#i wouldn’t feel like a failure if i could create. And still have a place in this world

[nevernonline]

✧.* must love dogs; csc one shot.

✧.* synopsis: after a breakup (three years ago) your friend finally attempts to get you back on the saddle by creating you a dating profile despite your protesting, hooking you up on dates with some of the eligible bachelors of their choice, none of which impressed you. until one day you met the boy with the dog.

part of my seventeen movie series.

paring: seungcheol x reader (y/n uses she/her pronouns.)

genre/s: fluff, strangers2lovers

warning/s: alcohol mentions, swearing, cigarette mentions, swearing, some pg-13 jokes.

word count: 3.7k

note: im notorious atp for not editing, pls. I hope you enjoy my lil must love dogs inspired fic, its one of my fav movies!! xo.

“So how was bachelor number five?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you gazed at your friend Seungkwan resting his feet on top of your shared glass coffee table, ticking the tip of the city guide book and magazines rested on top. 

“Boring. He was nice or whatever, good looking, but he wouldn’t shut up about league of legends and his job. Other than that he asked me no questions about myself or what I do. A failure as most would call it.” 

“So I take it you wouldn’t want to go out with him again?” 

“God, whatever gave you that impression? I thought you could tell we were headed for marriage?” 

“Hey. I’m doing you a very nice thing, you don’t have to be so sarcastic about it.” 

“Look, I know. But just because Jun is getting married and I still haven’t moved on doesn’t mean I need to be dating all of the sudden.” 

The boy patted the seat next to him. Scooching over from his spot, making room for you on the couch. 

“ It’s been nearly three years since you ended it with him. At least fuck someone before you dry up.” 

“That’s fucking gross and what vibrators are for.” 

A small scream left your friend's mouth as he covered his ears trying to remove what he had just heard coming out of your mouth. 

“Y/n his wedding is in two months, we need to find someone to bring that’s not me. You don’t want to feel the embarrassment of his pity party and everyone feeling sorry for you.” 

“Why can’t you just be my date?” 

“Too obvious. Plus your whole family will be there, just do it or you know your parents will be in your case again. This ‘ secret man’ you’ve been seeing doesn’t exist and I think your Mom is starting to catch on.” 

He was right. Your parents come from a high status, as do your ex boyfriends, they were the reason you both had met and became friends in the first place. But, when your relationship ended you lied to them, it was working well until you got a call from your very upset mother telling you Jun showed up to your house with his family and a girl on his arm that wasn’t you. 

“Okay, then why can’t I choose my own date?” 

“The men you chose to quote on quote date are literally disturbing, I’m sorry but it’s the truth. Like that one dude you brought here last time? Whatever the fuck his name was literally was wearing a necklace vial of his own blood and claimed drinking your own urine and reusing water is the only way we can save the planet.” 

“Okay, but he was nice.” 

“He literally didn’t flush the toilet because he only went number one. That’s fucked, no.” 

“Can I at least, like at the very least have some approval over the men you match me with then?” 

“Maybe.” 

“ Kwanie, please. Come on, don’t make me use the what goes around card, it’s my turn” 

“No, it's absolutely my turn.” 

“Not true, you wasted it two months ago when I had to bail you out of that strange house party orgy thing by saying your dog died and coming in crying to a bunch of naked strangers. You owe me.” 

“Valid.” 

“How did you not realize what that party was anyway?” 

“This is not currently about my life failures, but yours my beautiful friend.” 

Laughing at Seungkwan's major mishap, you forgot to greet your dog, Lucky. She was waiting and crying at your feet, finally waking up from her sweet slumber to greet you. 

“Hello my baby, do we have to go outside?” 

“She went for a walk this afternoon, but after her dinner she crashed so she probably wants a walk. I can go if you want to change or shower.” 

“No it’s alright, I can take her, you're already in your pj’s and after my date I need a distress, want anything from the mart?” 

“Ice cream?” 

With a small nod you jumped up, taking the small curly creature in your arms and grabbing her harness before heading back outside into the warm spring air. 

Ten minutes into your evening stroll, you decided to sit on the green wooden bench overlooking the water, the same bench your grandmother always spoke about when you asked her the same story about how she and your grandfather got engaged. The gold plaque with their names rubbing off sitting behind your back. 

Suddenly you heard a man yelling from behind you, running through the green grass lit up with fluorescent lights. 

“Hey, Kkuma, no come back.” 

A small white dog came up behind Lucky sniffing her and starting to play, you noticed her cute hairclip and ran your hands through her fur. 

“God, I’m sorry. She normally doesn’t run off like that.” 

“It’s okay my dog lov-“ 

As you turned around to look into the round eyes of the owner, you were stunned with how beautiful he was. 

His dark hair pushed under a cap, a white t-shirt too big for his frame sitting beautifully in his toned shoulders, and his red sweatpants matching his shoes. 

The unfamiliar man was bending down now petting your precious pet and his own at the same time talking to them in sweet baby voices. 

“This is Kkuma by the way, and you are?” 

“Y/N” 

“Hi y/n, you’re so cute, you and kkuma can be best friends if your mom lets you.”

You let out a roaring laugh realizing he thought you had introduced your pet and not yourself.

“Oh sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just I’m y/n this is Lucky sorry my fault.” 

“Oh god, cool. Sorry Lucky, I’m Seungcheol. You can call me Cheol and this is Kkuma.” 

“Nice to meet you Cheol and Kkuma.” 

“You too. Look I know I just met you and all, but I’m new to the area. I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee and let the girls hangout sometime?” 

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Let me give you my number.” 

Seungcheol handed you his cell phone with a new contact page pulled up giving you full reign to type your name and number into his list. 

Handing the device back to him your fingers touched, creating an electric shock, to not like you to believe in signs, but for some reason it felt like the universe trying to tell you something. 

“Thank you, I’ve actually got to get going, but if you're free tomorrow would you want to grab coffee and hangout at the dog park?” 

“Yeah, totally. Just text me a time, we can just meet here. What kind of coffee do you drink? There’s a good spot by my apartment. I can just pick it up for us.” 

“Wow, that’s so nice of you. Just a black americano is cool or a cold brew whichever.”

“No fun I see.”

“How would you know that? Just because I don’t like sugary drinks doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.” 

“I don’t know, we will see.” 

“We will. I’ll catch you tomorrow girls.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” 

Seungcheol left the same way he came running through the grass with Kkuma on his heels, following him all the way back to their home. 

Strolling back down the pathway back to your apartment, you could help but feel butterflies in your stomach, you knew nothing about the man you just met other than his name and his cute dog, but there was a lot of unknown. 

Smiling like a Cheshire Cat, you unlocked the front door and watched Lucky sprint back into Seungkwan lounging on the couch, eating for the ice cream you had forgotten. 

“Where’s the snacks? Also why are you smiling like an idiot you’re freaking me out.” 

“We met a guy with his dog, a very cute guy might I add, who actually asked for my number and wants to get coffee tomorrow.” 

“ What the fuck, it’s late tell me he doesn’t live in the park?” 

“No he said he just moved to the area, he was clearly not a park dweller he had keys, and smelt amazing actually.”

“Smelling strangers? A new low even for you”

“Oh my god, fuck off.” 

Seungkwan pulled his phone out and opened various social media apps preparing himself for best friend stalking duties. 

“What’s his name?”

“Seungcheol, not sure about his last name, but he goes by Cheol and his dog was Kkuma.” 

“Great.. okay, found him I assume?”

“What the fuck, how? Let me see.”

“Eager aren’t we?”

“Fuck off?” 

Grabbing Seungkwan's phone from his grip, you scroll quickly through the new faces' social media.

“Yeah, it’s him.” 

“Okay, let me see. Wait, he's actually hot AND seems to have his own business?” 

“Oh my god.”

“Here, look” 

After the next few hours, you and your friend stumble on into your separate rooms preparing yourself for slumber, which never seems to reach you and before you know it dawn is creeping its way through your curtains, and your backup preparing yourself for a day with you and Lucky's new friends. 

Something about your energy was excitable and nearing frantic, you could wait to step outside into the fresh air with your pocket sized princess at your side, but it was still early. 

You had decided on pampering yourself for this morning, finding the need to make yourself up, you spread on your skin care with glee, drew perfect lines of eyeliner and strained your hair, pulling it up into a nice tight ponytail the hair tie matching the taupe tone of your sweat suit perfectly.  Before you knew it it was 9:45 a perfect time for you and Lucky to step outside the door. 

Placing her in her tote bag, you stepped inside of your favorite coffee shop, the light pink walls covered in photos and paintings, the smell of the espresso seemed sweeter. 

“Morning, y/n you look beautiful today. Would you like the usual?”

“Thank you, for me, yes. But can I also get a large americano, just black and he didn’t tell me iced or hot, so iced is good I think? Or maybe hot with a cup of ice on the side? If that’s okay?” 

“He? Did you finally start dating someone?” 

“Oh no, just a friend of mine. Seungkwan told you shit about me didn’t he?” 

“Yes. Sorry.”  

“No worries, can I actually get two of the plain croissants and two of the flower dog cookies too?” 

“No problem, it’ll be right out.” 

“Thank you.” 

Taking a seat next to the pick up counter you scrolled through the instagram of the boy you’re meant to be meeting, telling yourself it’s just to remember his face, but really it was to get a peek into what else he’s into or if he was single. 

“Y/N” 

“Oh shit, sorry. Thank you guys, see you tomorrow.” 

Picking up the paper coffee carrier and pastry bag, you waved goodbye to the baristas and briskly walked back to the bench you were at yesterday, your bench, spotting the back of Seungcheol’s head watching the water with his dog. 

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” 

“Oh, no problem. I just got here.” 

Placing your items down on the bench, you freed her bag and greeted Kkuma alongside her before taking your seat. 

“Here’s your coffee, I wasn’t sure if you wanted hot or iced so I got you a cup of ice too just in case, a croissant, and a little treat for your girl too.” 

“Wow thank you so much, hot is fine actually. How are you?” 

“Good, nervous. I mean it’s not every day you meet a stranger for coffee.” 

Seungcheol laughed, tipping his head back slightly before taking a bite of his pastry. 

“Sorry. I know it’s weird, you just seemed like someone I wanted to get to know, and Kkuma liked you so I figured you’re good people.” 

“Well, thank you. You too. Lucky generally does not like men other than my friend Seungkwan, my dad, and my ex-boyfriend so consider yourself special.”

“I do.”

“So what brought you to this neighborhood? Work, a relationship?”

“No relationship, but actually my business partner is from here. We decided to open our warehouse and stuff here because it’s much better than doing it in the city. We have a spirit company and we’re planning on opening a brewery and bar, so that’s why I’ve been working late nights. I guess it served me well, I made a friend on my first day.”

“You’ve only been here for a full day? What the hell? You already know the best spot in town. What kind of stuff do you guys make?”

“Beer and soju mainly, we’ve been working on it for five years now and are finally at a spot to open up and start selling it to people, which is cool. But what about you? What do you do?” 

“I’m a medical student actually, my parents are both doctors, I used to really want to be one too, but I don’t know, I don’t really have the same passion for it as I used to.”

“Well what would you do if you had the choice?”

“I always wanted to design stuff for dogs, start a rescue, anything like that. I got so happy seeing Kkuma as an accessory girl.”

“Yeah, she’s very stylish. I think you should go for it, you know? Why waste time becoming something for someone else and risk being unhappy just for their sake?”

“Honestly I wouldn’t even know how to start a business on my own, let alone tell my parents.”

“Hey, I didn’t either and look where it’s gotten me.”

You turned back to the water, staring into the calm blue waters, trying not to go into your own head. 

“You’re oddly inspiring, I’ll give you that much.”

“Thank you, y/n. You’re oddly sassy, I’ll give you that.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“You already tried to clock me by saying I’m no fun because I drink black coffee and you said oddly inspiring like a back handed compliment. You definitely are, but I like it. 

“Good.”

You had continued your twice weekly hangouts with Kkuma and her dad for two weeks now, getting excited whenever the days roll around to see the two of them again, but you haven’t hung out once without them around, which made you wonder if your friendship or crush rather on this boy was only due to your dogs being friends themselves. 

Seungkwan tried setting you up on more and more dates with more and more duds, he was starting to lose hope himself, knowing that the one person he could set you up with was Seungcheol but he didn’t want to overstep. 

Strolling home from another failed connection, you decide to stop and have a beer before going home to give the dirty details to Seungkwan about who you had just met. 

Pulling open the tab of one of your drinks from your six pack, you took a deep breath and sat down, feeling your eyes welling up with tears. 

Another can opened as you went to take the first sip. A hand comes on your shoulders, whispering a boo in your ears. 

“What the fuck!” 

Jumping up from your seat the hand on your shoulder belonged to Seungcheol, the look in his eyes went from happy to concerned as he saw the small streaks of tears on your cheeks, you top now dribbled with spots of beer. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Want a beer?”

“Sure, thanks. I’m sorry I scared you, I thought you heard me behind you.”

“It’s alright, I was in my own world anyway. You look nice, where are you headed?”

“Soft opening for my bar actually, I texted you, but I figured you didn’t respond because you were busy.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I would’ve loved to come. I was a bit preoccupied on an awful fucking date.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Well the good news is you technically didn’t miss it, it doesn’t start for another twenty minutes and you’re dressed very nice. It worked out. 

“Fuck I wish I paid more attention, I could’ve got you some flowers or something.”

“Next time. Will your roommate be alright taking care of Lucky?”

“Yeah of course, he knew I would be out tonight. I’ll text him just to be sure.”

“Cheers to hanging out without our kids?”

“Definitely.”

With that suddenly your awful night and doubts about your relationship with the raven haired boy went out the window. 

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Seungcheol lent his arm out for you to wrap your own around, and you both stayed out that way for a few moments, before discarding your cans and walking the way to his new venture. 

“Here it is, you ready?”

“When you told me you were opening this up I thought you hadn’t even started? But it looks like it’s fully ready.” 

“Ah, well we had planned to wait a bit, but we’re getting too antsy, so here we are.”

“It’s beautiful, holy shit.” 

“Thanks, sit here, I’ll be right back.”

You took a seat on the green leather booth, looking around and taking in the ambiance of the custom lighting and ribbon like wallpaper, when a blonde gentleman walked over sitting down across from you. 

“Y/n? Right?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you…”

“Jeonghan, I’m Cheol’s business partner.”

“Jeonghan, right. Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot.”

“Likewise, you’re so much prettier than Cheol let on actually.”

“Oh?”

Without a chance to interrogate the new face further Seungcheol walked back over to your table, setting down a few bottles of various spirits for you to try, including a couple of cocktails. 

“He didn’t scare you too much did he?”

“Not at all, he was just telling me actually how much prettier I am than you alluded to.”

“Jeonghan, don’t do that to her, come on. You know very well I told you she was pretty, I even showed you her instagram, you agreed.”

“I know, I just wanted to make you tell her yourself and my job is done, see you around y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

As Jeonghan left the table you felt your cheeks growing with heat, unsure if it was the alcohol or the fact that Seungcheols friend made him confess he thought you were good looking. 

“Sorry about him, he’s a menace.”

“No need to be sorry, I have my own menace at home and I don’t mean my dog.”

Seungcheol laughed, pouring you a shot of his very own soju to taste, filling with anticipation hoping you enjoy the drink he’s serving you, looking for your approval became a big part of his mind lately. 

Lifting your glass up to his and clinking them together, the liquor poured down the back of your throat filling your mouth with sweetness and warmth. 

“Holy shit.”

“Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

“No, very good. That’s actually delicious. It’s so clean and fresh.”

“That makes me so happy to hear.”

“I’m happy you’re happy.”

“Okay, beer next. This is just a standard sour, some lime and sea salt, sort of beach vibes.” 

“Sounds amazing, okay.”

Tipping your head back you sipped at the foamy top of the glass, savoring the flavors in your mouth. 

“I hate you so much.”

“What? Why?”

“Seungcheol, you're way too humble when you talk about your business, this shit is amazing. I said I hate you because I’m going to crave this shit and I’ll have to see you all the time.” 

“I thought you liked seeing me all the time?”

“You’re okay.”

“I have to say it’s cool to be here with you without the dogs, not that they distract too much, but they definitely take away giving you my full attention.”

“I mean how could they not, they’re cute as fuck,”

“So are you.”

“Wow, two drinks in Cheol and you’re already calling me cute? I wonder what else you’ll say the more you drink?"

“Technically we’re four drinks in, but I guess I remember the time I spent with you more than you do. Did those drinks on the bench mean nothing to you?”

“Oh fuck, I did forget. I guess technically I’m five drinks in then, catch up, bitch.”

You and Seungcheol spent the rest of the night being greeted by his friends, most of them already assuming who you were, letting you know that Seungcheol talks about you more than you realized. 

Feeling your blood alcohol content rising, you decided to take a step outside and refresh. 

The bell of the door opened up behind you, putting you face to face with his cherry lips once again, watching them light up a hand rolled cigarette to his lips. 

“Doing okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to step out for a second. Are you good?”

“Very. Want a cig?”

“No, I’m good for now. Ask me again later.” 

“So will there be a later? You’re not ditching me now?”

“I’d never do that.”

“So, y/n does this maybe get me a chance to take you on a date? I’m kind of drunk so I’m feeling oddly bold.” 

“Is this not sort of a date?”

“I was hoping you thought so. Is that a yes?”

“Absolutely. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Before we go on our date though, y/n. I have one final question?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you still think I’m boring?” 

“A little.” 

Seungcheol grabbed your waist and spun you around, causing his perfectly rolled tobacco to fall on the sidewalk. 

Blissfully you were giggling and laughing under the red led lights of his bar. 

“Take it back.” 

“Nope.” 

“Please.” 

You looked into his puppy dog eyes and did something out of your comfort zone. Wrapped your hands loosely around his neck, placing a deepened kiss onto his lips. 

His mouth tasted of cigarettes and salt with a hint of vanilla from the lip balm he always had on him. 

“Is that a good ‘sorry I called you boring’ kiss?” 

“It’ll do for now.” 

“Good. They’ll be more where that came from.” 

“Promise?” 

“Pinky promise.” 

You and Seungcheol unwrap from each other, finding Jeonghan standing and  cheering in the window watching the two of you. 

“Can’t believe I got a hot date and a sister for Kkuma all in one.” 

“You lucky dog.” 

[slasherscream]

Hello Bee! First I want to say that I really love your writing and your characterization of the characters. I've read so much of your stuff over and over again, it's so good! Thank you so much for writing it all!

Secondly, I wanted to make a request. Sorry if this sounds dumb, but could you please make a crazy ass husbands with an artisitic s/o? Like someone who may not necessarily create art, but is really passionate about like painting, and music, and just all the types of art? I saw you added Vincent Sinclair and thought of this 😄.

If not its fine, I still want you to know that I adore and enjoy your writing! Well wishes! 🩷🩷

Qimir (the acolyte) - Qimir likes the way you get carried away by music. The way you close your eyes when you walk into a cantina and musicians are playing. The little songs you hum to yourself when you’re piloting the ship, or fixing something. Music awakens something in your soul. You feel it deeply. Love songs and tragic laments alike light a fire in you. Every now and again he’ll have the two of you go to planets known for their music, their unique sounds, and singing styles. It’s always under a false pretense. The training or mission he sends you on are usually extra grueling before you’re given your “reward”. Otherwise, he feels like a slave to the whims of your joy. What wouldn’t he do to see you smile? To relish your little gasp the first time you hear a new instrument or song? He likes to reach out, using the connection you two share, and feel what you feel. He’s so glad he freed you from your shackles of repression. The way you indulge your passion is beautiful. 

Norman Bates - You’ve always loved flowers. The first thought you had about the motel was that it needed some nice flowers outside. You’ve traveled the country, visiting all sorts of gardens. It’s an odd hobby, but one you chased relentlessly. Until you met Norman, and settled into the hotel with him. But eventually you start to crave those gardens again, so you decide for the first time not to just admire gardens, but to cultivate one. There are a few false starts. Miserable failures. Mixed successes. But Norman is encouraging every step of the way, and eventually your little motel begins to shine. Ivy creeping up trellises you place against the house. Roses, peonies, lavender, poppies. All in ranges of colors and sizes. You repaint the motel when it begins to look shabby in comparison to the garden blooming around it. For the first time the motel starts to look… welcoming. Like a true home. People in town begin to stop by and spend the night just so they can have breakfast in the garden the next morning. People propose to each other at the Bates Motel. Get married there. Honeymoon. Have the celebrations for their baby’s christening among all your flowers and saplings. Norman doesn’t have a green thumb, but he brings you lemonade and kisses your cheek and thanks you earnestly for bringing color and life into his world. 

Hannibal Lecter - This is one of the ways you and Hannibal bond. You could talk about art for hours together. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, and your raw passion for the topic makes it so that you always have something new to say to one another. Date nights consist of going to art galleries for big and small artists. Something about being in one another’s presence sweetens the art itself. Hannibal often surprises you with trips to other countries just so you can go to their art museums and partake in new art scenes. Money is a small thing to Hannibal. The conversations you have about art? Those are priceless. 

Shane Walsh - He’s never been too interested in the arts. Not before the end of the world and certainly not after it. The only art that matters now is the art of survival. He tells you this often. Tells you to look to the future. Focus on surviving the day. On perfecting the skills he tries to teach you, day in and day out, so even if he’s gone, you’ll be okay. But you make him soft. For all that he bitches, he’s always giving in. Always looking to keep you alive, yes. But he wants you to be happy too. So he takes detours, and looks for libraries and bookstores that are beginning to cave in on themselves and smell of rotten pages and wood. He’s risked entire hoards of walkers to retrieve a book he knew was your favorite. He doesn’t mind when precious bag space is taken up by whatever paperbacks you can get your hands on. One day he might find a town that he likes enough and decide to go through the trouble of turning a library into a home for you. It will be well fortified, and he won’t like how many entry and exit points it might have. But he’d love to see you in your element, surrounded by what you love. 

V (from V for Vendetta) - So much art has been ruthlessly crushed beneath the boot of the fascist government you live under. Admiring the arts, any form of it, is like trying to hold sand in your hands. Your grip grows ever more desperate to hold onto anything. But there is no rhyme or reason to what is outlawed or taken away. Little bits of your soul are chipped away, with each new restriction, with each new burning or banning. Until V whisks you away to his hideout, and suddenly the world is made anew again. You are surrounded by art, art you didn’t even know existed. Things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. You inhale everything the gallery has to offer. You feel nearly gluttonous. In each room there is something new to see, hear, read. A feast for your senses anywhere you turn. You feel alive for the first time in years, maybe ever. V, in turn, feels his own form of gluttony. He cherishes every bit of delight he brings to your world. He feels like the worst kind of miser. The lowest of villains. What could be more precious than your smile? Or your laughter? Nothing. And by keeping you here, with him, he deprives the world of you and all you have to offer. But the world isn’t kind to precious things. So he keeps you like all the other treasures of this world. Hidden. Safe. Loved. 

Candyman - You collect book nook shelf inserts. Your home is covered in shelves, just to fit them. You have more book nooks than you do books separating them. Daniel is charmed to death by the collection. By the tender, diligent way you take care of them all. You spend hours of your week dusting. Fiddling. Making tiny adjustments. There must be something meditative about it, because you never complain. The joy he felt whenever he held a paintbrush is the same joy that flashes across your face when you open a new kit. He watches you assemble your precious, miniature worlds and ask you quiet questions, every now and again. He doesn’t want to break you from the beautiful trance you fall into, but he loves to peek into your mind. “What drew you to this scene, my love?” / “This one has an enchanting gloom to it. You have such an eye for art.” / “This one looks especially fragile, you might have to be more gentle, love.” He enjoys watching you lose yourself in your hobby. He loves the way you are unashamed in your joy. How you take pride in this work. You curl up into his side, after you’ve spent hours assembling one of your nooks, and the two of you will stare at it in all its completed glory. 

Robert Neville (I Am Legend) - At first he thought you were a hallucination. He’d been hearing things more often. Seeing things too. The human mind wasn’t built for isolation, as a scientist he was well aware of that. He tries to compensate as best he can. With his mannequins. With entertainment. By focusing on his research. He only has to stay sane long enough to fix the world he couldn’t save. That’s all. But then he sees you, while he’s hunting. The sun is still high in the sky, and you don’t move like a dark seeker. You’re cautious, slow. You also don’t move like a hallucination. You don’t really look like one either. He almost doesn’t approach you, afraid he’ll discover you were a mirage. He follows you all day long, until the sun is getting too low for comfort. Then Robert approaches you, fumbling through the obvious (it isn’t safe out here), barely remembering to introduce himself because people have names. Hoping desperately that you’ll trust a strange man instead of taking your chances with the dark. But the entire time he talks to you his eyes keep drifting to all the jewelry you’re wearing. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Rings. They glint in the light. Hypnotizing in their imperfections and intricacies. You move into his home, but you two drift around each other like ghosts. You’ve been alone so long, the both of you. You dreamed of meeting another living person. But faced with the reality of it, you’re overwhelmed. Until one night after dinner he finds you in the living room, making more of your jewelry. Slow and careful. He asks you about it, and you tell him it kept you sane while you were alone. Made you feel human. Then you look up at him, and he freezes under your gaze. (It’s been so long since he’s looked into someone’s eyes. It almost hurts. He can’t imagine ever looking away.) You ask him what kept him human. He’s not sure he still is. But he moves to sit beside you on the floor, hands you beads, and tells you he's been pretty fond of movies lately. 

Lestat De Lioncourt - You were a tailor in life, before he turned you. In death, in this eternity he’s given you, fabric is nearly your religion. With your vampiric eyes, you see even the tiniest flaw in stitching. All colors look more vibrant. The world looks more alive. Even though you can never see the way certain fabrics and colors catch the light of the sun, moonlight and starlight can be just as beautiful. You drag him to fashion shows in order to soak in the new styles, and cuts of clothing. You are as endeared by couture as you are the various counter cultures that arise throughout the decades you spend together. You spend exorbitant amounts of money on the finest bolts of cloth and thread. Sewing and tailoring and designing can be done entirely on your own. In fact, you’d probably be done quicker if you were just left to your work. But Lestat gets lonely when you lock yourself up in your work room for days on end. He likes to drape himself against your back, push himself into your side. Trail teasing fingers up your arm, to see if he can get your ever steady hands to falter (he cannot.) Looking over your shoulders and seeing what latest fashion has caught your eye is his hobby. You don’t mind the company of your muse. Sometimes you even sit him in front of you as you sew, and let the sound of him talking guide your needle and thread. He hardly wears anything you don’t make. Not only is your work superior, but every piece is made of love. 

Abe Sapien - You love everything about movies. How they’re made. Sound design. Light design. Set design. The difference between digital and film cameras. Abe was caught in your orbit the minute you were recruited. Talking to you, trying to form a connection, however, did not come as easy. Awkward nods as you passed one another in the hall. Stilted, dry conversation as you ate lunch at the same tables. It was enough to drive him mad. He didn’t know why he alone was unable to form any sort of acquaintanceship with you (especially when he wanted far more than that). This all changed during movie night. You were watching the voted on film play out on screen, entranced by every individual frame, it seemed. He’d never seen anyone smile so fetchingly, or blink so little. He bravely, and quietly, asked if you were enjoying the film. You began to eagerly whisper to him all sorts of details about how the film was made, the difference between the final product and script. Apparently, it was one of your favorites. With one conversation, the bridge between you two was crossed. Abe had been so caught up in enjoying literature, he hadn't explored much of the diverse realm of cinema. Happily, you appointed yourself the esteemed position as his guide. Somewhere between sharing your tastes, late night discussions, and dry eyes from sleepless nights, you leaned over to kiss him. He kissed you back, and you both forgot all about movies for a little while. 

Vincent Sinclair - You were an avid admirer of sculptures. You went to museums, and had to curl your hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch the statues. There was something so beautiful about someone taking the time to carve human shapes out of stone and earth. To make marble resemble fabric as delicate as silk. It was breathtaking to you, really. Until you came across the House of Wax, you hadn’t really thought of wax as a means to make sculptures. Instantly, you are captivated. You forget that your car is being “repaired”, so closely do you look at every sculpture. You admire each one from several angles, for long periods of time, face giving away nothing. Vincent watches you, wanting to know what you’re thinking about his art so desperately he feels as if he’ll die. He interrupts Bo from the preparations to kill you and makes him ask you questions. Bo asks each one through gritted teeth, irritated to be playing a game of telephone, but even he is a little charmed by your thoughtful answers. When Vincent insists on not killing you Bo just shakes his head and washes his hands of the situation. You fall asleep in the town’s only motel, but when you wake up you’re in Vincent’s workshop. You’ll be able to admire his art for as long as you like now. 

Joel Miller - You tell him stories. You’re an avid collector of them. Wherever you go, you collect a story from someone. Sometimes they’re fantastical. Some myth or aesop fables that will be lost to the sands of time and the chaos of the apocalypse within just one more generation (if humanity makes it that long.) Other times they’re heartbreakingly real. The taste of an apple pie someone’s grandmother used to make for them. The memory of someone trying on their wedding dress for the first time. You have a way about you. It’s your eyes. The warmth in them. The understanding. Even after so many years of survival and fighting, you possess an empathy that should have gotten you killed by now. Instead you’re the keeper of people’s stories. You’ll be riding side by side on your horses, and Joel won’t sense any danger nearby, so he’ll say the magic words: You got a story for me today, L/N? And you always do. The sound of your voice keeps his head quiet. 

A/N: i blushed bugs bunny curled ears style. thank you for the compliments, made my day! i think yours is the first crazy ass husbands gang request i’ve written! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[officerfriendlysblogs]

Title: Confessions under the stars

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe has loved you since you moved to the outer banks, and one day while you're at his house, he shares his love for you. Little does he realize that you feel the exact same way, and things escalate.

Warning: ⚠️This is only for writing purposes and has sexual themes, smut, and no protection. I strongly suggest readers to use protection.⚠️

Word count: 1,414 words

The night was calm and peaceful, a serenity unique to a remote house by the ocean. The soft sound of waves hitting the shore filled the air with a soothing rhythm.

You were curled up on the couch in Rafe Cameron’s living room, your legs tucked under you, absorbed in the flickering glow of the TV. It was one of those lazy evenings that felt like time could stretch endlessly.

Even with the movie playing, you felt Rafe's presence beside you. He was always hard to read—his thoughts, feelings, and intentions often a mystery. Since arriving on the Outer Banks, you had spent more time with him than anticipated.

What began as simple hangouts had evolved into something deeper, creating an unspoken connection between you.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the TV’s light and the moon shining through the windows. Rafe’s usual confident demeanor was softened as he relaxed into the couch, his gaze on you. When your eyes met his, you quickly looked away, heart racing.

“Hey, you alright?” Rafe's voice broke the quiet. It sounded different, softer and unsure, as though he was hesitant about what he wanted to say.

You met his eyes, feeling a tightness in your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

He nodded, but uncertainty still lingered in his gaze. His hand rested on the back of the couch, near your shoulder.

You recognized that touch—the confidence he usually displayed gave way to a more vulnerable side during these quiet moments.

“You know,” he began again, his tone more serious. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

You turned to face him fully, heart racing. “What about us?” you questioned, unsure of what you wanted to hear.

Rafe shifted, the air heavy with unspoken words. He glanced out the window, moonlight highlighting his features, then turned back to you. “I never thought much about relationships. I usually did my own thing. But since you came into my life, everything feels different—in a good way. I didn’t expect it, but it’s real.”

You looked at him, uncertain where this was going, but the intensity in his gaze signaled its importance. “Rafe… what do you mean?”

He paused, swallowing hard, and for a moment, it seemed he might back away. But then, surprisingly, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, offering warmth and comfort.

“I’m saying that I care about you. A lot. More than I have in a long time. I can’t pretend it’s just a phase. It’s not,” he said, his thumb brushing your hand, revealing a side of Rafe you rarely saw.

Your breath caught, heart racing. “Rafe… I—”

He interrupted you with a gentle laugh, his body relaxing just a bit. “I know it sounds wild, right? But I’ve been keeping this inside too long. I love you. You make me feel like I’m more than just a failure, like I really matter. You inspire me to improve, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

His words lingered heavily in the air, their truth settling in your heart. For ages, you had tried to dismiss your feelings for him. You believed it was just a passing crush, convinced that Rafe wouldn’t feel the same. But now, with him confessing, you recognized the truth—you felt that connection too.

“I love you too,” you softly replied, as though those words had been trapped inside you, finally breaking free. “I’ve been scared to say it, but I do. I don’t want to lose you.”

A genuine smile spread across his face, relief shining in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his hand still holding yours, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then don’t let me go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with feeling. “I’m here to stay.”

You moved in even closer, your heart racing as the outside world faded away. The moment felt significant—his declaration and your response.

Rafe tenderly cradled your face, and suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft and slow at first.

The kiss deepened, carrying years of unspoken desire. Everything felt perfect, as if this was where you were always meant to be. His touch was gentle yet filled with passion, as if he was finally letting go of everything he had held back.

When you pulled away, breathless, Rafe rested his forehead against yours, still holding your face tenderly.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted that,” he murmured, emotion thick in his voice.

“I think I have an idea,” you replied softly, a playful smile on your lips.

Rafe chuckled quietly, his hands sliding down to your waist as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressed together. The chemistry was unmistakable.

Now sitting on top of Rafe, you locked eyes, both feeling as if you were in a dream. You leaned in slowly, your lips meeting and moving together passionately.

He grasped your hips tighter as the kiss intensified, his tongue exploring your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, making you feel as if you might burst from the pleasure of tasting him.

Rafe says, "I love you so much," pulling back from your kiss to kiss your neck.

You move against him, craving more contact as his kisses make you feel warm. "Please, I need more," you moan softly.

Looking up with his striking blue eyes, Rafe removes your shirt, leaving you in just a bra. "Anything you want, baby," he replies in a low voice, kissing your chest. He then reaches behind you, unclipping your bra, and gazes at you with desire.

"You have too many clothes on," you giggle as he kisses you again and removes his shirt.

After that, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom, laying you on his bed, now positioned on top of you.

"I’ve wanted you for so long, baby," Rafe says as he kisses down your body, reaching your pants and glancing at you for permission. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

He slips your pants off along with your lacy black panties, revealing that you're already wet, and he teases you gently.

"Please just touch me," you plead, desperate for his touch. He smirks and slowly inserts a finger, pumping gently in and out. "Like that, baby?" he asks. You moan in response and plead for more.

He adds another finger, increasing the pace and teasing your clit with his tongue, savoring your sweetness. "You taste so amazing," he exclaims, driving you closer to your peak.

As you feel the pressure build, you cry out, "I’m gonna cum!" and soon after, you experience a powerful climax. Rafe continues licking before taking his fingers out and tasting them.

Then, he removes his pants, revealing his impressive size. "See something you like?" he asks, smirking as he holds your chin. You take hold of him, moving your hand slowly. "Keep doing that and I'm going to cum," he moans, but then he stops you.

"I want to cum in that pretty pussy of yours, but we can save that for later," he says, pushing you back gently on the bed.

He teases your wetness with his tip, moving it from your clit to your entrance. You grow impatient and urge him, "Just fuck me already, Rafe."

"Be a good girl and wait," he replies, teasing you a bit longer before finally entering you. "Mmm, your dick feels so good," you moan as he thrusts deep and fast.

"Do you like that, baby?" he asks, pulling out only to slam back into you, claiming you as his own.

“Tell me you’re mines” Rafe moans

"I’m all yours," you respond, feeling the pleasure building again as you guide his hand to your neck.

His eyes darken with desire as he moves faster, and you tighten around him. "You're all mine," he groans, and you cry out, "I'm about to cum!" You tighten around him, reaching another peak.

Feeling your grip, Rafe's thrusts become wild. "Ahh, fuck!" he moans, releasing himself inside you, his body trembling from the aftershocks.

He withdraws slowly, missing your warmth, and lays beside you, pulling you close.

Both of you are breathless and glistening with sweat from your intense moment. He kisses your forehead, catching his breath. "I'm going to change for you; I really do love you."

You smile back at him, "I love you too, and I'm not going anywhere."

He holds you tighter and grins, and you both settle into a comforting silence, drifting off to sleep.

[lie-lacdreams]

Tender (Curly x Reader)

here's a little oneshot that takes place in Thermodynamics & Turmoil but can be read separately. Sorry if the writing is a little weird - I wrote this at 3 am. I'll create a masterlist soon to clarify timelines as I write more of these.

This goes out to anyone who feels like there’s never an end in sight. I’m right there with you. Things will get better and all your hard work will pay off.

Engineer! Reader x Curly Word Count ~ 1.1k

Dread is an all-consuming feeling – she would know. Disaster always felt imminent, and if she didn’t burn the midnight oil, skip another meal to conserve a precious thirty minutes of time to scan through pages and pages of steam tables, her failure to figure out her responsibilities would fall on her crewmates. 

It was times like these where the cortisol would flood her system, leaving her in a permanent state of anxiety, numbing her to any other emotion. 

(Y/N) had her limits. She was human, after all. Pushed beyond her capacity a long time ago, she had no choice but to continue – she wouldn’t dare think about what would happen if she didn’t succeed. 

She was currently in the lounge, the familiar spread of her texts and loose papers over the table. Hungry and tired, she promised herself a snack after she had a breakthrough, but things weren’t looking promising. Just this morning (or was it technically yesterday morning now?), she sat where she was now, having spent the entire night with books open as the lounge screen grew brighter and brighter. At some point, Swansea made his way in to get some coffee and raised an eyebrow at her, wishing her a good morning. It embarrassed her to no end to be caught, and she tried to lie and claim that she just woke up early to get a head start on work. Scrambling to collect her things, she made her way somewhere else so she wouldn’t get caught by anyone else. 

(Y/N) knew at this point, Curly was very likely worried about her, but she knew that he would know better than to interrupt her when she needed to concentrate the hardest. While she wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and sleep, she knew her work was far from over. 

At this desperate hour at night, the bar for comfort was a low one. Taking a moment to strain her eyes towards the night time display, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she had seen all day. Looking back at the compressibility chart in front of her, waves of lines seemed to melt and swirl together into insignificance. She needed to sleep, but with so much at stake, she knew she couldn’t. Every hour down to the last minute counted now as the ship’s steam tunnels were a ticking bomb unless she could figure out how to decrease the pressure building up. 

Blame it on the heat exchangers that corporate failed to add safeguards to. Or the worn and weathered valves they refused to replace on the insulators. If only the ship were running the way it was supposed to, (Y/N) wouldn’t have to jump through hoops and reinvent the wheel. But alas, she was here now, fighting a valiant battle to keep her eyes open and her brain wired. 

The door opened, and (Y/N)’s eyes darted over to the noise and stuck to the man who entered through it. She typically never saw him out of uniform and in such casual clothes (she assumed what he was wearing now to be his pajamas). A simple white t-shirt spread over his chest and shoulders while he wore a simple pair of sweatpants. His wavy hair, usually parted and somewhat styled, was unruly and disheveled, likely from sleep. The tired expression on his face was unwavering, a deep seated frown and furrowed brows were not budging. 

“Hun, what are you still doing up?” He sounded disappointed, and she slouched further in her chair, ashamed. 

“Duty calls. I’m working on a tight deadline, Captain. The ideal gas law waits for no one, no matter how tired they may be.” She let out a loud sigh as he pressed the pads of his fingers into her shoulders in an attempt to sooth all the knots that accumulated in her muscles. 

“It’s frustrating knowing that I can’t do much to help you. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.” He sat beside her now, gently holding her face in his hands as he caressed the dark circles under her eyes with his thumbs. He brought her head closer to his lips to kiss her face. Her heart leapt, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his arms and feel the weight of his hold. 

Suppressing a whine, she put a hand over his. “You just being here now makes things better already.” 

Curly’s eyes brightened for a second before he stood up, tugging her hand to get up with him. “Come on, I have an idea.” He helped gather all of her supplies as they moved to the couch where he dragged the coffee table closer, moving board and card games to  place her things down. Sitting down in front of the table, he patted the spot between his legs, inviting her to sit with him. With a small chuckle, she sat, continuing with her work once more as he pressed a kiss on her neck and rubbed her shoulders. For an hour they sat in silence as (Y/N) worked diligently, the feeling of being under his hands grounding her to a greater degree than she was before. 

Finally, she put her pen down, leaning her back into Curly’s chest as he wrapped both of his arms around her. “All done?” He asked, hopeful.

“I think I’m in a good place to stop until tomorrow morning. At least this way I can get a couple of hours of sleep in. Swansea will need to help me with tightening and loosening the valves for what I need next, anyway.” There was a rush of giddiness that flooded her as she turned around and kissed him. They both leaned back more into the couch as he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss. Their movements were slow and lazy, likely a direct result of the fatigue they felt, but the grasp Curly had on her was warm and firm – secure and safe. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You made that more bearable than it typically is.” She looked down at him, now laying on his chest. He brought her to rest against him, one of his hands still rubbing her back. 

“I got you, hun.” he said simply. They laid in the silence of the early hours of the morning, savouring the warmth they shared a few minutes longer before (Y/N) reluctantly got up, Curly following suit. But even as they moved towards the door to head to their beds, his touch was ever present on her waist, and at her door he gave her one last kiss goodnight before heading to his own room. 

Working for Pony Express was harsh and unforgiving for her; she was never disclosed the amount of responsibility she would have to shoulder when she first joined, but now, lying in bed, exhausted and starving beyond belief, she couldn’t bring herself to feel regret and disdain. The job was hard, but at least she was here with him, and he treated her so tenderly.

[emmafrostdefender]

crush | logan howlett x female reader

hi everyone! i wrote this for fun. it'll probably turn into a series of small chapters while i write my more hefty logan fic. i hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: reader's kinda horny i guess, sexy man, based on crush by ethel cain, 1.5k words (i wrote this in like an hour)

You’d seen him around town. 

At the laundromat with the blinking fluorescent lights. At the dingy bar around the corner from the laundromat. At the gas station, filling up the tank of his red truck.

You never thought to say hi, never to engage with him in any way. 

He created such a stir when he first arrived. No one moved to your town unless something was truly wrong with them. Most of the men had leering gazes and dangerous intentions, but not him. Never him. You were in his vicinity frequently, but never once did he attempt what many others had. All failures, of course.

You lived contently in your grandmother’s old home, moving there after her cancer took a turn for the worst a few months ago. When she passed away quickly after that, she left the house to you and you decided to keep it. It still smelled like cigarettes, the stench burned into the walls and carpet, but the smell reminded you of childhood trips to Kansas. Those trips were scorched to the back of your eyelids, forever being replayed. Everything was the same as when you were a child; the small Mexican restaurant, the old movie theater, the arcade that closed seven years ago.

 Now, you sat behind the counter at the small antique shop you spent most of your days in. It was quaint, filled to the brim with every kind of knick-knack you could think of. There were crates filled with records and CDs, most scratched or completely unplayable. There were pieces of furniture, dusty mirrors, moth-eaten upholstery, chipped paint jobs, and broken hinges. The bookshelves that lined the walls of the store were stacked with books. You’d taken a few home in the past, knowing that they wouldn’t be missed.

And the clothes. There were racks on racks of vintage clothes. Most were out of fashion (even for the time they were made) or damaged. Still, you liked to play dress-up every so often. 

The job was boring and mundane, but it paid the bills. The family who owned the store didn’t seem to have time to keep up with the place, so you managed the inner-workings of it.

Today, you watched cars go by, wondering when would be the best time to cut your losses and close for the day. Some days you managed to get more than a few browsers, but today was not one of those days. You had one person come in around lunch, but they looked for about five minutes before heading out.

Your mind wandered as you watched people walk by the storefront.

You thought of him. The man you saw everywhere. The man who never spoke to you, not even to say, “Excuse me.”

The man that just walked through the front door.

Eyes widening, you sat up straighter and calmed your heartbeat that suddenly thundered in your ears. “Welcome in! Everything with a blue tag is sixty percent off today,” you said with a bright smile.

He simply looked over at you and then continued his perusal. 

You deflated. Harsh.

As he walked around the store, you felt like a live-wire. Every creak of the floorboards sent your heart spinning in your chest. You hadn’t felt like this about a man since you still called men boys. Being in your late twenties, that meant a very long time.

You grabbed a box of donations from the back room and moved to the floor to start stocking items on the shelves. You rationalized your decision to suddenly start restocking items after having a full day to do so by telling yourself that if you looked busy, he might feel inclined to buy something. You could nearly feel your nose growing by the second at that thought.

Moving through the rows of shelves and assorted items was second nature to you at this point, knowing where everything went in this mess of a store. You conveniently moved to the side of a shelf that viewed his aisle through gaps in the many items strung about. As you placed a silver mirror on the shelf, your gaze moved to watch his face on the other side of the rack. He was stunning.

You hadn’t had much time to analyze him; it was only small glances here and there in the time he’d been around. Now, you took your time. He was looking at an old book, bound in red fabric. It looked as if it had seen the bottom of a sewer. Luckily, he seemed to be making a careful inspection of the text, giving you enough time to look him over.

He was beautiful in a rugged kind of way. He looked like he worked with his hands; they were large and rough, with calluses around the fingers. His knuckles were prominent with sharp edges. You wondered what he did for a living. Did he move here to get away from city life? Was he a runaway circus performer? You internally smacked yourself in the head for the stupid thought. 

He’d probably make the circus look sexy, though.

He had a large figure hidden by a flannel and white t-shirt. His attire pointed to him being a worker of the land. A farmer, maybe. That would check out with the truck you'd seen him driving around in. Always covered in mud with logs of wood piled high in the back. 

His hair was a rich brown and you wanted to dig your fingers into it. You wanted to feel his beard against your skin.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You don’t have sex for so long that your brain goes fuzzy at the idea of a stranger’s beard scratching your neck. God. Get a grip.

You straighten your back and continue restocking things. Play it cool.

Soon, you fell into the rhythm of it, nearly forgetting the other person in the room. You moved to the bookshelves, loading more books onto the already strained wood. People really needed to stop donating things to you and start actually buying things. You’d be out of business by next summer. 

As soon as you realized you needed to go back to the stock room to grab another box, you heard a grunt behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. You dropped the box you were holding and faced the man. Your mystery man.

He was so close, you could smell him. He smelled like smoke and sweat. You felt yourself salivate.

You looked him in the eyes for the first time. “Do you need help?” You asked quietly, scared that he’d run off if you spoke too loud, like a wounded animal. 

“How much for this?” He asked, keeping your gaze. His voice was smooth.

You looked down to his hands, which were holding the book he had been examining earlier. “It doesn’t have a price tag?”

He shook his head. 

Now you felt like you were being held under a microscope. The way his eyes ran over your face made you go red; you hadn’t felt this flustered because of a man in a long time. 

“Okay, I can check at the front,” you said, keeping your quiet tone.

He just grunted again and followed as you led him to the register. You had a book of all the prices for things so that you could properly mark them. If you didn’t have the vague feeling that you were going to explode at any moment, you’d know off the top of your head the price of that tiny book. It was about the size of his hand, making you bite the inside of your cheek. 

You opened the book and searched for the page with book prices. When you found the page, you ran your finger down the list.

Small = $1.99

When you looked up at him, you jumped a little. He was looking at you with such intensity, you’d thought he was going to have an aneurysm. It made your cheeks flush again, but you cleared your throat and said, “It’s $1.99. With tax, it’ll be $2.30.”

He nodded, putting the book down on the counter as he reached for his wallet. You read the book title: Frankenstein. “I love Mary Shelley,” you said as you reached for a brown paper bag. 

He looked at you, his expression not revealing anything.

For some reason, you decided to keep talking. “It’s such a perfect analysis of ‘how far is too far’ in science and experimentation. I loved reading it in high school, I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you said, not particularly needing a response. 

He placed the exact change due on the counter and looked you in the eyes as he said, “Thank you.”

Your heart fluttered. “You’re welcome…” You trailed off, hoping to God that he’d tell you his name.

He thought about it for a moment. “It’s Logan.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you stopped by, Logan.” You introduced yourself. It would be nice to have another person to say ‘hi’ to on the street. And you imagined he was thinking the same thing.

His face didn’t jump into a smile, but it didn’t look as harsh as it did when he first walked in. 

And so began your crush on the stoic man who moved to town.

[jeon-s-sins]

Fighter — Four

Synopsis: YN, a young student in her final year of a master’s degree in international business, is forced to move. She is in a “bad” part of Seoul, without much income. Prostitution, drugs, and violence are commonplace, and the police think twice before setting foot in the area. Jungkook, a young student living alone in this cruel world, is forced to fight underground to earn money to pay for his rent and expensive studies. Unfortunately, the two young people meet in a very inconvenient situation and will see their lives change overnight.

Warning: Mention of alcohol, violence (fight), bad words. You will discover the rest as you read, and there will be no spoilers. 😉

Word count: 7.1 k

Chapter song: Bumpy Ride by Mohombi 

n/a: English is not my first language, so I may have missed some mistakes while proofreading. It took a long time, but it’s finally here! I had a lot of fun writing this part, and I hope you enjoy it. Enjoy reading, and please don’t forget to vote, comment, and ask questions if there are any. 😁.

Translations, republications, and rewritings of my stories are not allowed. Failure to comply with this request will result in legal action.

©Jeon_s_Sins

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Spring was timidly announcing its return, gradually erasing the traces of winter. The days were slowly getting longer, and the golden twilight light warmed the still-chilly streets. The trees, which had lost their leaves months ago, were now adorned with delicate young buds, promising new blooms. Outside your home, the cherry trees, though not bearing fruit, blossomed majestically, spreading a soft fragrance in the fresh air. Under the gentle breeze, the subtle scent of the flowers filled the atmosphere, creating an almost idyllic, soothing scene, as if nature itself was whispering that everything would be alright.

Since moving into this new neighborhood, you had established a little routine. Every evening, you would climb up to the roof of your building, which you had carefully set up as a real sanctuary. A place where you would retreat with your beer cans, your music, your phone, and of course, your journal. It was your space of peace, a place where you could jot down your thoughts on paper without worrying about the rest of the world. Yet lately, one name kept appearing in your writings: Jungkook.

Ever since your kiss two weeks ago, you hadn’t been able to forget him. His lips against yours, that burning and fleeting contact, that moment suspended in time. But after that gesture, there had been nothing. No call, no message, nothing. Why did he kiss you that night? And why the silence since? These questions kept swirling in your mind. Every day, you secretly hoped he would show up at your door, unexpectedly, like in those silly romantic movies where the hero comes to confess his feelings. But things like that never happen in real life, do they?

A sigh escaped your lips. You were surprised at yourself for being so frustrated by his silence. After all, he was nothing to you, just a stranger you had met under unexpected circumstances. Yet the thought that he might be ignoring that shared moment drove you crazy. He could have at least been mature and clarified things. But no. He had chosen to disappear into the shadows, leaving you with doubts and questions.

“If he prefers to play childish games and avoid reality, that’s his problem,” you told yourself, scribbling mindlessly in your journal. After all, you had no intention of chasing after him. You had your pride, and if he couldn’t see the value in what you had shared, then too bad for him.

The evening seemed to be following the same course as the previous ones. You, on the roof, pen in hand, lost in your thoughts, letting the music soothe you. Then something caught your attention. Down below, a familiar car pulled up: Jungkook’s black Mercedes Benz. Normally, that kind of detail wouldn’t have stood out to you. But tonight, he wasn’t alone.

A woman got out of the passenger side. You couldn’t immediately make out her face, but her fiery red hair immediately caught your eye. It framed a delicate face that you could only partially see from this distance. She was tall, slender, almost as tall as Jungkook, whereas you were much smaller in comparison. Her graceful silhouette and elegant clothes set her apart from the other women in the neighborhood. She had that sophisticated look, almost out of place in this modest part of the city, like a bright star in a sky too dull for her.

Your heart clenched slightly. Who was she? You got lost in endless speculations. Had they been together for a long time? Why had you never seen her before? As you watched them, they quickly passed through Jungkook’s apartment door, out of your direct line of sight. But you could see them through the windows, in the living room. As soon as they entered, the redhead threw herself on him, her actions leaving no room for doubt. It was clear they hadn’t met up to talk over coffee.

Meanwhile, Jungkook felt trapped. He didn’t really know this girl, Sony. They had met during a university outing organized by their graphic design professor just a week ago. Although he found her attractive, she was nothing more than a distraction. A distraction from you.

Ever since that kiss you shared, you had haunted him. Day and night. Whether he was in class, training, or even during his morning jogs, you were always there, present in his mind. That simple thought drove him insane. He tried to escape you, to erase you from his memory, but nothing worked. Every memory of your time together replayed over and over, like a poison he couldn’t expel. Even in his dreams, you were there. He dreamed of that kiss, of that unfinished passion, but in his dreams, things went much further. What you hadn’t completed that night, his mind kept prolonging, imagining you in embraces neither of you had dared to share. And every morning, the frustration only grew.

He had promised himself not to give in, not to succumb to the insidious desire to see you again. But he failed, a little more every day. That night, when he came home after your kiss, he cursed himself for ending that magical moment. But deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do. You weren’t in a clear state of mind, and he didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. Still, that rational decision only fueled the fire burning inside him. He wanted you. You were the only remedy for his unease, the only person who could soothe him. But that was precisely why he forbade himself from giving in to you.

Sony was just an escape. A desperate attempt to flee from the obsession he had for you. But as she pressed against him, her lips seeking his, his mind kept drifting back to you. It was you he wanted. Not her. You, with your smiles, your strength, and your vulnerabilities. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

Meanwhile, from your perch, you watched the scene, helpless. A dull pain filled your heart as you observed Jungkook with this other woman. Every gesture, every caress exchanged between them felt like a dagger. Why did it affect you so much? You were nothing to each other, and yet, you felt betrayed, as if something precious had been taken from you.

But soon, you found yourself feeling a certain smug satisfaction. When the redhead, visibly frustrated, slapped Jungkook, you couldn’t help but laugh. Whatever he had done, he deserved it. And in a way, it eased your pain. Seeing him in this situation gave you a strange sense of revenge, even if you had no right to feel that way.

The door to Jungkook’s apartment slammed shut behind Sony, echoing through the quiet street. She stormed out, visibly furious. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she quickly walked away, head held high, but her movements betrayed a palpable frustration. Her lips were tightly pressed, her piercing gaze fixed straight ahead—everything about her screamed that she considered the evening a waste of time. A ruined night, no doubt.

You, still perched on the rooftop of your building, couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene. Your eyes followed Sony until she disappeared around the corner. Something inside you burned with curiosity. Why had she slapped him so hard? What could have possibly happened between them to trigger such a reaction? But you knew all too well that it was a question without an answer, a mystery you would probably never solve.

Your gaze then shifted back to Jungkook, still visibly stunned. He was quickly getting dressed, as if trying to erase any trace of what had just happened. His movements were swift, almost mechanical, but his face displayed a confused expression. Seeing him like this evoked contradictory feelings in you. You were amused, but also troubled by not understanding what had really taken place.

You watched him closely as he opened the window, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. A familiar gesture, almost routine. He took one out, lit it with a sharp flick, and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs. The cigarette, despite its obvious dangers, seemed to be his refuge, his way of releasing the pressure, especially after days like this. You could almost see the tension leaving his body with every puff.

Then, just like every evening, his gaze fell on you. He wasn’t really surprised to see you there, in your usual spot, sitting on the rooftop railing, headphones in your ears, one hand holding your phone to capture the sunset. It had become a sort of ritual between the two of you, even if neither of you acknowledged it. Every evening, you were there, faithful to your routine, immortalizing the same moment, at the same time, as if that precise moment held a significance only you could understand.

Every time he saw you like that, a wave of questions washed over him. Why this obsession with sunsets? What are you trying to capture with such devotion? And most of all, what do you write in that notebook that you never leave behind? But tonight, he noticed something different. Unlike usual, your focus wasn’t on the scenery or your journal. Your eyes were locked on him.

You had seen him notice you, but instead of looking away, you burst out laughing. An uncontrollable, almost hysterical laugh that echoed in the stillness of the evening. The scene you had just witnessed—Sony slapping him and storming out of his apartment—kept replaying in your mind, making you laugh again. Every attempt to catch your breath failed, and your laughter started up once more. And now that he was watching you from his window, it only made the situation even more hilarious.

Jungkook, a bit perplexed by your reaction, pulled his phone from the back pocket of his pants. Without thinking, he searched for your name in his contacts and pressed “Call.” When you saw the name “Quasimodo” flash on your screen—a nickname you had given him in a moment of mockery—you couldn’t help but smile even wider.

You answered the call, your laughter barely subsiding.

“So, you’re spying on me now, princess?” Jungkook teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his voice laced with mischief.

“So, you’re a bad lay?” you shot back, playing along, bursting into laughter.

Jungkook grinned, trying to defend his ego. “More like I was too good for her.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep tonight, champ,” you retorted, laughing again, the image of the slap playing on repeat in your mind.

He didn’t reply right away, just watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, listening to the sound of your laughter—a melody that, despite himself, got to him. That laugh, he thought, made you even more beautiful. The more he watched you, the more captivated he felt by your charm, a feeling he would have preferred to avoid. But soon, your laughter faded, leaving a more serious expression on your face, a veil of irony making you furrow your brows.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your phone or my number,” you quipped, catching your breath.

“What, you’re saying you missed me?” he replied, his mocking tone poorly masking a deeper interest.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Quasimodo, but that’s not the case.” A lie, of course. You simply couldn’t afford to tell him the truth. Not to him, not now. That would be insane.

In your mind, Jungkook was still just like any other man. He probably saw women as fleeting distractions, temporary conquests to satisfy his desires. His date with the redhead earlier in the evening only confirmed that theory. You were determined not to become just another passing chapter in his life. You refused to be just another girl he’d use and then forget as soon as she was gone.

Anger bubbled inside you, a burning fire behind your calm exterior. You clenched your fists, rekindling an inner resolve. There was no way you’d let yourself be trapped by his devastating charm, as tempting as it was. You were worth more than that. You kept repeating it to yourself, as if trying to convince yourself. No matter the temptation or confusion, you refused to lose control. Your heart was at stake, and you weren’t ready to let it fall into his hands.

“You’re the one lying to yourself, gorgeous,” he said teasingly. “I’m sure you can’t stop thinking about our kiss.” His words were like a blade, stirring up a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“Don’t worry, babe, I have that effect on women all the time.” His tone was arrogant, almost proud of that confession. Bastard. He was proud of it?

Your blood boiled. His words were enough to make you lose your cool. You slammed your journal and printer onto the railing with a sharp motion, standing up to your full height. He knew exactly how to push your buttons and get under your skin.

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time with you,” you spat before hanging up on him.

In ten minutes, Jungkook had just been rejected by two women.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath, still holding the phone in his hand. A part of him wanted to dial your number again, to call you back and try to clear things up. But he knew you wouldn’t pick up. Making excuses wouldn’t fix anything, and deep down, he knew that.

After all, what was the point? He didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Certainly not to you. Yet, despite himself, you occupied his thoughts in an obsessive way. Even from a distance, without realizing it, you were taking over his mind. He had to get you out of there. It wasn’t an option anymore—it was a necessity. Jungkook had never imagined that the only way to forget you would be to lose himself in the arms of other women. It was a path he hadn’t thought he’d explore so easily.

Despite his bad-boy image, Jungkook wasn’t really that kind of guy. The idea of spending every night with one-night stands didn’t appeal to him, but these past few days, he couldn’t see any other solution. Where else could he find what he was looking for if not at the Den? A place where emotions drowned in alcohol, sweat, and fleeting pleasures.

He shook his head. He wasn’t going to let the night get to him. Without wasting any more time, Jungkook headed for the shower. Cold water slid over his skin, washing away the heat of his accumulated frustration. Once ready, he threw on dark jeans and an open shirt over a t-shirt before leaving his apartment.

Tonight, he’d go back to where everything seemed simpler. Where he could lose himself and, with a bit of luck, forget you for a few hours. He headed for the Den, the only place in the neighborhood that mixed illegality with a brutal, almost liberating freedom. And at this hour, he knew you probably wouldn’t be there, which made things easier.

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A few hours had passed, and it seemed you had the same idea as your neighbor across the street: to clear your mind. It had been about thirty minutes since you arrived at the Den’s bar, a drink in hand, as if holding onto that glass could help you push away the turmoil stirring inside you.

You had come here with one goal in mind: to erase from your memory the scene that kept playing over and over, consuming you from the inside. The only way to do that was to bury it under layers of forgetfulness, even if only temporary. The noisy atmosphere of the bar was perhaps exactly what you needed.

During your work hours at the Den, you had noticed that, on nights without fights, the place turned into a sort of makeshift nightclub. The fighting cage was disassembled and stored away, leaving more room for dancers, and the bar quickly filled up. Tonight was one of those nights.

You weren’t working tonight. You had earned two well-deserved days off, but that didn’t stop you from lending a hand to your coworkers when the bar got overcrowded. It wasn’t a chore for you; in fact, you could take advantage of it to refill your own drink.

Besides Minjun, Sohan, and Jungkook, you didn’t know anyone else in this neighborhood. Yet, despite your short time at this place, Minjun and Sohan had become protective of you. It was reassuring, almost comforting, as if you had finally found the big brothers you never had. For the first time, you were experiencing what it felt like to have people who genuinely cared about you.

“Don’t wander off too far,” Sohan called out as you left the bar to blend into the crowd of dancers.

“We want to keep an eye on you. There are plenty of crazies here,” Minjun added. “And always watch your drink!” he shouted over the noise of the music.

In response, you flashed them a smile and gave them a thumbs-up. Then, the melody of “Bumpy Ride” by Mohombi filled the room, taking you back to a time when everything was simpler, lighter.

You remembered those afternoons in high school when, even though you didn’t like sports, you found refuge in dance, a passion that had been born during your stay at the orphanage. Dancing had always set you free, and tonight, you let yourself be carried away by the music.

Ignoring your coworkers’ advice, you made your way to the speakers, letting the bass thrum through your body. Nostalgia mixed with excitement as memories of a school dance competition, won to the sound of this very song, resurfaced.

Meanwhile, Minjun was watching the crowd intently, looking for you. Unsurprisingly, you hadn’t followed his recommendations. He wasn’t even surprised.

“Jungkook, man. What are you doing here?” Sohan was the first to notice your neighbor, sitting at his usual spot at the bar.

“I need to clear my head,” Jungkook replied, not inclined to give details.

“Tough day?” Minjun asked, joining the conversation now that the line had thinned out.

“You could say that,” Jungkook answered in a weary tone.

“So, what’ll it be?” Sohan asked, ready to serve his regular customer.

“The usual.” Jungkook was counting on a glass of whiskey to try and push you out of his mind, or at least to gather the courage to face a night that wouldn’t end alone.

“Coming right up.” Sohan started preparing Jungkook’s drink while Minjun scanned the crowd, searching for you.

“You good, man?” Jungkook asked, noticing Minjun’s concern.

“No, she’s acting up again,” Minjun muttered, more to himself than to his friend, but nothing escaped Jungkook.

“Who are you talking about?” Sohan inquired, setting Jungkook’s drink in front of him.

“She didn’t listen to us, man. As usual, she’s doing whatever she wants,” Minjun sighed.

Jungkook frowned, confused. Who were they talking about? Minjun would never let his sisters come to a place like the Den, and as far as Jungkook knew, there was no other woman in his life. So who could it be?

Sohan spotted something in the crowd and muttered, “Damn it… Don’t move, I’ll go get her.” Then he disappeared into the crowd.

Jungkook, still curious, didn’t wait any longer. “Who are you talking about?” he finally asked Minjun.

He wasn’t expecting the answer he received: your name. The very person he had hoped to forget for the night had reappeared, inevitably.

You were everywhere, even in the place where he had hoped to escape you.

You kept dancing, letting the music pulse through your entire body. The DJ that night was doing an incredible job, mixing recent hits with 2000s classics that got everyone moving. Rihanna, Beyoncé, Cascada, The Black Eyed Peas, The Pussycat Dolls… each track seemed better than the last, and you let yourself completely lose yourself in the rhythm.

You had even found a dance partner. Not that it was a particularly enlightened or well-thought-out decision, but you only knew him from the fights. After all, you came here to clear your head, and if the night ended in a one-night stand, why not with him? Maybe that would finally help you get Jungkook out of your thoughts.

Your dance partner was none other than Shin Jung-Ho, aka “Bazooka,” Jungkook’s sworn rival, aka “Bullet Fists.” And honestly, the guy wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Jung-Ho stood at 1.78 meters, and his imposing build immediately drew attention. His body, sculpted by years of physical training, spoke of his strength and toughness. His pale skin contrasted with his jet-black hair, cut short, and his dark eyes, almost hypnotic. But what caught your eye the most was the linear scar running across his left eye, a remnant of a past battle… and not just any battle. It came from a fight against Jungkook. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“So, how about we get out of here? My place is just around the corner,” Jung-Ho murmured, his face dangerously close to yours. His lips were on the verge of finding yours, and you were ready to let the kiss happen, maybe just to defy yourself.

You nodded, ready to follow his invitation, but the moment was short-lived. Out of nowhere, Sohan appeared through the crowd, visibly furious. He shoved Jung-Ho away from you before grabbing your hand tightly, positioning himself between the two of you like a shield.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” he growled, his dark gaze locked on Jung-Ho. You had never seen Sohan in such a state, not even with the worst customers at the bar.

Jung-Ho smirked, taunting. “That’s not for you to decide, buddy. She seemed pretty on board with me, right, babe?” He looked at you, waiting for your confirmation.

“Yeah,” you replied almost mechanically, which only made Jung-Ho smile wider.

Sohan’s grip on your hand tightened, almost to the point of hurting. “Shut up, YN,” he said coldly, his voice barely restrained.

You were on the verge of protesting, shocked by the way he spoke to you, but he cut you off with a look so intense it immediately dissuaded you from arguing. Then he turned his attention back to Jung-Ho.

“Listen to me, man,” Sohan said, emphasizing each word. “You’re not getting near her again, got it?”

Without waiting for a response, Sohan turned around, dragging you behind him through the crowd, his hand still firmly gripping yours, leaving you no chance to protest or look back.

You were furious, perplexed, and slightly amused by how things had unfolded. Sohan, usually so calm and protective, had just shown a side of himself you had never seen before. The walk back to the bar felt endless, and while your hand remained firmly held in his, you couldn’t help but wonder what had triggered such a reaction in him.

Sohan dragged you firmly to the bar, where Minjun and Jungkook were deep in conversation, Jungkook’s gaze dark and intense. You hadn’t even noticed Jungkook’s presence, too focused on Sohan’s grip and your own frustration at being pulled along like a misbehaving child.

Once at the counter, Sohan practically forced you to sit on one of the tall chairs, right next to Jungkook. The cold touch of the wood against your bare skin made you shiver, and it was only then that you noticed your neighbor, sitting right beside you. His gaze was intense, fixed on you, but he said nothing. Yet, you could feel the palpable tension in the air.

Before you could protest, Sohan stood in front of you, arms crossed, looking furious.

“What the hell were you thinking, YN?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Dancing with Jung-Ho? And worse, you were ready to leave with him! Have you lost your mind?”

Minjun, who had turned toward you after hearing those words, also frowned. “Wait, what?” Minjun was shocked to hear what his friend just said. And like him, he wasn’t pleased at all. He knew very well that, like the rest of them, you were aware of the type of man Jung-Ho was. Since you’d been working at the Den, you had witnessed firsthand the harm he caused with women on numerous occasions.

“Sohan’s right, YN. Jung-Ho is not someone you should be hanging out with, let alone going anywhere with. You know exactly what kind of guy he is. That was stupid, really.”

Minjun’s scolding tone, combined with Sohan’s exasperation, made you feel like a child being chastised. Shame washed over you for a moment, but it didn’t seem fair. You were perfectly capable of making your own decisions, whether good or bad.

But what surprised you the most was Jungkook’s reaction. He remained silent, but you could almost see his fists clenching, his jaw tightening. Something in his demeanor had shifted. He said nothing, but his silence was deafening, and his gaze, more piercing than ever, seemed to betray something deeper: jealousy.

Before you could respond, a deep, arrogant voice sounded behind you.

“Oh, I see you’re getting scolded like a little kid, YN,” Jung-Ho said as he approached the bar, a smug grin on his lips. He spoke directly to you, ignoring the others. “You’re really going to let them control you like that? It’s your life, right? If you wanted to leave with me, that was your choice. No need for a bunch of wannabe big brothers to tell you what to do.”

Jung-Ho’s provocative tone instantly put everyone on edge. Sohan stood up straighter, ready to respond, but before he could open his mouth, it was Jungkook who suddenly rose from his seat, his dark eyes burning with cold anger.

“I think you’ve misunderstood something, Jung-Ho,” Jungkook said in a dangerously low voice. “YN doesn’t need your advice. She knows exactly what’s good for her, and leaving with a jerk like you isn’t part of it.”

Jung-Ho chuckled, unphased by the threat. He took a step closer, locking eyes with Jungkook.

“Oh really, Jungkook? Because all I see is a guy who can’t even admit he’s dying of jealousy. Stop pretending—it’s not about her, it’s about you.”

That was the last straw for Jungkook. In a split second, his fist flew toward Jung-Ho, landing a controlled but violent punch to his jaw. The room seemed to freeze for a moment before Jung-Ho retaliated, shoving Jungkook backward and throwing a punch of his own.

The fight erupted in brutal force. The two men exchanged blows with palpable precision and rage, forcing the customers around them to step back. The bar quickly turned into a battleground.

Sohan and Minjun tried to intervene, but the strength and speed of both fighters made it difficult to break up the fight. Jung-Ho, clearly drunk on rage, wasn’t ready to back down. But Jungkook, fueled by a jealousy he refused to admit, fought with cold determination, his entire body tense with every movement.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice lost in the chaos of the brawl. But neither Jungkook nor Jung-Ho seemed to hear you, too focused on their relentless struggle.

As Jung-Ho tried to pin Jungkook against the counter, Jungkook broke free with surprising agility, delivering a powerful punch to Jung-Ho’s gut. Jung-Ho collapsed momentarily from the blow, struggling to catch his breath.

Before things could escalate further, Sohan and Minjun managed to separate the two men, holding Jungkook back while Jung-Ho, still winded, tried to regain his composure.

Silence finally fell over the bar, and all eyes turned to you. Jungkook, breathing heavily, looked at you, his eyes still blazing with anger. A silent question seemed to hang in the air: “Why him?”

As for Jung-Ho, his smug smile had vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain and frustration.

The tension was thick, and you knew what had just happened would have consequences.

The Den’s security guards, alerted by the growing noise of the fight, quickly approached. Two of them grabbed Jung-Ho, still groggy from Jungkook’s last punch, and dragged him roughly out of the bar. Jung-Ho, though clearly still in shock, tried to struggle, throwing one last dark glance in Jungkook’s direction before disappearing into the agitated crowd.

“Alright, calm down now,” Sohan growled, stepping between you and Jungkook, while Minjun approached, trying to contain the palpable tension in the air. “YN, we agreed you’d keep a low profile tonight. What the hell were you thinking, dancing with that idiot?”

You threw your hands up in frustration, nerves on edge. “Stop telling me what to do, Sohan! I don’t need to be treated like a kid. If I want to dance with whoever I want, it’s my choice.”

Sohan frowned, but before he could reply, it was Jungkook who cut in, his voice sharp.

“Dancing with him?” he spat. “You were this close to leaving with that guy, YN. Do you even realize how stupid that was? Or are you just blind?”

You turned toward him, your eyes blazing. “So what? Why do you even care, Jungkook? Since when do you give a damn about what I do or who I leave with?”

“Since you can’t seem to see the real assholes in front of you,” Jungkook shot back, raising his voice, stepping closer to you, his fists still clenched. “Jung-Ho is trash. He doesn’t respect you. You’re just a game to him, YN. And it makes me sick that you don’t even see it.”

Jungkook’s words were filled with jealousy, and something inside you flared even hotter.

“Oh, and you’re any better?” you retorted, your voice vibrating with anger. “You show up here after bringing that redhead to your place, and now you come here to lecture me?”

Jungkook flinched at the mention of the previous night, but he didn’t respond right away. You continued, your eyes glistening with rage.

“You’re no different from Jung-Ho. You both play with women, treat them like toys. So stop being a hypocrite—it’s pathetic!”

Minjun tried to step between you, raising his hands to de-escalate the situation. “Okay, enough, stop. We don’t need this here. Let’s all take a step back, calm down…”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his gaze still locked on you. “She doesn’t get it. She thinks I’m like them? She thinks all of this is just a game for me?”

“Maybe because you never show anything!” you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion. “You kiss me, leave me with all these questions, and then nothing! Nothing! And now you come here and tell me what to do? Are you kidding me?”

Sohan, sensing the situation spiraling out of control, placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Bro, let it go, this is gonna get ugly…”

But it was too late. Jungkook’s frustration was overflowing, his eyes burning with something deeper than simple anger.

“You want to know why I’m like this, YN?” he ground out through clenched teeth, his voice low, almost a growl. “You really want to know? Because you drive me insane.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say another word, Jungkook closed the distance between you in a split second. His hands gripped your face tightly, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours in a brutal kiss, filled with passion, frustration, and a kind of desperate intensity.

The shock left you frozen for a moment, but soon, you felt that familiar warmth, that fire that consumed you both. His lips were hard against yours, his hands still firmly on your face, as if he feared you’d slip away. Every movement of his mouth against yours was laced with urgency, anger, and an uncontrollable desire.

Minjun and Sohan exchanged bewildered glances, but neither of them dared intervene this time. The tension between you and Jungkook had reached a breaking point.

When Jungkook finally pulled his lips from yours, he stayed just inches away, his breath ragged, his eyes still blazing with that intensity you had never seen in him before.

Stunned by the sudden kiss, you remained motionless, your thoughts swirling in a silent chaos. The world around you seemed to have stopped, the intensity of the moment rooting you in place. You could still feel the pressure of his lips on yours—brutal and desperate. But it was the shocked looks of Sohan and Minjun, frozen in surprise, that brought you back to reality. The burn of embarrassment rose within you, mixing with a fury that made your heart pound in your chest.

Without thinking, your hand flew up and slapped Jungkook across the face in an instinctive reaction. The sound of the slap echoed in the tense air of the Den.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Jungkook!” you shouted, your voice trembling with anger and confusion. Without giving him a chance to respond, you spun around and stormed toward the exit, your footsteps pounding the floor as you fled the scene.

The cool night air wrapped around you immediately, but it did little to extinguish the fire burning inside you. Breathing hard, you walked quickly, your mind swirling with humiliation, confusion, and the strange feeling left behind by that stolen kiss.

“YN, wait!” Jungkook’s voice chased after you in the night, his hurried footsteps echoing behind you.

You quickened your pace, but he caught up to you quickly, grabbing your arm to stop you. You yanked your arm free from his grip, your eyes blazing with anger as they met his.

“Let go of me, Jungkook!” you hissed, breathless. “You think you can just get away with that? After everything that happened tonight?”

Jungkook, still panting from the chase, shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and regret. “YN, that’s not… I didn’t think… but you don’t understand! You drive me crazy!”

“Crazy? I drive you crazy?” you shot back, your anger flaring up again. “And that gives you the right to kiss me like you own me? Who do you think you are?”

The empty street was the silent witness to this confrontation, the night wind gently rustling the leaves of the trees as your voices echoed in the air.

“No, it’s not that,” he tried to explain, his eyes searching yours. “You don’t understand, YN. I’m on the verge of losing it. Knowing you danced with Jung-Ho, knowing you even considered leaving with him… You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about now?” you spat bitterly. “You think you have some claim over me? You think you can tell me who I can or can’t dance with? Look at yourself! You bring girls home and then come here to tell me what I should do? What a joke, Jungkook. You’re pathetic.”

His jaw clenched at the provocation, but he remained silent for a moment, clearly trying to control the storm raging inside him. “Okay, correction, it wasn’t ‘girls,’ just the redhead,” he tried to justify, but for you, it was just a detail. Deep down, it didn’t change anything. “And it’s not the same, YN. I know I screwed up, but what I feel for you… what I feel is real.”

Your gaze hardened. “Oh yeah? Because what you feel is ‘real,’ I should forgive you, is that it? Jungkook, you have no idea what you want. One minute you kiss me, the next you ignore me. You leave me hanging, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do or feel. You’re playing with me, and I’ve had enough.”

Silence fell between you, broken only by your quickened breaths. Jungkook seemed like he wanted to say something, but his words got lost in the flood of emotions boiling inside him.

“YN, I… I know I’ve complicated everything. But I… I don’t want to lose you, without ever even having had you,” he finally murmured, his voice broken.

You shook your head, your heart heavy with confusion. “And yet, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Turning on your heel, you started walking toward your apartments, Jungkook trailing behind you. The dark night felt oppressive, and despite the calm outside, the emotional storm raging within you was overwhelming.

“What do you want me to do, YN? Let you leave with a guy like Jung-Ho? Pretend I don’t care about you, despite myself and all my efforts?” he exclaimed, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“What I want, Jungkook, is for you to stop playing this back-and-forth game. If you want something, be clear. But don’t do this to me. Don’t kiss me just to prove something to yourself, and don’t act like I’m just another option in your life.”

He stopped, realizing the gravity of your words, the weight of what you were saying. And suddenly, in the silence of the street, it was as if the world around you both was collapsing.

You gave him one last look, your heart heavy. “You can’t do this to me, Jungkook. Not again.”

Then, without another word, you turned the corner and walked away, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts, his gaze lost in the starry night.

Jungkook stands frozen, rooted to the spot as you turn the corner, disappearing into the night. His fists clench, and his mind races, battling both the frustration and the weight of his own mistakes. He wanted to run after you, to catch up with you, but he felt like his words would only make things worse.

He remains there, silent, while the echo of your last words still rings in his head. “You can’t do this to me, Jungkook. Not again.” A wave of guilt washes over him. He finally realizes just how much he’s been playing with your emotions without truly understanding it.

Despite his urge to follow you once more, he takes a deep breath, replaying every detail of the night. His thoughts are loud, confused, but one thing is clear: he never wanted to hurt you like this. Not you. Not the only person who seems capable of making him feel this way.

Meanwhile, you keep walking, tears silently streaming down your cheeks. The weight of everything you’ve just experienced overwhelms you, and you try to convince yourself that walking away is the best thing to do. Your footsteps echo in the empty street, and even though you’re walking quickly, each step feels like it’s bringing you closer to the edge of breaking down.

You can’t stop thinking about what just happened. That kiss, as brutal and passionate as it was, caught you off guard. You had felt that same fire between you two, but this time, it was different. This time, there was something deeper behind that gesture. Frustration, jealousy, but also… love, or at least something close to it.

Suddenly, you stop dead in your tracks in the middle of the street. Part of you wants to run, but the other part begs you not to give up hope. You turn around, scanning the street behind you. Jungkook is no longer there. Your heart sinks at the realization, but a part of you feels relieved.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your frantic heartbeat. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe you’re just too different, that this burning desire that consumes you both will end up destroying everything.

As you slowly head toward home, the sound of hurried footsteps behind you makes you jump. You turn around, and there he is. Jungkook. He’s standing there, breathless, as if he ran to catch up with you. His hair is disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, but that same intensity still burns in his eyes.

“YN…” he begins, his voice hoarse with fatigue and emotion. “I… I can’t let you go like this. Not again.”

You remain still, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to listen, to understand what he truly feels. But your lips stay sealed, your heart pounding harder with every word he speaks.

For a moment, you saw him running toward you, as if the devil himself were chasing him. And the next, you were hit full force by his gesture, even more confused than you already were. Before you could react, you found yourself in his arms again, his mouth pressed against yours, desperately trying to draw a response from you. For a moment, you stood frozen, in shock. Then, despite yourself, you responded. A brief instant where everything around you collapsed, and you finally understood the true meaning of the phrase “The flesh is weak.” Yours was no exception.

It had been two weeks since you last heard from him. Two weeks of growing frustration, of pent-up desire. And in the span of a few minutes, your lips found each other again, in a kiss that was both passionate and desperate. But beneath that passion, there was a simmering anger, a palpable tension between the two of you.

Your emotions, though distinct, reflected each other strangely. Jungkook was furious. Furious with you, for your lack of judgment, for your lack of self-respect. How could you even consider leaving with someone like Jung-Ho? Anyone with half a brain could see how toxic that man was. And you knew that. You weren’t stupid. So why had you even entertained the idea of sleeping with him? But his frustration was also aimed at himself. He had sworn to stay away from you, not to get caught up in this whirlwind of emotions. And yet, here he was, chasing after you again, unable to let you go.

As for you, your anger was boiling over. How dare he, after ignoring you for days, act like some jealous, possessive man? How could he treat you like that, in front of your friends, at your workplace, when he had been avoiding you like the plague just days earlier? He had no right over you, over your actions, over your choices. Yes, you had made a mistake in choosing Jung-Ho as a distraction, but you just wanted to free yourself from the hold Jungkook had on you. And you were willing to do anything to make that happen.

But what was eating away at you even more was yourself. How could you be so weak? How could you give in to his kiss, not once, but twice, after everything he had put you through? You had promised yourself you wouldn’t become just another conquest in his long list. And yet, here you were, doing exactly what you swore you’d never do. Were you a masochist, or just desperate?

Finally, in a moment of clarity, you did the only thing that seemed logical. You abruptly broke the kiss. Without a word, you raised your hand and slapped him hard, feeling the heat of the impact on your palm. Then, without looking back, you turned on your heel and fled. Fled straight to your home, where you hoped to escape the emotional storm threatening to engulf you. ​

Next ⇢

n/a: I hope you enjoy this short story as much as I do. To ensure you don’t miss the progress of the chapters and their release, don’t forget to check out the Working on and Updates section. There, you’ll find updates on “Fighter” and other stories and “One Shot” that you’ll probably enjoy. Also, don’t forget to check out the Masterlist. You’ll probably find something for you among my other stories in progress and those to come.

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Taglist : @variety-is-the-joy-of-life ; @ttanniett

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© Jeon_s_Sins

[maxdibert]

OMG, I also love the idea of Severus having a partner. Whenever I think about a post-war Snape, I can’t help but imagine him forming a small family. It doesn’t have to involve a child—a kitten or a parrot could be the little one of the house, or even a guinea pig. Someone small to care for.

But beyond that, what kind of partner would Severus have? I’ve always thought that if he did have a partner, it would be a Muggle. He’s tired of the magical world and wants to step away for a moment, which would lead him to start moving within Muggle society, inevitably meeting a Muggle. Although this also creates a conflict for me, since the only Muggle in his life up until then was his abusive father. But then again, he also put up with a lot of crap from many wizards. I don’t know—it’s a topic with so many layers, depending on the time period in which the story takes place and how the culture of both societies is portrayed.

Right? Like, let the man live peacefully. Let him have a quiet life with a house and a garden full of magical plants where he can research his stuff, read his books, and not be bothered by magical world nonsense or political intrigues anymore. With kids or without, it doesn’t matter—just let the man be at peace; he’s been through enough already. Honestly, I’m fully behind this idea. Because Severus wouldn’t care about being considered a war hero—he’d just want to be left alone.

As for the rest, Severus is a guy with a lot of issues, but mostly with a terrible personality. He’s got a strong temper but is also very repressed, though he can’t fully control his temper because he’s emotionally volatile. While I think a post-war Severus would be calmer due to less pressure, I also believe his emotional scars wouldn’t magically heal, so he’d still be a jerk, a git, and generally difficult to deal with.

That’s why I always picture him with a partner who also has a strong temper and enough backbone to handle his tantrums without being intimidated. Someone who’d tell him to go to hell and calm down before talking to them when he explodes. Probably someone used to dealing with emotionally and mentally unstable people, or someone who wouldn’t take his outbursts seriously and would just ignore him until he chilled out. I also see him with someone extroverted because he’s extremely introverted and would never make the first move in a million years. The other person would have to be the one to approach him and make him feel safe about the decisions he makes. Severus is incredibly insecure when it comes to emotional matters and would probably think no one could ever like him, mainly because certain people spent his entire adolescence calling him ugly and greasy, and that stigma followed him throughout his teaching years. That, and deep down, he has awful self-esteem and probably sees himself as a failure in general. So, I can’t picture him making the first move—it’s very hard for me to imagine. That super-confident, Byronic hero version of Severus in some fics doesn’t fit with how I see him. He’s insecure until someone proves there’s nothing to fear.

He’d benefit most from a confident, extroverted partner with the guts to take the initiative. Someone who understands he has a lot of baggage but doesn’t fall into a maternal/paternal role, because your partner isn’t supposed to be your parent. Your partner is your partner; they can understand and support you but aren’t your therapist. Especially for someone like Severus, who needs to work on himself, not rely on others to patch up his wounds. They can help him heal, but he has to do the work.

I actually started writing a Severus fic with a Muggle!Reader because I love the dynamic and found it really interesting. It’s fascinating to explore, especially since he grew up in a Muggle environment and clearly knows some things about that world. But I’ve always imagined that he completely distanced himself from it once his parents died, and probably didn’t have much contact with the Muggle world after becoming a Hogwarts professor, except when strictly necessary. By the early 2000s, he’d be totally out of touch with many modern advancements.

I also like that dynamic because Severus is a well-known figure—he taught nearly twenty generations of students, which is insane given how small the magical community is. Practically half the population must have had him as their Potions professor. Then there’s the whole "he killed Dumbledore" thing, being a Death Eater, and later revealed as a double agent. In a post-war AU where he survives, he’d basically be a magical-world celebrity, sparking very divided opinions. And that would give him massive anxiety. Like, on top of surviving (when we all know he wanted to die because he was so fed up with life), he’d have to deal with that nonsense? I 100% see him being much more comfortable with someone who knows nothing about him, has no preconceived notions or judgments, and gives him a chance to just be himself—or explore a side of his personality he couldn’t show due to his spy role and all the deception he had to maintain.

There’s also an interesting theme of cognitive dissonance—having prejudices against Muggles (which all wizards have, even the good ones, because they treat Muggles like idiots) and then being confronted with the reality of what Muggles are capable of. Especially given that he was a Death Eater and deeply hated everything Muggle due to his experiences with his father and the poverty he endured as a child in that world.

So yeah, 100% your headcanon because it’s mine too! 😂

[tunastime]

Hello beloved tuna 💚

How about a number 9 for the spotify wrapped?? (And if u feel like throwing any SEN guys in there I would simply love to see them)

HI THEO. you can tell I've been listening/reading too much murderbot when I start writing in the cadence that freaking kevin r free uses to do the audiobooks. so here, have some SEN ranchers. this song is actually on the SEN ranchers playlist! so I drummed up a little something that I think takes place around that time, where tango is about to receive notice that he's to come back to the Prometheus

(794 words)

Jimmy feels the pressure of all his emotions in his chest like a bubble about to burst. He's made of complex metal lattice, wires and tiny fibers that move like muscle, tubes and chambers holding cooling fluids and lubricants, silicon that filled spaces left behind and protected the various moving parts, made up his skin filled with sensors. Still, the part of him that felt, that processed emotion in a way he wasn't sure he was supposed to, still created that sense of feeling in his chest, as if the air filters and chambers of fluid had seized up all at once and were grinding to start again.

It wasn't a bad feeling though. This one he liked. A lot. It was the closest he had felt to being real in a long time. But it sucked to know that he liked it, and that he only liked it because it made him feel present, because the present was a time in which he knew minutes were slipping through his hands in a way his internal clock couldn't properly count. 

Way back, when Tango first arrived, almost three months ago, he had told Jimmy that he was only there for a month. The successes and failures of their botanical project had meant Tango had stayed longer. It had given them more than enough time to become friends, dissect the little things that made them something other than human, find a piece of each other within the parts most similar. It was odd. And good. And Jimmy liked the idea of being like someone, rather than so different from his shipmates.  

Tango was in his room now—their room, maybe, if Jimmy were feeling brave. The thought of sharing, be that personal space, personal data, personal storage, memory, RAM, emotion, feeling, thought, was a thing that was equally as confusing as it was terrifying. Jimmy was made of emotion—concocted from a hacked emotional core that HASA allowed to be installed in him, and with no way of processing any of the emotion, to filter it through subroutines designed to handle it, to manage it, with the secondary buffer it was supposed to have, Jimmy had too many times fallen victim to its overwhelming charge of his system. So sharing that very large, very vulnerable part of him wasn’t something he thought Tango could handle. Tango simply wasn’t housing an emotional core. Sure, his processor was large, and the long-term storage he had was complex (and Jimmy would know, they’d both poked around in his code and parts as a fun side project, considering Tango had finally decided that Jimmy should simply upload the rest of his data into Tango’s memory in case their project ended early. Tango had been reluctant to do that when he first arrived—he was built to learn, not to just store and retrieve. But what was learning but storing and retrieving, Jimmy had argued, and by the time their three months were meeting a yet-unknown close, they’d gone and backed up the data into Tango’s skull, and looked for fun), but he didn’t have the emotional capacity Jimmy did. And maybe he wouldn’t for a long time.

But he’d let him in. Just like Tango had let Jimmy root around inside his code and trusted him not to delete something essential. And Jimmy hated the idea that he might be losing this soon. He’d overheard Fwhip at some point, talking low to Tango in the hallway. Something about callbacks and data transfers, names of admirals Jimmy had never heard of, but sounded important. He had meant to ask Tango, but had never summoned the strength or reason to do so.

Jimmy watches Tango out of the side of his vision. Tango stayed because he had something to do. Maybe if Jimmy sabotaged their data, Tango would stay. Maybe if he changed something, fixed part of the system but not another, took data into long-term storage where they couldn't access it. Whatever he could do. Tango would stay here. And he wouldn't be alone.

But he couldn't do that to Tango. Which is why this feeling hurts so much. He liked it, because it hurt. And he hated it, because it meant he was coming to terms with the idea that Tango was leaving.

Scott called it grief. Jimmy thinks that robots shouldn't have learned how to grieve. It made looking at his friend Tango that much harder. It made watching him try to laugh and smile that much more difficult. But tucked away in Jimmy's room, watching the display surface show reruns of media Jimmy had long since seen, Tango laughs, and Jimmy grins his way. He’s getting better at that—laughing. Jimmy likes it.

And maybe he likes grief. Just a little.

(send me a number 1-100 and I'll try to write a little something based on the song!)

[askdiscordwhooves]

A much needed summary of the Discord Whooves story.

Voiced by @voiceofthecity

Transcript below:

Doctor: Right, so. A lot has happened since I woke up in this universe, eh? I guess this is a sort of… diary entry. 

I first opened my eyes in this universe without any memories. Derpy standing over me. She took care of me until I could remember who I was. I reunited with the TARDIS and took Derpy on as my companion. It became obvious quickly that she had… Deeper feelings for me. But I ignored it in favor of our friendship.

I fell in love with a bush because of a love potion she got hold of, thank goodness it wasn’t with her. At one point we ended up on a planet of machines where we fought an AI that wanted to experiment on us. He called himself NeoSurgeon, after copying me. Copying me made him very much alive, and I almost destroyed him before realizing this… We taught him to value life, and I installed him into my sonic screwdriver to let him explore the universe. [annoyed] And of course he goes and mucks things up by experimenting, resulting in Dinky and Sparkler being created from Derpy and possibly me.

Derpy and I had a few encounters with changelings, which led to us finding a changeling who copied me and thought he was me. Everyone just loves copying me, don’t they… When he found us he realized he wasn’t The Doctor, and asked us to save the corrupted hive. I let the queen feed on all my love of the universe, turning her and her hive back to their true selves. But I lost my love from it. 

I was investigating disappearances of races and planets in the timeline. This led me to the Caves of Truth, where Discord dwelled. Showing me a terrible truth about myself that shattered my entire being. I still can’t bring myself to go into detail about it because I’m terrified. This truth made me want to give up adventures and helping others, and Derpy didn’t agree with me. I lashed out at her, and she lashed back by abandoning me.

That’s where many of you found me, after that point where I was alone and saying ‘to hell with the universe’. I dove headfirst into sex and drinking to fill the emptiness I felt. At some point, the questions I got began provoking my rage towards Derpy. I took it out on her by hurting her to teach the… audience, I suppose… a lesson to not bother me about her. I let her go after that. But anger got the best of me again from prying questions. Once more I took it out on Derpy, more violently this time before I ditched her. 

Had an unpleasant encounter with Octavia where I crashed into her place. Even though I met Twilight Sparkle and bonded with her, like an idiot I tried to woo Octavia to much humiliation and failure. So I focused more on Twilight and I grew to really care about her. She was a light in the darkness for me.

Let’s see… Fooled around, yelled at Dinky and Sparkler, ran into poison joke which let’s not even talk about. After recovering from that I encountered… Patience, my ex wife, for the first time here, and I ran from her. 

Oh. The wings. Didn’t always have those either, my regenerative hormones were acting up and caused them to appear. After sticking to myself for a while I decided it was time to learn how to fly, as it seemed like my wings had grown to fit my body. I learned how to fly from an alternate Rainbow Dash.

I was going to celebrate with Twilight, but when I found her she had cut herself deeply in a suicide attempt which had been prompted by The Master. She survived, thank the stars… 

The Master had teamed up with Inkie Pie and further antagonized me, trying to goad me into fighting. But when I wouldn’t give, he beat me down and kicked me out. My hearts were getting louder and louder in my head. I tried to drown them out with more drinking and in my drunken state forced open the heart of the TARDIS. She possessed an hourglass to create a pony avatar for herself and cared for me like a nanny. I decided to call her Ananta. 

It finally hit me that all of the sex felt pointless and I decided I’d give it up as it wasn’t doing me any favors. No matter how many times I tried, I could never find relief, not even with Twilight.

The Master wormed his way into the mind of a mare I had let get close, which was the final straw. I went after The Master with a gun but I missed the bastard. He was also with Octavia for some reason which threw off my aim.

Spending more quality time with Twilight in Ponyville was when it came to my attention that things were wrong in this timeline. I was informed of Sugarcube Corner’s bloody history as Slaughtercube Corner, where Pinkie went insane and murdered multiple ponies. I learned all of Twilight’s friends were corrupted, dead, or missing. I would have investigated more but Patience found me and demanded I leave.

I visited a corrupted Rarity’s universe to let of some steam and discovered that her universe was layered and bleeding into mine, causing events of her timeline to happen here. It seemed to be like that for multiple corrupted universes, taking aspects of them and applying them to Twilight’s friends.

After that, I tried to avoid getting involved because it was getting far too complex. I drunkenly opened a temporary dimensional rift which caused the one and only Jack Harkness to fall through. I was elated, finally someone good from the humanoid universe that I could spend time with!

We reconnected, and I wound up in the wrong dimension when trying to show off to him. There we found a bleeding filly, Scootaloo, who had tried to run away with her newborn. The baby needed a caretaker that could be trusted and I suggested Twilight, who was more than happy to take him in while things got sorted. 

I think for a while I was more myself. I felt more clear headed. I even got it in my head that I should check in on Sparkler and Dinky. Foolish. Utterly asinine. Dinky was rightfully angry with me, and I couldn’t explain myself. Then… She showed up. Derpy. I went at her, but… I was suddenly pummeled with rocks and bricks by Dinky. Her magic was even powerful enough to throw me HARD. I think… I think she was just about ready to kill me before her mother stopped her. I promptly left after that, just hoping we’d never have another encounter. I hate… what she makes me do.

While letting Jack help me process things, the TARDIS had an intense interference that triggered the cloister bell. I fought something that was pulling her, and I was hit hard with the resurfacing memories of losing Amy and Rory horrifically and violently in the journey to this dimension. Distractions. Right. I gave myself distractions.

Landed in the dimension that was home to an obnoxious punster, got upset with Jack for wandering too far away. I was scared of losing him but in doing that I made him feel trapped, and we started having arguments. Jack wanted to go back home but he wanted to take me with him and that just… couldn’t happen.

To make up for the arguments, I took us to the Nimbus Resort and Casino. That’s where everything went wrong. That rift I opened before also let in a group of daleks which invaded and started slaughtering everyone there. I was scared, I tried to run, Jack tried to stop me and I pushed him right into a dalek’s laser, and I just left him there. I did go back for him, I did! We witnessed the Master decimating the daleks and I took Jack and ran from that too.

Jack was… different after that. He threatened me with a gun and demanded I take us back to the human dimension, but when he was distracted I pulled out my own gun and shot him. I threw him out while shooting him again and I suppose it’s after that when the Master recruited him to Torchwood. Tch… since then he’s been having me tracked.

Fell off the deep end, binge drinking and neglecting my hygiene, doing nothing. Ananta cleaned me up, got rid of the alcohol, made sure I got the right supportive questions and comments to keep me going. [more serious] I tried to study what was going on with me, which revealed another entity inside of me calling himself Hyde, a corruption of myself. 

Less important stuff happened, came to the conclusion that the askers were essentially my companions. Which was nice enough to convince me to investigate further into the altered timeline. Equestria was at war with the Diamond Dogs, and Twilight was expected to help as a princess but couldn’t because of what happened to her friends. Ponyville was in ruins while Twilight clung to it for her few remaining friends. 

I realized then… The Twilight I became close to wasn’t meant to exist. She was part of the altered timeline, and if I fixed it, she’d be gone. And we’d never have that connection again, because her giving up the throne was what let us have something in common…

I was searching for the trigger for the timeline corruption, so I traveled into the past to observe Pinkie. Octavia found me, she was interested in me after I had… insulted her I think? Strange woman. Pinkie kidnapped us both to torture us, showing she was already corrupted. We were rescued by the guard before she could do any real harm but she had drugged me out of my mind and in my disoriented state I took Octavia with me onto the TARDIS.

Octavia demanded compensation for all the trouble I’d caused her, so I tried to take her somewhere nice but ended up landing in the future city of Vannice. A future wrecked by Discord, where only 10% of the pony population remained and all the Princesses were long dead, Twilight included… I tried to ditch Octavia but she ended up shmoozing with a rich scientist who was luring her into his experiments. Meanwhile I was trying to sneak around because his drones were after me. 

NeoSurgeon made himself known again, and was useful in finding and stopping the secret alicorn magic-tech versions of cybermen. My worst self convinced a worker to sacrifice himself to do it, using Neo to super charge him… then bloody Jack shows up with one of his lackeys so of course I had to grab Octavia and run again.

She still wasn’t satisfied. She seduced me with kinky sex, had me take her on thrill after thrill. She stole something from an important historical figure. Kept pushing me for more and more until I snapped and lashed out at her. But she actually got EXCITED by that, and it snapped me out of it enough to have the sense to force her out of the TARDIS and out of my life.

More investigations, bringing me to the mirror pool. Revealed the real pinkie and a clone swapped places so it was a clone that went on a murder spree. Poor Twilight, I had to tell her, and then ask her if she wanted to remain in this timeline or return to the old timeline without her memories.

As I was leaving Twilight to think about it, Patience- Or Minuette, found me and insisted on joining me to keep me from causing trouble, and to help me. She was fittingly patient with me but never let me step out of line. 

Twilight decided she wanted the timeline fixed, but not until she could help me. She and Minuette worked together to cure me of the curse using a memory spell, and I finally felt like myself for a long time. There was still some of the curse remaining inside me, but I could finally function more like myself. 

In recovery, I tried a few times to write letters to those I had hurt, but it was difficult for me to write anything. I might try again, honestly. What have I got to lose besides paper?

Anyways… Minuette and I went to NeoSurgeon’s planet so that they could combine their memories of me, which seemed to help fight the curse further. I wasn’t fully cured yet, so I continued to focus on recovery before investigating again.

Minuette and I went back to when the Mirror Pool was first formed to see when Discord influenced it but this… was a mistake, as it lead Discord right to the pool to infect it. Must have wormed into my head too, because once I learned Minuette had been seeing the Master romantically, I succumbed to the curse in a full blown relapse and… And murdered… her… Do I really deserve to be saved any more…?

I couldn’t cope. I broke Ananta’s hourglass. I was ready to kill myself. But that’s when The Master burst in and beat me down, tore off my wings, and threw them out with the hourglass. Then he took me onto his TARDIS where I was kept in his Zero room for a long time before he and his TARDIS finally made contact with me.

I think… it was going pretty well for a time… Until he revealed he had influenced many things in my life, from Minuette, to Jack, to Discord, to Derpy, the changelings, and who knows what else. I attacked him and that left me on my TARDIS with Di, his TARDIS’ avatar, to look after me. Meanwhile the Master was going to try to figure out how to solve all of this.

Twilight was in danger and I made a deal with Di that I wouldn’t ask for any more favors after going to help Twilight. And then there was… The Valeyard, likely a metacrisis from my wings and Octavia which means he’s just as, if not more insane than she was. He killed her but showed that he at least seems to care what happens to Twilight, because he let me take her away to safety. 

Now I’m just here, waiting, doing what I can to pass the time and hoping that everything will be okay. It’s hard putting everything in someone else’s hands, but at the same time… it’s what I want most right now, I think. I just… want to be left alone while someone else takes care of things for once. Am I scared? Completely. But I need to accept that I’ve done all I can do at this point. Anyway. I guess I’d best get to writing those letters… Maybe I’ll have better luck this time. I don’t know if this journal log really helped much, but it was something to do so… Yeah.

[nearest-dearest]

The Waltz

“1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3! Keep it up everyone! You’re doing great!” Sally cheered her neighbors on. Seems like with every action, their dancing has improved overnight. All except you, the one in charge of playing the music on the piano “Are you sure you don’t want to dance (Y/n)?”

Sally asked, probably for the fifth time today, and again, you always answer the same words.

“I’m fine with-it Sally, besides I like playing the piano.”

“If you say so.” Sally then went back to counting the beat and you went back to playing the moon waltz. Unaware of the pair of eyes watching you create elegant rhythm. Instead, you’re paying attention to the way your neighbors dance the waltz. Until the sun went down that is. After Sally congratulated everyone for a job well done, the entire neighborhood went back home. Everyone but you, tonight is rather lovely. It’d be a waste to sleep it away. A nighttime walk sounds nice. Besides, this neighborhood is also the safest place you’ve lived in. Beats getting chased around by paintings that’s for sure.

The walk stays in the neighborhood path, the forest is off limits and there’s only so much a flashlight could do for you. You passed by Barnaby’s house, then to Howdy’s shop and then Eddie’s post office. All the lights are out, signifying that the residents must be fast asleep.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked up and saw someone was also a night owl at this moment.

“Hey Wally, why are you up this late?”

It was Wally, sitting outside his house with his back resting on the door. He was holding a sketchbook and he was in his pajamas. Suggesting that he got ready to turn in for the night.

“I could ask you the same thing neighbor. Couldn’t sleep again I assume?”

You shook your head “No, not really. I just thought it’s such a lovely night, why not admire it with a calm stroll. Wanna come?”

“Hm, I guess it could help clear my head.”

There’s no need to talk during the walk, sometimes just the presence of a friend is enough to feel fulfilled. The walk relied on the night ambience to fill in the silence, until Wally broke that silence.

“So, how was the waltz with Sally?”

“Oh, it was fun! I’m not sure about Frank though, he was mostly red the entire time he was dancing.

“His dance partner was Eddie Dear right?”

“Yep!”

That explains it.

“What about you (Y/n)? Did you enjoy the waltz?”

“Of course, I did! I get the chance to play the piano.”

Wally chuckles “No, I meant did you enjoy dancing the waltz as well?”

“Oh, I didn’t really dance. There were no more partners and Sally needed someone to play the piano.”

“I see, but did you want to dance?”

(Y/n) looked around her, as if trying to see if anyone else is listening, but Wally can assure you that it’s just the two of them tonight down the neighborhood path. Then (Y/n) gestured for Wally to come closer, you wanted to whisper something to Wally. When Wally got closer, you revealed why you wanted to speak about this like it’s a secret.

“To be honest, I wanted to dance. But I’m afraid to step on someone’s foot.”

Ah, so it’s a fear of failure problem. You were afraid to hurt one of your friends and make a fool out of yourself. Weighing the choices in your head until you decide to save others and yourself.

“Hm, how would you feel like dancing now?” Wally stopped his steps and you followed, turning to Wally with a look of surprise.

“Dance? Right now?”

“Why not? There’s nobody around, and I wouldn’t mind it if you step on my feet.”

“Oh, I could never.”

“Please (Y/n).” Wally held out a hand for you to take.

“May I have this dance?”

You didn’t need a mirror to know that you probably looked red, and you’re glad that Wally won’t be able to see it. But what you can see is the vibrant red string still tied to his finger. He really was serious about not taking it off. . . You took a deep breath, and accepted Wally’s offer to dance. Getting into position, you began to dance. And my goodness is Wally good! He’s the one taking the lead but doesn’t feel like he’s dragging you everywhere. He takes his time to let you catch up, and with his patience, you manage to find the rhythm Sally was counting on during practice. Now you’re both in sync, as for the music, you supplied by humming the tune you were playing on the piano. That made dancing way easier. You don’t know how long you and Wally have been dancing, but it feels like an eternity of just swaying and stepping into the beat and then staring into each other’s eyes.

The dance continued for a few more series of turns and spins, and as for the finally. Wally threw you in the air, only to catch you bridal style, give a little spin, and set you down the ground while the hands that had the red string remained connected with each other.

By the end of it, you and Wally were taking deep breaths from that intense dance. And from the sudden clapping from behind you. You and Wally turned behind you and saw that the entire neighborhood together, clapping their hands and cheering the two on. Sally’s were glowing with pride, Julie is cheering like she won her favorite game, Barnaby is just happy to see his friend show such talent. As for Howdy, Eddie, Frank and Poppy they all clapped while struggling to stay awake.

Your face was redder than ever, you didn’t even want to look at Wally. But curiosity killed the cat, and you looked over to him. Seeing a little red dust on his cheeks as he smiled at you.

Maybe this really is a very lovely night indeed.

[erimeows]

Like This (NSFW)

Kakashi’ Hatake’s legs dangle off of the edge of the Hokage monument as he glances at Might Guy, who is sitting next to him. The other shinobi is distracted, staring at the string of stars that litter the pitch black sky like fairy lights, but Kakashi doesn’t mind.

“It’s been more than two weeks since you’ve been in town, Sukea! I wasn’t expecting to see you so suddenly,” Guy starts. His deep onyx gaze is still straight forward in a way that has the starlight shining beautifully against his sun-kissed skin. On one hand, Kakashi wants Guy to be looking at him rather than at the village they’ve both seen a million times over. On the other, he doesn’t, because Guy wouldn’t really be looking at him. Rather, Guy would be looking at Sukea, the alter ego and disguise that Kakashi has been fooling him with for over a year now. Though Kakashi has done a good job of hiding the truth thus far, there are evenings like this one where he feels as if Guy can see straight through all of it. “But I’m glad you invited me out here tonight even though you only just got back. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you as well,” Kakashi says, swallowing tightly. He offers up a forced smile and runs a hand through his hair to make sure that the brown, fluffy locks are still perfectly in place as they should be with his partial-transformation jutsu. A full transformation would be much easier to manage for such a risky situation, as he wouldn’t have to worry about the purple face-tape beneath his eyes and the matching eye-shadow that cover his scar or the makeup on his eyebrows potentially coming off, but he spends so much time with Guy in this form that the full transformation would eat up all of his chakra. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

The words should make Kakashi’s heart flutter, but they don't. They’re not meant for him- they’re meant for Sukea, this fake person that he’s created so selfishly. 

There are times- like right now- where it hurts. There are nights where Kakashi goes home and finds himself restless with the pain of wishing that Guy was in love with him and only him rather than with Sukea, who Guy is convinced is an entirely separate person. There are days where Kakashi drowns in guilt because he’s purposely deceiving his best friend.

But, he’s happier like this, and so is Guy.

Because like this, he isn’t Kakashi Hatake. He is not the man with a tragic past full of death and failure, nor is he the shell of a person he’s confined himself to be. Like this, he doesn’t avoid intimacy at all costs. He doesn’t push those closest to him away and spend all of his free time in solitude.

Like this, he is simply Sukea. No last name to remind him of his father. No trauma. Just a traveling photographer with a loving heart and a knack for mischief. 

For all Guy knows, Sukea comes from a boring nuclear family who lives in a far off civilian town. 

For all Guy knows, he’s at least a little bit normal- and Kakashi is desperate to keep it that way. 

So, when Guy stands and offers a hand to help him up- even though he still isn’t used to another man’s hands being used to lift him up rather than to hurt him- he takes it, stands, and wraps an arm around Guy’s waist with a smile- because he’s going to convince Guy that he is truly like this for as long as he can.

“So, shall we take this to your place?” Sukea says, knowing full well that he could never take Guy back to his shitty little apartment. 

As always, Guy grins down at him and pulls him closer. 

“I’d like that.”

~

The next morning, Kakashi slips out of Guy’s apartment window and makes his way home before the older man can wake up and convince him to go out for breakfast. He leaves no indication of when Sukea will be back in town to make things easier on himself and crashes the moment he gets back to his own apartment for a long nap. 

“God… I should really stop doing this,” Kakashi mutters to no one but himself upon waking from his slumber. His back is sore, there’s hickeys left on his neck and down his chest, and his legs still feel like gelatin. Memories of Guy gently wiping him down and pressing kisses against the marks left on his skin flash behind his eyes. “One of these days, it’s going to catch up with me… Oh well. Guess I should take a shower.”

After scrubbing the smell of Guy off of him and trying his best to distract himself from their rendezvous, Kakashi goes to sit on his favorite bench in the village to read the first volume of Icha Icha. As much as he’d love to go on a mission right now, he’s already reached his quota for the month and is stuck in the village until further notice (because according to Lady Tsunade, he can’t drown himself in work just because Naruto and Sasuke are gone). The familiar words printed on the pages of his book bring him no comfort, though, as Guy’s chakra signature draws near.

“Kakashi, my dear rival!” Guy calls, leaping down from a nearby tree and joining Kakashi on the bench.

He sits far too close for Kakashi’s comfort and tosses an arm over his shoulder. Kakashi shuts his book as subtly as he can and pretends that the hairs on the back of his neck aren’t standing up right now.

“Guy,” He speaks, bristling underneath the sensation of Guy’s clothed arm against the back of his neck. It’s surprisingly warm. Just like his touch was last night. Rather than looking over at Guy, Kakashi stares at the cover of Icha Icha as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “What’s up?”

“Right now we’re tied at fifty two wins to fifty two wins- I was thinking we should settle the score by having an eating contest at Ichiraku!” Guy explains with a hopeful smile. When Kakashi finally meets his eyes, he can see the utter love and adoration in them. “What do you say?”

It makes Kakashi’s heart hurt because he knows that even with Sukea as a part of his life now, Guy still can’t let go of him. Guy is still in love with him just as much as he is with Sukea and it’ll probably remain that way.

“An eating contest, hm?” Kakashi asks, standing up so he can put some distance between the two of them.

‘Sounds like an excuse for a lunch date… Classic Guy.’

Kakashi shakes his head and starts to walk away, only for Guy to follow close behind him and continue rambling about the ‘eating contest’. All Kakashi can think about is why he keeps doing this to the both of them when he knows the kindest thing to do would be to stop using the Sukea disguise and cut Guy off completely. 

Kakashi supposes there’s a logical explanation for why he’s been doing this for so long, when he gets down to really thinking about it. 

He’s selfish. 

Is said explanation morally justifiable? Not really. But, to him, it makes sense. Guy has had an obvious crush on him since they were children. Kakashi refuses to date him, citing a lack of interest as his reason even though they both know that’s not it. The real reason is that he’s scared of getting too close only to get burned and ruin their two-decade-long-friendship for the sake of romance. 

Determined not to have his fears come to fruition, Kakashi remained hellbent on keeping his and Guy’s friendship completely platonic, but the constant complaints about a dull love-life and lack of passion that he’d heard from Guy became tiresome following the last Chunin exams. 

Kakashi devised a simple solution; transform into his Sukea disguise, catch Guy at his local bar, and charm him just enough to distract him from Kakashi for a little while.

It was a perfect plan. 

The catch?

It worked too well. What was supposed to be a night of magic and romance to get Guy’s spirits up turned into a one-night-stand, which turned into a series of real dates, which has turned into a relationship that they haven’t quite put a label on. This has been going on for over a year and Kakashi swears that it’s a miracle he hasn’t blown his cover yet.

“Yes- an eating contest will be a true test of endurance, stamina, and willpower!” Guy rambles on, snapping Kakashi back to reality. “What do you say?”

“Mah, I’m not feeling it today. Thanks for the offer, though,” Kakashi rejects the invitation and makes another attempt to walk away, only for Guy to stand in front of him.

Kakashi gulps. He’s suddenly reminded of all the nights he’s spent as Sukea lately; of the muscular body that’s currently blocking his path being used to pin him to the wall, the bed, the glass door of Guy’s shower, and every other semi-flat surface in the ravenette’s apartment. Ashamed, Kakashi stares at the dirt road beneath his feet, cheeks burning bright red underneath his mask.

“Ah, but if you refuse my challenge, you lose by default!”

“Then consider yourself in the lead. We’re at fifty two to fifty three wins now, yes?” Kakashi questions and steps around Guy. He shoves his book in one of his large pockets, knowing that he won’t be able to focus on reading it on the way home even if he wanted to. “I’ll make up for it later, so don’t worry about it.”

“Kakashi, wait!”

Much to Kakashi’s horror, Guy exclaims loudly enough that it gains the other villagers’ attention as he grabs Kakashi by the wrist to keep him from leaving.

Kakashi turns, barely meeting Guy’s gaze. He snatches his hand back so fast he’s sure it hurts both of them. The civilians that walk past them stare but don’t stop or say anything. 

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t have to be a contest, you know- we can just go get lunch together! As friends, I mean,” Guy offers, and Kakashi’s heart flutters. Part of him wants to accept the offer. The other part of him knows that it would be wrong to do so considering what he’s been doing lately. He’s not even sure he could keep himself from word-vomiting the truth. “If the contest is too much for you today… It’ll be my treat.”

It’s hard to say no. Kakashi knows he needs to, but ever since Sasuke and Naruto left the village, Guy has become increasingly concerned about him. In turn, Guy has been trying to spend more time with him. The problem with that is that Guy refuses to give up no matter how many times Kakashi rejects him- probably because he can tell that, deep down, Kakashi wants him back and just refuses to act on it.

“I’m good.”

“Kakashi, please,” Guy begs, onyx eyes pleading. Guilt makes Kakashi’s stomach sink like heavy, ink black tar. “I know you have a lot going on right now, but you can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Shutting everyone out! You were doing so much better until Sasuke went rogue-”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Kakashi snaps. “And you don’t know what I’m going through or how I’m doing, so don’t pretend that you have any idea. We’re rivals, yes, and we’ve been friends for a long time, but none of what has happened since Sasuke left is any of your business.”

Guy steps back, crosses his arms over his chest, and lets out a sigh of defeat. 

“Are you seriously going to do this again?”

“Yes,” Kakashi nods. “I’ll continue to do what I think is best for the both of us, and right now, that means keeping my distance.”

“You’re wrong,” Guy argues, but he makes no move to stop Kakashi from leaving this time.

“Maybe I am, but if that’s true, and I realize it later down the line, I’ll come to terms with it on my own. I don’t need you to tell me. You’re not my parent, nor are you my partner, a therapist, or anyone else who would be even remotely qualified to meddle in my personal life like you do. Stay out of it.”

“Fine,” Guy spits. Kakashi can practically hear the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “If that’s how you really feel-”

“Listen,” Kakashi interjects. He hates how good Guy is getting at changing his mind about these sorts of things. “We can get lunch, but don’t think I’m going to magically open up to you, alright? I just want to be left alone… And after we get lunch today, you need to leave me be for a while. I’ll come to you when- or if- I need you. I promise.”

Guy looks angry- like he wants to lash out and yell, like he wants to chew Kakashi out for treating him like shit and pushing him to the side for the past twenty years- but that expression quickly settles into something more defeated that Kakashi can’t stand the look of. Guy sighs, and finally, agrees. 

“Alright, Kakashi… What would you like to eat?”

~

Lunch with Guy that day is awkward and tense, to say the least. They eat, but no conversation is had. Guy pays the tab and they part ways after practically scarfing down their food to get out of the awkward social situation.

Kakashi regrets giving in and going in the first place. By the time he gets back to his own apartment, he’s tired and wracked with guilt over the argument- and worst of all, unable to distract himself by going on missions or training with his team of Genin. Reading through all of his Icha Icha books hasn’t managed to get his mind off of it either. 

Who would’ve guessed that reading a romance novel would make him think about the situation more? Surprisingly, not Kakashi himself.

After hours of lamenting, the Jonin grumbles and rolls out of bed so he can grab the disguise from his closet; green rain coat, beige scarf, black eye contacts, and purple face tape. He pads into the bathroom. The pitter-patter of tiny paws against his wooden floors follows close behind. 

As he starts to apply the concealer over his eyelid to cover his scar and then over his arm to cover his tattoo, Kakashi can already feel Pakkun’s beady eyes burning holes of judgment into him. The pug drapes himself over Kakashi’s bare feet and grumbles.

“Going to see Guy again, are you?”

“Sticking your nose in my business again, are you?” Kakashi shoots back, not even sparing Pakkun a glance. He carefully covers his Sharingan with a contact lense and applies the purple tape beneath his eyes.

“As always,” Pakkun retorts. “Sort of weird that you’ve been doing this to the poor idiot for, what, a year?”

“Trust me, I know it’s weird, but you’re not my therapist-”

“Or anyone else who would be qualified to give you life advice, I know. The whole situation is just ridiculous… Can’t help but ruminate about it when it comes up.”

“What are you gonna do, tell him?” Kakashi hums and moves his feet out from underneath Pakkun so he can slide his shoes on. Finally, he performs a partial transformation to change his hair, make his figure a little bulkier, and slides on his shoes. “Again, it’s not your business.”

“And yet you vent to me about it once a month. If you didn’t want me to know, you wouldn’t tell me… And you also wouldn’t come back so often reeking of sweat and hair gel.”

“Look, I’m gonna get out of here, okay? I’ll see you later. I don’t know where the others are right now, but whenever they get back, there’s cooked steak and veggies for you all in the fridge; you just have to heat them up.”

Pakkun nods and briskly walks out of the room, probably to go lay in Kakashi’s bed and coat the sheets with his hair since he knows the man is going to be leaving. Kakashi doesn’t even bother scolding the Ninken or trying to get him to stop, instead packing a small overnight bag (even though he never stays long enough to fall asleep) and heading out.

The streets in Konoha are loud and bustling despite the time of night. The moon shines down on the village as civilians and ninja alike go up and down the streets, popping in and out of shops and chatting. Many travel in pairs, arm in arm, hand in hand, looking at each other with adoration in their eyes. Kakashi blends in with the crowd easily since he’s missing his ninja gear, and since he does, no one bats an eye in his direction- even while he blatantly stares at the couples he passes who are so blatantly putting their love for each other on display. He wonders if, maybe someday, him and Guy could do that- with him as himself, rather than as Sukea. 

With a frown, he shakes his head to clear it of the thought. He isn’t sure he wants to open that can of worms any time soon, let alone tonight when he’s already emotional. 

Quickly, he enters the residential area where Guy’s apartment is located and makes his way to the older man’s door. He knocks and is unsurprised when he gets an immediate answer.

“Sukea!” Guy greets, a beaming smile on his face. Kakashi- Sukea, now- isn’t sure whether he should feel excited or guilty. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“What can I say? I missed you too much to stay away.”

Guy’s apartment is stupidly perfect in a way that makes Sukea’s heart throb in his chest when he’s there. With seasonal potpourri bowls in each room that make the place reek of pecans and apples, old pictures of them and all of their friends hung unevenly on the walls, and training gear strewn about, Sukea thinks he could stay forever before remembering that he can’t. So, he enjoys it while he can, grinning when Guy pulls him into his arms, lifts him up, and carries him into the bedroom.

~

Sukea wakes up the following morning and realizes three things.

One, the bedroom is no longer lit by the lamp on Guy’s nightstand but by natural sunlight that comes pouring through the blinds.

Two, he fell asleep the night before without realizing it, meaning that it must be morning.

And three, he can’t maintain any jutsu in his sleep, so he is now Kakashi rather than Sukea. Yet, when he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, Guy is still very much there. The ravenette has a soft smile on his face as he runs a hand through Kakashi’s silver hair and leans forward to press a kiss against Kakashi’s cheek. Kakashi, on the other hand, panics. Guy clearly sees said panic in Kakashi’s face and reacts accordingly.

“Kakashi… It’s okay, you know,” Guy tries to comfort Kakashi and reaches forward for him to no avail. 

Kakashi thinks he must look like an idiot as he jerks away and sits up to furrow his brow and dwell on why the fuck Guy is acting like his usual reassuring, loving self instead of losing his mind at the fact that he’s been being tricked for over a year. Incredibly self-conscious, Kakashi rips the blanket that they were previously sharing from Guy and uses it to cover his body as well as the lower half of his face. If he weren’t already embarrassed about the Sukea predicament, he definitely is at the prospect of Guy seeing him- as himself- completely nude.

“Wait,” Kakashi breathes out and reaches up to remove the single contact in his Sharingan before allowing it to flutter shut. The contact is haphazardly tossed in Guy’s bedside trash can, which is also full of empty water bottles, beer cans, and used condoms from the night before. Kakashi’s face flushes pink in a mixture of embarrassment and horror. “You knew?”

“Uh,” Guy clears his throat, his cheeks also darkening. “Yes? You didn’t… Wait, did you not know that I knew?”

“Why didn’t you… I didn’t… I mean, um, I should probably just go,” Kakashi scrambles to stand up with the blanket wrapped around him so he can get his clothes back on, but in the midst of his panic, he trips and falls over one of his abandoned shoes. Thankfully, Guy rolls over to the edge of the bed and gets up just in time to catch Kakashi by the waist and steady him on his feet. When Kakashi tries to slip away, Guy shakes his head, to which Kakashi groans and closes both eyes. “Please, just let me leave. I’m humiliated enough as it is and I understand that you’re probably pissed, but I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I’m not just going to let you run away from this, too. We need to talk- there’s clearly been some sort of miscommunication here!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Kakashi sighs. Guy lets him pull away, but this time, he doesn’t run, opting to sit on the edge of the bed with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I mean… If you knew… Why did you let me continue? What exactly does this mean to you?”

“Well, when you’re like this…” Guy pauses, sits down next to Kakashi, and reaches under the blanket to hold his hand. Against his better judgment, Kakashi reciprocates and intertwines their fingers. Guy’s touch is warm and genuine, just like the man himself. Although Kakashi isn’t anticipating a reaction of anger and betrayal anymore, he’s still conflicted- and, more importantly, confused. “It’s the only way you let me in. I know, it went too far, but… I assumed that we were both in on it. Did you seriously think you could fool me with a disguise like that?”

“Would you be mad if I said ‘yes’?”

“No, I can’t be mad at you,” Guy laughs and shakes his head. When Kakashi glances over, the older man is wistfully staring at the old picture of them that’s hung on the wall across from where they’re sitting. “Just frustrated with you… Don’t you remember the first time I saw you as Sukea?”

“Of course I do.”

“I guess I should’ve actually asked you about it instead of just assuming, but even though it took me a few minutes to figure it out that night, I did, and I assumed it was intentional… Like you wanted the connection I was so desperately trying to initiate with you but felt as if you weren’t allowed to have it as yourself. Like you did it with the intention of us both being in on it and just… Not talking about it in our day to day. I get that, as a ninja, it’s easier to keep your personal life separate from your work life- you’ve always been that way, but for you, I’ve always been a part of both faucets of your life and you were just so desperate to keep the two separated despite that.”

“Well, that assumption wasn’t completely wrong… I think I understand, and I’m sorry for everything. Are you really not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, but I am offended on your behalf since you thought all this time that you had to use this- this alter ego of yours to get me to fall in love with you! Kakashi, I’ve always loved you for you- and I love Sukea, too. I understand that he’s a part of you, and that you find comfort in being him, but… I love all of you equally, not just Sukea. What did you think would happen when I found out? That I’d lose my mind and abandon you over this? That I’d be angry?”

Kakashi lets out a nervous laugh.

“Well…” He trails off, allowing the sheet to drop completely so Guy can see his face; his awkward grin, the mole he’s always been self conscious about, his red cheeks, his nose- which is a little crooked after the break he suffered from that one fight however many years ago.

“That’s exactly what you thought, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Guy leans forward to rest a hand on either side of Kakashi’s face. He holds it tenderly in his grasp as if Kakashi is fragile, as if he’s something to be cherished. The sweetness of it has Kakashi melting onto Guy’s soft sheets. “I love you, and I love every part of you. You know that.”

“I… Suppose you’re right,” Kakashi murmurs. “Do you want me to leave now?”

“Do you want to leave? After all of that?”

“Well, no-”

“Then what do you want to do?” Guy asks. “Do what you want, Kakashi. Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Kakashi nods. “I’ll do what I want, then.”

And so, Kakashi leans forward, capturing Guy’s lips with his own and laughing between kisses when the two of them tumble back into bed.

[vivika-ka]

I often think what would’ve happened if Best Jeanist couldn’t intervene in time and Dabi successfully killed Endeavour with prominence burn. Could he have killed Endeavour? How’d the Todoroki family story change? The society?

These are questions I ask myself as well XD I will try my best to answer them, but I do think many other profiles have covered them better than I ever could!

I, as other fans, am of the opinion that much of the storyline would’ve benefited from not maintaining such an extreme separation between hero and villains after the My Villain Academia Arc (MLA would be more so rebels, resistance, rather than villains—shown to have more support). The story from then on should’ve “converged” Shigaraki and Deku’s motivation—making Deku, and the rest of UA students for that matter, truly question hero society and work with Shigaraki, who’d share the spot as protagonist with Deku, to shape a more inclusive and balanced future. It would bring forth Deku’s most captivating character trait, that has had hints of being prominent in the beginning of the story: being the underdog.

The difference in the characters and plot’s approach mentioned above would’ve also solved the issue with AFO, if the War was to happen, as Shigaraki was as much of a victim in that scenario (both, plus UA students and MLA, would fight against AFO). But before I begin to ramble too much about that (and you may be wondering why I bring it up in the first place), the point is that I think Dabi vs Endeavor would be an awkward stage in the story to shift the perspective (in my opinion!) because the issues that have led to the war wouldn’t have interrupted the family’s confrontation and subsequent solution to their issues. I hope I explained that well T-T

I also want to preface my answer with how much of what I say is inspired by @linkspooky deeply informative and well written metas such as “…And They Were Brothers” and “Jason Todd vs Todoroki Touya: Why Not Me?,” many analyses posted by @itsnothingofinterest also come to my mind as I write the answers, as well as amazing insight from conversations I’ve had with my mutual @haine-kleine who has many incredible analyses and alternative routes the manga could’ve taken in terms of Touya and the Todoroki fam. All of this to point to why certain things I answer here may sound similar to their posts (it's because they compelled me and my reading of MHA).

Could he have killed Endeavor?

I honestly believe the story was either going in that direction or that he would at least be out of commission after Dabi’s reveal, either by retiring out of his own volition (as he did too late in the manga, imo) or too much backlash from the public to the point of him being a hero would’ve done more harm than good for anyone involved.

I do think Touya could have killed Endeavor. Endeavor being killed is a compelling route given the whole attention to Touya’s flame burning brighter and stronger than Endeavor’s—so much so that the first time I was reading MHA, I thought the attention to Touya’s fire was foreshadowing Touya killing Enji. I very much enjoy the notion of, "I am the monster you created, and you will die by my hand through no one else's fault but your own."

How’d the Todoroki family story change?

Going off of what I said above, Enji was also set to be a tragic character, in the sense that he was set to fail before he was retconned. The whole point of his atonement would be that it came too late, and as it stands now it feels too much like redemption because the audience doesn’t get a scoop on what “hell” he’s supposedly living (he is also surrounded by most of his family, has a found family, and it is still living in a position of privilege).

His failure would highlight how he doesn’t fully reach a point in which he acknowledges the extent his abuse went. It’s often him feeling sorry for himself and remembering the moments he thinks he was being a responsible father, whilst the memories his family have are destructive both physically and mentally. He often admits his faults but immediately undermines it by adding, “I didn’t think it hurt you/I thought I was doing right by you.” His dream entailing his family achieving happiness without him also acted as an indication he himself acknowledges he should be out of the picture if they are to find actual peace of mind and healing.

Enji dying would be great for Touya to realize that while achieving revenge against his father provides momentary relief and the illusion of “mission accomplished,” the accomplishment wouldn’t suddenly make all of his internal conflict disappear. It would open the opportunity for the story to nudge Touya towards understanding that while confronting your abuser is many times necessary, eventually you need to move on if you want to live without the pain clouding every action and thought you possess—essentially, he would finally begin a path towards healing, and “rehabilitation” (I put quotes because rehabilitation goes hand in hand with their society being unequipped with helping people like the LoV precisely because it urges them to conform to a society that has ignored them when they needed help. I would only accept rehabilitation if society and hero culture were to change exponentially based on the opening segment I wrote).

Endeavor being gone would also allow the Todoroki family to be in proper focus, and be able to delve deeper into Rei, Fuyumi, and Natsuo’s perspectives. As well as giving Touya the opportunity to reconnect, and connect for the first time, with his own family. Have a moment of him realizing the ways Enji hurt the entire family, and that burning all of them together would only result in suffering for every party involved, himself included, without any substantial outcome. It would give Touya a way to connect with Shouto, and the others, without Enji breathing down their necks (the focus wouldn’t be solely Enji’s point of view).

I think Rei could flourish into who she is outside of her family (Himura, her parents, the supposed role she had to play that brought her immense suffering) and be able to truly grieve what happened to her; Fuyumi could explore the pain of being a parentified daughter and how she doesn’t have to always be her father’s advocate; Natsuo is interesting because he, like Touya, would be able to reassess his rage and work towards moving on as well. Shouto, as much as I enjoy his character (to a certain point), had the narrative conveniently focus on his ties with Enji despite his so-called rebellion, resulting in his pain being constantly undermined for the sake of validating his father’s pain and regret. I think him being allowed to express the anger, the sadness, the hurt, and have someone (Touya) who understands, would be stellar. The way he’d save Touya could go beyond not killing him but demonstrating that his flames are not Endeavor’s. As linkspooky says in their meta, Shouto needed outside interference for him to regain some level of autonomy, and him relaying this autonomy to Touya would be great.

One may assume that these things could have happened with Enji still alive, but given the direction the story takes in maintaining the focus more so on Endeavor’s suffering and how the family all of a sudden has the responsibility to lift him up (yes, I hate this), it shows that it is either Enji or the rest of the family.

The society?

Something I’ve come to realize after exchanging ideas with haine-kleine is that Enji dying would be a good opportunity in showing society that while you can live in total ignorance, it doesn’t erase their role in maintain a status quo in which an influential man gets to abuse his family because he is obsessed with achieving a pedestal society too willingly and unquestionably venerates. How he would most definitely become a martyr to some, but also how he would be the stain in hero society and society in general. A hero killed by a monster of his own making—a monster fueled by his father’s obsession born from society’s failures. [I hope I explained this correctly, forgive me if I didn’t]

I think Enji would then become a warning to both society and hero society. Showing the dangers of complacency and blind support (society); and how being hero entails more than status and power, that being a hero doesn’t give you authority to do awful things to others, and that one day the “monster” you created may very well be your demise (hero society).

I hope I answered the questions properly. I highly recommend reading the metas by the profiles I've provided here, seeing as they are well articulated!

[qmakobin]

You've Been Workin' Hard, Ei.

A/N: hi! I was writing this while listening to workin' hard by Fuji Kaze. I'm dedicating this short story to my friend, Ei @moonfeiz . I'm not good at advising and comforting but I hope the message in this story resonates with you.

Word count: 600+ words

Genre: slice-of-life

-------

Hazel sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. The dim glow was the only light in her apartment, and the clock on the corner of the screen showed it was way past midnight. The stack of work she still had to do felt endless, no matter how much she finished. It always adds up.

She had been grinding for weeks, chasing deadlines, and trying to prove herself, but it never seemed enough. She kept telling herself this was the time she’d finally catch up, finally get ahead. Yet, here she was, feeling like she was lost.

Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Kimie: "Let’s hang out this weekend! You've been working non-stop."

Hazel sighed. Kimie was right. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw anyone outside of work. She was always working, always pushing herself to be better, faster, smarter. But for what? Her chest tightened at the thought, the weight of the question pressing on her. She didn’t have an answer.

Her thoughts drifted back to earlier that day when Mr. Sato, her boss, had called her into his office. His stern face was still fresh in her memory.

“Hazel,” he said, folding his hands on the desk, “your last report wasn’t up to your usual standard. It was late, and you missed important details.” He paused, leaning forward. “You’re better than this. I need you to give your best—always.”

She nodded, the familiar sting of guilt settling in her chest. “I’ll do better, Mr. Sato.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “This is a competitive field, Hazel. If you want to move forward, there’s no room for mistakes. Keep working hard.”

Those words stayed with her now, replaying in her head as she leaned back in her chair. She felt exhausted, worn thin by the pressure to be perfect. She had always been proud of being a hard worker, but lately, it felt like she was losing sight of why she started this journey in the first place.

Suddenly, her phone started playing an old song she hadn’t listened to in years. The melody was soulful, gentle rhythm, comforting, and the lyrics felt like they were speaking directly to her:

“You've been workin' hard, workin' hard

Maybe you don't understand

But I know that you're workin' hard, workin' hard

Wish I could give you a hand

Baby, you've been workin' hard, workin' hard

Trust the process and be brave, you've been workin' hard

God, you've been workin' hard”

Hazel closed her eyes, letting the song play. Her mind began to wander—back to the girl she used to be. She thought about the time when her dreams weren’t about promotions or meeting deadlines but about creating something meaningful. Drawing her thoughts, dreaming of traveling to far-off places, or laughing with friends until her stomach hurt. Somewhere along the way, she’d traded that for sleepless nights and constant stress.

But maybe... maybe she could change that. Maybe life didn’t have to be all or nothing.

She stood up, stretching her stiff limbs as she walked to the window. The city outside sparkled like a sea of stars, buzzing with life and movement. It reminded her of something Mr. Sato said.. something he probably didn’t mean to sound encouraging but did.

“If you want to move forward, there’s no room for mistakes.”

Maybe mistakes weren’t failures. Maybe they were signs she was trying, pushing, and learning. What if moving forward wasn’t about being perfect but about finding her own rhythm, her own way?

She thought of Kimie's text. Maybe she could start small. Meet up with friends. Pick up her Sketch book again. Let herself dream beyond work. Life wouldn’t wait forever, and she didn’t want to look back one day and wonder where it all went.

Hazel took a deep breath, a weight lifting off her chest. She didn’t have all the answers, and that was okay. She’d take it one day at a time.

Tomorrow, she’d return to work. But she’d do it differently—on her terms. Tonight, though, she’d do something she hadn’t done in weeks, rest.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi it's the mui simp except they aren't requesting mui?? Ok, but if you have time or feel like writing it, a romantic relationship between giyuu and dokusha, and dokusha is the definition of a hopeless romantic, they completely went through it in the past, but still look out, and fell for giyuu, and is always super sweet to him, doing cute things for him, and making him feel special

Sorry if you can't write this one, just a thought that came into mind, have a great day and make sure to drink water ofc! Bye!

Ooooh? I haven’t gotten Giyuu in a while so let’s give lots of love to the lonely depresso water baby boi

Tomioka Giyuu

Giyuu is just as bad with romance as you are. He doesn’t like getting close to people since the risk of him and his demon magnetic ability is too high. He can easily have the people he grows to care for killed without even doing anything

He doesn’t notice the way you gaze at him lovestruck, he doesn’t notice how many signs you point at him over your feelings, he doesn’t notice how you giving him so many gifts is a form of flirting. He doesn’t notice any of it

Giyuu would have felt beyond horrible if he could actually recognise your feelings for him, but he truly does care about you. You’re one of the only people he has met that hasn’t died yet and can be close to him without your life being threatened. He values you intently

Giyuu knows about your failures with romance from the past and he empathises with you. The fact you haven’t gotten who you want, Giyuu believes you deserve any man and he feels annoyance towards your past love interests. He may want to avoid you but that isn’t because he hates you, he wants to protect you

Giyuu is flattered by how very much sweet you are to him, the way you make him feel just as valued and special and the way you always do everything for him. He may get flustered and express his gratitude for these behaviours but he doesn’t know it’s all fuelled by your passionate love for him

A interaction between the introverted but oblivious Giyuu and the sweet but hopeless romantic Dokusha is like this;

Giyuu gazed at you with so much wonder, his sapphire blue irises bored through you as you could sense his amazement. What did he do to deserve this much kindness? He is the weirdest Hashira of the spacey bundle and you decided to pick HIM of the nine, whilst you’re so positive and friendly? Why not Rengoku? You and Rengoku match each other in personality. He wouldn’t want to push you away and hurt your feelings so he just continued to anaylse the ribbon-wrapped gift

Giyuu finally meets your eyes after looking at the gift for far too long. Comfort, joy and excitement overflowing those pretty eyes of yours as he gently sighed to try stabilise his possible insulting thoughts and held his hands out, his calloused ready palms as you placed the gift into his grasp, just hoping he would open it and finally accept your feelings for him. Your intense loving feelings for him, the lonely isolated Water Hashira

With one ribbon pull at a time, Giyuu dropped the rubbish remains on the grassy floor before the two of your zori sandals, as he tilted his head at the little keychain laying in his palms. A cute white fox with blue markings and a red smile. The Fox style is very familiar to the luck charm masks his beloved Urokodaki loves to carve, did you go to Urokodaki to have this created?

Giyuu looked up at you in shock after examining the small but thoughtful gift, his cheeks suddenly dusting over in flustered blush as he clutches his hand over the keychain and finally manages to release a truly genuine light smile. You pointed at the paper being crumbled up by his grip as Giyuu followed your gesture, fishing out the note to read it

As you waited patiently for him to meet your gaze once again, your face getting brighter and brighter with loving rosey red blush, you were ready to confront him with your true feelings as you couldn’t bare to hide your love for Giyuu anymore. He swore his eyes popped out when he scanned over the contents;

“Hey, Giyuu. So I wanted to tell you something

I…

I really like you

Like more than a friend like!

I hope you don’t mind…

- Love, Myōji Dokusha”

[kalevalakryze]

talyc mir’am

“Yield.” The smooth monotone rumbled against her back, warm and steady like the rhythm of the golden woman’s heart, thundering beneath the confines of its cage. “Never” Bo-Katan spat, spittle sprinkling against the insides of her helmet. AO3: Here!

For Nitearmor Week Day 1!!!

There was no long list of things that Bo-Katan Kryze wouldn’t do for her people. She’d given Mandalorians and Mandalore everything she had on more than one occasion. With her sacrifices, an unshakable way of thinking was born in the embers of her home as it burned to the ground. 

They can hurt you, they can break you, and they can kill you, but they will never rule Mandalore.

When Din Djarin had returned to the planet and found that the only poison in its atmosphere was the sickness in the minds of the survivors, she would have assumed it out of a nightmare, rather than a dream. But they’d returned to the planet, and she was granted the ability to set foot on its ruined surface, to feel the freezing depths of the living waters on her skin once again, and, right from the legends, to see a Mythosaur in all its glory, and to find solace in… Well… They weren’t her people… but they were Mandalorian. And they made her into their  people. 

She moved through the Children of the Watch with unease, still felt an unknown anxiety clawing at the depths of her innards with each conversation she had with their people, could feel the way sweat perspirated on her brow and dampened the seal around her throat. The planet’s  heat didn’t make it much better, and the whispering around each corner only ignited the scorching inferno into a blaze she could not control. 

“Cautionary Tale.” Murmured one green and blue painted warrior. “...foredoomed.” She heard another whisper with conviction, as if the woman herself was a walking omen of failure upon failure. 

The weight only grew stronger on her shoulders with each meal eaten alone, with each night that found her soaking the aches of warfare in whatever ales she could find hidden aboard her ship. For a rainy day Koska would joke, as if they hadn’t been camping on Trask when she’d created each stash. 

The burning of her clan and planet would fade all the same, each night she found solace aboard her Kom’rk and drew shades over the transparisteel, allowing her solace in the comfort of solitude, a perfect attendance for her pity party. 

She settled her weight heavily into her pilots chair, allowing her helmet to clatter as she set it at her feet, seat creaking as her head dropped back and the springs adjusted to her weight once again. The neck of the bottle was cool enough to sink into the thick material of her gloves, condensation swating off the glass and pooling in the creases of goraslug leather. “This ones for you, Satine,” She grumbled, low and hoarse as she took a pull from the bottle.

Even the burning of Corellian whiskey couldn’t sate the holes in her bones, was unsuccessful in quenching the fires of a thousand tears from pricking at her heels urging her to run. You’ll burn them too.

There was a rapping of knuckles at the metal ramp to her ship. Desperate to chase away the ghosts she’d made along the way, Bo-Katan had only just remembered to grab up her helmet, allowing the glass bottle to take its place on the floor. Consoles beeped as she smacked the hydraulic release, allowing the ramp to lower as she straightened her demeanor. 

Artificial lights caught on the almost bronze gold of a helmet, highlighting the different colors of sunkissed fur along the Armorer’s fur cape as she strode up the ramp. Even in a place where she did not seem as if she belonged, the woman took up space, her presence was one that demanded to be known, even if the deity herself was one accustomed to shadows. 

Like a band snapping back into place, Bo-Katan found that her muscles tensed, her knees locked against her better judegment, and her chin rose. A way to say I belong here, even when the evidence proved otherwise. “Can I help you?” The Nite Owl queried, fighting to keep her hands stagnated at her side as her chin bowed, watching as the Armorer came just within a step of herself. 

The shorter womans head did not move, she couldn’t make anything out with the damned helmet concealing every reaction she was trained to read. All she could do was wait with bated breath until she could watch the other woman’s hands move just a fraction away from the tools at her belt. “I would like to see you in action…” Her smooth timber seemed to echo across the durasteel walls all around them.

Bo-Katan paused then, brows furrowing beneath the protection of her helmet. “The pirates…” She allowed herself to trail off then. Saving Ragnar, bringing the covert younglings… It was yet another example of how she could just never give enough of herself to satisfy anyone…

“In a controlled setting. I would like to see you in action where a life is not at stake.” The Armorer clarified, there was nothing mocking in her tone, but a playfulness, something almost like a familiarity that resided in the discordant notes of her vocoder. Bo-Katan bristled in unease when she realized she could not tell if she hated being seen, or if the first pair of eyes to see her through that dark tint was enough to crack through her own metaphysical beskar. 

Swallowing thickly, Bo-Katan nodded her agreement; she’d never been one to turn down a fight, perhaps a one-day fatal flaw of hers, though one she had no intention of giving up anytime soon. 

When the Armorer turned to sweep from the depths of self immulation and despair, Bo-Katan followed close on her heels as she could get without earning herself a second look. The ghosts did not need to see the light of day, these people did not deserve to be burdened by her failures any moreso than they already were. “Where are we going?” She rasped as they passed by quiet tents, the sounds of dead night creeping into her bones. 

“The shore.” The warrior spoke as if it were the only logical place, as if Bo-Katan had done more than follow in Din’s footsteps, careful not to step a toe out of line in fear that she would lose this too. 

The sand was uneven under her boots, pebbles and shells crunching under her weight as they moved from dry sand into the muck of what had been left from the tide, sodden greenery picking into the tracks of their boots and refusing to let go. The Armorer moved across this ground as if it were a minefield, and she laid all the charges, while Bo seemed to blunder into every treat waiting to wrap itself around her ankles and make a home in her greaves. 

“Do you have any limits?” The Armorer questioned as a circle was slowly dragged through the sand, leaving Bo-Katan clueless in the center. 

“What? Oh-” A pause, a blink, and a deep breath. No Mandalorian had ever been willing to set ground rules for a sparring match before, no one bothered to learn each other’s limits. The vode at your side would be dead if they made a limit, she’s testing you. “I’m alright.”

The dark visor turned to stare at her, contemplating for a moment. “Alright…” A gloved hand rose towards her own throat, thick leather padded fingers pulling ar the seal of cloth around her throat. “This is my limit. Nothing above the shoulders, please.” 

The admission of a weakness, of a preferred place to stray from an attack, was staggering; How could she believe they were born from the Watch, when she herself had killed recruits for as much as the Armorer was doing now, when Pre had so willingly tossed away Mandalorian lives, because they admitted weakness… Was that strength? Or was it a trait she could only see as a strength in the Armorer?

Her throat felt too dry to speak, so she nodded her head in understanding, marking the memory in the stone of her brain. The dying torchlight caught off the Armorer’s visor, setting the various golden tones of her helmet ablaze. The two stood in silence, waiting for the other to make the first move with bated breath. 

The dirt crunched under her boots as she sprung forward, the rermaining alcohol  in her system burnning through her muscles as they remembered the thrill of sparring over fighting for her life. She moved slower than normal, ensuring she would not pass the Armorer’s boundary while still being able to test the woman’s speed against a flurry of punches and jabs of the knee, all redirected to a point where the Niteowl could redirect the energy into another hit. 

Bo-Katan’s breath was ragged, fogging up the material of her visor as she worked to land a hit, the metal of her hand plates making an awful scraping sound each time her fist managed to drag across the crimson beskar of the shorter woman’s armor. 

A leather gloved hand curled tight around her gauntlet, fingers curled just enough to avoid triggering the canisters that would ignite to bathe them all in flame. Squaring her shoulders and pushing back against the restraining force, Bo-Katan Kryze bared her teeth beneath her helmet, offering only a primordial growl as she struggled through the sheer power descending upon her. 

She’s fought stronger, after all. The Armorer wouldn’t prove too much of a challenge, once she inevitably went to make an attempt on Bo’s life. She knew it was coming, anyways…

The armorer managed to wind Bo-Katan’s arm behind her back, wrenching the limb and pulling overworked muscles further than the beskar constructing her body would typically allow her to go. “Yield.” The smooth monotone rumbled against her back, warm and steady like the rhythm of the golden woman’s heart, thundering beneath the confines of its cage. 

“Never” Bo-Katan spat, spittle sprinkling against the insides of her helmet. The Nite Owl bent at the waist and jerked her hips backwards, upending the Armorer’s steady footing and sending her backwards. The weight against her back was gone in the clinging of armor against the dirt, moonlight reflecting up at Bo-Katan from the dark void of the shorter woman’s visor. 

Her breathing was distorted, coming in harsh gasps and leaving through the painful exhales that concaved her body and threatened to crush her ribs, audible through her vocoder, a complete contrast to the Armorer’ who’s chest appeared to still rise and lower as if she’d no more than laid herself down of her own volition. The silence between them was thick with tension as Bo-Katan gathered herself for what was next. Would she try to sweep her legs from beneath her? Would she produce a blaster and put plasma in the space between her chestplace and abdomen plate? Or would she simply order her to leave? Anxieties prickled into dangerous territory the longer time slugged forward, until at last, Bo-Katan’s head dropped along with her shoulders, content to leave the woman in the dust if it meant she could save herself the shame of being verbally sent away. 

“Raise your head,”  Brows furrowing, the redhead watched uselessly as the other woman rose from the ground, tracked the way a gloved hand raised, then lowered back to her side, before finally crossing the distance to meet the underside of her helmet. 

Her touch was gentle, fingers gently curling around the rim of her helmet, if only to raise her chin herself, until the Armorer was forced to tilt her own chin to keep looking at her. 

Bo-Katan swallowed thickly, chewing on the inside of her cheek as her eyes flickered towards the night sky, always finding the twinkling lights of the Mandalore system in the depths of the sky. The silence didn’t seem so thick here, as the Armorer’s fingers stayed curled around her helmet, and the nightlife around them seemed to release its own breath, critters and the like resuming with their nightly symphony all around them. 

It seemed an eternity that they stayed in such a state, Bo-Katan, mesmerized by the stars that reflected from the top of the Armorer’s helmet, and the goran’alor herself, mesmerized in an entirely different view of the woman from the legends. 

She didn’t want to leave, and while that was a fact Bo-Katan knew since Din had brought her to his people, it was stranger to realize that it was the Armorer’s presence that she didn’t want to leave the most. “I must retire…” She spoke at last, always the one to hold the blade that would sever her own connections to any form of tranquility. 

“Of course…” The Armorer seemed shaken from her own stupor as her arm dropped back to her side. As she went to turn back into the direction of her tent, her head turned back, watching as Bo-Katan fidgeted in the moonlight. “And Bo,” The Mandalorian went rigid at the name, head cocking to the side as she focused her sole attention back on the shorter woman. “Mandalorians are stronger together.”

Leaving Bo-Katan with her final statement, something she could only hope to understand through their coming trials and tribulations, the Armorer did not offer a second glance, leaving Bo-Katan to watch her disappear into the darkness of the camp before slogging her way back to her ship, hopeful to catch enough sleep to function for the attack on Nevarro. 

[theunbonded]

5

“The blade must become an extension of you.”

That was the first thing Garrick had said when he placed the hilt of the sword in my hand. We had met a dozen or so times, and each time I had asked to touch his sword, he would say “not yet” with a smirk.

I didn’t understand what was so funny about that.

Then, the week before we were scheduled to climb the Gauntlet, he said we wouldn’t be going on the mat. The million minor corrections he had given me were implemented into my routine, and I hadn’t allowed myself to go to the floor with him, no matter how hard he tried. We had reached a stalemate that could only be broken when one of us lost concentration. The next step would have to be incorporating weapons and powers. 

And since I had yet to go through Threshing, he chose weapons. 

I still wasn’t allowed to use one of his swords. It would be too heavy to wield properly. Instead, I was using a thin blade with a small hilt, meant for smaller fighters. Garrick had me go through a series of exercises to become used to the weight and size of the sword, and though I would never admit it, it was helpful. The sword was a different creature than the knives I was used to. The end of the practice ended with us sparring slightly, just to get a feel of how the sword would ricochet when metal hit metal.

Then there was the whole day he spent on form. I tried to forget the way he asked for permission to touch me, his voice low. The way his palm was flat against my stomach as he straightened my spine. The way he put his thigh between mine, kicking my feet out to a proper distance.

The attempts were futile; in my dreams, I could still feel the heat of his breath against my neck. I blamed it on never being around men my age because of my father. The lust would pass. 

All in all, I was a better swordsman than I was a week ago. And while the rest of the first-years were getting little to no hours in hand-to-hand combat now that we had to focus on the Gauntlet, I was staying in shape. My grades were the highest in the year besides Sorrengail’s, and I knew the professors projected me to be one of the strongest riders to come out of the academy since Mira Sorrengail herself.

I kept that thought in my head as the sun burned down on my bare shoulders. The Gauntlet stood menacingly in front of us and I grinned up at it. There was no rain today. No snow. No blistering heat. 

It would be just like I’ve trained for. 

My father chose to retire in the mountains so he could create his own version of the Gauntlet for me to practice on. There was no place better to replicate the vertical obstacle course, as the hill sides by his estate were the only ones large enough to accommodate this beauty. The days I practiced for the Gauntlet were the cruelest of my training. Any failure was met with a quick slap to the face and threat to not mess up again. I quickly became adept at it.

“You’re a freak, Bea,” Ridoc said from my side, having just come back from throwing up his lunch. “Only you would be smiling on Gauntlet day.”

“At least one of us is excited,” Rhiannon muttered. 

“We’ve trained for this,” I remind them.

“We’ve got this,” Violet added.

“There’s nothing to be worried about.” Sawyer was the last to come up to us, completing our circle as we continued to stare up at the Gauntlet. 

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Ridoc grumbled, but our section was called up to the starting platform, and nothing else could be said except for “good luck.”

They had always placed me last in the line-up, and the order didn’t change today. I watched each of my squadmates scramble up the ascent. Those who had struggled on the log now walked across it with some ease. Ridoc had mastered the rolling log staircase on the fourth ascent. Luca had perfected her jump at the last ascent. Violet had bent the rules to use the rope at the chimney, pulling herself up and completing the Gauntlet for the first time. 

Then it was my turn. 

All thoughts vanished as I started the course. I wasn’t just trying to survive; no, I was trying to win.

Quickly, like I was dancing on hot coals, I raced across the spinning log on the first ascent and jumped from pillar to pillar, not needing to slow down as I threw myself through the spinning wheel and out on the other side, rolling to keep my momentum before getting back up on my feet.

The buoy balls on the second ascent were the hardest for me growing up. My father had placed traps of scorpions beneath them to incentivize me from falling after it was made clear this would be where I failed the most. The scars from their stings dotted my thighs, but I never made the mistake of falling again.

Hand-over-hand I went over the third ascent, keeping my core engaged so I could throw myself from rail to rail. The shaking pillars on this ascent tried their best to throw me off, but I hopped from one to the other with enough speed that my body couldn’t feel the vibrations of the iron.

The log staircase was a simple sprint. I had been running every day and made it in ample time to the chimney on the fifth ascent. Although Violet and I were similar in stature, the difference in our heights allows me to just be able to place my hands and feets on each side of the iron chute, and I make quick work of crawling up. 

The final, wooden ramp blocked my sight to the flight field. I took a step back, the only time I let myself stop this entire course, before sprinting up the structure. I kept going until I began to feel the shift of gravity at my core, gripping and fighting to pull me down. Then I pushed with everything I had left, jumping as high as I could to the top of the incline. My fingers slammed into the top, cracking my fingernails, and I hoisted my body over the top. 

My squad cheered from where they were waiting. We had all made it up the Gauntlet with no deaths.

But I ignored them, my attention on the section leader writing down our times. 

“Congratulations.” Garrick grinned.

“My time?” I asked, out of breath. 

His eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “You’re good.”

“But am I the best, Tavis?”

He sighed, but discreetly positioned the parchment so I could read it. When I confirmed my time, he quickly pulled it back to his chest. “Go celebrate with your squad, Cadet. The dragons will be next.”

I let Rhiannon, Violet, Ridoc, and Sawyer throw their arms around me. They laughed and cheered at our squad making it up. But as I smiled with them, I wasn’t focused on their celebration. I kept seeing that time written on the parchment. 

The best.

--

Masterlist