh No! Here Comes Trouble - Ep 2

A few people have told me how excited they are that I'm watching it and telling me how good it is. I remain a little confused about what's going on but maybe things will become clearer in this episode.

I love that they keep making it look like something spooky is happening only for it to be a fake out. Except there also is something spooky happening because the last episode ended with what looked like a zombie

The most zoomer thing. Dude bumps into her and gets blood on her shirt. Gotta take a selfie and upload it with some nihilistic poetry

This is so fascinating. Everyone using social media to track the dude.

Okay obviously I have no idea but I am going to hazard a guess that this sole fan of Pu Yiyong's comic is the kid he bullied in school. They have to be connected somehow, right?

Of course he's going to get a job writing passages for the family of a loved one who passed away. And that will help him deal with his own grief over losing his dad. I don't know what I was expecting from this drama but it definitely wasn't this.

Poingnant scene about processing grief immediately followed by Pu Yiyong fainting as soon as he sees a zombie. Which is understandable I suppose but they are definitely playing it as comedy.

Wait is this going to be a buddy zombie drama?

Apparently zombies have no concept of personal space

This has nothing to do with the drama but I just hit pause to take a bite of my sandwich and 😂

Now they're going to solve his death together. Okay this is fun.

Uh....I kind of ship them?

You can't leave him at the spot where he died like a sad abandoned puppy

Look he's even doing the sad puppy head tilt

Oooooh! Interesting! I was wondering how the cop was going to fit into it. She saved Pu Yiyong's life by giving him CPR at the bus acceident site. But also I think she thinks he killed the zombie dude.

Can you imagine? Hi, yes, I woke up to find this zombie dude in my bedroom

Her: Shit if there's no body we can't prove that he killed this guy Him: Shit if there's no body that just makes me look even more sus

This is so fun

I'm not sure going straight back to the scene after you got released is the best idea

I thought for a second she wasn't going to be able to see zombie dude and just assume Pu Yiyong was lying. I forgot that zombie dude was on all those cameras and bumped into people.

I kind of want to hug him

I love everyone fainting when they see him for the first time. I feel like that's a normal reaction.

Pu Yiyong: Here is a cop, here is the victim who just happens to be the walking dead. No need for me to be involved anymore. Okay, bye.

Ah hah! So he's not a zombie he just possessed the body.

I regret looking that up

Look at them working together to solve crime. I mean his mum did say she didn't mind what he did with his life so long as it wasn't illegal and this is basically the opposite of illegal

Yeah, I am 100% on board with this now that we've got beyond all the setup. This was such a fun episode.