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

[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

[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.” 

[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.

[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.

[belit0]

Hello, I hope you are well! Could you please create a scenario of Tobirama and an Uchiha reader, he was SO confused when he got with her, she left Konoha and he found her 6 years later but now she had a child who looked just like Tobirama, please?

I always make Tobirama so… mean. He's my equivalent to Indra but Senju version when I write xd

Tobirama never let himself hesitate. Hesitation led to failure, and failure was unacceptable.

Yet here he stood, frozen in place, staring at the impossible.

Six years had passed since she disappeared, since she left without a trace, without a word. He had scoured the lands for any sign of her—not because he cared, no, never—but because it was illogical for someone like her to simply vanish. She was Uchiha; they did not just disappear.

And yet, she had.

Until now.

(Y/N) stood before him, her expression unreadable, that same damn fire in her eyes that had burned him before. But she wasn’t alone.

A child clung to her robes, small hands curled into the fabric. A boy. Black hair, red eyes. His blood ran cold.

A child that looked like him.

His mind should have been sharp, calculating the necessary steps, understanding the implications, but for the first time in his life...

Tobirama Senju did not know what to do.

The air was thick with unspoken words. She wasn’t afraid, of course, she wasn’t, but she was watching him carefully, waiting.

The boy peered up at him, eyes wide, curious, but silent.

Observing, the way only an Uchiha could.

Finally, Tobirama found his voice.

–What is the meaning of this?

(Y/N) tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering over her lips.

–I thought you were the genius.

He inhaled sharply through his nose.

–That is not an answer.

–Neither is that.

Gods, she was infuriating. He should have remembered that.

His gaze flickered to the boy again. His own features stared back at him. The sharp jaw, the white-tinted strands of hair despite his raven locks, the faint trace of something too familiar in those eyes.

The implications clawed at his mind. He was not naive, he knew. And yet, the rational part of him rebelled against it.

(Y/N) sighed, crouching to the child’s height, brushing a hand through his hair.

–His name is—

–I don’t need to know.- His voice was sharp, cutting, because if he let it falter, if he let himself feel...

Her gaze turned ice cold.

–Yes, you do.

The boy shifted slightly, gripping her sleeve tighter. Still silent, still watching.

Tobirama exhaled, slow and measured, forcing steel back into his spine.

–Why did you leave?

A flicker of something crossed her expression. Regret? No, something softer.

–Because I knew you wouldn’t come with me.

Silence.

A part of him hated her for being right. For knowing him too well, for making the choice before he even had the chance to. But more than that...

He hated himself.

For letting her go. For not stopping her. For never once considering that he might have wanted to.

Tobirama’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

–This changes nothing.

(Y/N) smiled, just a little.

–Keep telling yourself that.

And with that, she turned, leading their son away, leaving him standing in the ashes of the past, with the weight of the future crushing down on his chest.

[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.

[honeydippedfiction]

Turning Point

Chapter I of Revved Up To Fight

Navigation

Summary: After working the indies for several years, Y/N finally receives the biggest match of her career against one of the rising stars in pro wrestling. With her family by her side for support, Y/N feels unstoppable but questions always linger regarding her legacy.

WC: 9k

Warnings: pro wrestling, mentions of bruises, sibling teasing, not a whole lot.

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

I leaned back against the weathered brick wall of the community center, the hum of an ancient vending machine buzzing in the background. My hands quivered—not with nerves, but with the aftershocks of adrenaline still surging through me. The crowd tonight had been small—maybe fifty people, if I was being generous—but their energy had filled the room. For those brief fifteen minutes in the ring, I had felt invincible, like the world belonged to me. 

This was the grind. Cheap motels, endless hours on the road, and wrestling in venues that always smelled faintly of sweat and popcorn. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. For once, I wasn’t "Y/N, daughter of racing royalty." I wasn’t walking in anyone’s shadow. I was forging my own path, creating my own identity.

When I first started wrestling, I made a vow to myself—I wouldn’t rely on my family name. Not out of shame, but because I needed to prove something. I had to know I could do this on my own terms, without shortcuts. I chose a ring name that felt like a statement—a declaration of my determination. When I stepped through those ropes, I became someone else, someone who wasn’t afraid of failure, someone who fought tooth and nail for every cheer and chant.

The indie circuit was brutal. My debut match had been in a rundown high school gym, the kind with faded lines on the floor and bleachers that groaned under the weight of every spectator. The spotlight overhead flickered erratically, and the applause was sparse—nothing but a smattering of claps from a crowd that had no idea who I was. I didn’t just want to prove myself—I needed to. The pressure to succeed felt suffocating.

And then the match began.

It was rough. Both the match and the learning experience. My opponent was a seasoned veteran, the kind who didn’t go easy on rookies. Every slam, every strike, felt like a test. By the end of it, I was battered, bruised, and exhausted—but I was still standing. When the referee raised my opponent’s hand in victory, something unexpected happened. Applause. Not for the winner, but for me—the rookie who’d taken every hit and kept fighting. It was that moment, that moment of respect, that solidified my place in this world.

From there, it was a slow burn. Each match was a lesson: how to take a hit, how to sell a move, how to read the crowd. The physical toll was harsh—my body constantly ached, my knees felt like they belonged to someone twice my age, and there were mornings I could barely get out of bed without wincing. But it was the mental battle that often felt like the toughest. There were nights when the crowds were silent, when it felt like I was giving everything, and yet, getting nothing back. Those nights were the hardest. But each time doubt crept in, I reminded myself why I was doing this.

The indie scene, however, wasn’t just about the struggle. It was a family. A community of wrestlers, promoters, and fans bound together by this chaotic, unpredictable world. Some of the veterans took me under their wing, offering words of wisdom and encouragement. One of them told me after a particularly brutal match, “You’ve got something. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

And then there were the fans. They were the heart of the indie circuit. They didn’t care about my family background or my past; they cared about the fight in that ring. One night, after a show, a kid—maybe 10—approached me, holding a sign that said, “Furiosa Rules!” His eyes lit up when I signed it. That moment made every bruise, every mile, worth it.

There were a few matches that stand out in my memory, moments I’ll never forget.

One was a no-disqualification match against a veteran who had been on the circuit for over a decade. The match became a war zone—chairs, kendo sticks, even a table were all part of the carnage. At one point, I was slammed onto a pile of thumbtacks. The pain was excruciating, but I refused to stay down. When the match ended, the crowd stood, clapping in unison. I didn’t win that night, but I earned their respect.

Another match that sticks with me was a regional tournament, bringing together the best indie wrestlers in the area. Three matches, two nights, each more grueling than the last. In the final round, I faced a much more experienced opponent. I didn’t win, but afterward, the promoter pulled me aside and said, “You stole the show.” That compliment felt like a win in itself.

And then there was the tag team match. My partner was a grizzled veteran with a reputation for being tough to work with. But somehow, we clicked. The match was electric, and by the end, the crowd was chanting both our names. It was the first time I truly felt like I belonged.

Each match, each road trip, each late-night diner meal molded me into who I was becoming. I learned to appreciate the small victories: hitting a move I’d spent weeks perfecting, the camaraderie in the locker room, the way the crowd’s energy could lift me even when I was running on empty. 

Most importantly, I learned to trust myself. This journey was never about proving anything to my family or living up to expectations. It was about finding who I was and discovering what I was capable of. And every time I stepped into that ring, I found a little more of myself.

I didn’t know where this path would ultimately take me, but for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. And for once, that was enough.

I collapsed onto the lumpy motel bed, the springs groaning beneath me. The dim, yellow glow from the bedside lamp cast long, skeletal shadows against the walls. I glanced at my reflection in the cracked mirror across the room, taking in the sight of my unruly locs, half-tied and falling loose, the frizzy strands framing my face. Sweat clung to my skin, pooling at the edges of the bruise blooming on my left cheekbone—a reminder of the brutal match just hours earlier. My limbs were covered in similar marks, the battle scars from my relentless grind in indie wrestling. 

The silence in the room was oppressive, amplifying the ache in my muscles. The air conditioning unit sputtered weakly in the corner, its hum doing little to ease the tension in the air. I lowered myself gingerly onto the edge of the bed, wincing as the springs creaked beneath my weight. Every inch of me throbbed, each bruise pulsing in time with my heartbeat. 

I glanced again at the cracked mirror above the dresser. The image staring back at me was far from glamorous, but it was undeniable—battered, bruised, yet resilient. My locs had unraveled into a tangled mess from the hurried bun I'd thrown together before the match. Sweat mixed with the remnants of eyeliner, leaving dark streaks beneath my eyes like war paint. The bruise on my cheekbone was a constant reminder of the pain I’d endured, each strike, each fall, pushing me closer to something bigger. 

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I ran a hand through my damp hair. This life wasn’t glamorous. The dingy motel rooms, the creaky beds, the endless string of matches in forgotten corners of the country—it was a far cry from the bright lights and roaring crowds I had once dreamed of. But it was mine. Wrestling wasn’t just a job. It was a calling, a sanctuary, a purpose that filled every part of me. 

I reached for my phone, wincing as the frayed charging cord snagged free from its precarious position. The screen lit up with a missed call notification—an unfamiliar number. Probably a promoter, I thought, shaking off the exhaustion weighing me down as I swiped to return the call. 

The line clicked to life after two rings. "Y/N, it’s Mike Peterson from Chicago Pro Wrestling," came a gruff voice, familiar and reassuring. 

"Hey, Mike!" I answered, trying to muster more energy than I felt. "What’s up?" 

He didn’t waste time. "Got a big opportunity for you," he said, his voice steady. "We’re putting on a pre-AEW event leading up to Dynasty. It’s Thursday, April 18th. You’d be in one of the main matches, going up against Skye Blue." 

Skye Blue. The name hit me like a freight train. She was a rising star in AEW, a fan favorite from Chicago. This wasn’t just another match; this was the match that could change everything for me. 

"Are you serious?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly, betraying the excitement bubbling up inside me.

"Dead serious," Mike replied, almost as if he anticipated my reaction. "You’ve been killing it on the circuit, and we think you’re ready for this spotlight. It’ll set the tone for the weekend. You in?"

For a brief moment, I forgot about the bruises, the exhaustion, the stale air of the motel room. I clenched my fist, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I’m in," I said, the words flowing out with the force of a promise. 

"Good. We’ll finalize everything tomorrow. Rest up, kid," Mike said before the line went dead. 

I sat there in the silence of the room, the weight of the opportunity crashing over me in waves. This was it—the break I’d been waiting for, the one I’d been fighting for, the one that had kept me pushing through the pain. 

Without thinking, I opened my phone and dialed up FaceTime. There were two people who needed to hear this first—the ones who’d seen every step of my journey, who’d understood the sacrifices. My parents. 

The screen blinked to life, and my heart skipped a beat as the first ring echoed in my ear. It was late—really late—in Monaco, but I couldn’t wait. Not for this. 

By the second ring, my mom’s face appeared, her warm smile soothing the nerves twisting in my stomach. Her perfectly styled locs cascaded over her shoulders, and she adjusted her glasses, peering at me with concern. "Y/N?" she asked softly, her voice carrying the gentleness of a mother. "What time is it over there?"

"Late," I replied, swallowing hard. My fingers tightened around the phone as I steadied my breath. "But I needed to tell you something. It couldn’t wait."

From off-screen, I heard my dad’s deep voice rumble, protective and familiar. "Is everything okay?"

"More than okay," I said, and this time, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face—a real smile, the kind that reached my eyes. "First off, congrats to Sterling on his win in Japan. Tell him I’m proud of him."

Mom laughed, the sound rich and musical, and I could see the pride in her eyes as she shook her head. "He’s impossible right now," she teased. "Red Bull’s golden boy is feeling himself, as usual."

"As he should," I agreed with a laugh of my own. "He earned it. But this isn’t about Sterling." My words caught in my throat for a moment. The weight of what I was about to share was heavy, but I pushed through. 

Mom leaned closer, sensing the shift in my tone. "What’s going on, baby?" Her concern was palpable. 

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. "I’ve got a match this Thursday. A big one. I’m going up against Skye Blue in Chicago. It’s the main event at the indie show before AEW’s Dynasty in St. Louis." I paused, letting the words settle before continuing. "I want you all to come. Salome, too. And Sterling, if he can make it."

Her face lit up instantly, and I could see the pride in her eyes before she even spoke. "Oh, baby, we wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Just then, my dad appeared beside her, his usually stoic face softer than I’d ever seen it. His dark eyes met mine, and he nodded slowly, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re really doing it, Y/N. You’ve made your own way, and we couldn’t be prouder of you."

A lump rose in my throat, and I couldn’t blink the tears away fast enough. They slipped down my cheeks, warm and unstoppable. "I wouldn’t be here without you guys," I said, my voice trembling. "Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve accomplished—it’s because of you. Your support. Your sacrifices."

Mom’s hand hovered just out of reach of the screen, as if she could physically comfort me across the distance. "We’ve always believed in you, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle. "And we always will."

Dad’s steady voice broke through, grounding me like it always did. "We’ll be there, Y/N. All of us. And when you step into that ring, we’ll be the loudest ones cheering." 

The lump in my throat grew, but I nodded, locking eyes with both of them through the screen. For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. This wasn’t just my journey—it was ours. 

As the call ended and the screen went dark, I sat there in the quiet, the tears still drying on my cheeks. My family believed in me, and for the first time, I could see the end of this long road ahead of me. 

Thursday wasn’t just another match. It was my moment. And with them by my side, I was ready for it.

—-

The shrill chime of my phone sliced through the stillness of the room, yanking me out of a restless sleep. Groaning, I fumbled around for it, my hand grazing the nightstand until it finally closed around the cool glass of my phone. Squinting at the screen, I groaned again. Sterling.

I swiped to answer, already bracing myself to give him an earful. But before I could even speak, his grin filled the screen. His hair, as perfect as always, bounced slightly under his Red Bull-branded hoodie. He looked like he'd just stepped out of an F1 commercial, effortlessly stylish, but there was something in the background that caught my attention.

"Sterling," I said, sitting up so fast the covers fell around my waist. "Why does it look like you're on a plane? I thought you were supposed to be in China."

He leaned back, completely at ease in what was unmistakably a private jet, the kind of luxurious leather seat only reserved for the very wealthy. Behind him, sleek cabinets and soft lighting made it look like something out of a travel magazine. He looked so comfortable that if it weren't for the time difference, I'd have sworn this was just his normal day.

"I told the team I’d pay the fine," he replied with a casual shrug, a grin stretching across his face. "There’s no way I’m missing my little sister’s biggest match."

I blinked, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. My sleepiness evaporated, replaced by disbelief and a simmering frustration. "You’re supposed to be prepping for the Grand Prix, Sterling! Media day’s tomorrow! Do you realize how insane this is? What if the team finds out?"

"They already know," he said, unfazed, as if missing a major media event for his sister’s match was the most natural thing in the world. "Christian wasn’t thrilled, but he’ll live. And trust me, they’ll fine me enough to make their point." He waved dismissively, as if money were no object—which, for Sterling, was probably true.

I shook my head, trying to process the enormity of what he was doing. "You’re really doing this? Leaving everything—"

"For you," he interrupted, his tone firm, his eyes locking onto mine with a look of complete sincerity. "Y/N, this isn’t just any match. This is your main event. You've worked your ass off for this. If I can’t be there for you now, what kind of brother am I?"

My throat tightened, and I gripped the phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. "You're insane," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

"Maybe," he chuckled lightly, his grin softening into something more genuine. "But family comes first. Always." His expression turned serious as he leaned closer to the camera. "You’re going to walk into that ring and show the world what you’re made of. And I’ll be right there cheering you on. I’ll land in Chicago tomorrow morning, and no matter how tired I am, I’ll be at that arena."

I tried to respond, but the words caught in my throat. All I could do was nod, my eyes filling with tears as I blinked them away. 

"Get some sleep," Sterling said, his voice softer now. "You’ve got a big day ahead, and I expect you to wipe the floor with Skye Blue."

The call ended before I could say anything more, and the screen faded to black. I sat there in silence, staring at the phone in my hands. Sterling didn’t have to do this. He could have sent a quick text or a brief FaceTime before his preparations. But he wasn’t just sending well wishes from a distance. He was crossing oceans, defying his team, risking fines—all to be there for me. 

Suddenly, the ache in my legs and the bruises on my arms didn’t seem as heavy. The grueling hours of training, the sacrifice, the sleepless nights—all of it felt worth it. I wasn’t alone in this fight. When I stepped into the ring on Thursday, it wouldn’t just be my battle. It would be ours.

I sat on the edge of the bed long after the call ended, the soft glow of the phone still lighting the room. Sterling’s words echoed in my mind, grounding me: Family comes first. Always. I wiped away the last of the tears, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, a small smile tugged at my lips. 

This was it. My moment.

My eyes drifted to the half-packed suitcase in the corner of my room. I’d started packing earlier but had stalled, the weight of the upcoming match making it difficult to focus. But now, with Sterling putting everything on the line to be there for me, there was no room for self-doubt. 

I stood and crossed to the suitcase with a renewed sense of purpose, grabbing the first item that I knew I couldn’t leave behind: my ring gear. The black and gold outfit had become my signature, and I ran my fingers over the fabric, checking for loose threads, before carefully folding it and tucking it into the bag. Next, I packed my boots—well-worn but polished, their soles bearing the imprint of countless matches.

As I packed, my mind wandered to the upcoming fight. Skye Blue was no joke—quick, clever, with a natural ability to turn the crowd in her favor. But the thought of facing her didn’t make me nervous. It fueled me. I knew her strengths, her weaknesses. And I was ready. I’d earned my spot in that ring.

The last thing I packed was a framed photo of my family—me, Mom, Dad, Sterling, and Salome, all grinning like fools after one of Sterling’s early wins. I slipped it into a side pocket of the bag and zipped it up carefully, sealing it shut. 

By the time I finished, the first light of dawn was creeping through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. My flight wasn’t until later that morning, but sleep was a distant memory. Instead, I double-checked my bag, grabbed my carry-on, and headed out the door.

This wasn’t just another match. This was my moment. And with Sterling’s promise echoing in my heart, I was ready to make it count.

—

The flight to Chicago was smooth, a gentle hum of the plane's engines filling the quiet cabin. But for me, the hours felt stretched, each minute creeping by as my nerves twisted in slow, relentless circles. The weight of the moment sat heavy on my chest, and no amount of distraction could ease it. I slipped my headphones in, drowning out the background chatter of the other passengers, and opened my phone to scroll through match footage. I watched Skye Blue’s recent matches, studying every move, every counter, every moment where she’d turned a match in her favor. I took notes, my fingers tapping furiously against the screen, but the words felt like static in my mind. My thoughts were elsewhere, on the magnitude of what I was about to face.  

When the plane finally began its descent, my body tensed, the familiar rumble of the wheels hitting the tarmac offering some sense of relief. We had arrived. But it wasn’t until I stepped off the plane and into the crisp Chicago air that the full weight of it all hit me. The skyline loomed ahead, towering and imposing, and for a moment, I felt small against the backdrop of this giant city. This wasn’t just another stop on my circuit. This wasn’t just another match. Chicago—this city—was a proving ground. A chance to show the world, once and for all, that I belonged on the big stage. That I wasn’t just a fighter. I was a force to be reckoned with.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air, and squared my shoulders. The nerves were still there, but they were becoming something else—something sharper. This was my moment.

Outside the airport, a car from the promotion was waiting for me. The driver, an older man with silver hair and a permanent twinkle in his eye, greeted me with a warm, “Welcome to Chicago!” His name was Joe, and he was as cheerful as they come. He helped load my bags into the trunk with the kind of quiet efficiency that only comes with years of experience. As the car pulled away from the airport, the city unfolded before me. Skyscrapers reached up like steel giants, their glass windows reflecting the pale afternoon sky. The streets below were a blur of movement—taxis rushing by, pedestrians weaving through the crowds, the distant hum of life that only a city like Chicago could sustain. 

I let my eyes drift over the scenes outside the window, taking it all in. The energy here was palpable, the kind of electric pulse that ran through the heart of the city. It was chaotic, yes, but there was a rhythm to it, a beat that I could feel in my bones. I could almost hear the crowd, feel the roar of the fans as they’d welcome me into that arena. This was the kind of place where dreams could be made—or shattered. And I was determined to make mine.

The hotel was a modest one, tucked away on a quieter street away from the hustle and bustle. Nothing fancy, but it had what I needed: a bed, a shower, and most importantly, silence. I checked in quickly, the front desk attendant giving me a polite smile as she handed over my room key. The elevator ride up to my floor felt longer than it should have. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, each thud a reminder of what was coming. The hotel room itself was simple—nothing extravagant, but comfortable. The bed, though, looked like heaven. The soft, inviting sheets promised a moment of rest that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take. But first, I forced myself to unpack.

I opened my suitcase, taking a moment to arrange everything just so. My ring gear, my boots, my toiletries—all of it went neatly into its place. My phone buzzed on the bed next to me, a text from Sterling flashing on the screen: “Make sure you rest up. Big day tomorrow!” 

I smiled, a wave of warmth spreading through me at the thought of my brother. He was already on his way to Chicago, despite all the commitments he had back home. He was the reason I could believe, for a brief moment, that this was all possible. Family always came first.

Once everything was unpacked, I sank onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling me like a cloud. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the exhaustion of the past few days to catch up with me. The muscles in my body, worn from travel and the previous night’s restless sleep, finally began to relax. But my mind wouldn’t shut off. 

Tomorrow was the day. 

I let out a breath and grabbed my phone again, scrolling through some more footage of Skye Blue’s matches. I couldn’t afford to stop now. I had studied her before, but I needed to be ready for every possible move. Every counter. Every advantage I could use to gain the upper hand. As I watched, I jotted down a few more notes. There were small things—subtle moves, things she liked to do when the match was starting to turn in her favor. But there was one thing I hadn’t considered. The crowd. I needed to think about the crowd. The way they reacted to her. They were as much a part of the match as anything else. 

I set my phone down and stretched my arms above my head, trying to shake the tension that had taken residence in my shoulders. Tomorrow, everything would change. I would step into that ring with Skye, and it wouldn’t just be about proving myself to her. It would be about proving myself to everyone who’d ever doubted me. The journey I’d taken—every grueling training session, every early morning, every match that had left me bruised and sore—would culminate in that one moment. The spotlight would be on me, and I wasn’t about to let it pass by without showing the world who I was. 

The quiet of the room settled around me again, and this time, instead of feeling the weight of the moment, I felt a calm determination settle in my chest. Tomorrow, I would rise to the occasion. It was no longer about the fear of the unknown. It was about seizing what was mine. 

I finally allowed myself to close my eyes, the exhaustion taking over. But even as I drifted off to sleep, I could feel the anticipation building in my gut, the promise of tomorrow hanging in the air, just beyond the reach of my dreams.

—

The next morning, I woke to the soft chime of my alarm, its gentle sound cutting through the stillness of the room. The golden light of the Chicago sunrise was already filtering through the curtains, casting long, warm beams across the floor. I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my heart thudding with anticipation. Today was the day. The day I’d step closer to my dream. The day I’d meet Mike, the AEW promoter, to go over every detail of the match that would define the next chapter of my career.

I swung my legs off the bed, feeling the cool air of the room against my skin. The quiet hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts in my mind. I stood in front of the mirror, letting the reality of it all sink in. I wasn’t just getting ready for a match; I was preparing for something bigger—something that would change everything. 

I dressed quickly, my mind still racing, but my hands moving with purpose. I chose black jeans and a fitted white tee, pairing it with my favorite leather jacket. It was a simple outfit, but it made me feel powerful—polished, yet grounded. Confidence wasn’t just about how I felt, it was also about how I presented myself. I wanted Mike to see someone who was ready for this moment, who wasn’t just there to fight, but to own the ring. 

After a quick breakfast, I grabbed my things and headed out. The hotel lobby was quiet, the early morning stillness lingering as I stepped into the car that would take me to the venue. The driver weaved through the streets of Chicago, the towering buildings casting long shadows on the streets below. The city was alive, even at this hour, the energy unmistakable. As we neared the arena, the size of the venue hit me like a punch to the gut. It loomed ahead, massive and imposing, like a cathedral built for competition. This wasn’t just any building—it was the arena where my future would unfold. The place where I would prove myself to the world.

The car pulled up to the entrance, and I stepped out, my heart racing in my chest. I could already feel the pulse of the crowd in my veins, the roar of the fans, the rush of adrenaline that would come with every single step I took in that ring. But today wasn’t about the fans or the fight—it was about laying the groundwork for everything to come.

Mike was waiting for me just inside the venue, clipboard in hand, his posture as straight as an arrow. His face was all business—no-nonsense, sharp focus. But when he saw me, his features softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the first sign of warmth I’d seen from him, and it put me at ease.

"Y/N," he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Welcome to Chicago. Let’s make this one for the books." His voice had that confident, assured tone of someone who knew what they were talking about. It was impossible not to feel a flicker of excitement at his words.

I shook his hand firmly, matching his smile. "Let’s do it," I replied, my voice steady, even though my nerves buzzed beneath the surface. This was the moment I’d worked for, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me.

We made our way to the small conference room just off the main floor of the arena, the sounds of distant construction and the hum of preparations for the night’s event seeping in through the walls. As we sat down, Mike began to go over the details of the match—timing, structure, key moments, and everything in between. His words were methodical, precise, but I found myself zoning in on one thing: the arena. The energy in the building, even in the stillness of the morning, seemed to vibrate in my bones. It wasn’t just the technical aspects of the match that I had to prepare for—it was the atmosphere, the roar of the crowd, the spotlight that would be shining directly on me.

As Mike continued, I let myself visualize the moment. The lights dimming, the crowd growing louder, the first step I’d take as I made my way to the ring. My heart beat faster, but it wasn’t from nerves this time—it was from anticipation. This was what I’d dreamed of, what I’d worked so hard for. And now, it was within my reach.

Mike paused, his eyes locking with mine. "You ready for this?" he asked, his voice laced with a quiet challenge, as though he was testing me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question settle on me. This was my time. There was no backing down now. "Absolutely," I replied, my voice strong and certain. "I’ve trained my whole life for this. I’m ready."

A small nod of approval crossed his face, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of respect in his eyes. We weren’t just talking business anymore—we were talking about something bigger than that. Something that transcended the usual talk of wins and losses. This was about legacy.

The rest of our meeting went by in a blur. Mike laid out the finer points of the match, but my mind kept drifting back to the arena. The sound of the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and the feeling of standing in that ring. It was all so close now, so real. I could almost taste it.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the sun had risen fully, the light pouring in through the windows of the conference room. I shook Mike’s hand once more, a firm, assured grip. "Thanks for everything," I said, feeling the weight of the day starting to settle in. It wasn’t just a match—it was a career-defining moment.

As I walked out of the conference room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down to see a message from Sterling: “How’s it going? You’re gonna crush it. I’m already on my way.”

A grin tugged at my lips as I typed a quick reply: “Thanks, bro. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

The energy in the arena was starting to shift, the crew hustling to get everything ready for the night ahead. I could feel it in the air, like a current just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. I stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting my face, and took a moment to just breathe it all in. The city, the venue, the fight—it was all happening. And it was happening now.

I wasn’t just here to compete. I was here to make a name for myself.

And with Sterling by my side, I knew I was ready to take on whatever came next.

—

After the meeting with Mike, I made my way back to the hotel, my thoughts swirling with everything we’d discussed. The weight of the match was starting to press down on me, and I knew I needed to shake off the nerves that were beginning to settle in. I couldn’t afford to let doubt take root, not now, not with everything at stake. 

I stepped into my room and changed quickly, slipping into my workout gear—a simple black tank top and leggings. The familiar comfort of my sneakers felt grounding, and I tied them with a focused determination. As my fingers pulled the laces tight, a familiar sensation gripped me. The pre-match jitters were starting to creep in, tightening my chest like an over-wound clock, the anticipation of what was to come making it hard to breathe. But I knew exactly how to handle it. Movement has always been my best weapon against nerves. It steadied me, helped me regain control.

The hotel gym was small, tucked away at the end of a quiet hallway, but it was functional, with polished floors that gleamed under the bright lights. A wall of mirrors stretched along one side, reflecting the faint hum of treadmills and elliptical machines. A few early risers were scattered about, mostly business types in stiff shorts and branded shirts, their focus more on their phones than their form. The gym was quiet, almost serene, except for the low sound of the machines and the occasional clink of weights.

I claimed a treadmill near the back, positioning myself where I could see the faint reflection of myself in the mirror. Slipping on my headphones, I cranked up the volume, letting the music fill my ears and drown out the buzzing of my thoughts. I needed to block everything out—everything except the rhythm of my body moving, the steady pulse of the beat in my chest.

As my feet began to hit the treadmill with a steady cadence, the tension in my muscles started to unwind. The first few minutes were always the hardest, the nerves still clinging to my limbs. But then, as the music thumped and the world outside the gym seemed to fade away, my body fell into a rhythm. Each step was like a reminder, a mantra of all the hours I’d spent training, all the sacrifices I’d made to get here. Thirty minutes in, sweat was dripping from my brow, my breathing steady but purposeful. I pushed harder, letting the pounding bass of the music carry me forward, imagining the ring, the lights, the crowd. I saw the faces of my family and Sterling cheering me on, felt the energy of the crowd rising with each movement. The intensity built, not just in my legs but in my mind. 

I could do this. 

After cardio, I transitioned to the weights section, grabbing a barbell and carefully loading it with plates. I positioned myself on the mat, my focus now zeroed in on the routine I’d done a thousand times. The first lift of the deadlifts was always the hardest, the weight challenging my muscles, but I welcomed it. The burn was a sign of progress. It was a reminder that the hard work had paid off. Each movement was precise, each rep a step closer to what I needed to be. My muscles screamed in protest with each lift—squats, deadlifts, bench presses—but I pushed through, moving with the kind of relentless focus that had become second nature. My body had been forged in the fire of practice, and this was just another moment of testing it.

By the time I finished, the sweat was pouring down my face, my limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction. My muscles hummed with the good kind of pain, the kind that meant I’d pushed myself to the edge. I wiped down the equipment, my hands slick with sweat, and grabbed my water bottle. I tilted my head back, taking a long, satisfying sip, the cool liquid easing the dry burn in my throat.

The nerves were still there, lingering like an electric buzz just beneath the surface, but now they were different. More manageable. Less daunting. I could feel the storm on the horizon, but it didn’t scare me anymore. It was a storm and I knew how to handle the weather. It was the same kind of storm I’d faced in the ring, the same kind of tension that had once paralyzed me but now pushed me forward. 

I walked out of the gym, my body humming with exhaustion, but my mind clearer than it had been all morning. The path was set. Tonight, the match would come, and I would be ready. No matter what, I was prepared to face it. With every stride I took back to my room, I knew I was one step closer to what I’d come here for. And nothing, not even my nerves, was going to stand in my way.

—

The arena felt different when I returned. The vibrant buzz of activity earlier in the day had faded into a quiet stillness, replaced only by the distant clatter of equipment being moved and the occasional echo of footsteps reverberating off the concrete. The ring at the center remained unchanged—its ropes taut and unyielding, the canvas pristine and untouched. It stood there like a silent sentinel, waiting. And I couldn’t help but feel the weight of it—the place where everything I had worked for would come to fruition. Tomorrow, this ring would be my battleground.

But as I walked through the entrance, expecting the usual calm before the storm, I froze in my tracks. I didn’t expect to see her there.

Skye Blue stood in the center of the ring, her dark hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She wore her workout gear already—black leggings and a tight-fitting tank top, the kind of gear that suggested she had been there for a while. Her posture was casual, her arms folded loosely across her chest, but her eyes—bright, alert—were scanning the space, studying every inch of the arena. She was in full prep mode, visualizing tomorrow’s match, no doubt. And I found myself drawn to her focus, the way she moved with purpose despite the relaxed outward appearance.

She spotted me before I had a chance to approach, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "You must be Y/N," she said, pushing herself off the ropes with a fluid, almost effortless motion, and walked toward me with the kind of easy confidence that only comes with experience.

"That’s me," I replied, offering a smile in return. Up close, I realized she looked younger than I had expected, but there was something in the way she carried herself—a quiet maturity, a calm self-assurance—that made her presence undeniable.

"Mike told me you’d be here," she continued, her voice casual but with an underlying edge. "Figured I’d stick around and see what you’re about." Her arms crossed over her chest as she tilted her head slightly, studying me in return.

"Just seeing, or were you thinking something more hands-on?" I raised an eyebrow, the challenge instinctively rising within me.

Her grin widened, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Hands-on. A little sparring, nothing crazy. Just enough to get a feel for each other’s style. You game?"

I considered her for a moment, taking in the calm confidence she exuded. There was no hesitation. "Let’s do it."

We climbed into the ring, the ropes creaking under our combined weight as we positioned ourselves. As I faced her, I couldn’t help but observe how she moved—balanced, fluid, the way her weight shifted easily from foot to foot. Every step was measured, every motion deliberate. She had the poise of someone who knew exactly where they stood.

The sparring started light, almost like a dance. Skye came at me with a speed that caught me off guard at first. Her movements were sharp, quick jabs and feints that kept me on my toes. I countered with strength, grounding myself and using my power to push her back, though I knew this wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about overpowering her. It was about learning—about finding that elusive rhythm that would define tomorrow’s match. We were both testing the waters, each move a way to feel out the other.

Minutes stretched on as we moved through a series of strikes and counters, pushing ourselves but never too far. After about fifteen minutes, we both paused, catching our breath. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, feeling the sting of exhaustion in my muscles, but also a growing sense of clarity. This was what I needed—this kind of challenge, this kind of focus. 

Skye leaned against the ropes, her chest heaving as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "You’re strong," she said, her tone more appreciative than competitive. There was a respect in her voice that I hadn’t expected, and it took me off guard.

"And you’re fast," I replied, grabbing my water bottle from the corner of the ring and taking a long drink. My throat was dry, but I could feel my heart rate slowing as the cool water settled in.

She chuckled, a sound that was equal parts mischievous and impressed. "Looks like we’re going to give them a hell of a show tomorrow."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and I found myself smiling, the tension that had been weighing me down lightening just a little. There was no animosity between us—just two people preparing for the same thing. I was beginning to feel that camaraderie, even if we were technically competitors. 

We sat down on the edge of the ring, the ropes pressing into our backs as we cooled off, our legs dangling over the side. We talked then, swapping stories about our journeys. Skye shared her early days in wrestling—the grueling, exhausting training, the long hours in small venues where the crowds were sparse but the passion was fierce. I listened intently, feeling the parallels between her experiences and my own. We had both worked hard to get here, and the weight of that shared struggle made the conversation feel more real, more genuine. 

I opened up too, telling her about my own journey—about the sacrifices I’d made, the sleepless nights, the moments of doubt. But also, the moments of triumph, when everything came together, when I felt unstoppable. 

After a while, Skye glanced over at me with a small, knowing smile. "Hey," she said, her voice softer now. "A few of us are grabbing food tonight, just to unwind before the big match. You should come. It’s good to relax, you know? Just… take your mind off everything for a bit."

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of the match still heavy on my mind. It would be easy to stay cooped up in my room, running over every detail of the match in my head. But the thought of unwinding for a little while—of not thinking about the pressure, the expectations—was tempting. 

"Sure," I said after a beat, nodding. "I could use a break." 

As we made our way out of the arena together, I felt a shift—like the tension had eased just a little bit. Tomorrow, everything will be different. But for tonight, it was nice to know that, no matter what happened in that ring, I wasn’t doing this alone.

—

Later that afternoon, I drove to the airport to pick up my family, the quiet hum of the SUV’s engine offering a temporary respite from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. The terminal was buzzing with activity when I arrived, the usual chaos of travelers navigating the maze of gates, dragging rolling suitcases behind them, and muttering into their phones as they hurried toward their destinations. Amidst the cacophony, I felt my heart skip a beat when I spotted them in the crowd. 

Salome was the first to spot me, her face lighting up like the sun breaking through clouds. She broke into a run, her arms wide, and before I could say anything, she collided into me, her excitement palpable as she squealed, "Y/N!"

I laughed, a mix of joy and relief flooding through me as I returned her hug, holding her tightly. When we pulled back, I took a moment to study her, seeing the girl I’d left behind just a few months ago transformed. She was taller than I remembered, her wild curls bouncing with every movement, and her eyes were sparkling with the kind of excitement only a college student could possess. "Look at you," I said, grinning. "College is treating you well."

"Sterling cheated at Uno again," she said, her lips pouting dramatically.

Before I could respond, I heard a familiar voice from behind. "Sometimes you need to cheat to win," Sterling’s voice called out with that trademark nonchalance of his. He sauntered toward us, effortlessly cool, wearing his Red Bull hoodie like a second skin. His curls bounced with every step, and there was the usual quiet confidence in his stride.

I rolled my eyes but pulled him into a hug, smiling as I whispered, "Sterling, thanks for coming."

"You think I’d miss this?" he responded, his voice soft but carrying the weight of a promise. His eyes were filled with the same conviction I’d always known.

And then I saw them—my parents, walking side by side with the same grace and effortless cool they’d always had. My dad, Derrius, still exudes that MotoGP legend swagger, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease. His salt-and-pepper locs were tied back in a low ponytail, and his sharp, ever-watchful eyes scanned the bustling terminal until they landed on me.

My mom, Xolani, wasn’t far behind. Her locs were longer now, perfectly styled to frame her radiant face, and her warm smile immediately washed over me like a wave, making me feel like I was still a little girl in her arms. 

"Baby girl," my dad’s rich baritone voice rang out as he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that felt like home.

"Hi, Daddy," I murmured into his chest, holding on a little tighter than usual.

When my mom stepped forward next, her embrace was soft but no less comforting. "Y/N, you look amazing," she said, pulling back to study me, her gaze filled with quiet pride.

"Thanks, Mama," I replied, feeling a familiar swell of pride in my chest. It wasn’t just the match or the nerves—it was the comfort of being surrounded by the people who had always had my back.

The five of us piled into the SUV I’d rented, and the car came alive with chatter and laughter. Salome recounted stories from her college life, diving into tales of dance rehearsals, late-night study sessions, and the chaos of dorm life. Sterling added his own spin, sharing anecdotes about the rivalries and drama in the paddock, how his engineers were convinced he was too reckless on track, a claim that always seemed to amuse him.

"Too reckless?" my dad said, twisting in his seat to look at Sterling, his voice booming with that competitive edge. "Kid, you’ve got nothing on me back in my day."

Sterling smirked. "Maybe. But I’m racking up podiums, old man."

My mom rolled her eyes, reaching over to swat my dad playfully on the arm. "Don’t encourage him, Derrius."

I chuckled, my heart full as the familiar banter flowed effortlessly between us. It was moments like this that reminded me why I’d fought so hard to be where I was—to make them proud.

We chose a cozy, family-owned restaurant a few miles from the airport, and as we walked in, the warm smells of grilled meats and rich spices immediately made my stomach growl in appreciation. We were seated at a large booth by the window, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a warm light over our table.

The conversation soon turned to my match, and my dad was the first to ask the question that had been on his mind.

"Tell us about Skye," he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually on the table. He had that air of a seasoned competitor, the kind that came from years of analyzing opponents before a big race. 

"She’s fast," I said, swirling my water glass idly as I considered my words. "Her movements are fluid, and she’s got a real knack for counters. But I think I’ve got the strength advantage."

My mom’s gaze never wavered as she studied me. "Strength’s important, but don’t underestimate her speed," she said thoughtfully, her voice carrying the wisdom of years spent watching me train. "It only takes one misstep to lose momentum."

"She’s right," Sterling chimed in, his voice calm but encouraging. "But I’ve seen you fight, Y/N. You’ve got the instincts to handle her."

Salome leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands with a gleam in her eyes. "Can we talk about how cool it is that my sister’s the main event in Chicago? Like, I’m telling everyone back at school. You’re going to kill it."

Her enthusiasm made me laugh, and I reached out to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Sal. That means a lot."

When the food finally arrived, the table grew quiet except for the sound of clinking utensils and the occasional hum of appreciation. As we dug into our meals, my dad launched into another of his legendary stories about his glory days in MotoGP. He recounted last-lap battles and hairpin turns with such vivid detail that even my mom, who had heard the stories a thousand times, couldn't help but roll her eyes and mutter something about how he’d aged her prematurely.

"You were reckless," she said, pointing her fork at him with a teasing smile. "You’re lucky I didn’t leave you after that crash in '99."

"And miss all this?" he replied, gesturing to the table with a wide grin.

Laughter filled the space, rich and full, and for a moment, everything felt exactly right. Here, in this moment, I wasn’t just the wrestler; I was their daughter, their sister, and their support. We had each other, no matter what.

The meal was winding down when Sterling pulled out his phone, ever the social media aficionado. 

"Alright, family photo time," he announced, scooting closer to Salome and draping an arm around her shoulders.

"Derrius, smile," my mom said, nudging my dad.

"I’m always smiling," he said with a sly grin, his eyes twinkling as he gave in.

Sterling held up his phone, angling it expertly. "Okay, everyone ready? Three… two… one." The flash went off, capturing all of us mid-laughter.

Sterling inspected the photo, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Perfect. This is going on the ‘Gram," he said, clearly proud of the shot.

He spent a moment editing before showing me the final post. It was a candid, warm shot—Sterling in the center, flanked by my parents, with Salome and me on either side. The caption read: "Family time before the big day 🖤" with tags for all of us, including my personal account.

"You’re tagging me?" I asked, surprised by the gesture.

"Why not? You’re the star tomorrow, Y/N," he said, his grin playful. "Let the world know."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped my lips. "Thanks, I guess."

By the time we left the restaurant, my phone was buzzing with notifications—likes, comments, and new follower requests. I glanced down at my screen, my eyebrows raising as I saw the names that were popping up among the new followers: Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Oscar Piastri.

"What the…?" I muttered, scrolling through the notifications in disbelief.

Salome leaned over to peek at my phone. "Wait, are those F1 drivers? Sterling, what did you do?"

Sterling smirked, unbothered as he slid into the driver’s seat of the SUV. "Just spreading the love, little sis. You’re trending now."

"You could’ve warned me!" I shot back, though I couldn’t hold back a laugh.

By the time we reached the hotel, speculation about my match was already running rampant online. Fans and gossip accounts were buzzing with theories about my relationship with the F1 drivers, and I could only shake my head at the chaos.

"Better get some rest," I muttered to myself, setting my phone aside as I climbed into bed. But as I lay there, a sense of anticipation stirred deep in my chest. Tomorrow, the world would see exactly who Y/N was—and why I was worth every ounce of this attention.

Tomorrow, I’d step into that ring not just for myself, but for them—for the family who had always supported me, and for the legacy of strength and resilience they had built. I wouldn’t let them down.

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35 @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @laptime-deleted, @anamiad00msday

Series Taglist: ----

[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.

​

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!)

[thecoffeelorian]

Chapter Title: Loosening Knots

Word Count: 2,489

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest). In the midst of all the wedding planning, two mysterious guests are at your door one day...

AO3: Link Here (Must Log In)

Extra Notes: The white braid divider in this chapter was created by @v6que. Also, for those brave enough to read this chapter to the very end...you're going to get a little surprise in return for your concentration. :D

Chapter Masterlist: Link Here

The No-Pressure Tag List:

@crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @cloneflo99 @vrycurious @gun-roswell @padawancat97

@littlefeatherr @yeehawhijack @knightprincess @masterjedilenawrites @skellymom 

@orangez3st @ci-avmovies14 @523rdrebel @tink1221 @lucyysthings

@hellfiresky @feral-ferrule @the-rain-on-kamino and anybody else on the lookout for more Howzer fics.

Nine rotations remain until all of the celebrations begin. Nine days of preparation for you and your family, after which come three rotations of a ceremonial dinner where half the district will be invited; a traditional hike up a holy mountain followed by another ceremonial lunch; and finally, the big day where you lose your second braid almost two weeks exactly after losing your first.

According to the teachings of Raiyen, one of the hallowed Elders of the Fourteenth District, this path leading from the betrothal to the wedding ceremony is meant to mark your journey from childhood to adulthood, never mind being a great source of personal joy for you.

Unfortunately, as you were more or less ignored by almost everyone until three rotations ago...all you can feel right now is annoyance.

“So...what’s this Captain Howzer like?”

Annoyance at your immediate neighborhood, annoyance at the reporters who showed off your betrothal announcement as soon as it fell into their hands—oh, but most of all?

“Not now, Bri. I have to finish making this thing.”

“Yes now, Katie! What’s he li-iiiiiike?”

You’ve never felt more annoyed in your whole life than how you’re feeling at your own veil right now.

Like any other bride-to-be who’s unable to purchase her own, you’ve begun knitting the first several rows purely on your own time. At least in the photo below the directions, it’s meant to come together in a neat, triangular arrangement with just a bit of needlework to bind it all up in a grand finish.

“Well, I know he’s a very good listener, all right...otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to deal with talking to me in the first place.”

“Ooh, a conversationalist? Interestiiiing!”

Unfortunately for you…all the rows you’ve tried your best with are all crooked, since almost every time, you either didn’t think to count the amount of rows; your yarn-overs were performed in the wrong sections; or worst of all, you lost your concentration entirely and had to start over at least twice.

Not exactly the spot you want to be in, especially considering your days at home have officially been numbered.

“And he doesn’t seem to like pitch and catch very much,” you mutter in frustration, still a bit annoyed at yourself for your failure to grasp this veil’s directions. “Apparently, me throwing a side table at him wasn’t the best way to welcome him to our house—oh, dank ferrik!”

As if to add insult to injury, though? One of the two old wooden knitting needles that you had been using up until this point suddenly decides to break in half, thus ending your grand attempt at fiber arts long before you could hope to get started.

Clearly, somebody up there must be annoyed with you, because they've decided to sabotage all of your efforts, starting today.

“Oh...that is unfortunate.”

“You’re telling me.”

Frowning at what’s left of your knitting, you just barely manage to pull the stitches further toward the unbroken end of the faulty needle, and so save all of them from being dropped by accident.

“Well, this is gonna set everything back a few days...think I should go put some credits down for a domestic droid, and hope for the best?”

“Actually, I might have a better idea in mind...”

You look up just in time to see your sister brandishing a newer looking needle, one that you can only hope might be the same size as your fallen one.

“...How about a switch?”

“Hey, hold on a second. Don’t you need that one for your own sash?”

“I can finish that one in a day, Katie. Don’t you think this is more important?”

And, lucky for you, she’s surprisingly willing to share. Willing enough to start transferring your stitches over, even, and making it look a lot less difficult in the process.

“All right…”

You suppose that’s got to be a lot better than squabbling at each other nonstop, though, so instead of fussing or fighting, you’re careful to turn on your family’s holo-screen just in time to catch the morning news.

Just a little distraction to calm yourself down, perhaps, or at least until you can go back to figuring out your next move with this knitting thing.

“…And now, an important update to an ongoing story from yesterday. The first of many survivors from the Venator accident on an unnamed moon, an Arc Trooper known as Jesse, has just been released from Republic care and is expected to make a full recovery…”

A series of images is shown upon the screen in succession, beginning with the scene of a massive smoking wreckage; the disoriented forms of several members of the 501st; a massive rescue operation involving Troopers and medical droids alike; and finally, one particular Trooper with a Republic symbol tattoo upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s just the one photo giving you this impression, or if this particular clone always looks this disgruntled as a matter of habit, because this news broadcast doesn’t seem to want to offer anything else by way of visual records.

“…He will soon be leaving for a more quiet location out of the public eye, and is said to be meeting his commanding officer, Captain Rex, as well as an associate known by the name ‘Ashla’, as he waits for his fellow Troopers to join him…”

Nevertheless, if this is one of the many former soldiers of the Republic that you’ll end up meeting in person, you quickly make the mental note to assume absolutely nothing about him until you see him.

“That Trooper’s either extremely lucky, or slightly cursed.”

Briana makes this quiet observation as she hands the transferred knitting back to you, her eyes just about glued to the screen. She doesn't know yet about Captain Rex's new assignment for Howzer, and neither have you told her a single thing about her future brother-in-law's role in this curious plot. Would she make the same judgment about your Captain as she’s done with Jesse, and merely write him off as some kind of danger magnet? Or, if she knew the full truth up front and wasn’t shocked by the whole arrangement...would she go so far as to offer her own assistance in this matter?

“Who knows, Bri…? After all that they’ve been through, maybe it’s a little bit of both.”

Judging from the information Howzer's already given you, and all about how certain people shouldn’t be given any reasons to interfere in this mission...perhaps it's best that you keep her in the dark for some time yet.

After all, as you once heard from a Republic broadcast during the war, what the galaxy doesn’t know can’t hurt it.

Eight days left and counting, and it’s sinking into your mind a bit more that you’ll have to begin figuring out which of your belongings you’re going to take with you when you leave, and which of your things will end up going to Briana after you’re gone. This, of course, is standard procedure for any Chandrilan woman who’s recently lost her left braid, and in the case of one or more younger sisters, ease the next transition process within the household.

Trouble is, as you’re unable to concentrate on choosing anything today...you decide instead to buck tradition just a little, and instead start catching up on any and all holonet messages you’ve missed since your meetings with Captain Howzer.

“Hey, Katie, it’s me! Your bestest friend in the whole galaxy, alive and in person...though you’re strangely not on this planet. Anyways...comm me back as soon as you get this, we’ve got a lot of talking to do. Take care!”

This means an instant chat room invite sent out to Verta Goring, one of exactly two friends you’d stayed close to during the war; the first of your friend group to make it to Naboo; and, as of now, she’s the very first person on the outside that you decide to get in touch with.

I’m here, Katie. Tell me everything that’s happened, good and bad alike.

If I did, Ver, I’m not sure you’d believe me!

You mean this sentence as something lighthearted rather than horrific, for your husband-to-be has given you no reason whatsoever to be wary of himself or his intentions.

At this same time, as Verta is currently studying to be a lawyer with an emphasis on domestic disputes, she wastes no time in digging a little bit deeper into things.

How so? Is everything all right at home?

I’m not getting into any fights with people, if that’s what you’re worried about.

There’s a small pause of a few seconds as Verta types out her next response, then:

Okay...so your father didn’t pressure you into this at all? Do I have this statement correct?

You do. It’s more like I was brought around slowly, and with no furniture broken on my end.

I think the courts would have understood even if you had, Kate.

Maybe it’s not the courts we need in this case, Ver. Maybe there’s someone far from home who needs us more than any Republic official, so we have to go through with this ceremony in order to start looking for them.

Another pause, and then Verta has this to say in the comment box:

All right, Kate...please pardon my bluntness, but are you sure you know what you’re doing?

I don’t think I would have been trusted with certain things if I didn’t.

Would you be sure to tell me if something bad was happening over there? Or would you just keep everything to yourself as usual, and end up letting it wreck your temper?

There’s a rotten word or two that you’d love to throw in Verta’s direction now, some well-placed insults to counteract her scathing reminder of all of your bad habits—yet, as there’s still so much planning left to accomplish and she’s also received the added blessing of not picking any fights with you...perhaps it’s a better idea for you both if you don’t let your anger show once more.

If the worst should happen, you’ll be the first person I call. Sound good?

There’s a minute or two of silence between you, the symbol of someone typing as the only indicator that Verta’s still there at all—then, when you believe this conversation to be over and yourself abruptly cut off out of spite, that’s precisely when she surprises you.

Of course, Kate. Helping people in need is kinda supposed to be my job now.

Thanks, Ver. I’m hoping it won’t come to this at all, but I’ll know where to turn to if it does.

Seven days and counting as of today, yet it’s only now that the panic is at last upon you. There’s still alterations to be made to an old light blue gown of yours so that it’s ready for the ceremony; seating arrangements to be fixed so that no political fights break out at the reception; a dinner menu to be decided in order to avoid allergies and other dining issues; and a veritable laundry list of other unfinished tasks both within and without your family’s gates.

In other words, it’s going to be a miracle if you don’t end up cracking underneath all of the stress, never mind the continuous flurry of comm messages and other forms of dialogue needed to make sure these celebrations go off without a hitch.

Ah, Mom...however did you manage when it was your turn to leave home?

Somewhere in all of the chaos, however, when you’re pacing the hallway and nervously awaiting two visitors from the bridal shop to aid you in fixing up your gown...who should come to your front door instead but a small stranger in a large hat?

“Er…good morning, madam! Is the master of the house available?”

Correction…two small strangers in large hats, one of which has a voice that is suspiciously switching from a male soprano to an alto at the oddest possible time. There’s also something a tiny bit familiar about this pair, though you can’t really put it something into words just yet.

“That would depend on who’s looking for him,” you reply, barely suppressing a laugh. “May I ask your names?”

“Er…”

The second Large Hat whispers quickly into the ear of the first Large Hat, after which you’re doing your best not to crack a smile at his answer:

“…Tell him that Professor Cran and Professor Blin have arrived for Briana’s lessons…please?”

“Professors Cran and Blin…whatever you say, gentlemen. Do come in.”

No sooner have you admitted them inside than Briana starts sneaking down the staircase, her gaze turning behind her now and again as she’s listening good and hard to guarantee that Dad never spots her. Orinna’s conveniently out of the house as well, having gone to post a holomessage to some relatives back on Ryloth.

“Hey DAD! I think some of Bri’s new teachers just arrived!”

“Very well...feel free to send them up!”

As for you…well, you might be willing to play along for now, but not without a few guardrails in place.

“All right, you…”

This is the thought you keep in mind as you step in between her and ‘Professor Blin’, taking hold of her right sleeve before she does anything punishable.

“…If we’re going to do this your way, Briana Minola, I had better be allowed to join you as a chaperone.”

“What for?” Her usual pride is a little through the roof today, something that won’t exactly do either of you any good.

“You’re betrothed to Howzer anyway, why can’t I enjoy myself now?”

“Because both your braids are still untouched, silly. That’s why.”

She pulls away in a huff, but not before staring dejectedly at the ground and shoving her hands into her pockets. Good. If she ever has the hope of going out there without any troubles following close behind, she’ll want to toe the line a bit longer back here.

“Good girl! Are we doing music first, or Huttese?”

“Music,” Briana mumbles, blushing ever so slightly in the direction of “Professor Blin”, who manages to lock eyes with her before they both look away.

“I—I still have to memorize a few chords for later this week.”

Might this be that Admiral’s son you caught sight of a few days ago, but had no time to interact with because of your attempted escape? Or is this the Senator’s son instead, and are any attempts to court your sister about to get tied up with a few awkward political discussions?

“Say no more, then—if it’s quadjitar practice next, I’m joining you.”

Whoever the lucky boy is, though, he’s not going to get away with anything foolish under your watch…or, for that matter, neither will Briana.

“Fine…but no breaking the instruments this time!”

“It’s a deal, sis. Feel free to lead the way.”

[a/n: Bonus for you all--This is what I imagine the wedding dress to look like when all is finished, and yes, I drew and colored in everything with my own two hands here. Hope you like it as much as I do! <3]

[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!

[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.