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targaryennumberonelover · 1 year

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Betrothed.

Summary: In which reader is from the north (house Glover), but is betrothed to Daemon, and is annoyed of the southron ladies at court, and gets very excited to see Cregan Stark when he visits from the North as it reminds her of home. Reader spends a great deal of time with Cregan, who is a very pleased guest, almost completely ignoring her betrothed. This prompts Daemon's jealousy, because who else can have you but him?

Notes: This wound up being fairly vanilla. Also my first proper, non-crack fic. Also my first time on this app + first time writing Daemon; so yay! Big milestone. Saw some other stories on this app and got inspired (+love the font). Idk how to write short stories, so girl is long + very loosely spell/grammar checked (should be ok but some parts might be odd). I personally love the northern reader concept lol, hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical misogyny, Daemon Targaryen (man needs a whole warning, bffr)

In Deepwood Motte you detested late summer snows, they ate away the summer of your early childhood. You always envied Winterfell for the boiling water that runs through the castle walls; and rejoiced each time your house stayed as guests there. What you had envied most, as a babe, was warmth of the south. Now, however, that you had arrived in the southron lands, you missed those late summer snows terribly.

The south was unbearably hot, you'd have servants delivering you iced milk each day, and too often would you remind them to keep it unsweetened. The heat was not half as over bearing as the ladies of court and all their gossip. Back home, there was scarcely any gossip or other wasteful activities. You spent your youth being educated by the septa, learning the lady ways, and once you came of age, you spent your time putting those ways into practice.

The southron ladies always bragged of their luxuries, which were considered nonsensical in the north, their sweets and silks and careless grandeur. It was draining, sickening, even. Even ever modest Queen Alicent, soon to be your sister by law, would agree with the court ladies when they offered you a sweet as though it was an thing utterly unknown to your northern self, and on occasion would ask you to try a tart or cake she enjoyed.

The only person's company you could find peace in this blasted place was your betrothed, Daemon Targaryen. He was not overbearing, was not mocking of your northernness, but rather found common aspects in your values. Often, you two would walk together, and when there was a moment of respite from both of your busy schedules, he would take you to the skies on the back of Caraxes. You'd even visited Dragonstone, once, but most briefly.

Today was no different. The summer sun bore down over King's Landing, and despite the lush shade provided by the garden plants and sandy canopies that were stretched over head, you were hot. Despite the thick honey, you sipped on the iced milk gratefully, and made a mental reminder to gift the poor servants who fanned you generously later.

"These cakes are quite nice," one of the southron ladies said, sliding over a plate full of thick, layered cakes that smelt so strongly of sugar you might've smelt them when Daemon offered you a ride on Caraxes, leagues in the sky. You'd much rather be on Caraxes, with Daemon holding you close, leagues in the sky rather than here. You wished he would come and save you, but alas, you were stuck between a rock and several smothering southerners.

You smiled politely and took the smallest bite of one. "You're right, my lady, these are quite... tasty." You lick your lips, and are momentarily forlorn when there's nothing unsweet to remove the thick taste from your mouth.

Another southron lady seems to remember something, and rushes to finish her bite, fanning her hand in the air to invite our attention to her. "Have you heard?" She asks once she has swallowed, "lady [name], this would be of great interest to you, the good northfolk, like yourself, are coming to the Keep for a visit."

Despite the almost taunting way she says 'northfolk,' you find yourself intrigued. "Which house?" You ask, and your curiosity is not unheard. They seem to hold back snickers as another one of the ladies reply.

"The House Stark, and their party." She says, smugly, though you are lost as to why. It baffles you further how they regard the Starks, the wardens of the north, so casually. Did they not realise that every northern house beyond the neck swore their fealty to the Starks? The negative thoughts do not linger long, for you can't help but be excited at the thought of seeing Cregan Stark once more. In your childhood you had become acquainted with him, and his lord father offered your father a place on his table on several occasions, and later on he did the same.

You smile, widely, and ask, "do you know when they are to arrive?"

The southron ladies seem to look amongst each other for a moment, and it is Queen Alicent who replies from behind us. "They are to arrive on the morrow, Lady [Name]." You did not notice her arrival, and all seem to turn and stand to greet her.

"Queen Alicent," you exclaim, rising to bow to her. "I must excuse myself, I'm afraid I must prepare to see my fellow northfolk. I must catch you at court later, your grace." You give the ladies of court a small nod, before slipping away the way Alicent had came, glad to find respite from the suffocation of court.

The following morning you had dressed more northernly than you had in your entire stay here. You wore a gown with grey over white, with slim fur trimming, little enough that you wouldn't boil. It felt pleasant to be wearing northern colours once more, over the golds and silvers and silky things the south fashioned themselves in. You even found an old pin with the gauntlet of Glover on it, and wore it most proudly as you broke your fast with the court ladies. It was boring and tiresome, as it usually was, but you braved on without complaint and with a smile until, finally, the word came the Starks had arrived.

It took you little time to find yourself in the vast throne room, standing happily by Daemon, your sweet betrothed, awaiting Cregan Stark and his party. It had been nearly two years since you had last seen the Lord of Winterfell, never finding cause to visit before your betrothal, and finding it impossible to do so after.

"Eager, are we?" Daemon hums, noting your excitement. You do not make it difficult. You're practically jumping up and down in anticipation.

You look up at him with a small chuckle, "yes, I'm afraid so." You say, looking down the length of the throne room, a tad disappointed when there are no northerners marching down the hall. "Whilst the south has it's certain... qualities, it has been difficult not to miss the north."

Daemon only chuckles, seemingly amused by both your enthusiasm and desire not to offend any southerners by your distaste for their society.

When the Starks arrive, murmurs flutter around the hall for a moment, then spread madly like wildfire. They come down the hallway, proud and honourable as the Starks are, and bow down to their king and his new queen. There are compliments exchanged, and brief conversation, all the while you're teetering away, waiting for a moment to greet Cregan Stark; when it finally comes, it feels like you are back home.

"It is good of you to make the trip, Lord Stark," you smile as you speak, "not only for the court, but for myself. It may be selfish, but I've been missing the north terribly."

Cregan laughs, lightly so, at my comment. "And the north as been missing you, Lady Glover. Your house is morose without you, and Deepwood Motte emptier than ever. It is a shame you are not to return, you'd make a fine lady for the north."

You let out a laugh at his words, and speak, almost bashfully, "you are too kind, my lord. I am sure my family is doing fine with out me. I would love to return, alas, my place is in the south now."

Cregan lets out a long sigh, and rests a sympathetic touch on your arm. "Alas indeed, but if you ever feel inclined to visit, both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell would be more than glad to take you." He offers, and you smile warmly up at him. You have missed the north grievously, and it brings you deep comfort to speak with a northerner, and to see the direwolf of House Stark, the embodiment of the north, in plenty now.

"It would be good to have another northerner to keep me company, show me the ways of the south... if you would be so kind, my lady?" Cregan asks after a moment of respite, and you are to kind to decline, too glad to have another north soul to save you from the court ladies to say no.

So, you give him your prettiest smile and say, "of course, my lord. I'd be honoured."

Perhaps it was the way he spoke to you, how he called you a lady for the north, never of the north, the sly remarks he would make about the south, of how utterly glad and honoured he would be to take you in the north. Perhaps it was the light touches he placed on your arm, your back, and the way you returned them so innocently. Or, perhaps it was the fact that for the last two day's he had been in King's Landing you had utterly ignored him that made Cregan Stark not sit right with Daemon Targaryen.

More than once he'd clenched his fists and gritted his jaw and ignored the way you two laughed together, the obscene amount of time you spent together. How interested you had been in his gnarly, overgrown dog that slobbered after him everywhere he went. Daemon was left baffled, why would you want a dog when you could have a dragon? He couldn't understand your obsession with the Stark boy, and watching you ignore him and give into the flirtatious prick made him angrier than words could explain.

He didn't know how often his hand strained around his cup until his knuckles went white, or how often he took long sips of his wine to keep himself from saying something that would ruin your happiness. It was the only reason he put up with the ugly cunt as he flirted with you, took advantage of your innocence. He'd longed to kill him, but seeing you more content at court than ever before had prompted him not to.

His patience was wavering thin now, as the two of you sat together, ate together, practically glued at the hip as you laughed over something trivial. Jealousy burned in his stomach, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

And when the feasting was over, and it came time to dance, he wanted to slam his fist down when the bastard stood up before you. "Your hand, my lady?" He asked, with a gross smirk he was sure you'd perceive as a kind smile. "For a dance." He adds, and it is like a cruel taunt directed to him. Did the boy not know you were betrothed to him? That you were happy with a prince? That you didn't want a little lordling instead?

"Yes, of course," you agree, ever glad to indulge in his northernness. Daemon feels his nails dig roughly into his palms as he clenches his fist, and he doesn't care if he draws blood. All he can feel is horrible, terrible jealousy. You were his betrothed, his and his alone. Who did this winter cunt think he was?

He might've ripped off the bard's head for playing such a jovial tune. He watched as Cregan's hands gripped your waist and twirl you around the room. He reached for his goblet and tilted it it back into mouth, and when it emptied, he jerked over a serving girl and had her fill it to the brim. He'd drank overmuch already, but it was all he could do to not knock that poor boy to his feet like the dog he was.

His eyes remained fixed on you like a predator to prey. He watched as the bastard spun you into the crowd, as he lifted you by your waist, at the wide grin on flashing on your lips. Your pretty lips that were meant to be his, and his alone. He took another long sip from his cup. Through the gowns and the jewels he watched you with the ugly winter dog.

And, when Cregan Stark dipped his head down and whispered something to you, too close to your ear for his liking, making you through your head back in laughter, Daemon had enough. He stood up, his movements too sharp, sending his chair scraping behind him. He navigated his way through the heart of lords and ladies, past some drunken fool lifting a serving girl and spinning her in the air whilst the tray she carried clattered onto the ground.

Soon enough his hand found it's way to your shoulder, and held onto you a little too tight as he yanked you away from your dance with the winter boy. "You don't mind if I share a dance with my betrothed, do you, lordling?" He asked, his tone curt; he saw no reason to give this bastard any respect. Trying to steal his own betrothed from right under his nose. No, he would not have it.

His eyes seemed to squeeze with delight and his smirk widen as he watched Cregan's face twitch. "Of course, my prince," he says with a smile, and a short bout of laughter so fake Daemon might've puked. "I do hope you enjoy your time together." The winter dog says, and lift's up his betrothed's hand and gives it a disgusting kiss. The nerve.

"Thank you," you murmur, ever the sweetheart, as Cregan Stark finally takes his leave. You watch after him as he disappears into the crowd, as Daemon's grip on your shoulder holds you tight against him. Once the Stark boy is well and truely gone into the mass, he releases you momentarily.

When you dance again, it is him gripping your hips, it is him picking you up and twirling you around the room. Exactly the way it should be. "You seemed to be enjoying your time together," Daemon croons, looking down at your face with devilish eyes. There is anger in his voice, but it is swallowed up by his affection for you.

"Yes, I suppose I was." You say, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "IT is nice to have a break from the southron ladies, to have a friend who doesn't mock my northernness."

Daemon's eyes narrow, and he lets out a short hum, his head tilting to a side as he watches you. "I think the little lordling wanted to be more than just your friend, sweet thing." He murmurs.

Your soft expression furrows into one of confusion, and you let out a slight scoff. It's almost amusing how disbelieving you are that pissy lord of the north took an interest in you. "Lord Cregan is merely a friend, I assure you," you say, ever innocent in your ways.

"Oh, my sweet thing, you can not be so naive. Surely you've seen the way that dog eyes you," he says, shaking his head, "it's disgusting, frankly."

You laugh nervously, your head swishing back and forth in denial. "He would never, he knows I am betrothed. I haven't shown any interest in him, regardless." You argue. It's almost frustrating how you jump to defend the boy's actions, but he can not blame you. The ladies of Westeros are often too sheltered, made to think every lord is a gentleman. Sure, you knew of whores and cunts, but Daemon found there was much your sweet, trusting nature kept from your grasp.

He runs a hand gently down your cheek and offers you a kind smile. "Oh, my princess, your betrothal only makes you want him more. Do you not see the strays that sniff under the tables for food just beyond their reach? It matters not if you'll have him or not, he wants you the same." He coos, tilting your chin up to look at him. "The mutt wants something nice to warm his tiny little cock, and what better than a prince's wife?"

"Even if what you say is true," you pause for a moment, perhaps you're contemplating the truth of his words, or uneasy by his vulgar language. With a weak smile but a firm gaze, you finish, "I would never entertain his desire."

Daemon smirks at that, "of course not." He says, proudly so. "Why walk a bitch when you can ride a dragon?"

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moonlight--cafe · 3 years

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{GENRE} ~ Hurt, AU, Slight Angst, Childhood Memories

{SYNOPSIS} ~ Where Jongho discovers an old photograph that leads him to a forgotten friend.

{WORD COUNT} ~ 1.8k+

{AUTHORS NOTE} ~ Hi loves! I’m leaving for my Christmas Vacation next week and will try and post a handful of things before I leave. I’ll still post ships but they may take longer since I’ll be leaving my laptop behind, in the mean time I wanted to post this. This was written for my birthday twin Jongho for the Atiny writing competition, it wasn’t posted anywhere besides the KQ forum. But alas this is finally seeing the day of light on this blog, this was the first thing I wrote after a year long writers block and this is basically what encouraged me to post more. I hope you like this and if you want to request anything (x reader or solo members like this) feel free to, this includes, headcanons, scenarios, mtl’s and any other pieces of writing. I won’t write smut at this stage but will possibly consider it in the future. P.S Apologies for the basic title, I had a catchier title but I didn’t write it down and it’s pretty much forgotten so Jongho’s Wanderings will have to do xoxo

“I was too young to know how to reach out to my lost friend. Where am I now? Where should I go?”

The egg yolk sun poured through Jongho’s blinds, its warmth causing him to stir. Despite his own reluctance to leave his bed he rose, reaching for his red coat lazily shrugging it on. He intended to make a quick dash out of his room but came to an abrupt stop when he heard something shatter from beneath him. Jongho huffed out a loud sigh as he knelt down brushing the glass aside, ignoring the slight sting of the glass jabbing into his fingers. Wiping the small droplets of blood on his coat he looked down at the weathered photograph. It depicted two young children, both wearing cheap pirate costumes and large gap-toothed smiles. Reaching for his backpack he pocketed the photograph between the pages of his speckled composition notebook. He had found the piece of hidden memory stuck to the bottom of a patchworked cardboard box, he recognized himself immediately but the other child remained a question mark up until this day.

Usually Jongho would have taken the most direct path to the track he trained at, however, his need for silence overweighed the need for getting there quicker. He instead decided to take a route that Yeosang had shown him, the shy, dreamer of the group had claimed that this was one of the few places where you could actually see the stars. Not that Jongho would know he was usually asleep during the ungodly hours that Yeosang was out exploring. Prompted by the eery silence Jongho’s mind wandered back to the days he remembered spending with that boy, each one happier than the last. The sudden realisation that he hadn’t felt the same happiness that he had felt back then left a sour taste in his mouth. It was as if when the question mark was erased it took all of his happiness with it.

Though he was only seven years old, Jongho had felt that he was smarter and stronger than all of the adults he knew. The only way he felt disadvantaged was when he stood next to the messy haired boy who was all knees and elbows. Even though he was a month younger the boy towered over Jongho. Both boys stood against a brick wall as they watched the other children play. They had tried everything in the playground at least two times and their excitement was replaced with exhaustion. It was clear that they were both half asleep when his friend spoke up. “You got taller Jongho.” “How can you tell if you’re taller than me?” His friend turned to him a smile blooming on his freckled face, “I can tell because you were here” he said pointing to a place just above his elbow “And now you’re here.” He spoke excitedly as he pointed to a place that was half an inch above where he previously pointed. Jongho’s eyes lit up as a cheeky grin formed on his face, “I told you! I’m going be taller than you, just wait and see.” “I have an idea! Why don’t I mark your height here? We can measure you until you’re taller than me”. Not waiting for the shorter boy to respond he ran back over to the playground picking up a stub of chalk and returned. “Up against the wall partner! Not like that, put your hands down dummy” Jongho put his hands down, fidgeting with them out of embarrassment. Reaching over he drew a line above Jongho’s head and scrawled his name next to it. Both of them moved away from the wall admiring the line and crooked writing like it was a piece of art. Hearing the familiar call of the friend’s mother the two said their goodbyes. His mother let out a chuckle at the first words he spoke to her, not hello but an excited “I’m taller! I grew this much.” Jongho brought his tiny hands up to illustrate his statement, it was very exaggerated but his mother just smiled, glad that Jongho had a good day.

Ignoring the harsh rays Jongho shed his jacket and placed it to the side with his belongings, running in his attire was strange but completely justified. He wasn’t going to spend the whole day running, he had other plans and was willing to put up with the slight discomfort he felt. Following one more initial stretch Jongho crouched into a starting position, counting under his breath:

One

Two

And Jongho was off, not bothering to count to three he was always ahead of the game. On the few occasions where someone was present to witness him run, they were caught off guard. Jongho would just burst into a harsh sprint, no one could predict when he was going to make his first move. His heart thumped in his chest mimicking his powerful steps, he ran like a man who had been running his whole entire life. In many ways that was true, no matter how hard he tried to find the truth part of him wanted to move on. He wanted the boy to remain a memory, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the photograph. A stray tear streaked down his face; leaving the tear there he continued running only wiping it after he had circled the track two more times. The usual satisfaction he felt after a successful run was replaced with a vile combination of anger and frustration. With a clouded mind Jongho quickly made his way to the bag. When his fingers brushed the withered edges of the photograph his throat tightened. He had approached his mother directly, yet he still wasn’t able to get an answer, even she had forgotten the boy’s name. Jongho had it in his hands, he could have easily crumpled it up throwing it as far as his eyes could see, but he didn’t.

Yesterday they were astronauts, today they were pirates and tomorrow the duo would be superheroes. Jongho stood proudly, chest poking out as he stood at the wheel as his shipmate scanned the seas trying his hardest to spot land. This wasn’t too hard thanks to his height, “Avast Jongho, I see land!” Jongho put his hand to his looking in the same direction as the other, his eyes lit up “I think, I think I can see it!”. Both of the boys bounced around the deck excitedly, rejoicing at their discovery. Returning to the wheel Jongho spun it at a furious speed, when docked at the sandy shores of the island the boys slid down the slide. The boys moved over to the pirate themed cake, Jongho thought he’d be taller than his friend by the time he turned eight. As disappointing as that was Jongho had still had one of the best days of his life, it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. Jongho pulled the taller boy over to him “You blow out four and I blow out four, we can both make a wish.” A wave of happiness washed over the boy, “Really? You’re the best Jongho!” And with that they both made a wish. Jongho prided himself in keeping secrets, no matter how many people pestered the boy he still refused to tell anyone what the wish was. The boy actually managed to keep his wish a secret for most of his life, it wasn’t until he had come to learn that wishes didn’t always come true that he said his wish out loud.

“I wish this day could last forever…” Jongho placed the photograph back into his backpack “What a joke”. Wiping away the mixture of sweat and tears Jongho pulled his jacket back on and made his way east to the basketball court. When Jongho had arrived, he was immediately given a whistle and told to sit on the bench and supervise the children. If it was his choice, he would have gladly taken a more active role. He didn’t care what it was as long as he was able to preoccupy is mind. The sound of the whistle blowing combined with the rhythmic thud of the basketballs nearly lulled Jongho to sleep, instead of sleeping he fell into a deep line of thought as he remembered a day that he had tried his hardest to forget.

Contrary to popular belief superheroes did in fact cry, this was something Jongho had discovered the hard way. His cape fell limply on his shoulder as he bawled his eyes out on the floor near the front door. His family had made several attempts to get the boy to stop crying, but nothing they did could completely dry up the stream of tears that fell down his face. “H-h-he said we were going to be superheroes today; I want to be a hero today.” Jongho’s voice was coarse and sore, no matter how many times he had asked to see his friend, they refused to take him. Jongho didn’t even need his family to take him to see the other boy, he could go there by himself if only he knew where to find him. The only thing he was told was that ‘He was going away for a long time and had asked Jongho not to cry for him.’ Those words did nothing to ease his sorrows, he was a defeated hero who was struck down by the people he thought he could outsmart and outrun.

Jongho rested his head in his hands, trying to trick everyone into thinking that he was tired and nothing more. The evening sun had just started to set when the last whistle had blown for the day, the coach immediately dismissed the kids who ran as soon as they were free to go. Jongho beat the burly man to the chase “Don’t worry I can pack every thing away, I’m dropping by to see Mingi so I can give him the keys”. Knowing that he couldn’t sway Jongho, the coach tossed the keys to Jongho thanking him for his help.

“I was too young to reach out to my lost friend. Where am I now? Where should I go?” Jongho was always so sure of himself, but here he sat, mind riddled with questions. He was too young to do anything back then, but he was old enough now so why hadn’t he tried harder? He was lost in a sea of orange rubber with no way out. Jongho could hear footsteps approaching him, figuring it was the coach who had forgotten to tell him something. Composing himself Jongho looked up, his blood running cold. Standing before him was a messy haired boy who was all elbows and knees. Jongho rubbed his eyes in disbelief, words failing to leave his mouth. “Jongho, you’ve gotten taller.”

Jongho smiled at the words of the boy in front of him, “It’s good to have you back buddy.” On that day, amidst the sea of orange Jongho looked at the boy who wore a black coat and a matching fedora. Somehow the sands of time had reversed, bringing him back to the question mark he was searching for.

#ateez #kpop fic #atiny writing competition #jongho #choi jongho #ateez fic #illusion-ships writes #jongho fanfic #sentimental #angst #au #atiny

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lilywoood · 4 years

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Buddie prompt 22

Here it is noni hope you’ll like it also tagging @diazbuckleysworld @felicitous-one @translucent-bisexual @cherishingstydia

Words count : 1518

Song : The Bones - Hozier & Maren Morris

Buck hated Monday, he really despised that day, like any normal person you’ll say, but his hatred for that particular day wasn’t because Monday rhymed with back to work, party is over, end of the week-end, no the reason why Buck hated Mondays was the people…

People tended to get more drunk on Monday, more than on the week-ends contrary to popular belief, and it wasn’t the nice type of drunk either, usually the people who got drunk at the start of the week, were the grumpy business men, Buck hated them, cause they were bossy, never tipped and expected him to be there to refile their glass indefinitely, they were the kind of customer ready to use violence if they were denied something, or their keys were confiscated…

So yes Evan Buckley hated Mondays, he hated them so much he was pretty persuaded that nothing or no-one could ever change that.

It hadn’t be midnight yet when the most beautiful creature Buck ever seen made his entrance, it was like he came straight out of one of his deepest fantasy, big brown eyes, silky dark hair, a body to die for hugged perfectly by a black Henley and dark blue jean.

Buck found himself unable to keep his eyes away from the beautiful Adonis, he secretly hoped and prayed that he will come to the bar, that he will be the one to order his friends and him first round, alas he went to sit directly letting what seemed to be his boss take their order.

Hen was everything but blind, she noticed how the cute bartender had checked Eddie when they arrived, noticed how he couldn’t help himself from glancing at Eddie when his attention was elsewhere, she also noted how her friends wasn’t immune to the blond charm either, she was sure that Eddie thought he was being discreet in his checking out.

Even though he wasn’t hiding his attraction, it was the first time since his disaster divorce that someone caught her friend’s eyes, and it was quite refreshing to see this side of Eddie, thought by the face he was making it seemed that he’d be pinning over the blond for quite a long time now…

-That place is nice, she grinned, how did you find it, she asked a bit louder the music covering most of their voices.

-After the divorce trial, Eddie responded wriggling his hands, I needed, he sighed, I needed to… he frowned searching for the right words.

-Hey no worries Ed, Hen smiled reassuringly, we get it, she said throwing a glance at the rest of their team, we know that your divorce was messy and with Shannon relinquishing her parental rights we get it, she assured.

-Thanks, he breathed returning her smile.

-So, she teased, is the cute bartender one of the reason you choose this particular place, she quizzed laughing at his reddening cheeks.

-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Eddie grumbled looking away.

When he was sure Hen focus was elsewhere, Eddie returned his attention to Buck, observing how he interacted with customers, how he juggled with bottles to impress them so he could get more tips, watched how the movements of his arms, watched how he flexed his muscles in a flirtatious way, Eddie shook his head dejected before letting out a deep sight, of course men like Buck were solely attracted to cute girls.

Buck had been observing Eddie night wondering why he looked so discouraged, so crestfallen, he’d hopped that maybe his Adonis would come to him, he knew that he had spent most of his time if not his entire time watching him too, it had melt his heart and boosted his ego, it helped him support the crabby business men and too flirty women.

Buck throw another glance toward Eddie’s table, asking himself how and when he could approach him, pondering how he could put a smile to his charming face.

-Someone caught your attention, Chim asked following his gaze, Buck shrugged slightly trying to play it cool and avoid his brother in law teasing, you should go for it, he added patting his shoulder, it’s been a year since Abby left you deserve to be happy too, he stated gently.

-I know, Buck blew out actively drying glasses, I know she moved on and I moved on too, he shrugged, it’s just, he hesitated, what if…what if I assumed things, he stammered rubbing his neck, what if he isn’t into guys, he breathed.

-Yeah I wouldn’t worry about that, Chim smiled nodding discreetly his head toward Eddie, he spent his all night checking you out instead of partying with his friends, he assured him before making his way to his back office.

Buck shook his head lightly before glancing back at Eddie’s table, this time and for the first time their eyes finally met, deciding to be bold and to test if Chim was right he risked a wink toward him, beaming proudly when Eddie shyly smiled back.

Hen had been observing Buck’s and Eddie’s “flirtation” for fifteen minutes now, and never in her life she’d witnessed something as frustrating as their interaction, she went as far as wondering if Karen and her had been as hopeless when they started pining for one other, asking herself if her team had felt the same amount of frustration as she was feeling right now.

-Why don’t you go for it, she nudged Eddie.

-Are you kidding, he snorted shaking his head, pretty sure he isn’t into dude, he mumbled, and even if he was I don’t think divorced single dad is really what he’s looking for, he pointed dejectedly.

-Edmundo Diaz, Hen scolded, look at me, she ordained grinning when he did so, lover boy hadn’t been able to keep his eyes away from you, she pointed, trust me I saw him messing at least three orders because his attention was on you, she laughed, so stop the pity party and go to him, she rejoiced.

-I’m not drunk enough, he grumbled downing his drink and helping himself with another ignoring Hen pointed glare.

-Eddie, Bobby interjected when Eddie went for a fifth glass, trust me liquor courage won’t help you, he advised taking away the beer pitcher.

-Watch me, Eddie boasted staggering to the bar.

Buck had been watching the scene from afar, watching as Eddie and Hen were talking quite animatedly, watching the older man, Bobby, keeping the beer away from his Adonis, he smiled fondly at that, getting a bit envious at how surrounded he was… However his smile quickly left his face when he remarked that Eddie had left his table and team to make his way toward the bar, toward Buck determination clear in his eyes.

-Hi what can I get you, he asked clearing his throat after Eddie sat himself at the bar.

-Damn you are even prettier from here, Eddie gasped blushing.

-Hum thank you, Buck chuckled his cheeks reddening, so…uhm what can I get you, he reiterated.

-Your number, he blurted eyes widening as he realized what he just said, I probably shouldn’t have said that, he apologized profusely, avoiding Buck’s eyes.

-Why, the blond chuckled, don’t you find me cute, he teased lowering himself so he could meet Eddie’s eyes.

-Dios, Eddie gasped, tengo ganas de ti, he snickered shaking his eyes, you can’t imagine how much, he breathed risking a glance toward Buck.

-How drunk are you? Buck asked biting his lower lip, blue eyes darkening with desire.

-Not drunk, Eddie grinned, just tipsy, he admitted his eyes following the movement of Buck tongue.

Buck nodded satisfied by that answer, he signaled for Eddie to stay put and wait for him to inform Chim that his shift was over. He came back five minutes later two beers in hand, sating himself on his left.

-I’m Evan Buckley but people call me Buck, he smiled holding a bottle to Eddie.

-Edmundo Diaz, he responded taking the bottle, I prefer Eddie though, he smiled taking a sip, I’m sorry if I came as awkward, he apologized, it’s been awhile, he sighed.

-Don’t worry, Buck waved encouragingly, it’s been awhile for me too, he confessed.

-Yeah, Eddie breathed relieved.

-Yeah, the blonde confirmed before clearing his throat, just so we are on the same page, he started, I don’t…I don’t do one night stands, not anymore, he admitted.

-I have a son, Eddie divulged, so no one night stands for me either, he breathed, if it’s too much for you I understand, he rambled.

-I love kids, Buck smiled taking Eddie’s hand in his, and I kinda likes you, he blushed.

-I kinda likes you too, Eddie beamed, I want to learn more about you.

They spent the rest of the night learning about one another, falling for one another, they were entranced by one another never noticing how the place emptied, how Chim let the keys on the bar for Buck, how Hen smiled when they finally kissed…That night had been perfect and the many others that followed.

#buddie prompt #buddie fic #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #bobby nash #howie chimney han #9-1-1 #9-1-1 on fox #9-1-1 fanfiction #buddie prompt list

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elycwinters · 4 years

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The Lovers

Fandom: Original Fiction Prompt: From Fictober-Event. #25. “sometimes you can even see” Words: 700 Warnings: Character Death

Once upon a time, there was high born lady so beautiful that she and her family were hounded for her hand, but her father, unlike many others, asked the lady first if she would like to wed her suitor. Most she rejected outright, others she met and dismissed after some short time. No one knew why.

But her parents never pressured her to wed, they had a married son and he was to become a father soon, so there was no trouble to let her be. They would not risk her marrying someone who would mistreat her. And so, they waited patiently until she made up her mind.

Until one day, the King himself came calling.

He wanted the hand of the lady for his son and heir. And the lady, knowing that she simply could not reject the King’s offer outright, she accepted to be courted with the condition that she could still end it if neither she or the Prince liked one another. Much to everyone’s surprise, the King agreed. And so, the lady and her closest confidant set out to court.

Once in court, the lady attracted the attention of several others and the envy of many. For she was tall and womanly, with fine red hair that shone like burnished copper, skin so fair, it was like marble, almond shape eyes in the deepest blue, pink small lips and fine features made her stand out. But her crowning glory was not her looks, but her kind and gentle heart.

The Prince fell madly in love with the lady, and soon, she with him. The betrothal was announced eight months after her arrival to court, and the wedding was to take place in six months. The King and Queen rejoiced at seeing their son so happy, and the rest of the Court followed.

Day by day, the lovers fell more and more in love with one another, and couldn’t wait until the day arrived when they would be man and wife. They would go riding together, the lady would embroider things for the Prince and other days, she would play the harp for him and she wrote him poetry and the Prince would gift her with flowers and jewels, he made sure that her favorite meals were served and gifted her with books for her entertainment.

And so, the Lady and the Prince wed, and soon enough, an heir was announced. The now Princess was radiant in her joy and the Prince seldom left her side. And once the babies was born, their happiness climbed higher, for she had given birth to twins, a girl and a boy. The King and Queen and her parents delighted on the children.

But they did not know that a shadow was lurking near.

It happened after the celebration of the children’s first year, once they had retired to their chamber and were preparing to sleep, the Prince received summons from the King, for a neighbor kingdom had declared war and they needed to prepare for it.

War came and the Prince rode of to war, the Princess waited at home safe with their children, with instructions that she ought to leave should they loose the war and seek refuge with their allied Queen. The Princess promised to do so while weeping.

And the Prince rode to war, long and hard he battled, dreaming of his wife and children at home. But alas, tragedy struck and the Prince was wounded in battle. He tried to stand and walk away, the name of his Princess on his lips, he never saw the blow that ended him.

The Princess wept bitter tears when receiving the news, and from that they on, many said that her light extinguished and the only source of joy was her children. Children that she loved dearly until her death, and when she passed, she did so with the name of her Prince on his lips.

Legend says, that sometimes you can see them both. The Prince on the area where he passed, dressed in armor and calling for her. And the Princess walks the halls of the Palace in which they lived, calling for her Prince, always waiting.

#fictober20 #spilled words #original writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #creative writing #drabble #ely writes

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jeonggukingdom · 5 years

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mots démoniaques, 2 | excoriate

▽ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

▽ Genre: [mythological!AU, demon!AU] | Angst, Eventual Smut, Romance

▽ Summary: You can sense from miles away the sin that dances on his tongue, the words that he so loves to shape into sinister thoughts and morph into sickening outcomes aimed at tainting and wrecking all things mundane and innocent. Kim Taehyung - a voice of honey and features of a cherub - is nothing but a monster. He has lived millenniums, yet, he has never found such a fascinating creature as you are and polluting your very being has slowly become his entire life motive.

▽ Word Count: 5.456 words

▽ prompt word: excoriate

▽ AN: The Amanojaku is a small demon that finds its roots in the Japanese folklore. Everything besides his name and his power - aka the ability to instigate people into wickedness with his words - is entirely the fruit of my own imagination and doesn’t have anything to do with the original myth.

▽ ▽ WARNINGS: non-consensual acts are performed through the story (not intercourse), use of alcohol, metaphors that allude to physical violence and pain, swear words.

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“Still upset about Monday, I take it?”

Nausea fills your stomach as you toss and turn in the tangled mess that were once your bed sheets. His voice of honey keeps ringing in your ears even hours after his disappearance.

Rationally, you are aware that Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, probably miles and miles away from your apartment doing God-knows-what to corrupt innocent souls of fellow human beings. Your heart, though, refuses to calm down and so does the rest of your body, tense and shivering in the darkness of the room.

You have been playing this game of turning on and off the light for literal hours and the deepest part of you, the most pride-filled one, refuses to turn it on again and succumb to this nonsensical fear lodged inside your chest.

With one simple question, Taehyung has stirred awake the memories you so hardly tried to repress in the past few days. You have tried to forget, to let go and move on, to put this behind you just like many other things in your past but, alas, it has all been in vain. It took him only a second to break down the walls you had so carefully rebuild around yourself and throw you back into those atrocious moments.

Your mind drifts to last Monday night for the hundredth time tonight and, before you can stop yourself, you are re-living every dreadful instant of it.

The bracelets around your wrists tingle as you walk through the apartment, desperately searching for your car keys before you are far too late to the dinner for it to be acceptable.

The night is pretty chill and the breeze evokes goosebumps on your skin as you practically run to your car whilst hugging yourself in a vain attempt to keep yourself warm.

Admittedly, you did choose a dress far too short and far too light for the current weather but it does hug your curves to perfection and that was a compromise you just had to make.

A few years have passed since you were still in college, trying to jungle yourself between exams and a part-time job and a very demanding boyfriend. Many things have changed since then, including you.

Something that hasn’t changed, though, is your need to impress the people around you, especially the ones you do care about.

Tonight it is one of those nights where you wish to prove yourself not only to those people but, most importantly, to yourself.

Many things that could have gone wrong since college did, in fact, go horribly but your job tonight is to show them all that, despite it all, you still came out not only alive but victorious.

Despite your doubts, you manage to arrive at the restaurant perfectly in time and with a deep smile stretched on your face, you enter the restaurant to greet your former friends from college.

It is odd to realize that you need a few long seconds to associate their names with their faces; it is also weird to have a hard time recognizing some of them now as if a lifetime has passed since the last time you’ve seen each other. In a certain way, it has.

Those people, those faces that were once familiar and as dear to you as your own family almost feel like strangers now and it makes your heart squeeze in sadness. How volatile are human beings and their feelings for each other? You would have easily given your life for some of these people back then and now... Now you don’t even know how’s their life like.

You do not voice out any of those thoughts though, in fact, you act as if not a single day has passed since graduation, as if you all had been talking not too many hours ago about the most random things.

You rejoice in how those faces light up in recognition as you approach them, you relish in the sound of their voices and the feeling of arms engulfing you in a brief embrace. It is warm and it almost feels like homecoming.

Your heart swells as your old best friends fill you in on their lives, as they show you pictures of little kids you had no idea existed prior to tonight and even though a little part of you envies them, you are quite happy for the way their life turned out.

You do notice that they’re all very careful not to pry into your life. His name never gets mentioned in those conversations and you are immensely grateful for it. You all know this was supposed to be you: happy and married with a cute pair of kids running around the house. There had been a time when everyone expected you to be the first one to achieve the dream life—well, your version of it at least—and succeed in every aspect of it. Of course, back then, nobody had any idea of how surprising and cruel life could be.

You can see in their eyes the hint of curiosity that sparkles there, the hesitation into asking what they all want to know and hear from you: what truly happened? But you cannot tell them. You can’t tell the truth and you don’t even want to, not that they’d believe you even if you decided to, of course.

Hyojin opens her mouth after a few seconds of silence and you can already anticipate the question that will roll off of her tongue. She was always the bravest and most curious one of your group, after all.

The question, though, remains stuck in her throat as the man of the hour approaches your table, a little grin spread on his gorgeous face.

“Taehyung...” you whisper out his name before you even realize it and when you do, your cheeks seem to catch on fire alongside with the rest of your body.

Of course, he’d show up. How could he ever miss the occasion to be the center of attention and torture you, all at the same time?

A part of you suspected it, a part of you hoped to be wrong and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a part of you even wished for him to be here tonight. Why? Because that tiny part of you still had feelings for the monster standing before your very eyes. Even after all he had done, a sick and twisted part of your heart still wanted to beat only for him.

Your eyes are glued on him as he takes the last final steps to your table and takes the seat right across from you, feigning an innocence that does not belong on his face in the slightest.

You can sense the eyes of your former friends on the both of you as you greet each other and it takes all of your best effort to not look at any of them and break the facade of the unfazed ex-girlfriend.

The air is tense all around you even after everyone at the table resumes their conversations and goosebumps gather on your skin every single-damned-time Taehyung even hums in response to someone else. His proximity, the way his eyes land on you every now and then, the fear that clutches your heart every time he opens his mouth are almost too much to endure but you do push through and that is your first mistake.

You should have left before it all went downhills, before it became too much for you to handle without a little help, before you allowed some of your walls to come crumbling down. But you don’t leave, even if your heart is begging you to do so and that is simply because you are stubborn, and pride. Oh, so fucking full of pride.

The drink suddenly clutched in your right hand feels heavy and doubt fills your mind as you recall how much easier is to fall for Taehyung’s spell once your mind is already hazed by alcohol but even still, you gulp it down quickly hoping that the burn will ease up your nerves a little bit.

If someone would ask you right then and there what you had been talking about for the last couple of hours, you would have no idea. You know you have been talking the whole time, feigning interest in listening to your former friend’s stories and anecdotes from a life distant light years from your own, but you do not retain a single word that has been said to you or that left your mouth, for that matter.

Your mind is too focused on Taehyung and the effort of not focusing on him to allow anything else to settle in.

It is then that you make your second mistake. A few drinks have passed and gone down your throat in the meantime and you’re already feeling a little bit unsteady on your legs as you stand up. That should have been your cue sign to leave and retire to the safety of your own four walls.

Instead, when the guys suggest bringing the dinner party to a club you all-too-quickly jump on the ‘yes’ wagon and tag along with them.

It doesn’t even properly register in your mind that this is definitely not a good idea and, most importantly, you fail to notice the fact that most of the girls have declined the offer—most of them out of obligation towards their kids more than anything else, really.

Also at that point in time, you fail to catch on the fact that Taehyung, the wicked demon you’ve come to know and hate in the past few years, has let slip through his hands the chance to coax these girls into going anyway. It is what he does best, after all: induce people into wicked things they wouldn’t normally do, stir up drama and bring pain to lowly humans, slowly bringing their souls into eternal damnation.

That should have been your red flag. If Taehyung could pass up an opportunity as succulent as that one it could only mean he had a far worse scheme up his sleeves. And of course, the center of that scheme had to be you: his favorite prey.

At first, nothing is out of the ordinary: people yelling at each other over the music, a few drinks being passed by between old friends, a few dances down the dance floor.

You let your guard down completely during this time frame, relaxed by the fact that even though your nemesis is standing there, barely a few inches away from you, everything is going smoothly.

It is exactly in this moment, as you sip on your Moscow Mule, that everything starts crumbling down.

You hadn’t noticed prior to this very second that the rest of your company had all went down to the dance floor or the bar to get another drink leaving you alone with Taehyung.

You’re made aware of his proximity the moment he takes a step forward and his body heat seems to radiate and engulf your entire frame.

His breath feels hot against your skin as he whispers right above your ear:

“Good evening, sweets.”

He chuckles as he quickly takes notice of the goosebumps that spread on your skin like fire and you hate how easy it is for him to read your body. If only you could do the same with him, if only you could peep behind those black as coal eyes and that smirking mouth, you could bring him down to his knees as easily as he can with you. But of course, it is only wishful thinking.

“What do you want?” Your words slice like knives in your mind but they come out in a confused slur when you pronounce them, retaining nothing of the angry or unfazed tone you wanted to deliver.

He laughs at your question and takes another step forward, successfully pressing his lean body on your back. If you had thought his proximity had made you warmer before, now you were feeling feverish hot. It felt almost as if he was awakening a dormant volcano in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m a little bit bored, aren’t you?”

A shiver shakes your frame as those words leave his mouth. The implications laced between them makes the question feel like a bucket of ice cold water over your flushed body. It renders even the gesture of gulping down the remaining of your drink without dropping the glass in your hand a great effort. Oh, how much you hate the ascendant Taehyung has on you and your feeble heart.

“Not particularly, no.” Your words are strained as you push them out, your heart beating fast in your chest as you desperately try to gain back some control, build up back those walls you let slip somewhere down the line. You are supposed to know better than this, you are supposed to know not to let your guard down around him but oh, you simply never learn your lessons right when they are about Kim Taehyung.

You’d never admit it out loud but even to this day, you still yearn for his touch, the feeling of his hands all over you and in your current intoxicated state, resisting him feels like a greater mountain to climb than you are possibly able to.

One of his arms circles your back as he slowly turns you around, forcing you to truly face him for the first time tonight. His free hand comes to your face then, his slender fingers pulling your chin upwards so you cannot escape the depth of his coal stare.

“Oh, but I think you are a little bit bored, standing here all alone, sipping on your drink.”

His words feel like warm honey on the tip of your tongue, melting as you gulp it down and scorching your very core and you know this feeling, you know oh-too-well what it means but you cannot fight it. Especially not when you’re not even sober, to begin with.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whisper, your body aching as you try to pull at your own consciousness and not slip into his words, the wickedness they are about to suggest.

“I think we should make it a little bit more entertaining for all of us here, what do you think, love?”

The endearing name makes your heart tumble in your chest and even though a little part of you hates him for it, the rest of you is so far gone there is simply no hope to see Taehyung for the monster that he is at this point. No, now, he is your God and you will inevitably end up doing whatever he wants you to do. You’re nothing but a puppet in his hands and there was a time when that felt great and it seemed like that was what loves was to be about. But it is not love and it is not great. It’s control that results in pain and heartbreak.

“How?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper and it would equal to silence to human ears in the loudness of the club but to the demon standing in front of you it is loud and clear and, most importantly, it is music to his ears.

His smirk sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. There should be fear and dread there but, instead, the feelings have been swapped with expectation and adoration.

“I love your dress,” he says, whispering right in your ear and you shiver at the sensation, licking your lips automatically, still unaware that at some point they went completely dry, “Did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe”, you concede and in the morning you’ll remember this not even being a lie or your attempt to please him. It is nothing but the truth and it doesn’t matter how much you hate yourself for feeling like this or worse, for saying it out loud. The hate cannot erase the fact that you have picked your dress for him, just in case he really showed up.

He smiles and caresses your cheek with affection, his eyes shining once you lean into his touch and inhale deeply, trying to impress the smell of him in your senses.

“Then what do you say about making a show out of it?” He suggests after a few seconds and you open the eyes you hadn’t realized you had closed to peer into his.

“What do you want me to do?” You whimper out eagerly, your heart beating fast in your chest as you wait for his instructions.

He hums, pensive, and even in the state you’re in you can tell it is all an act to keep you waiting, make your heart throb a little bit longer waiting for him to open up his mouth again.

“I’d love for you to show them all what they are missing on,” he finally says, making you twirl around so he can take a good look at you in your form-fitting dress.

By instincts, you know exactly what he means, or maybe that is how his power works, maybe his thoughts really slip into your mind and turn into your very own. Maybe he doesn’t even need to speak those words out loud in the first place and all he needs to do is think them and your soul will be wrapped around his little finger.

You do not know how it works, really, what you do know is that it works every single time and before you know it, you start swaying your hips as you walk to the dance floor, careful not to bump into anyone that could stop you to try and dance with you. Tonight you are to be looked at, not to be touched.

You realize in that moment that the club choice was made by Taehyung and for a very purposeful reason: the club has four big illuminated platforms across the dance floor with a few dancers lined up there to keep people moving and having fun by putting up a show and that, that is your destination.

With no hesitation in your movements nor inside your heart and mind, you reach the platform right at the center of the club and smile up at the male dancer performing on it.

“Can I come up?” You say as loud as you can, mimicking your words with your hands to get your point across.

The look of stupor that falls on his objectively handsome face his fuel to the fire burning in your heart and once he extends his arms towards you, helping you up on the stage, you are far too lost in the excitement and adrenaline rush to realize the depth of what you’re about to do.

The male dancer introduces himself as J-Hope—which you assume to be his stage name—and you smile at him in response, swaying your body towards him as seductively as you possibly can.

“Well, nice to meet you, J-Hope,” you purr in his ear and relish in the way he evidently gulps down, taken aback by your shamelessness, “Let’s dance the night away, shall we?”

He doesn’t need you to ask him twice before his hands are carefully wrapped around your hips, guiding your movements to match the upbeat tempo.

You can’t see yourself in those people’s eyes but you know you are giving them quite the show. The dance feels sensual as you press your body onto the dancer’s and your chest seems to constrict a little bit further every single time the space between your bodies thins out to almost nothing at all.

His touches remain professional and purposefully driven by the desire to give a good performance rather than to seduce you but on your part, the effort is quite the opposite.

You do want him to put his hands on you, you do want him to kiss you and scorch your lips with his passion for everyone to see. What you want is to be desired, stripped naked and claimed right in front of everyone. That is the fantasy you’re aiming for, that is what would truly excite him.

You find his eyes in the crowd and for the first time you notice how many people have gathered there to watch you and the dancer behind your back.

This feeling of being watched, envied, desired or even judged by so many people is inebriating and it’s with this feeling swelling in your heart that you decide your next move.

You turn around to face the young dancer, startling him again for the third time tonight, and with a wicked smirk, you start twerking your ass for your public, not caring a single bit of the fact that your dress is riding up, exposing your butt cheeks to all of them.

You are barely aware of the phones that are being drawn out of pockets to record the scene, of the people’s eyes glued on you as they talk to each other about what they are witnessing or even of J-Hope, trying to salvage the situation before he is forced to call security and simply kick you out of the club.

The drawing point for him must be the instant you pull the dress up from your frame and kick it somewhere far away in the club, remaining in nothing but your underwear.

Almost as if you came prepared for the night, you sport a black laced set that barely covers the most important parts and the approval of the crowd comes in the form of whistles and excited screams that only seem to fuel you all the more.

You turn around for all of them to see, swaying your hips and spreading your legs to give them all a show they didn’t know they needed tonight.

With a glance to the crowd you notice your former-friends there as well, staring at you as if they don’t even know who you are and when that should make you realize what you are doing or at least make you feel shame for all of it, in that state of mind it only turns you bolder, more desperate to imprint this show in their memory for the rest of their lives. Be remembered by all of them, be the one they’d talk about from time to time even when they are old, recalling back to the days when they were young and wild. You want to be immortal for all of them.

With that thought recurring in your mind like a mantra, your bra falls off from you and you’re about to remove your panties and salute the last bit of self-preservation when the security finally reaches you and brings you off the platform.

The events of the night seem to become fuzzy at this point, maybe too chaotic for your own mind to process or maybe it is the demon’s power radiating all around you to control every single living creature inside the club.

You do know that you walk out of that club wrapped up in a coat that is not your own without the report for public indecency you deserve. Not even a strong warning or a fee to pay for it and you do know, that is all Taehyung’s doing.

It is him that walks you home, carefully guiding your steps so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself in the process.

It is also him that tugs you in your bed-sheets and lulls you to sleep, thanking you for the great show you gave him.

Your eyes open and it is already Tuesday afternoon when you do so, at least according to your phone lying next to you.

Morning comes with your sobriety and the feeling of your head being split open by an unknown force.

Your eyes close right after you dare to look at your phone screen, the white light almost burning your retinas after so many hours of pure darkness. When you try to open them again you feel them pulse as they catch up on the light filtering through your windows and you grimace loudly, closing them for a few seconds once again.

When you are pretty much awake and ready to open them you quickly notice how sore your body feels, how bad your mouth tastes and, a few seconds later, your memories slowly start resurfacing in your consciousness.

You spring up from your bed as soon as the recollection of last night comes to you with the force of a tsunami. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the air gets kicked out of your lungs and for a moment you fear you may collapse. Maybe that would have been a gift from God: to indulge some more time in unconsciousness and forget yesterday ever happened.

You phone chimes from the bed right as you ponder the idea of simply returning back to sleep and postpone the inevitable, signaling you the income of a new text. With dread, you pick it to see who is it from and you are instantly met with hundreds of notifications sent to your number from last night up to this very moment.

Your eyes scan through the text messages quickly, deeming anything that doesn’t have to do with last night unimportant and a sigh of relief is about to escape your mouth when you dismally reach what you were dreading to find. A video.

One of your former-friends has created a group chat for your college group from last night and sent the video of you dancing and undressing yourself on the platform of that stupid club with a string of text attached to it. ‘Thank you for the great performance, ______ .”

Your steps are quick in the apartment as you rush to the bathroom, barely making it on time for your puke to hit the toilet bowl and not make a mess of the rest of the room, which would have really been the icing on the cake.

You cannot believe you did that. No, that he made you do that. And that there is one video proof of it. Hell, probably a lot more than a single one of them. And they’re probably online as well, available for every single person that wants to see it—and probably masturbate to it.

A new wave of nausea hits you at the thought and you spend the next hour crouched on the bathroom floor, your head propped up on your hand as your stomach churns and revolts every few minutes.

You feel gross, your body feels gross, even your soul feels gross.

You crawl inside your shower and let the water wash over you, scorching hot. All the sweat and the smell of vomit and alcohol get replaced by the feeling of being clean and fresh and perfumed but the water cannot erase how dirty you feel on the inside.

You have been scrubbing your skin for almost an hour now, trying to get rid of that feeling lodged inside your heart but you know, even if you could successfully excoriate your skin or even remove it from around your bones, the feeling of being soiled and disgusting would not withdraw from your soul.

It is after you realize this, after your skin has turned hot and sensitive to the touch, after these hours of pure misery and self-pity that you finally break apart.

The tears and the sobs erupt from you like a waterfall and not even the sound of the shower can successfully cover the one of your mourning.

The things you’ve said and done under the control of Taehyung’s words are simply one too many today and too much for you to handle them anymore. Last night was just another stone to the mountain of things he has made you do and that now you regret.

It’s in one of the darkest hours of your life, at the peak of your heartache, that he appears again in front of you.

You’re still wet from the shower, your face swollen from all the crying, and you have just stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a bathrobe when you notice him sitting on your bed, his face neutral as he watches you.

“You,” you grit your teeth, bile filling your windpipe, almost strangling you from within, “You fucking son of a bitch!”

The scream that erupts from you scratches your throat and brings tears to your eyes but you do not relent.

Looking as fury itself, you launch yourself at him, nails pointing out to scratch every inch of his skin you can possibly touch. You want to rip him to shreds just like he has done with your whole existence, with your mind and soul. You just want, no, need revenge.

You land a hit to his face, a kick on his stomach and a spit right in his eye and some scratches all over the exposed skin of his head and neck before he manages to grab both of your wrists, reverse your positions and trap you down on the bed by straddling your hips with his own.

“Let me go, you bastard!” You squirm under his grasp trying to bite his arms and kick his legs with your knees but to no avail.

“I didn’t know you had all of this in you, sweets.”

His words sound taunting to you, working as fuel for your hatred and resentment for everything he has ever done or said to you ever since you’ve known him. This monster trapping you under his body was a man you once loved and now, now looking at him hurts like your body is being ripped apart by feral beasts.

“I hate you.” You say through gritted teeth, your words coming out as slaps across his face.

You notice the slight shift in his eyes, the semblance of an emotion hidden in his irises but he erases it far too quickly for you to be able to name it. But you hang up on it, seeing a tiny crack on his facade to aim at until he breaks apart just like you did, because of him.

“Do you hear me? I fucking hate you! You’re a monster and I will never forgive you. I HATE YOU!”

Your scream scratches your throat anew but it is not the cause for the tears gathering in your eyes. It’s the words you speak out loud and the way his eyes shift again for a split of a second, letting his regret and pain flash through those impossible eyes.

It’s the fact that they seem to turn into black pools as quickly as you recognize those feelings behind them, it’s the fact that his face is as immobile as ever and the fact that he disappears just like smoke once the words have settled in.

You don’t know why it feels even worse for him to be gone, you don’t understand how you can hate him and still yearn so much for him at the same time and as you lie in bed in the same position he has left you for hours, staring at the ceiling without knowing what to do with yourself and the confusing feelings swirling inside your chest, that you break apart once again.

You love him. No, you hate him. You will never forgive him, not this time. But even so, you will never truly forget him and that’s what’s really sad.

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