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doodle-pops · 1 month

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Insufferable Beginnings

Turgon x reader

Request: Turgon x reader, enemy’s to lover in Valinor, angst?… (help I live the enemy’s to livers trope to much 😭😭) - Anon

A/N: I originally wanted to keep this short, like under 3k, however, dialogues became my weakness and I fell in love with the hating each other a little too much. However, I do hope that this was good enough to your liking. Apologies if it’s too long. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au, angst/comfort, arguments, insulting one another, a knife gets drawn (a butter knife), kissing, confessions, since it’s set in Valinor I used Quenya names

Words: 4.6k

Synopsis: Arranged marriages when you and your millionth reason why were at each other’s throats was always the best way to introduce a new emotion on the battlefield and seek victory.

“Must you look so disparaging? It is our wedding, after all, cheer up and have a drink!” Turukáno sat beside you, or rather two feet away and towards the end of the table, leaving you to wallow in your bitterness. He managed to find your expressions throughout the entire day more entertaining than ever, it made the wedding interesting.

Casting a dreadful and bone-chilling side eye at your newlywed husband, your fingers twitched in your lap with unbridled rage to wrap them around his obnoxiously long neck and choke. However, he remained aloof under your threatening gaze and took another gulp for his sixth cup of wine for the night. Anything to avoid going home, sane, to a shared house.

“I’ll only smile if you disappear and leave me alone.”

He paused with the chalice against his lips, pondering before scoffing and taking a violent chug. Emptying the cup with an enthusiastic exhale and slamming it on the table, he reached for the vat of wine to refill. “So you can find yourself in the arms of one of your pathetic suitors or my cousins since you enjoy kissing their asses so much.”

“Anyone else would be a better company.”

“What’s stopping you then? I thought you loathed me with an unbridled passion to the point that you would do anything to make your life less miserable,” he half-heartedly muttered while gazing at the ruby liquid in his cup. “Or maybe you didn’t want to humiliate yourself knowing that no one else would accept you and your terrible personality.”

“What makes you think that one of your cousins would not accept me?”

“So it’s my cousins you’re interested in. Well, I think you and Tyelkormo or Atarinkë would suit each other well, especially with the similar personalities you all share.”

You growled through bared teeth, “Do not ill-speak of the House of Fëanáro. They are far nobler, skilled and of better status than you can ever be.”

“Ah, so you admit that your personality is dreadful then?” Awed by the revelation of your words, he flashed a blinding grin at you.

“You act as though your personality is perfect, and do not make this about me when it is not!”

“My personality isn’t perfect, but it’s better than yours,” he snickered and sat upright. “Besides, it is your wedding day, you are the centre of attention, so everything is about you.”

“You’re simply bitter and jealous that I would never choose you in a world of standards because you are as poor as your insults.” Flipping him off with a triumphant smirk, you crossed your arms and performed a mental victory dance at your comeback.

“Of course I am,” he muttered half-heartily as he slammed his chalice on the table once more and slumped deeply into his chair. As much as he wanted to leave the table, his grandfather and father were eyeing you down like hawks. “No power and no high status. Yet I was still chosen to be your future husband by the King.”

Not caring that he was being stared at, Turukáno exited the hall and rushed out of the palace to find a secluded spot for a bit of fresh air. He didn’t care about what became of you during the rest of the night. You could have returned to your parent’s house and left him alone in your supposed shared home or run off with his half-cousins, he would surely find something worthwhile to fill his time with.

Making his way through the half-empty streets of Tirion, he slid his body through a few alleyways before breaking into the hills and entering the outskirts of a small forest. A familiar path he took which led to a small pool—a place where he and Findekáno formerly commuted before his successful marriage—now became his fortress of refuge to his unbearable hater.

Being petty, bitter, and judgemental were common traits of the second son of Ñolofinwë, however, you brought the worst out in him. It was only the day you entered the picture with your desirous hatred towards him, his boring life became infuriating. There wasn’t a day you didn’t make his life a living hell.

Wanting nothing more than to refrain from continuing his thoughts on you before his head exploded, he undressed and took a midnight swim, spending the rest of his wedding with peace of mind. He would deal with you another day with the guarantee to make you regret hating him.

The first year of marriage was always described as challenging and for God’s sake how fucking true it was. You weren’t even past the first three months without wanting to launch objects at him, which you had already done numerous times before. But the point was that you wanted to launch the entire dining table at him for interrupting your peace of mind. Why did he have to show up at the same hour? Did he not have something more important to do like die?

“Can you not eat so loudly? It is breaking my concentration?” you retorted sharply.

“Then cover your ears. To eat I must; to hear, you can choose,” he lazily replied in a bored tone.

Your left eye twitched as did the cutlery in your hands as you pressed the knife and fork into the porcelain plate to evidently create a hairline fracture. Casting a look at the servants lined up on each side of the room with a monotonous expression, you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“What, no counter to my response? Finally realised how foolish you appear hating me unnecessarily?” he mocked.

Deeply inhaling, you managed, “I merely asked you to cease chewing so loudly. Is that not a possible task, something a Prince of your lowly status can adhere to?”

Countering without waiting for a second, he stated with plainness, “I must chew if I am to eat, don’t you know that or have you forgotten the fundamentals of eating?”

“Then don’t eat, starve and die.”

Turukáno’s lips twitched as he fought a sarcastic grin, instead, scoffing as his breathing fumbled before he lifted his head to gaze at you across the table. Your seated presence at the opposite end, surrounded by an array of candles left a glowing aura casting a glow on your figure to appear as some omnipotent being…a demon in sheep’s clothing.

“My dear, have you not paid attention to the tranquillity of the room? A pin drop can be heard; thus you will hear my chewing, same can be said for yours.”

“I do not chew loudly!” you snarled, visibly vibrating in your seat.

“Of course not, how rude of me. Where are my manners?” he satirically replied, casting a mocking smile at you; his turquoise eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles. “Allow me to clarify, you yap like a goat.”

Springing from your chair, your palms came crashing down on the table, prompting the ornaments to tremble, even the servants shifted on their feet at the intemperate tension. “You should have care how you speak; it might be your last.”

“What are you planning on doing? Launching another poor object at my head and missing like you did in the last fifty attempts? Best of wishes, may your aim be true, or would you prefer I stand within three feet, so you don’t miss?” he snickered with a shake of his head.

Darkly whispered, you picked up your butter knife and stabbed it into the napkin. “I could end you right here and now,”

“How terrifying?!” he dully muttered and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Somebody save me!”

“Would you stop that!”

“Ah, so it would appear that I have struck a nerve?” Turukáno grinned delightedly and took a sip of his wine while appreciating the sight of you pointing your knife at him.

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you!” you rumbled, jabbing the knife through the air towards his figure peacefully sitting unbothered.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in the glory this unnecessary argument brought, he rose from his chair and strolled around the table. Fingers gliding along the tabletop as he took his time to approach you, he appeared smug. “What you are telling me, is that I’ve always been on your mind? I’m touched. No one has ever thought of me so much as you did, my number one supporter and hater. Makes this union worthwhile because you can continue to think of me even more while allowing it to consume your every thought.”

At this point, Turukáno was standing before you as your body had turned to meet him head-on, the knife in your hand still focusing on him. Despite his towering figure, you were able to match his height with the passion in your eyes that made you grow. Those turquoise eyes of his darkened and narrowed into slits as the gazed down at you. No one dared to whisper a word, only the sound of heavy breathing which was still too soft for the other’s ears.

Suddenly, his left hand gingerly reached out to grab the wrist of your right, which held the knife and brought it to his throat. He knew you couldn’t cut him with a butter knife, yet he wanted you to realise your folly. The action urged the servants in the room to break their formation and panic as they looked on. He felt the trembling of your hand as he held onto it, steadfast, while the expression on your face spoke the reason for him. All bark and no bite.

“Do it,” he taunted with s whisper, gazing his playful eyes at your paralysed ones and pushing the knife harder against his skin.

You wanted to reply. Counter as equally as petty as his insults or even take actions, but the wheels in your body weren’t rotating. You didn’t know why, but the longer you stared into his slithered eyes; you noticed the ring of green around his iris, the small mole under his left eye and his neatly shaped wine-stained lips. His change in demeanour made him appear ridiculously attractive and you fought to deny it, but comparisons between him and the sons of Fëanáro’s beauty had already crossed your mind.

It outmatched a few of them.

You struggled to catch yourself the longer you focused on his face, grip on your knife slipping, yet the grip around your wrist tightened and tugged. Your lips parted and your head inched closer, grateful for your height, you were able to lean into his personal space, breathing in his air. Wine and spearmint. The alarms were blaring in your head that it was a precarious move you were making, but his standstill stature encouraged you to persist and bridge the gap.

Turukáno didn’t know who moved first, he or you; all he knew was that his hand gripping your wrist had tossed it over his shoulder, with the knife still intact, as his lips moulded against yours. It was full of anger, confusion and hidden truths as your bodies were entangled in an unceremonious form of solving the argument. Lips breaking apart to gasp for air, catching your breaths before returning to the task, his hands were busy cupping your cheeks to tilt your head to increase the vigour. He forgot—or rather, didn’t care—about the knife in your hands behind his neck as he pressed his body closer, wanting you to experience his heat, raging from the passion you sparked tonight.

Yet nothing was ever long-lived as you caught your biting his luscious lip and pulled away, gasping. Casting your eyes downwards, a questionable frown appeared. Unable to take the confusion and possible humiliation of the suddenness of the scene, you muttered a curt, “Excuse me,” and slipped out of his embrace, vacating the room while leaving him hoping.

You began to avoid him even more; more than what you normally would, yet failure was the start of something different. Your mornings were clashing, him showing up at the same time for breakfast, exiting and entering the house, and needing to share the same space. It was as if fate was playing a sick joke on you to remember your kiss. He appeared the same, refusing to bring it up and make any eye contact, however, his persistence to irritate and aggravate you never ended. The night of the dinner was just the beginning of him goading you to commit your desire.

Standing at the entrance of the drawing-room, you fixed your body behind the pillar that rested a vase and observed him. He appeared relaxed and a level of comfort you wished to achieve in the shared household. How was he able to be unbothered? Didn’t your presence usually provoke him? Was he not thinking about you the way you always thought about him?

“Cease your staring from behind the pillar, please. I know that I’m not the best-looking elf compared to your idolised house, so spare me your soft gaze as though you considered me,” he huffed and turned the page of his book without lifting his head to make contact.

Soft gaze?

“I was not gazing at you, I was glaring…” He was right, whether you were gazing at him or not, you were silently observing him. Clearing your throat to avoid making a fool of yourself, you stepped into the spotlight and clasped your hands together. “I was coming to call you, There’s an invitation addressed to you…and I.”

“My grandfather?”

“Hmm, a dinner party.”

The room fell into silence as you both took in the silent meaning behind the invitation. This was the first event after the wedding that would display the depth of your relationship with his family and others.

Turukáno’s eyes lifted off the pages to fall on your nervous figure standing in the doorway. No animosity or disdain was held in his eyes as they softened on your appearance; he almost felt sorry for the discomfort you were about to be placed in, similar to himself. Gatherings involving the entire family usually made him cautious and uninterested due to the typical outcomes.

“You can stay at home if you are uncomfortable attending. I’ll make up an excuse that you’re unwell and request tranquillity,” he suggested while shutting his book and placing it on the table.

Puzzled at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, you wrinkled your forehead. “What about your grandfather when he questions why you’re not at home looking after me?”

“I’ll make up some lie, whatever comes to mind,” he monotonously muttered, drifting his eyes to meet your astonished ones.

“Why?” Your question lingered heavily in the air like it weighed a ton. A sudden increase of pressure showered over you, leaving him wondering if he had made a mistake in his response to warrant your opposition.

“Why not? You’re not interested in meeting my family for known reasons, and if you want to stay at home, you are welcome to.”

“But don’t you hate me?” you delicately uttered. “You shouldn’t be concerned about how I feel or whether I desire to stay at home; you should ignore me like you have always been doing.”

Opening his mouth to counter, he closed it and dropped his gaze to your feet. The look of puzzlement decorated his face the longer he contemplated a response while reasoning with himself for the corner he was backed into. There was never a discussion he wasn’t able to counteract, but here you were causing him to fumble. A sharp look at your face, the squinting of his eyes and a nervous chuckle he conjured a response rattled off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t hate you; I don’t particularly like you, but ignoring you is incredibly difficult when you have an unmistakable aura that causes me to consider you in whatever way I can.”

His eyes widened at the acknowledgement of his words. Unable to feign his mistake, he rose immediately off the sofa and marched to the opposite exit of the drawing room.

“You…You don’t hate—”

“Forget what I said. Simply do whatever you want for the dinner, it doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he departed the room and rushed to his chamber, slamming the door.

In the following days, Turukáno had done his best to avoid you after his slip-up while you became fixated on decoding his grand speech and his nonchalance towards his actions. It wasn’t like him to use words which didn’t coordinate with his enmity-like personality. All the screaming, shouting, slamming the doors and throwing objects at each other died down, and all you received were his typical smart-ass comments which started carrying a two-meaning message. You were positively sure that he was not aware of his choice of words; he never mixed his vocabulary.

For the prim and proper Prince he was, he was enunciated.

Hence why you were gawking at him all night from behind a pillar, avoiding interactions with his siblings and cousins to observe his mannerisms. His face seemed to be a lot more relaxed, visibly pleased, lips stretched into a grin, and laughing. You had never seen him like this around you, it was a side he withheld during your arrangement, and it stung that you would never be fortunate to experience it due to his hate towards you. No sweet moments exchanged, smiles and words reserved only for you, or another kiss like that night.

Licking your lips and biting it, your fingers touched your lower lip as you held eye contact with his figure. The events of that night were still unexplainable.

“Staring at my brother.” The teasing voice of Princess Irissë came from your left before you felt her arm linking with yours and pulling you closer to her. “Well, you should be, especially after how great your relationship with him is going. Look at how much my brother is smiling; he’s talking about you.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

“Relax. You can drop the formalities for now. It’s a family dinner and we’re all family, so call me nésa,” she laughed which resembled crystal bells tinkering.

Feeling overwhelmed by the plethora of information you consumed, your chest felt tighter all of a sudden, as though the dress shrunk. “I uh, do not understand what you mean by your brother. He is talking about me?”

Surely not good things, no wonder why he was smiling. Prattling his cousins’ heads about how terrible you were to live with. You felt your heart sink to your stomach, not realising how much you hoped for good things to be spoken about you.

“Of course he is! You’re his wife!” she exclaimed and gave you a small shake before guiding you away from the pillar. “He was asked to produce grandfather with a report at the start of the dinner in private, we were all there, and we heard him speak about how things are looking brighter, and that he’s pleased. So that means you two no longer hate each other and grandfather’s idea worked.”

Holding eye contact with her before looking at the wine in your hands, you felt uneasy at the explanation. “I guess it did,” you uttered in disbelief.

It didn’t take long for interrupting footsteps to break your concentration. Knowing the echo and presence before the voice rippled into your ear, your head snapped up to gaze at him already looking upon you with softer eyes and a tender smile. Your lips quivered as you bit back the urge to cry the longer you held his gaze, unable to focus on the sound emitting from his lips.

He was cruel and unkind to make you feel such a way.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t responded to a word I said,” he inquired worriedly, inching his head closer to yours. At this time, Irissë had slipped free and sauntered away to annoy her cousins, leaving you two to embark on your hateful-love relationship.

“I um, I.” Why was speaking so trivial? Just spit out your words for they were at the tip of your tongue. “I must speak with you, immediately.”

You had no time to witness the painful frown on his face as you swivelled and marched out of the ballroom with him following a few metres behind, confused. Exiting the room and meandering through the corridors, an earful away from eavesdroppers, you fumed in your mind at how careless you were to allow things to escalate to immeasurable heights. You couldn’t undo what had been done, not even the sea could wash it away. Though Turukáno hoped he had not said anything during the day to disrupt your tranquillity, he was most mindful of his words and behaviour due to his joviality.

“Have I said or done something to displease you, Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” you shouted and spun on your heels to stand in the middle of the corridor and face him. “You, You, ugh, you infuriate me on levels beyond comprehension! How can you say those things so openly without disgust?”

“What things?! What have I said about you?!” he cried and took steps closer, still maintaining his distance.

“You–…I hate you! I hate how you…how you were talking about us and the house and how things are getting better! Or how you were smiling and happy and laughing and making everything seem like it is perfect and great when it’s not because I hate you!” Your temper flared as millions of reasons raced across your mind, and yet you were able to stutter out jumbled words, making a smile stretch across his face. “I hate the way you look at me with those eyes and I hate the way you look at others because you’ll never genuinely look at me like that. I want your eyes on me, but you’ll never because of how I hate you!”

“You hate me?” he questioned in an affectionate teasing voice.

“Yes, I do! Because ever since this arrangement began, you made me feel crazy and I found myself unable to think of anything else! I am utterly consumed by you, and I hate it! I’m supposed to hate you!”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe and glared at him through the crystal droplets. You knew he was looking at you the same way you wanted and hated. Your emotions were truly a bitch who couldn’t make up its mind.

Turukáno grinned and took more steps to bridge the distance between you both. Standing three feet apart, he looked down at his boots as his voice rumbled in his chest. “I know and I accept this,” he softly whispered. “I’m not the best at emotions, but I also hated you till it was aggravating. You were constantly on my mind every second of the day, consuming and leaving me thinking about you more than I breathed. I thought of everything about you, even your insults. You were able to contest me, a feat no one else could muster and still stand facing me; I enjoyed the pleasure it brought, drinking and desiring more. Then I started seeing you as my equal and no longer my source of hate, but my reason to look forward to each day. I considered you and thought about you too much, I bent the knee before you…”

Standing there baffled, you wanted to know who this individual was.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged. “I’m not great with emotions so it was impossible for you to notice my changes. I thought I was subtle, and neither are you.”

“Excuse me?! You’re telling me about how I feel?” you sniffled.

“You claim to hate me, but you don’t,” he breathed as he finally bridged the gap, standing in the same proximity as the kiss. His fingers twitched with urgency to hold you again as they remembered the last time they held you closely. “You don’t tell someone you hate them; you show them, make them feel it. And how you feel for me is what I feel for you, it was only masked by hatred.”

Scoffing with a teary eye roll, allowing a few drops to roll down your cheek, you countered with a teaspoon of attitude, “What do you know about how I feel? You’re just a foolish Prince who thinks he knows people better than themselves.”

Lifting his hands, he was allowed to cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Smiling along with his thoughts, he felt relieved that your flame had not been diminished. “Of course I am, but you’re no different. Foolish for hating me till it makes you look ridiculously in love.”

“You should stop talking because you’re not making any sense like you always do.”

“Then silence me if you dare.”

The silence that followed rang sharply in your ears as your eyes locked and dropped to each other’s lips.

This time, you were aware of who had made the first move when your lips moulding against one another. Grinning into the kiss, this time you were able to bite his lower lip without feeling disgusted as it only deepened the kiss, causing him to groan from your actions. Turukáno’s hands cupped your cheeks and tilted your head higher to allow him to take over the kiss while your arms contently encircled his slender waist. There were a few blissful sighs and breaks to take in air as you lazily kissed in the open corridor, unconcerned by the possibility of being trespassed upon. Regardless, Turukáno had the decency to break away first with his soft turquoise eyes roaming your face, landing on your lips one last time before exhaling.

“Tell me,” he muttered affectionately. “Do you still hate me?”

“Irrevocably.”

“And do you hate me for getting us into this arrangement?” he asked again.

“No,” you gently murmured. “I can live with it.”

“Then that is enough for me.”

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tojisbbg · 1 year

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♥ 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♥

❝there's nothing you could do or say, i can't escape the way i love you. i don't want to, but i love you❞

♡ manjiro sano ♡

a/n: back at it again with the sad mikey shit :p

content: bonten arc!mikey x timeleaper!reader (y/n), angsty (lol as usual), hurt with comfort (yay!), mentions of suicide and suicidal talk, enemies to lovers (?), mikey just needs some love bruh, not edited as always.

...

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” you screamed in fury, drenched in blood that was mostly not yours. you walked inside the living room of the very expensive penthouse you resided in along with eight other men. you saw the silver haired male sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand, unhinged from your loud outburst.

“you’re staining the carpet.” mikey brashly commented, watching the blood drip down your body and form puddles on the floor and getting on the carpet. this only made your blood boil even more, you were trying to have a serious conversation with him about how your whole team just got annihilated and he cares about the damn carpet??

“i called you at least fifty times to give me backup, there was a fucking bomb explosion you shit for brains! everyone is dead and i would’ve been dead too if i didn’t go out for my smoke break.” your voice trembled, tears welling in your eyes that threatened to spill in front of the emotionless man in front of you. the sight from earlier was horrific, screams from people you worked with being heard, blood and guts flying everywhere.

it was something you’d see in a horror film.

“tough luck for them. go take a shower and clean your mess up.” he ordered, gulping down the red wine in the glass in one go before heading towards the grand staircase.

“do you- are you not at least feel a little bit of remorse? they died because the people they counted on let them down. they’re dead for fuck's sake, manjiro!” you bellowed at his back, quickly wiping away the tears that accidentally slipped out. mikey turned around, giving you a bitter smirk as he inched closer to you, making you take a few steps back.

“should i go there? use my magic powers to bring them back to life? should i, y/n?” mikey sarcastically asked, mockingly batting his eyes.

“that’s not wh-”

“then what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?!” this time, he was the one screaming in your face, a vein popping in his neck. your eyes widened, throat becoming dry as this was the first time that he raised his voice at you.

both you and mikey disliked each other, never once getting along with each other. for starters, you hated him for how he disregarded izana’s death, treating your best friend’s name as some kind of taboo thing to be said around the house. not to mention that he stole izana’s whole look, making your hatred even worse towards him as you couldn’t help but mistaken mikey for izana at times.

you, too, died on the day izana was shot. however, it wasn’t on the scene, as kisaki and hanma took you down before you could even reach the place. next thing you know, you’re ten years into the future in some abandoned alleyway.

after figuring out your situation, you did some digging and research to find kakucho. you later did, as the wanted posters plastered all over the city gave it away. kakucho was ecstatic to see his old friend once again and begged mikey to have you join bonten. at first, the short little smurf strictly declined, not wanting to add in another member of tenjiku inside bonten.

to be fair, you didn’t wanna join bonten either. you were tired of living as delinquent and jumping from gang to gang. you wanted to live a simple life, in a small apartment, work a nine to five job and have a cat.

but things didn’t go as you planned.

“they had families too. parents, wives and kids. those people deserve to know what happened to their loved one because of you.” you tried to reason.

“i’ll have koko send out a message to their families.” mikey bluntly answered, making your jaw drop from how absurd he could get.

“a message? you think that the life of their loved one, who’s now gone, is worth just a message?” you questioned, shocked and refusing to believe that what your ears were hearing was a lie.

“look, i don’t have time for this shit. if you wanna have a sappy little group therapy session or something for them, then do it on your own time as you please. i’m leaving.” mikey harshly spoke, his voice laced with agitation.

“what if it was sanzu? ran, rindou, koko or even kakucho. what if i was in there, mikey?” you spoke, but your words came out as a whisper, yet it rang loud in mikey’s ear.

“as i said, tough luck.” he spat out before turning his heels, walking away to his room.

“you fucking piece of shit! yeah, go crawl into your little hell-hole like you always do.” you bitterly said, yet none of the words faltered him as he continued to take the steps upstairs.

“y/n?” you heard the familiar worried voice behind you, turning around to be met with the scarred man who had the haitani brothers trailing behind him. you broke down into tears, stepping a little back to make sure that he doesn’t touch you and get blood all over him.

“what’s wrong, are you hurt? you’re covered in blood! let me see, y/n.” kakucho sternly said, walking closer to you.

“no, your clothes will get ruined.” you sniffled, making him scoff as he pulled you into his chest, the warmth of his body comforting your conflicting feelings.

“it’s okay, y/n. everything will be okay.” gentle fingers stroked your back soothingly, as you drenched kakucho’s suit with blood and tears.

“they’re all dead! it’s all because of me and that stupid little shit. i couldn’t save them, kaku.” you choked on your tears, shoving your face deeper into his chest. kakucho let out a heavy sigh, hugging you tightly.

“you did everything that you could, y/n. you know it, i know it, the whole world knows that. stop blaming yourself.” he calmly responded, but you shook your head in denial.

“no, if mikey sent backup, they would’ve been alive now.” your hand clutched onto his button-up, feeling your knees growing weak.

“you know we can’t go over the boss’ orders, y/n.” kakucho gave you a sad smile as you peered above, the pads of his thumbs wiping away your tears.

“i hate mikey.”

“come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

---

it’s been about a week since the incident, kakucho ordered you to take a small break to recover and get your mental state back in check. over the course of week, the executives were pretty busy and were rarely seen at home, sometimes too tired to even make it back home and they ended up sleeping at headquarters.

strangely enough, after that whole argument you had with mikey, you haven’t crossed paths with him this entire week. to which you didn’t complain, it’s not like you wanted to see him either.

“you guys heading out early again?” you chewed on one of the waffles kakucho prepared for everyone, hearing him hum in response.

“yup, the haitani’s haven’t been home for like a week and i don’t think they could come back until next week. koko’s been buried under paperwork too, but i forced him to go sleep at home last night. he should be heading out an hour or so after me though.” kakucho explained, making you groan in annoyance.

“that means it’s me and this huge empty house once again. it’s so boring!” you whined, making him chuckle as he squished your cheeks.

“you got mikey.” he answered, which wasn’t wrong, but it’s not like you both liked each other.

“are you kidding? him being home and not is the same thing. hey, how about i come to work and help you guys out. you know, so that we all can finish early and come home sooner and be happy! teamwork makes the dreamwork you know.” you gave kakucho the best puppy eyes you had, only to be flicked on the forehead as you winced in pain.

“nice try, but no. stay home and rest up, also, check up on mikey. i know you don’t like him, but he’s going through a lot right now. you know that today’s izana’s death anniversary, right?” kakucho softly spoke, making you quiet down as you nodded.

“of course i know, i’ve been trying to forget it though. it still makes me sad, you know?” you let out a heavy sigh.

“mikey’s younger sister, emma, died on the same day as izana. his older brother’s death anniversary was last week as well. mikey needs someone, y/n. we tried to warm him up, but every year, he pushes us away. it’s your turn.” kakucho gave your a small smile, watching you in concern at the same time as you tried to process this new information he just spewed out at you.

“how is he still alive? after losing so many people like that, i would’ve killed myself. i mean, in all honesty, i was in a really dark place after izana died. i don’t think i’d even be here without you, kaku.” you said, an overwhelming feeling of sadness coming over you from hearing that about mikey.

no wonder why he’s so cold, sad, mad and lonely all the time. he’s still coping, even after all these years.

“he’s going through that now, so be his kakucho. i’m running late, so i’ll head out soon. i’ll message you later.” he ruffled your hair before untying his apron and heading up to his room.

soon after kakucho left, you decided to hang around the living room area and watch some tv. koko woke up soon and ate brunch, to which you accompanied him as you both gossiped together, giggling like a bunch of sassy teenagers. you bid the long silver haired male goodbye, locking the door behind you as you glanced at your phone.

it was almost three in the afternoon and there was pretty much no leftover that were left in the fridge. you decided to make lunch since there was still you and mikey in the house, you assumed that the others would just be eating out or getting takeout.

you cooked a quick meal of rice and curry, plating a dish for yourself as you sat down and ate alone. the silence inside the house was deafening, and you couldn’t help but reminisce the moment you spent in tenjiku. it was always a loud house, full of pranks which you devised with the haitani and your poor victims would always be kakucho and shion.

sometimes it would be izana, but that was only for you though.

you held a special place in izana’s heart, no one understood him better than you. you didn’t mind serving him and you were ready to go to the very end for him, but now he’s gone. which is why it almost felt as if you no longer had a purpose to live or keep on going.

you washed your plate after clearing it up in no time, deciding that you should bring up some food for mikey. you were growing a little worried on if he was even alive or not. he never stepped out of his room unless he needed to go to the bathroom or occasionally came down to eat when no one was there.

you knocked on his door a couple of times, but there was no answer. you scoffed, getting annoyed as the hot plate from the steaming food burned your hand.

“i’m coming in, asshole.” you said loudly, twisting the door nob, only to be met with darkness. you’ve never been inside of mikey’s room before, the familiar scent of his soft vanilla fragrance meeting your senses.

“jesus, are you a vampire or something?” you joked, switching the lights on, your eyes examining how his room was neat and tidy. you saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, facing the window as his back was towards you.

“mikey?” you called out, yet he never responded. you furrowed your eyebrows, setting the plate of food down on the dressing table. you walked to him, tapping his shoulder yet he didn’t budge.

“mi-”

his head turned around and you almost let out a scream from horror. mikey’s face was as pale as a ghost, lips chapped as his eyes were red and puffy, streaks of dried tears on his cheeks as dark eyebags formed under his eyes. you saw pictures in his hands and you recognized that one of them was izana’s while the other photo contained a tall man with black hair and a blonde little girl.

“get out.” mikey lowly whispered, eyes full nothing but despair.

“mikey, you’re not okay. just talk to me, i’ll listen, i promise.” you begged him, your heart shattering to pieces as you’ve never seen him in such a terrible condition before.

“please, get out, y/n.” your name rolling off his tongue sent chills over your body, you wanted to break down in tears in front of him. respecting his request, you quietly left, shutting his door.

you went to your room, silent tears streaming down your face as the image of mikey’s condition was engraved inside your mind. you felt sick, like the lunch you ate an hour ago was about to come back up your throat.

you decided to take a short nap, hoping that perhaps it would clear your mind.

---

a loud strike of thunder startled you, making your eyes shoot open as you breathed heavily. your room was lighted by the dim light coming from your lamp. you glanced at the clock and saw that it was only five in the afternoon.

you got off your bed, slipping on your slippers as you let out a yawn. feeling thirsty, you headed towards the kitchen. as you walked past mikey’s room, you noticed that the door was slightly opened and there was a cold breeze coming through, sending shivers down your spine.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, clearly remembering that you closed the door of his room before you left. you walked towards his door, eyes peaking inside and you saw the man nowhere inside his room.

inviting yourself into his room, you walked inside and noticed that the sliding glass doors to his balcony was opened. you walked closer and you saw him sitting dangerously on the rails, making your heartbeat increase.

“mikey!” you yelled as you rushed inside, watching the man turn his head to look at you, dull eyes piercing your soul before giving you a small sad smile. he pushed himself off, making your eyes go wide.

“NO!” you screamed in panic, quickly leaning over the edge and grabbing his hand. mikey gasped, now hanging in the air from the tall penthouse nearly twenty stories high.

“why are you doing this, mikey?! have you gone insane??” you grunted, trying to keep your grip on him as tight as possible as your hands became slippery from the rain.

“just let me die, already. i want to have some peace for once in my life, not go through anyone’s death or cause it, i want to be free. please, let me go, y/n.” mikey begged, his face drenched with water, the wind blowing against his hair.

“i won’t let you go, mikey. i need you to be here! i want to see that stupid little face of yours everyday i wake up for my morning coffee, or when you hog the tv remote. i’ll save you, no matter what! i’ll keep coming back to you in any shape or form to save you.” you cried, your tears falling on his face as you saw his own eyes swelling.

“save me, y/n.” he croaked, tears pooling in his eyes before falling down his face. suddenly, you felt your hands loosing grip, making you yelp.

“mikey!” you bellowed, watching him slip and falling.

---

“NO!” you rose from your bed, heart beating erratically as you felt like you just ran a marathon. cold sweat drizzled down the sides of your head, the familiar sound of thunder making your heart drop.

you scrambled out of your bed, running towards mikey’s room, ditching the idea of knocking as you barged inside. you were relieved to his windows closed and the balcony door shut, as the man was tucked away in his bed, fast asleep.

you softly closed the door, letting out a breath of relief. you glanced at the clock and saw that it was well past midnight. you tried to piece together exactly what the fuck you just dreamed of.

you heard shuffling sounds coming from downstairs, peaking from the stairs to see kakucho sweeping the floor. your lips curled upwards, heading down as quietly as possible, wanting to surprise the zoned out man.

“boo!” you giggled, closing your palms on his eyes, startling him.

“you little shit.” kakucho breathed out, chuckling afterwards as he pinched your cheek.

“thought you weren’t gonna be home anytime soon.” you cocked an eyebrow, sitting on the sofa while watching him settle the broom down before taking the empty spot next you.

“yeah, well, i had a bad feeling for some reason and decided to come home.” he shrugged, and for some reason your throat felt dry.

could this all be a sign that something terrible was initially supposed to happen today? everything seemed off.

“it’s so strange. i actually woke up from a bad dream just now.” you let out a shaky sigh, leaning back and sinking in the sofa.

“what did you see?” kakucho asked, intrigued to hear about your dream.

“i saw mikey trying to kill himself by jumping off from his balcony. i swear, it felt so real.” you said, voice wavering in fear and anxiety as the scenes kept replaying in your mind. kakucho gave you a concerned look, taking a hold of your hand.

“did you check up on him after waking up? is he still alive?” he asked in panic, and you quickly assured him that mikey was fine, to which he finally relaxed.

“i can’t tell if what i saw was a vision or not. i’m so scared, kaku. what if-” you paused, trying to recollect your thoughts.

“what if something like that actually happens and i couldn’t have prevented it even after knowing.” your eyes glossed with tears, making kakucho’s heart swell with ache.

“nothing like that will happen, y/n. we’ll make sure mikey is okay.” the scarred man assured you, pulling you into his embrace as he stroked your hair.

“did you go to see izana?” he asked.

“yeah, i gave him his annualy nagging for dying before me. that stupid jerk.” you mumbled, making kakucho chortle.

“still mad at him, huh?” kakucho smiled, seeing your eyes glimmer.

“yeah, i miss him.” you said with a sad smile, feeling kakucho’s breath hitch.

“yeah, me too.” he replied.

---

the next few days the house was embraced with a familiar silence, the executives on a very important mission to europe came up. this left you and mikey alone once again. you were getting bored of watching the same old shows and movies.

you decided that you had enough of this cycle of hate and awkwardness, storming upstairs as you barged inside of mikey’s room. you found the man busy on his laptop as he casually laid on his bed, not even bothering to look at the door.

“don’t you know how to knock.” mikey snickered, eyes still not shifting from his screen.

“get up.” you demanded, standing at his door with your arms crossed over your chest.

“and who are you to order me around? as far as i remember, i am your boss.” he gave you a small smirk, getting under your skin.

“yeah, well it would’ve mattered to me if i actually gave a shit. so, stop being a stubborn asshole.” you scoffed, walking to his bed before harshly grabbing his hand, dragging him off his spot.

mikey yelped, quickly sliding his laptop off of his lap as he was forced to stand up. you dragged him downstairs as he looked at you with utter confusion.

“where the hell are you taking me? let me go, y/n.” mikey protested, trying to loosen himself from your grip, but you tightened your hold on his hand instead.

“somewhere that’s outside of your room and this house. you and i both need some air.” you shortly answered, shoving him out the main door as you locked it behind you. you saw him watch you with an unamused facial expression, not moving from his spot.

“what? you want me to carry you outside too?” you taunted, making him roll his eyes.

“you’re seriously annoying.” he grumbled, turning around as he walked towards the elevator.

you remembered that sanzu told you a couple of days ago how there would be a carnival that would be held near the beach today. you decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to lighten mikey’s mind and hopefully bring you both closer.

maybe not as friends, but hopefully mutuals.

the walk there was quiet, but it was short. the colorful lights beamed, screams of people of all ages being heard from all corners.

it delighted your to know that finally you were able to hear screams of joy and not of pain or agony.

“it’s so loud.” mikey mumbled under his breath, following you as you both walked through the entrance. you saw the little kids riding the merry-go-round, seeing their smiles and laughs lifted your soul.

maybe there is some good in this world.

“don’t you wish you could be a kid again?” you sighed, sitting next to mikey on the bench he was resting on.

“not really.” he answered, eyes strictly focused on his hands.

“mikey, look in front of you.” you said, but he didn’t budge. you scoffed, grabbing his face and forced him to look.

“don’t you see? there’s more to life than just being coped up in grief, sadness and loneliness. look at those teenagers on that rollercoaster, they look so happy and free. yet, there hearts might hold some tragedy.” you explained, giving him a small smile as his mouth fell agape.

“i don’t understand.” mikey spoke, yet his words came out like a low whisper.

“that girl with the blue hair might’ve lost her mom earlier this year, that boy might be recovering from childhood trauma from a neglectful family, and that other girl might be dealing with a family divorce. we’ll never know because even they are trying to move past those things. life is too short, we don’t know who’ll die next or not.” you placed your hand on his, feeling him flinch a little under your touch, his gaze shifting to your face.

his hands felt cold and clammy, slightly shaking. mikey couldn’t register this feeling in his chest, it felt like he was being suffocated.

“you think i don’t want to? i just can’t stop, it’s like my mind doesn’t have a pause or delete button.” he admitted, not wanting you to let go of his hand.

“then let me help you.” you gave him a mischievous grin, making his brows furrow.

“huh?” he asked in confusion, before letting out a yelp as you pulled him out of his seat. you both ran towards the big rollercoaster that you saw the group of teens riding on earlier.

“hope you’re not scared of heights, sano.” you teased, making him scoff.

“of course i’m not, i kill people for a living you know? a little height doesn’t scare me.” mikey defended, making you giggle as he sounded like a little kid trying to prove himself otherwise.

“whatever you say so mr. tough guy.” you mocked, trying to egg him further. the workers there led you and mikey to a cart for two, strapping you both tightly in.

“alright everyone! th-”

“excuse me, could you just check our straps again? this feels a little too loose.” mikey interrupted, as someone walked forwards and tugged on the straps.

“sir, you both are all set to go.” the lady smiled, making mikey give her a nervous one back.

“you could always hold my hand if you’re scared, you know.” you whispered to him with the ulterior move of mocking him.

“shut up, i’m just making sure that we both don’t have our dead bodies delivered to the penthouse by the end of the night.” mikey quickly said, looking away from your eyes as he glared at the employee for making him look stupid.

“alright everyone, the ride will start in five seconds! hold tight and enjoy the ride!!” the employee announced, making everyone squeal with excitement.

the rollercoaster began to climb higher and higher, until the people below you looked like tiny dolls walking around. your heart rate increased, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you approached the peak.

“fuck, i didn’t realize it was this high.” you heard mikey breath out, turning your head to see him with his eyes screwed shut. you grabbed his hand, holding him tightly as he opened his eyes, looking at you.

“i got you, sano.” you smiled, before the ride dropped with an incredible decceleration. both you and mikey screamed, watching the white haired male’s screams eventually turn into laughs.

his smile was precious, so beautiful if you would add. you saw how his hair flew in every direction as the ride threw you both in loops and turns. yet, he never stopped smiling, his fingers interlocked with yours.

“holy shit, that was insane.” mikey’s eyes glimmered, full of light as he carded his hands through his messy hair.

“i know right, can’t believe the invincible mikey is afraid of rollercoasters.” you joked, making him throw a glare at you.

“tell anyone and i’ll kill you.” he lazily threatened, before his eyes landed on the bumper cars.

“let’s go on that!” mikey outbursted, grabbing a hold of you as he dragged you to the bumper cars.

mikey and you sat in different cars, and because he’s a little shit, he chased you to bump into you. the whole time if was you screaming in panic as he got close to you, followed by fits of giggled from both of you as soon as you would collide.

“see, i’m such a pro.” he sassily commented, making you roll your eyes.

“i want funnel cake.” you pointed at the stand that sold the sugary treat, making mikey tilt his head in confusion.

“the hell is that?” he questioned, making you gasp.

“you never had funnel cake?!” you said in disbelief, and to your horror, he shook his head.

you and both rushed over to the stand, ordering one as you thanked the man. you took a piece and placed it in your mouth, humming in bliss as the taste of powder sugar and deep fried batter welcomed your taste buds.

“open.” you held a piece in front of his mouth, to which he accepted your offer, taken aback from the taste.

“that’s pretty good.” mikey said, taking a few more.

you both continued to navigate your way through the carnival as time passed, the sun beginning to set. mikey played a few of their games, winning a huge ass bear as you jumped in excitement.

“your girlfriend must be very happy.” the worker chortled as he handed mikey the big stuffed animal.

“oh, we’re n-”

“here.” mikey cut you off, placing the stuffed bear in your arms before stealing the plate of funnel cake, walking ahead. the worker looked at you with a smile to which you reciprocated one.

“it’s getting pretty late, we should head back.” mikey cleared his throat, averting his gaze from yours.

“let’s ride the ferris wheel before we go, it’s on the way to the exit.” you suggested and he hummed in agreement.

you both reached the ride, giving your last ticket to the employee before the door to a cart was opened. you sat down with the stuffed bear in your lap as mikey took the seat in front of you.

“enjoy the ride! our fireworks will begin shortly.” the worker said before starting the wheel.

“it’s my first time in years coming to the carnival.” you said with dreamy eyes as you peered out, seeing that you both were slowly going up.

“yeah.” he bluntly replied, not being able to take his eyes off of you. mikey never realized how beautiful you were, how your eyes would sparkle with adoration for those whom you cared about yet it held so much depth.

“you still mad at me?” mikey asked, making you look at him with a questioning look.

“for?” you asked.

“you know, the other day where the mission got fucked over.” mikey said with a soft tone.

“yeah, i was really mad. i wanted to punch you in the face so bad, but, i got over it.” you assured him, giving him a warm smile.

“i said a lot of stupid shit and was a real big asshole. i’m sorry for that.” he apologized, his voice sincere and warm.

“it’s okay, it’s in the past now.” you said, playing with the fur on the bear. you saw him sigh in relief, becoming more relaxed from your answer.

“that week was just hard to get through. it felt like it would’ve never ended.” mikey spoke, gazing out the window as he watched the people outside.

“i know, mikey. which is why i need you to know that you’re not alone. you could always talk to me, i’ll be your person.” his eyes softened from your words, throat burning as his eyes began to sting.

“i watched every one of them die in front of me, and i couldn’t do anything. this wasn’t supposed to be the life i planned to live. shinichiro was supposed to have his bike store established, emma getting married to ken-chin, and izana-” mikey choked out, your breath hitching as the name of your dead best friend rolled off his tongue.

“i’m sorry.” mikey quickly blurted out, watching your eyes become glossy.

“i know how it feels to feel hopeless, lonely and consumed. that’s how i ended up in bonten. after losing my parents, i needed a purpose to live, to which izana gave me in tenjiku. after he died, it felt as if my life no longer mattered. he was my best friend, my person.” tears streamed down your face, as mikey’s fingers gently wiped them away.

“but, i know he wouldn’t want to see me like this. you have to live for those whom you’ve lost. your sibling wouldn’t want to see you lead a miserable path. i found my purpose and you need to as well.” you took his face in the palms of your hands, stroking his cheek as you looked at him adoringly.

“my purpose is you and my loyalty to bonten. this is the life i want to live in, hearing you nag at me all the time. i want to wake up every morning to the smell of kakucho’s breakfast, go on batshit crazy trips with the haitani’s and haru, get spoiled by koko and the list goes on forever.” you honestly spoke, watching how his eyes softened, never realizing how much the guys meant to you.

“but how? tomorrow isn’t promised to us, how could you live a life in constant fear?” mikey asked with a shaky breath, making you sigh.

“you’re right, but you have to realize that fear will shadow you in everything that you’d ever do. this ferris wheel could suddenly break and kill everyone on it, including us. you just have to take the risk.” you reasoned, making him hum in agreement.

“i guess.” mikey mumbled, giving you a smile that warmed your heart.

“i’ll help you find your purpose, let me be your person, mikey.” suddenly, the fireworks went off, and the tension within the cart felt like a magnetic field. you didn’t realize when your face was a few inches away from mikey’s.

you could feel his breath close to your face, eyes falling on his lips as you couldn’t hold back anymore. you placed a hand on the back of his head, pulling him into you as you felt his soft lips on yours.

the taste of the sweet funnel cake resided on his lips, making you deepen the kiss. mikey’s hands found home on your waist, indulging in your touch that fogged up his senses.

your whole body felt feverish as mikey’s hot touch sent your body on fire. the white haired male’s face was warm and red, your lips never stopping any movement as you both continued to kiss desperately.

you both pulled away, breathless as the fireworks show continued.

---

the next few weeks following that little date you and mikey had, you both hadn’t spoken a word to each other. every interaction with him was painfully awkward as you would often bump into him which would result in a very silent two second eye contact before you both scurried off.

yet, you both still showed affection to each other through silent actions that didn’t require complete confrontation.

you would cook meals often since the other guys were rarely home, once again leaving you and mikey together alone. you would make sure to plate food for mikey and place it in the fridge so that he’d warm it up later and eat it.

in return, mikey would place a new dessert in the fridge for you to try from his favorite bakery that he went to every day for his daily taiyaki.

today for some odd reason, mikey hadn’t touched his breakfast or lunch as the food remained untouched in the fridge. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, going up to his room as you knocked a few times.

“mikey? i’m coming in.” you alerted him beforehand, opening the door, only to step into an empty room. you snooped around for a little, trying to see if he left a note or anything but nothing was found.

as if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

mikey: thank you for everything, y/n. please take care of bonten for me.

your eyes kept reading the words over and over again because it seemed as if they were dancing around. you mind couldn’t process what you read, panic rising inside you.

you called him about twenty times, yet it would go to his voicemail. you cursed under your breath, feeling helpless. even if you were to call one of your friends, it wouldn’t be any help because they were scattered in different cities around japan right now.

you tried to think of places that he might be in, but your mind was blank.

well, there was one place but the chances of him being there was very slim. yet, you silently prayed to whatever god there was up there that mikey would be there.

you arrived by the amusement park, shivering as the bipolar weather promised that it would snow soon. you walked further in as you were now on the boardwalk right above the beach. you went down the wooden stairs, stepping onto the soft sand.

you looked at all directions to find mikey, yet your efforts were fruitless.

it was too late.

tears welled in your eyes, your heart clenching in pain as you felt your whole work come crashing down. the beach was empty, it was only you who was there.

suddenly, through your blurry vision, you made out a figure with silver hair walking towards the waves in the distance. without any hesitation, you picked up your feet and bolted.

it had to be him, it just had to.

you nearly tripped, but as of right now, you didn’t care about anything.

you quickly wrapped your arms around him, stopping him from walking further in to be consumed by the waves.

“please, don’t do it, mikey. please, i beg you, i’m here now.” you sobbed on his back, feeling him becoming stiff.

“y/n?” mikey gasped, not believing that it was actually you.

“i won’t let you die, mikey. you can’t leave me!” you cried, feeling him turn around to face you.

“how did you find me?” he asked, still in shock at how accurately you knew him.

“my heart led me here.” you answered, looking up at him with glossy eyes. his face was pale, lips slightly chapped, cheeks rosy from the cold.

“y/n..” mikey whispered, stroking your wet cheek as you cried harder. he bit his tongue, trying to prevent himself from crumbling at the sight of your tears.

“no, please, just don’t say anything.” you placed a finger on his lips, hushing him as you silently sobbed, your heart aching.

“i tried, y/n. i tried so hard to not fall apart, but i can’t. i think i’m beyond saving at this point.” his voice cracked, making you shake your head in denial.

“i’ll pick up your pieces and put you together. i’ll save you, mikey.” you promised, holding him close to your chest, afraid of loosening your grip on him in fear of losing him.

“how do i stop letting this guilt eat me alive? i killed my siblings, i run a criminal organization and all of this is just proof that i have no purpose in life to continue.” mikey responded nonchalantly, voice dry as ever and sharp, lacking taste.

“you need to forgive yourself, though your siblings’ death wasn’t you fault. let me be your purpose, mikey.” you looked at him with hopeful eyes, watching a tint of pink dust over his cheeks even more aggressively than the cold.

“huh?” he blinked in confusion and you offered him a shy smile.

“wake up every morning for me, live your life to the fullest for your siblings, and work on becoming the best version of yourself. you still have many, many, and so many years ahead of you in life. you can’t give up now, i won’t let you. i need you to spend those years with me.” you spoke with glimmering eyes, the sunset kissing your face as you looked at the man in front of you.

“you..” mikey breathed out, not being able to find the right words to form a sentence. without thinking twice, he cupped your face and pulled you in for a kiss.

you smiled against his lips, having your answer.

“even if i fall apart in this darkness, i want you in my arms forever. i love you, y/n.” mikey peppered small kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

“i love you too, ‘jiro.” you responded, leaning in his touch.

you knew that you couldn’t escape from the way you loved him.

351 notes · View notes

houseoftulips · 2 years

Text

Unfortunate Benefits | T. Kuroo ~ when he realized way too late

➤ ft: ex boyfriend!kuroo testuro x f!reader

➤ content warning: angst, alcohol

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

After six years of not seeing each other with no contact in any shape or form - you two are now standing in the same restaurant at a small reunion.

You’d been living in Singapore all this time after graduating college and leaving your old life behind. You were in Japan to visit your family but when your old high school friends find out that you were, they just had to invite you.

Bokuto was especially insistent on you meeting up with them for dinner but his same emo mode appeared through the facetime call just like the old days. You were only there at the restaurant for him and Kenma but you knew that your 18 year old self was relieved to see Kuroo Tesuro again.

Your ex boyfriend/high school sweetheart was one of the reasons for you leaving the country after your rocky break up. Long story short, after all those years from high school towards the end of college was nothing but a lie and a joke to Kuroo.

From what you were told, Kuroo had asked you out during your first year of high school to get his elementary school crush to notice him. When he realized that he was never gonna get that attention he was just contempt on getting it from you. Not in the lovey-dovey way though. More like the I’m settling here because there’s no where else to go. Then he finally got that attention again after reuniting with his crush at one of MSBY’s volleyball game and left you soon after the encounter.

He spilled all his dirty secrets in you and practically admitted that he was cheating on you emotionally and using you as a comfort rag rather than his girlfriend. So you left while he was at his internship job during the day. Everything that was yours was erased from your shared apartment. He didn’t even try to contact you either so you knew that he never loved you over the course of your years together.

Bokuto and everyone else begged you to remain in Japan when you told them that you were leaving a few weeks after the breakup. But they knew that the once in a lifetime experience was offered to you for your career, there was no reason for you to remain in the same place.

But right now, that bed-head looking asshole was looking at you like you meant everything to him. His piercing gold eyes were dancing all over your features that he once cherished during your time together.

“Y/n,” his voice faltered a bit as he shook his thoughts away, “H-hey… When did you get back?”

“I’m not back,” you said simply, “M’visiting family for a bit.”

“Oh,” he sheepishly said as he looked away from the awkwardness creeping in. “Well um, it’s good to see you,” he cleared his throat.

You shifted uncomfortably in your standing position as you remained silent. Your wounded and repaired heart is slowly tearing apart once again hearing his useless words. But your younger self is yelling at you to say something back but you still remained silent.

Kursk cleared his throat again to gain your attention back, “Would you like drink?”

Wanting to drink you sorrows away you said yes on the spot. You definitely scolded yourself for accepting a drink from him but he’s paying for it so you looked the other way. You ordered wine like always but more on the stronger side. One with a more bitter taste than the sweet one that you craved.

The both of you sat in silence for what felt like eternity but you kept taking your occasional sips and so was Kuroo till he opened his mouth. “How is Singapore?” he asked as he glanced at you.

You cleared your throat as you set your glass down, “Good. A little more on the humid side than it is here.”

Kuroo hummed in response and let you guys sit in silence once again. For about thirty minutes you guys had an on and off conversation. Letting you both drown in silence then suddenly talk about scattered things that’s happened to you two over the last few years. Then finally the bitter ice breaker came into tow.

“Me and Sachie broke up,” Kuroo said quietly but enough for you to hear.

You sighed out loud hearing her name again. You didn’t even dare say it in your head because you were still so jealous of her getting the real attention from Kuroo.

“So?” you questioned as you watched your old friends drunkenly laugh together.

“So,” he sighed, “I want to say that I’m sorry for leaving you like that when I should’ve done it a lot sooner.”

You laughed immediately. Not so much as a bitter one but more on the side where you thought it was genuinely funny of what he said. “You’re sorry that you used me to gain attention of another woman?” you rephrased.

“Y/n,” Kuroo said but you beat him from finishing.

“No, no,” you laughed letting the alcohol settle in a bit, “I’m right though. You dated me all those years - not only wasted my time but also yours. And then when you lost her for a bit you settled with me, right?”

Kuroo looked away in guilt because now being a full grown man he has regrets. And one of them is of him using you emotionally. Using your kindness, the tender kisses, the soft words of encouragement, and your love was what he regrets and has been regretting for years. You were in front of him this whole time but he turned a blind eye and chose someone who wasn’t looking his way much like what he did to you. It haunts him, honestly. Your tear stained face was what woke him up from the mask he was hiding his true intentions from behind.

He knew better than to reach you again but he thought he was going to be happier being with the woman he’s been chasing after for years. Lo-and-behold, she grew tired of him or in other words-grew tired of using him. They dated for a year but it was toxic. So much so that when he was finally rid of her, he didn’t cry. He had a breath of relief slip past his lips when she left with her bags.

“Y/n… I know I should’ve done better back then but I was blinded,” he sighed as he ran his fingers through his mess of black hair, “It was too late for me to reach you by the time I realized how much I missed you.”

“How much you missed me?” you repeated with a scoff, “You wanted the benefits from being with me, not the commitment. You were looking for that somewhere else all while I loved you.”

And there was another wake up call for Kuroo. He watched you slide out of your seat and leave the restaurant without giving him another chance. He respects you for that though because in the long run, he doesn’t deserve what you can give/offer him.

So he masks his sulks and aching heart because he knows he has no right to feel the heaviness in his chest. But it’s hard to ignore as more guilt washes through him like a tsunami.

He’s lost you for good.

#anime characters #haikyuu angst #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo angst #heavy heart #regrets #exboyfriend #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsurō #tetsurou x reader #haikyuu bokuto #angst with no happy ending #i can relate #haikyuu headers #haikyuu characters #kuroo hcs #kuroo imagine

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knamjooned · 1 year

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The Red Thread (10)

pairing: idol!namjoon (third pov) x fem!reader (first pov) genres: fluff, smut, angst tropes: soulmate au (red string), magical friends, two idiots in love

summary:

After a tragic event, you find a letter that gets you out of your comfort zone. Meeting Namjoon seems to be simple, but then you see the thread. The string brings about life changing decisions. Are you both ready for it?

chapter warnings: kissing, tiny making out word count: 1200 author’s note: communication is very important, they don’t know unless you tell them. take this from a person who has been married for 10 years with ups AND downs.

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~*~ If you enjoy this chapter, please reblog it! ~*~

READER’S POV

088. Camp under the stars

The final part leading to the camping spot was filled with tension, and I knew exactly why. I heard the group that passed us as we walked. Namjoon seemed to just want to get as far away from them as possible, so I didn’t say anything about it until we got to camp. Once we got to camp, though, he went straight to clean up in the bathrooms, so I did the same, taking a shower. I put on my nightclothes for this trip, a baggy t-shirt and plaid pajama pants with sandals and an unzipped hoodie. I wondered if he had changed out of the hiking clothes and boots he had been wearing.

When I came back, our shared tent was up and Namjoon was starting to get the fire started in the pit provided. Another tent was a few sites over, but other than that we were alone. Trees separated each camping area, so we had a decent amount of privacy. I sat on a log near the pit as flames started to slowly take over. His hair was damp and his glasses were on, and he wore a new Landia t-shirt and cargo shorts with sandals.

"I can't believe I did it on the first try," I heard him mutter to himself. A proud grin graced his lips before he saw me, then he tried to hide it. I smiled back as I gave a few soft claps of encouragement. We both turned our attention toward the sky, sitting next to one another, where the sun was setting with an orange and pink glow.

"I heard those women earlier," I stated, this time intentionally bringing up an awkward conversation. Namjoon heaved a sigh and pressed his lips together, stiff jaw an obvious sign of worry as he leaned his arms on his thighs. I put a hand on the top of his back, taking just a moment to feel the strength under his t-shirt. "I knew before then, though."

"Knew what, exactly?" He asked, pressing against my hand before I took it away. I scooted closer so our bodies were touching, the warmth from the fire soothing both our anxieties for now.

"I was buying my cousin some things from her wishlist. Turns out she's a big fan." His left hand, with the string, squeezing his knee. I took my right hand and put it on top. We took a comfortable moment of silence as our hands rested together, then he turned his over. Our fingers entangled, then we both gasped lightly at the same time.

My thread gently appeared to connect to his, floating in the air and slowly appearing as one ethereal red string. We both stared, barely breathing, waiting to see what would happen next. After a few seconds, I lifted my head and caught his gaze.

"I'm sorry." I watched, confused, as he jerked his hand away and stood, his back to me. My hand fell to my lap. I saw his shoulders move as he took a big breath in, hands fisted at his sides. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent. It never occurred to me Namjoon would deny what the thread meant. The bitter taste of rejection began to choke me, but I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out. I couldn’t make the decision for him.

"What?" I finally asked.

"I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted without turning around. The sun was almost below the horizon, the stars starting to become visible. I swallowed, waiting for him to continue. We were at a crossroads, both about to make a decision that might affect our lives. The presence of the thread connected the two of us, but that was all. He took another deep breath and came back to sit on the log next to me, avoiding my gaze.

“The whole soulmate thing is supposed to be in stories, not reality,” I sighed, looking into the fire. “The thread is there, though, we both see it. It doesn’t mean we have to … act on it. That’s what’s bothering you, right?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but I felt disappointment starting to bleed through.

“You’ve got it wrong,” he chuckled, making me look up with eyebrows raised. He caught my eye for a moment, then looked at his hands. “You have a life here, with your family and friends. You’re mom. I’m at a point where I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You have the means to do whatever you want to do.”

“I’ve done the things I want.”

“All of them?”

“Well, yeah.” He paused with a grimace, shaking his head. “I sound like a pretentious asshole, don’t I?”

“No, you’re just being truthful. I appreciate honesty. The idea of a soulmate has so much baggage to it. But… there must be a reason why it happened to us, right?”

“How are you so positive? After what you’ve gone through…” He lifted his head and gave a look that made my heart pick up speed. It was a look of tenderness I was not ready for. I had to excuse myself for a moment to hide my red face. I took the moment to get my mother’s list from my bag and bring it back to the log. I unfolded it gently and pointed out the next item. “Let’s forget about our baggage and enjoy the view tonight.”

“Are you asking me to avoid a major life decision and just stare at the stars with my soulmate?” Namjoon leaned close, his breath on my lips and eyes staring into mine. His voice became deeper as he continued, my heart skipping. “Sounds fantastic.”

“When you put it like that…” I replied, breathlessly. Unable to resist, I leaned forward and closed my eyes. Our lips touched with a slight movement, but that was all. The metaphysical sparks started once again, just like when our hands entwined, and a rush of happiness and tranquility washed through me. I pulled back, taking a shaky breath. I put my hands on his chest to give me a moment to take in what had just happened.

“I’ve never had that happen during a kiss,” he murmured, surprised. After a moment of staring, Namjoon put a palm on my cheek and leaned in once again, this time kissing me with more enthusiasm. I happily kissed him back with the same fervor, nipping at his lips as I felt his free hand wrap around my waist. I let myself be pulled against him.

“I assume you have quite the experience,” I teased after taking a moment to breathe with a goofy grin on my face. His grin almost fell into a frown, and I felt stupid for making a joke like that. “I’m only joking, I’m sorry if what I said ruins the moment we have happening.”

“Stop second guessing yourself so much, 자기야,” he assured me, kissing my forehead. I was distracted by the pleasant affection he was giving me, but then I realized he had used a foreign phrase. I furrowed my brow.

“What does that mean? What you just said?”

#namjoon x reader #bts rm x reader #rm x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon fic #bts rm #rm #soulmate au #red string au

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cha0ticspacebi · 1 year

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You're An Image Caught in Time: Chapter 21

You got your soulmark when you were very young. You knew who you hoped had left their mark but since they never said anything to you, you resigned yourself to a life of bitter unrequited love. As much as you wanted to meet your soulmate you knew after all these years they must not want to meet you. Though the mark never faded some days you wished it would. Especially after meeting Billy.

☆ You can find me over on A03 as Cha0ticBi ☆ Master list link!

Childhood Friends! Eddie Munson X Reader

Tags: 18+ NSFW MDNI, slowish burn soulmate AU, reader is in an abusive relationship with Billy Hargrove, Dark! Billy, Eddie is a sweetheart but bad at feelings, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, eventual happy ending

Warnings: rape/non con elements, emotional and physical abuse, graphic depictions of violence, suicidal thoughts

Chapter 21/28 Previous chapter → Next chapter

Birds chirped outside the window of your shared bedroom as you slowly blinked your eyes open. You got up, careful not to wake Eddie as you snuck to the window and looked out at the forest behind the trailer. The trees were shaking off the last remnants of winter. Tiny buds were beginning to sprout along their branches. You heard the front door open and Wayne moving around in the kitchen. Eddie was still asleep so you put on some pants and then tiptoed over to the side of the bed. You leaned over and touched your lips to his forehead before going out into the kitchen.

Wayne looked up from his coffee cup as you walked in, continuing to pour the dark liquid from the pot, “Mornin’ kiddo, how ya feeling?”

“I’m good, never been better actually,” he handed you a cup, “Thanks.”

The two of you sat at the small table listening to the sounds of the birds still singing outside, “Wayne? I just wanted to say thank you.”

He smiled and tried to tell you there was no need but you kept talking, “When I was a kid and I’d wander over here at all hours of the night when those assholes were screaming at each other, you never made me feel unwelcome. Your door was always open for me and now you’re letting me live here, so I just want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

He sipped the steaming cup and reached across the table to pat your wrist, “I should be thanking you. Before you came along he was having a real tough time. When his dad got locked up he took it hard but the day he met you, he came home and couldn’t stop talking about his new friend.”

You squeezed your teddy bear as you slipped out from the backseat of the car. You watched your mom crush her cigarette in the car’s ashtray. Finally after hours of driving you arrived at your new home, the Forest Hills Trailer Park. They were quiet as they started moving bags out. Somehow when they were quiet it was worse than when they were yelling, yelling meant you knew they were upset. Quiet was uncertain.

You looked around the place that you’d be living in from now on. One of the residents had a fire going outside their trailer. You watched in the evening air as the glowing embers fluttered up to the sky before disappearing. The smell of ash and smoke filled your nose. The adults all stood around the fire talking. One of them waved at your stepdad as he and your mom finished unpacking.

“Let’s go!” your mom yelled for you to grab your stuff. You grabbed your small bag and shuffled off into the house.

Later that night after your mom helped you put some of your stuff away. When you were done, you looked out the window at the trailer across the street. The lights were on and sitting on the front porch was a boy. He had short brown hair and his puffy green vest was covered in dirt. He was drawing shapes into the ground with a stick. Someone must have called him because he looked up toward the door and dropped the stick. He looked just a little older than you but, somewhere in your head you wondered if maybe you could be friends. That night you felt like a real family as the three of you sat down to dinner. They even surprised you with cupcakes! It didn’t last long though.

The next day you awoke to familiar yelling and the loud sound of glass shattering. Your brain couldn’t comprehend what was going on but you were used to it. When they would yell you knew to hide. But this place was new, you hadn’t found the good hiding spots yet so you grabbed your teddy and snuck through the house and went outside.

It was quiet. The place you’d moved from was always so loud, during the day and at night. This new place was very different. You could see the sun coming up over the trees that surrounded your new home. You looked over across the street where you’d seen the boy last night. The trailer was dark. Wandering around you didn’t see anyone else outside until you reached the edge of the lot, an old lady was out gardening. She smiled at you.

“Good morning dear, are you lost?” She wiped some dirt off her hands, “You must be new around here, did you just move in?” You nodded your head, “Your parents must be worried about you, do you need help getting back home?”

You shook your head no, a mousy voice answered as you pointed back the way you came towards your trailer, “No, I’m ok thank you.”

Her lips curled in surprise, “Wow you’re very polite. What’s your name?”

You smiled and told her your name. She was a nice lady you thought to yourself.

Just then you heard a rustling sound as a strong gust of wind blew through the trailer park. The old lady held onto her hat, “You’d better get home dear. Feels like a storm is on its way.”

You waved goodbye to her and turned back the way you came. As you walked slowly back along the dirt road, you noticed a break in the chain link fence on the edge of the forest. Curiosity and a desire to stay out of the house just a little longer pulled you towards the fence. You crawled through the opening and brushed yourself off, looking up through the trees you saw the morning dew shining on the leaves in the early sunlight rays that shone through the gaps in the branches. Clutching your teddy bear you walk through the forest until you come to a small stream. You walked along following the water until a loud rumble of thunder scared you. When you looked up, you were lost. Nothing looked familiar, every tree looked the same. You spun around in circles panic rising.

A voice startled you.

“You should be careful, those rocks are slippery,” You looked up to see the boy from the stoop up in a tree. He crawled down and without another word he started walking along the edge of the water.

Following behind him like a little lost puppy, you feel a weird tug in your chest. Just once he looks back to see if you are still following him before continuing to lead you all the way back to the fence. Just as he was about to slip through the wires you called out to him.

“Thank you! What’s your name?”

He grabbed the chain link and turned back to face you with a smile, “Eddie.”

“Uh oh, am I in trouble?” Eddie had joined you and Wayne in the kitchen. His hair was messy and he had clearly rolled out of bed and thrown on the jeans from yesterday with his dirty hellfire shirt that you had to hide from him if you ever wanted it washed.

You snickered into your coffee cup, “No, but we were just talking about you.”

He joined you at the table and kissed your hair, “All good things I hope.”

“I was just asking if you kids had anything special planned for spring break,” Wayne changed the subject.

“Um, sleeping in and playing D&D?” Eddie laughed from his chest. A surge of joy flooded your heart as you felt his excitement.

Ever since the night of Billy's trial, the connection you two share has only gotten stronger. It was easier for you to feel the others emotions and mood without even really trying. Your marks had definitely darkened too. Eddie’s was so dark now it almost looked like one of his tattoos. You had tried to do some research at school to figure out why it might be happening but your efforts came up empty. You couldn’t find a single reference to it in any book you checked.

The trial being over didn’t mean you suddenly had all this free time, you had been helping Eddie study and prepare for finals this year so that come the end of May he could finally walk that stage with you at the graduation ceremony. He’s joked quite a bit about getting held back on purpose just so he could walk with you. He had been working so hard that you wanted him to enjoy the time off.

“Sweetheart, will you call Harrington and tell him we are using his house for hellfire again tonight?”

You laughed, “Sure. Enjoy your shower.” His cheeks light up when you flash him a wink.

The past month you and Eddie have fallen into a routine. It felt so nice. Eddie and Wayne’s constant presence has given you a sense of safety and security that you’ve never felt in your entire life. Day to day life with your mother and stepdad was chaotic at best, always unpredictable and never really felt like a home. Life with Eddie by your side feels so right.

Everyone who supported you had been right. Facing Billy was the best decision you ever made. You’ve continued seeing Ms. Kelly at school and Eddie has been encouraging you to get out there and do things with just you and your friends. After finishing your coffee, you went back to the bedroom to get ready for the day, smiling to yourself as you thought about the recent shopping trip you, Robin, and Steve took.

“Come on, you need to practice more if you’re going to go to college!” Robin rubbed your shoulders from the back seat of Steve’s BMW as you death gripped the steering wheel.

Sure, you had your driver’s license but you’ve never really needed it. Buying a car was out of the question in your current position, Billy had driven you everywhere, and now Eddie does. You’ve never really needed to drive yourself anywhere. Robin was right as usual though. This was just another step to regaining your independence and freedom. But why did it have to be with Steve’s expensive car? You had asked Eddie to let you practice in the van but he insisted that you practice with a more reliable car.

“What if I crash?”

They shook their heads. Steve was in the passenger seat and reassured you, “If you made it all the way here after that shit Billy did and you managed not to crash, you’ll be fine!”

They were right. You made it to the mall without destroying his car, they did have to tell you a few times to slow down but all in all, they were proud of you!

The three of you spent the whole afternoon window shopping, making Steve try on every weird hat just to see him try to defend his hair. You grabbed some food in the food court before heading home.

Robin sipped her drink, “So have you and Eddie had sex yet?”

Your eyes popped and you choked on the liquid from your cup, “Robin!” You looked around and stammered over your words, “Who just asks that out of nowhere?”

Steve shrugged, “I was actually curious too. You’ve been like a completely different person lately.”

Your shoulders dropped. Have you really changed that much? Robin spoke again having noticed the change in your demeanor, “Don’t listen to him. You’re not different, we just haven’t seen this you in a long time.”

You scoffed, “Yeah you can say that again. That bastard really fucked me up didn’t he?”

“Look at you though! Just by being out here right now you’re breaking the control he had over you! Have you once today thought that Eddie will be mad at you? Or that you are doing something you shouldn’t?”

You smiled thinking about Eddie, “No. Billy would never have let me come out with just the two of you.”

As your conversation continues you see Max and Lucas walk in together. They order some food and sit a few tables away from you. They look like they might be on a date. You try not to stare at them but you keep feeling your eyes lift in their direction. Max looks happy. She’s laughing and you’re pretty sure they are flirting with each other. At some point she catches you staring and smiles at you.

“You never answered the question!” Robin broke your distraction, “Have you and Eddie,” she made a gesture with her hands, “You know? Yet?”

You shook your head, embarrassed, “You’re not going to let it go are you?”

Steve answered for her with a laugh, “No, you should know how stubborn she is!”

You laugh, “Fair point,” you let out a deep sigh, “We’ve fooled around a few times but no. He told me we should wait until I said I was ready. I’ve thought about it though. A lot if I’m being honest but,” you fidgeted with your fingers, “I think that’s going to be a wound that takes a little longer to heal. There were so many times that Billy wouldn’t stop when I asked him to. I wanted it in the beginning but then when he got rough, I wanted it to stop and he didn't.”

“Rape,” Robin clarified, “He raped you.”

Hearing it like that made your chest ache, “But I agreed to it at first. Sometimes I didn’t even say no. I just sort of waited for him to finish -” Steve cut you off.

“The moment you weren't enjoying yourself he should have stopped. End of story. You know Eddie wouldn’t do that though right? I see him when we all hang out together, he treats you like you're made of glass and you’ll break if he holds you too tight. Don’t tell him I said this or I’ll never hear the end of it but it’s actually really sweet how protective he is of you.”

“I know,” you smile and play with your food on the plastic spork, “He’s always so considerate. I feel bad still making him wait.”

“You aren’t making him do anything! Trust me, he would still love you even if you said you never wanted it again,” Robin offered.

You laughed, “Well let’s not go that far!”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice called out to you, “You okay? You looked like you were on another planet.”

Your daydream broke and you looked up to see Eddie, shirtless with his wet hair still dripping small amounts of water onto his shoulders and down his chest. Heat covered your cheeks. Your eyes traveled along his torso, his red guitar pick necklace lay perfectly against his exposed chest. The towel wrapped around his waist sitting just a bit too low. You jumped up and tried to brush it off, “Oh I’m fine! Just got off the phone with Steve, he said we’re good for tonight. My turn!” You ran out of the room to take a cold shower.

Later that evening you and Eddie made your way to Steve’s after Eddie tossed all his gear into a bag. Playing dungeons and dragons was never something you thought you’d enjoy but you were becoming quite a natural at it and it was surprisingly fun. Eddie even said you should try your hand at being the dungeon master one of these days! But for now that was his job.

You pulled into Steve’s driveway and headed inside the already bustling house. Robin, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Garett, and Jeff were already there. You hear Steve and Dustin talking loudly from the kitchen.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to play with us anymore hm?” Steve sounded so cocky.

“It was a figure of speech,” Dustin tried to defend himself.

Steve laughed, “You just can’t admit you like hanging out with me. Even when it’s staring you in the face you still can’t admit it you little butthead.”

“I concur,” Eddie interrupted, “You Dustin Henderson are a total butthead!” Eddie grabbed him by the neck and tousled his hair.

You gave Robin a hug while the boys continued teasing Dustin. Eventually you came to his rescue, “Eddie?” You whined and batted your eyelashes at him, “Are we going to play? I’ve been thinking about what you have planned all day!”

He blushed but quickly regained his composure and flashed you a huge grin, “Oh really princess? Just can’t get me off your mind can you? Well who am I to keep a fair maiden waiting,” he grabbed your hand and led you to the table, “Adventure awaits us!”

“You enter the abandoned camp and look around,” Eddie’s eyes shifted over the table, “Any and all signs of life have vanished. The air moves slowly through the forest, silence is all you can hear. You see four tents arranged surrounding a fire pit. Still no sign of the townmaster you’ve been sent to look for. There’s three makeshift structures that look like they were constructed in a hurry for the logging operation, which you know to be the supposed purpose of the camp. However only one of them remains standing. The others are in shambles. What do you do?”

As the session begins Mike sets some ground rules obviously recalling the last time all of you played together, “Nobody move! We better look around first. Something is obviously amiss here and we need to be on guard.”

“I go over to the building that is still standing and knock on the door,” you didn’t listen to Mike.

“The beautiful dwarven cleric takes initiative and goes to check for the townmaster. You bring your hand up to the old wood and knock,” he drags out his words. Building tension with every prolonged second.

“No one’s home!”

You pout, curling your lip looking at the rest of the group, “Come on Dustin! Don’t give me that look, it was worth a shot.”

“Yeah a shot that could have ended up with you triggering a trap or unleashing some creature upon us,” he turned to Gareth and Jeff, “What do you think we should do?”

They both shrugged, “Perception checks?”

Everyone rolls and Eddie nods before divulging any more information, “As you explore you see signs that the camp was abandoned in a hurry and from the looks of it, fairly recently. The fire pits are still hot, the coals still smoking. There’s a boat docked in the lake with barrels of freshly caught fish. A few loose objects are scattered about the area near the tents. You find several papers that look like they fell from a sorcerer’s book, several half melted candles, and a small jar with hairs inside.”

“Ok so we are obviously dealing with some sort of cult,” Lucas says when Eddie finishes.

Steve and Robin have been talking, “While they are all looking at the tents we want to check out the boat.”

Eddie nods, “The two of you walk over and investigate the boat. It smells of fish and aside from the barrels there’s only a single wooden chest aboard.”

“Hey,” Steve gets in character, “We found a chest!”

“Do NOT touch that!” They all yell, “It’s a mimic!”

Steve’s brow raises, “What the hell is a mimic?” You and Robin both shrug. You look to Eddie for guidance, who you can see is struggling to hide his laughter.

“A mimic is a creature that has no form of its own, it takes over objects as its body. Common among these objects are empty treasure chests.”

Robin shook her head, “This isn’t a treasure chest! Maybe if we were in some haunted dungeon I’d buy it but it’s just a boring box aboard a shitty fishing boat in the middle of nowhere!”

They argue about this for so long you start to forget what you were supposed to be doing in the first place. Most of them aren’t paying attention so you lean over to Eddie and whisper, “While they're arguing, can I just go over and open it?”

Eddie smirks and licks his lips, “Absolutely! Watch this,” He cleared his throat, “Um can you all remind me of your passive perceptions again?”

The table became so silent you could hear a pin drop. He waves a hand from behind his screen, “No matter, sweetheart what did you get for stealth?”

“17.”

Eddie cackles as the rest of the table doesn’t dare speak a word, “While her companions are arguing the brilliant cleric sneaks aboard the ship and opens the chest!”

Dustin shouts, “No!”

“Oh but yes Henderson!” Feelings flood your soul telling you how elated Eddie is, “She expertly avoids your line of sight and,” everyone hangs off the edge of their seats. Eddie’s low, maniacal laughter sends chills through the room before he finally speaks, “It’s empty!”

After the mimic debate, you get back to the task at hand and eventually find the townmaster holed up in the office of the untouched building. As you explore you are attacked by a hoard of sand creatures that had been digging their way around beneath you. The battle is long and you’d been playing for hours! Finally only one sand creature remained.

“Your turn big boy!”

Steve rolled a hit and Eddie asked him for the damage. Steve groaned, “Ugh, We’ve been playing for so long I’m struggling to comprehend what a D6 is.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, failing to hide his frustrations, “That’s just a normal die!”

The monster’s turn was next. Eddie instructed Steve to take five damage. He looked at his paper, “What’s 33-5?”

“32!” Robin shouts.

Eddie smacks his book closed, “28! The correct answer is 28, and with that ladies and gentlemen I believe we should call it a night.”

As had become the norm after your dungeons and dragons nights, you spent a little longer just talking with Robin and Steve while Eddie, Jeff, and Gareth had been spending more time writing music together and trying to figure out a plan for getting their band off the ground. They must have been writing a lot tonight because Eddie came into the living room with his notebook at least four times asking for a word that rhymes with something else. Each time you smiled and did your best to help him. Eventually, well into the early morning hours, you and Eddie headed home. You yawned just after pulling away.

“Tired princess?”

You nod and close your eyes. You hadn’t realized how sleepy you were, the muscles in your face so tired they acted on reflex as a quiet giggle pushed through your lips. In your delirious state you stated talking, “Robin asked if we’ve had sex yet.”

Your eyes were still closed so you missed the drop in Eddie’s jaw, “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness but you managed to get one more reply out, “Told her no. I still see his face sometimes, want to wait until all I can see is you.”

Eddie looked over at you as you slept in his passenger seat. He smiled into the darkness and hoped that his whispers reached you, “I won’t stop until every last trace of him is gone love.” His grip tightened on the wheel, “It’s always been you, all I've ever seen is you.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #soulmate au #soulmate identifying marks #childhood friend eddie munson #high school sweethearts #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut #18+ content

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sauntervaguelydownward · 1 year

Note

Please do tell us more about this haunted house character you played 👀 Was chickadee actually a stationary house?

I am always happy to talk about Dee!

17 Chickadee Lane is one of the oldest houses in its city. Many years ago, a witch (the ancestor of one of the other characters) made a deal with a devil in Dee's attic. The fiendish energies that clung to the structure have doomed all future residents to misery and death, often at each other's hand, as time spent in the house brought out the worst they were capable of. Over time, the house developed a dim sort of sentience. Its perception of humans was shaped by watching happy, loving families take up residence and inevitably descend into violence and tragedy. It gained a reputation for being cursed.

A resentment built up in the house's budding consciousness. These humans were intruders, parasites. From its perspective, they brought their own misery with them then laid the blame on its doorstep as if it had owed them happiness. Fueled by the deaths that occurred there, the house became strong enough to lash out with poltergeist activity. Lives were taken. It was abandoned and left to stew in bitterness alone.

Its historic status as one of the few remaining original homes kept it standing, but the only people brave enough to enter were the occasional thrill-seeker looking for a ghostly encounter. Most made it out alive; some were never seen again. Then Daniel came along. The house lashed out, as it always did. And Daniel said "I'm sorry." He said "Please." He treated the house not as a mindless evil but like a person with agency. It chose to let him go.

A short time later it learned a new skill; by siphoning energy from humans in its vicinity it could create a human projection to venture beyond its own walls. It remains tethered within its foundation, but a portion of its awareness can travel out into the city. It reunited with Daniel and his friends. They know its identity - it is familiar with secrets and lies as tools of humans but hasn't actually made the leap to "Oh, I could do that too" - but they treat it as as much of a person as any of them. It is respected and welcomed.

Dee's emotional intelligence is... underdeveloped. It can't express or even understand its own feelings beyond "I like this, I dislike that" - but it feels strongly nonetheless. It has seen great love and tenderness in its former residents and desires those things for itself, even as it believes that they always end terribly. It lashes out aggressively at anyone it sees as dismissive or disrespectful (don't intrude on its personal space - a house takes trespassing very seriously) but it clings to anyone who shows it the least bit of kindness.

Dee's human form has no standard appearance - it looks like an amalgamation of the last several people it pulled energy from to sustain itself, with an uncanny valley quality. It looks something like those "we combined 100 faces to find their average looks!" images. When using its poltergeist abilities - or when it turns its focus back toward the part of it still in its walls - it goes visually fuzzy around the edges, like tv static.

During the game it stole a dog toy to gag a vampire. It kept the toy - the first thing it has ever actually owned that wasn't placed in it by a human - and never put it down for the rest of the campaign. It finds the squeak oddly comforting.

#I love this character so much #it was a fairly short campaign but there's a chance of a sequel #I desperately hope I get to play Dee again #Jude rambles #Dee the House

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I'm pretty sure this is prompt four. Jiang Cheng/Qin Su - Jin Rusong as heir to Lotus Pier

ao3

Jiang Cheng heard the news in pieces, scraps of wild rumor and gossip repeated a hundred times over, but he still refused to believe it until he actually saw the official announcement.

Jin Guangyao had divorced his wife and sent her back to her father’s house, along with their son.

“Is he insane?” Jiang Cheng asked his second in command, who only shrugged helplessly. “Putting aside the fact that I’m certain that he loves her madly, putting everything else aside, Sect Leader Qin is influential and powerful, and a strong supporter of his father – no matter what happened between them, surely someone as pleasant and compromising as Jin Guangyao could find a way to work it out?”

Jiang Cheng had only met Qin Su a few times, always at Jin Guangyao’s side. He’d heard about how she’d fallen for the dashing young man that turned out to be Jin Guangyao and sworn to marry him, no matter the obstacles; he’d heard how they’d managed to overcome every storm, fight the wind and rain, and eventually made it to their marriage bed.

They’d even had a son together, little Jin Rusong; he was Jin Ling’s best playmate.

And Jin Guangyao was kicking him out? Kicking her out?

Absurd!

Who did he think he was?

And yet, contrary to Jiang Cheng’s expectations, Sect Leader Qin did not immediately explode, or, rather, within a few days, he did, but not in the way anyone had expected. Everyone had joked that he would find Jin Guangyao and strangle him, and he really did physically attack someone – but not Jin Guangyao.

He attacked Jin Guangshan instead.

It was as if he’d gone mad, red-eyed like Nie Mingjue in the throes of his qi deviation; he’d charged at Jin Guangshan, his old friend of thirty years or more, right in the middle of Jinlin Tower, and swiped at him viciously with his sword, cutting a gash in his chest as the surprised Jin sect leader darted back too slowly to wholly dodge.

What could be done? The Lanling Jin sect guards could not stand silently by with such provocation – they counter-attacked at once, and Sect Leader Qin did not survive. A little later, and it was discovered that he had never intended on it: his sword was laced with poison.

Sect Leader Qin died, but he took Jin Guangshan down with him the underworld.

The rumor mill exploded.

Everyone was talking about Sect Leader Qin’s motivations – the suspicious timing of the divorce – Jin Guangyao’s now inevitable ascension to the seat of Sect Leader Jin –

Only Jiang Cheng thought about Qin Su, who should have been ascending right beside him. It had been her father that had died, after all.

Laoling Qin was far enough away from Lanling Jin that they were still mostly independent, and they were close enough to the Qinghe Nie that Jiang Cheng could pretend that he’d only made a short detour on a visit directed towards Nie Huaisang, that notorious purveyor of gossip; luckily enough, Nie Huaisang remembered their old friendship and was more than happy to help cover his tracks.

When Jiang Cheng arrived, the house was already decked out in mourning. Qin Su greeted him, eyes red and swollen from tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng said awkwardly, then flinched when he realized he probably should have said something in greeting first – they really didn’t know each other well enough to skip over all that.

Nevertheless, Qin Su nodded, forgiving him the slip-up before he could even retract it. She was gracious and gentle, kind and quiet, economical and thoughtful – a consummate hostess. The wife of Jin Guangyao could not afford to be anything less.

Former wife.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze danced around the room, searching for something to say, and then abruptly he noticed – “There are two deaths in your household?”

“My mother took her own life,” Qin Su said, her voice dull. She tried to suppress it, but tears gathered in her eyes again. “Shortly before…”

Whatever it was that Jin Guangshan had done that had driven Sect Leader Qin mad, it had involved his wife, Jiang Cheng thought, and then abruptly he turned pale as he put two and two together. He’d never doubted that Jin Guangyao had adored Qin Su, so why would he divorce her?

Unless…

Jin Guangshan had a reputation.

Qin Su laughed a little, a bitter sound. “Everyone will know, soon enough,” she said wisely, seeing that Jiang Cheng had figured it out. “I don’t blame my former husband at all; he acted as he ought to in every respect. It’s only my poor A-Song…I can’t imagine what his life will be like from now on.”

Jiang Cheng looked helplessly at her. To lose not only your parents, one right after the other, but your husband, your reputation, and next even your son…

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, and Qin Su stared at him. “If Sect Leader Jin’s assault were recent rather than ancient, it would have provoked the same result. The only reason anyone might suspect the truth is because of the timing of your divorce – if there’s a reason given for that, people won’t think twice about it.”

His words had come out all in a rush, smashing together like stones tossed around by a waterfall; he hadn’t thought of the idea until right this moment.

“Are you suggesting I admit to adultery?” she asked. Her eyes were as round as the full moon.

Jiang Cheng shrugged, a little helpless. “Your reputation is gone,” he pointed out, wishing he knew how to be kind or tactful. “Adultery or incest – it’s the same either way for you. But for A-Song…”

To be the son of an adulterous woman was disgraceful, but such things happened and people generally looked the other way, as long as the real father was powerful enough.

It was better than being a child of incest.

“But what of your reputation?” she asked. “Sect Leader Jiang, you can’t. I won’t let you injure yourself for my sake.”

“Not for you,” he said, though maybe it was, just a little bit. The loss of your parents, the loss of your whole life, everything you’d ever believed – who could understand that better than him? “For A-Song. He’s Jin Ling’s best friend.”

Qin Su had always been kind to Jin Ling, he thought. She didn’t need to be, could just tolerate him the way most people in Jinlin Tower did, but she really seemed to like him…

It occurred to him suddenly that Qin Su met all of his requirements for a bride: a beauty from a good family, obedient, economical, with a mild personality who wasn’t too loud and wasn’t too talkative, who was good to Jin Ling…

“How’s your cultivation?” he asked abruptly. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Mediocre,” she said, blinking at him. “And I’m better at baking, I think. I like making sweets.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng said, relieved. “That’s – good. I’m glad. Will you marry me?”

Qin Su bit her lip. “Let me think about it?”

Thoughtful, he added to the list. Cautious, not reckless.

“Take all the time you need,” he said.

She came back to him two shichen later. “What happens to A-Song?” she asked.

“I’ll adopt him as my own,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or he can keep the surname Jin, if you prefer. And if Lianfeng-zun agrees, which I think he will – it’s his birthright, after all.” Too many times over. “Jin Ling lives with me sometimes; they can grow up as cousins, the way they should.”

Qin Su nodded, lips trembling a little. “You won’t regret this?”

“I might,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “But I’m probably not going to marry anyone else, and I’m willing. Are you?”

“I am,” she said, and smiled at him. Her eyes were still red, and the smile shaky, but it was something. “Thank you. I…no, never mind.”

“If we’re going to be married, you’re going to need to learn to ask things of me,” he reminded her.

Qin Su wiped her eyes. “Yes, but there’s asking reasonable things, and then there’s asking to alert my former husband before we announce our engagement.”

“Oh, no, that’s a great idea,” Jiang Cheng said, immediately relieved. “If there’s one thing Lianfeng-zun knows, it’s how to manage an announcement of that sort of magnitude. We should definitely tell him.”

Qin Su’s smile this time was stronger.

Nie Huaisang pulled a few strings and got Jin Guangyao to come over to the Unclean Realm, and when he walked in and saw Qin Su, he flinched. Jiang Cheng could see on his face that he still loved her, and he felt bad for him – not enough to stop, but still.

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said, hearing the plan. His expression was surprisingly neutral – thoughtful, but not as upset as Jiang Cheng would have expected. “It’s not a bad idea. And you don’t even need to admit to adultery, either.”

“We don’t?” Jiang Cheng asked, surprised.

“We can say that my marriage with A-Su broke down after my father’s actions - painting them as recent, rather than ancient,” Jin Guangyao explained. “I didn’t feel I could oppose him, she had no choice but to do so – it was an irrevocable breach. You came to comfort her, having met her during your visits with Jin Ling, and her sect is in need of support…you can say it developed naturally from there. It might not work to quell the rumors, of course, but it would at least provide a way to save face in public…Leave it to me.”

“Thank you, A-Yao,” Qin Su said quietly, and he smiled at her, pained.

“Just be happy,” he said to her, then looked at Jiang Cheng. “Treat her well.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng promised, and took her by the hand. “I swear.”

It was a few years later. Nie Huaisang sat beside Jiang Cheng.

“I think he killed my brother,” he said, playing with his fan. “I’m going to destroy him.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the newest memorial tablet in the Lotus Pier, his hands clenched into fists with knuckles turned white.

“Good,” he said, voice savage. “I’ll help.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #qin su #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #I'm sorry

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pars-ley · 3 years

Text

Try again

Pairing: Hoseok x Female reader

Summary: When your job lands you at one of the most famous Fashion shows in Paris, the last thing you expect is to run into an ex - the current most sought after model in the industry.

Genre: Exes to lovers / Smut / Fluff

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Warnings: Model Hoseok / Dior Hoseok / Unprotected sex (you know the dealio, wrap it when you tap it) / Ever so slight exhibitionism / Nipple play /

Word Count: 2.3k

Beta: @birbdae thank you for looking over it twice because I’m so extra (sorry) and thank you for all your help.

Notes: This is for my secret santa project with @thebtswritersclub for @yutasgalaxy really hope you enjoy! And I also used my square “Jung Hoseok” from my summer bingo card for the @bangtanwritingbingo event.

Taglist: @mwitsmejk @vantxx95

The lights go dim and excitement blossoms like spring in your stomach as your eyes remain trained on the runway. Phone at the ready to take notes for this month's fashion article you are in charge of.

The first model comes out and cameras flash wildly, illuminating the outfit. You scribble away rapidly recounting everything to write up later.

Dior's highly anticipated fashion show, one you had been eagerly counting down the days till. Flying out to Paris was the perfect opportunity for you to mark one destination off your travel list and you have not been disappointed at all. From the architecture to the food, you are undeniably impressed and living one of your ultimate dreams.

It's time for the most awaited outfit yet, everyone was on the edge of their seat poised. You look over at your photographer, he's in position and eager, looking ready to spring.

The lighting and music changes and out walks the model all in black. That's all the detail you notice as your heart stutters and stomach flips as your eyes shift rapidly to his face.

Jung Hoseok. How did you not know he would be here?

The cameras flash even more wildly, every photographer wanting to get the best pic of the most sought after model on this runway. Your hand however hovers over your phone, unable to scribble away like you were previously, too distracted by his general presence.

Swallowing the panic you feel rising into your throat you glance at your photographer, his eyes are already on you, pity creasing his brow but a message in his eyes that says "Focus on your job and get it together."

You take a deep breath and compose yourself, making notes on the outfit and nothing more. As soon as your eyes hit the harness stretched across his broad chest however, your legs squeeze together tightly, as not only do previous nights of passion flicker behind your eyelids but the temptation for one last night with him is almost too great to bear.

As you watch him strut down the runway, face impassive and professional, your heart pulls in a thousand directions. Memories of the few years spent together cloud your mind, taking you to another lifetime when he was yours and you were his - before fame, before everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose hard, willing yourself to focus as you type wildly away on your phone, trying to stay focused.

The show ends a short while after your blast from the past's appearance and all you can think of is getting as far away from him as fast as you can. Before all your hard work of burying your feelings in an attempt to get over him is ruined by your self restraint.

As you head for the exit, a hand lightly grabs your arm. Turning you see a pretty young woman, a badge around her neck and a kind smile on her face, handing you an envelope.

"It's from Hoseok. He asked if I could make sure you get it." She said next to your ear so you could hear over the chatter of the other attendees.

You nod and mechanically take it. She's off through the crowd before you even get a chance to say thank you.

You head to the exit in a daze, clutching the envelope like it holds the answers to life's questions. As soon as you're out in the cool evening air you take yourself off around the corner of the building away from the scattering crowds. Your fingers fumble as you frantically rip at the envelope and open the piece of paper inside, instantly recognising his elegant hand.

Many love letters he would write to you with poetic words scrawled across the page, each sentence a meaningful lyric coming alive as your eyes danced across them with a barrier of tears waiting to fall. Those words tucked away in a box hidden deep in your wardrobe for those moments you wish to relive how he once felt about you.

You read and re-read the note, double checking the words are correct.

"I saw you as you came in, I always had the ability to find you in a crowded room and apparently that hasn't changed.

I can't believe you're here. Please. Please, meet me at Guy Savoy at 7 o'clock tonight. I would love to see you and speak to you properly. I will book a table under my name. I really hope you show, you have no idea how much I've missed you."

That last line did things to your insides you weren't expecting. Your chest felt full and ready to burst open, love bleeding out of a fresh cut. Maybe you should just go back to your hotel and order room service, or go out for dinner with your photographer seeing as you were both here alone.

But you knew, even as you thought it, you knew you couldn't. You knew you had no intention of doing either.

Folding up the note and shoving it in your pocket and went in search of your colleague to tell him you wouldn't be travelling back to the hotel with him. He wished you luck, even if there was a hint of apprehension in his tone, you ignored it and took a cab to the restaurant.

Sitting there waiting, your nerves were at their peak. You had chewed the skin along your fingernails until they were sore and you had now resorted to folding your napkin to make different origami shapes. Just as you didn't think your heart could take anymore, you picked up your bag but as you were about to stand and run away, you saw him. Walking towards you, shades on and the most familiar beaming grin that had always made your stomach flip. You couldn't help the pull of your lips, mirroring the same smile he wore.

He breezed up to you and wrapped you in his muscular arms, like a whirlwind his scent intoxicated you and jumbled your mind even further.

"You are a serious sight for sore eyes." he whispers in your ear before pulling away and pushing in your chair as you sit down in a daze.

"You're around gorgeous models all day, I doubt that." you reply, attempting to hide your blush.

He removes his shades and places them on the table, before pushing his fingers roughly through his hair. "Believe me, it’s not as glamorous as people think.”

There’s an awkward silence that falls on your table, with sly, shy glances from you both.

“How’s it been? Your career I mean.” you blurt out, desperately trying to ease some tension.

He leans back in his chair and shrugs. “I can’t complain, at all. It’s going better than I could have dreamed.”

You nod, taking in how nonchalant he’s being. “I have to admit, I’ve been keeping track.”

“Of me?” he asks, shocked.

“Your career.”

“Really? I’m flattered.” his lips stretch into a toothy grin as a faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheeks.

“You should be very proud of yourself. You’ve accomplished so much, there’s no limit on how far you can go.” you find yourself saying all of this without meaning to.

He covers his face with his hands. “Ok, I appreciate this, really, coming from you this means so much, but I am more interested to hear about you.” he leans forward and places a hand on top of yours, the action causing your heart to soar. “What’s been happening with you? Are you still in the apartment?”

You nod as you take a sip of the champagne the waiter is pouring. “Yep, can’t bear to leave it, I love it there so much, a lot of memories too.” you add sneakily trying to gage his reaction.

His eyes soften. “Yes, we made a lot there.” his fingers entwine in yours, a movement far too comfortable for how long it’s been. "I miss it," he looks into your eyes so fiercely you're slightly taken aback. "I miss us."

Your heart inflates excitedly in your chest as butterflies swarm inside your stomach. But is this a good idea to rekindle an old flame, maybe there was a reason it was extinguished in the first place.

He senses your hesitation. "Are you with anyone?"

You shake your head. "No, I've dated but nothing serious. What about you?"

He laughs a bitter sound. "Same. I've not found anyone that could match up to you."

You hesitate again. "Hoseok…"

"Listen," he puts a hand up quietening you. "I know it was mostly me who instigated us breaking up in the first place but that is my biggest regret. I never should have let you go." he bites back the emotion in his words and swallows.

"But if you hadn't you wouldn't be where you are today." you add, squeezing his hand still clutching yours.

He makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. "I left my dream girl to follow my dreams and let me tell you, it wasn't worth it. If someone asked me to choose, it would be you. every. single. time."

He grabs your chair and slides it along closer to him. He reaches out to cup your face. "Please, let me come back."

His plea does not fall on deaf ears. Your heart knows the decision it's made but you can't form the words to speak. Your libido overtakes the moment and you grab him by the collar of his shirt and crush your lips against his. The taste of him is so familiar and yet new at the same time. Sweet like butter as your mouths melt together as one. His arm around your waist almost pulling you off your chair makes you break away and giggle. The heat in his eyes is almost overwhelming, all your thoughts are no longer in your head but in your groin. He looks so good staring at you like that, like you are the reason for living, how could you not give into him?

"Come back to my hotel?" you whisper urgently.

He nods, throws some cash down for your ordered drinks, takes your hand and pulls you out through the restaurant. You jog along to keep up with his long legged stride. He flags down a cab and you're into it and moving off swiftly while his hands find you again. They roam your body, finding their way under your shirt and to your nipples. He rolls them gently between his fingers as his lips attach themselves to your neck.

His hand glides slowly along your thigh, up your skirt and just when he's about to reach the most desired area the cab stops abruptly, letting you know you've arrived. You groan with frustration but jump out, pulling him into your hotel and leading him up to the room. Your heart pounding so loud in your ears you can't think of anything, nothing but the taste of his lips or the feel of his skin under your fingertips and god, did you want to feel more.

As soon as your door is unlocked you're on each other. Clothes can't come off fast enough and as they leave a messy path like a trail of breadcrumbs leading towards the bed.

"God, I have missed you." he says as he glances down at your body before pulling you flush against him.

There's no time for sly touches or exploring, you're both too desperate to feel each other.

Your bare, naked flesh moulds easily together as he enters you, both of your moans echo out across the room. The feeling euphoric as it's what you know and yet what you are no longer used to. He moves inside you with a persistent, desperate rhythm as his hips wind in the most perfect way, hitting that sensitive spot every time and making your toes curl in consequence.

He looks down at you, a soft, determined gaze and says breathlessly, "I love you."

His words are your undoing, as you remember the sweet nothings he used to whisper to you while you were making love before. You unravel around him, blinded by pleasure as your back arches underneath him. He's quick to follow you as you feel his warm seed spilling inside you and you watch his face twist in pleasure, his eyes never leaving yours. The moment, so intense, almost too intense you had to look away.

Both of you breathless and riding on your high, lay back on the bed staring up at the ceiling. A thousand thoughts race through your mind as you panic that you've just made a huge mistake. What if his words weren't genuine? What if he leaves...again? What will you do then? You'll have to start over, all your hard work of pushing him aside.

Almost as if he can sense your rising doubt, his fingers entwine with yours, as he turns onto his side to face you, gently twirling a strand of your hair between his digits.

He watches you closely as if searching your thoughts, your eyes so open and vulnerable - letting him right in, wanting him to silence your fears.

He strokes your face and kisses you so softly your lips melt right into him. You want this. You want him.

"Hey, I'm serious," he leans back, eyes burning into yours. "I want to come home to you. I want our life back, I want you, always."

Your panicking heart is soothed by his words and you relax and lean into his touch, your limbs softening against him.

"Please, can I have another chance?" he asks, so vulnerable and sincere any doubts are washed away in an instant.

"Let's give it a try." you reply.

He almost blinds you with his sunshine smile as he pulls you against him, his lips dancing happily with yours. And you lose yourself in him completely. You are his, utterly and completely.

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

Text

The Demon Brothers + comforting a self-conscious MC/Reader

So a while ago an anon sent me the below ask

And I kind of adored the idea, considering I am also insecure, and chubby, and in need of some demon bro comfort. Hence, here we are.

Rather than bullet point, I ended up writing short stories for each brother. Hopefully you still enjoy 💕

Lucifer:

The eldest brother is not unaware of the way your eyes stray when the two of you are in public together—your gaze raking over the other inhabitants of the Devildom as you traverse the busy streets.

At first, he assumes the array of creatures—some far less human-like than he and his brothers—are interesting to you. Then, he notices the way you begin hugging yourself with your arms. As if trying to hide yourself away from any prying eyes.

It is indeed out of place for a human to be seen in the Devildom, and you do get some stares, but...he has a suspicion that the sudden shyness you exhibit stems from feelings that reach beyond what strangers may think of you.

He doesn’t like seeing you in such a state.

“Y/N,” he addresses you after tugging you into a small, scarcely populated side alley. One of his gloved fingers curls beneath your chin, and he guides your hung head to look at him. “I can tell you’re upset. Explain to me why.”

You glance away from him, cheeks heating up, and your arms hugging your sides a bit tighter.

“I just...you, and your brothers are all so beautiful,” you start by saying, causing him to blink in surprise. “And...whenever we’re out like this, and I see all of the other demons living here, I can’t help but feel like I pale in comparison...”

Lucifer’s features soften as he stares at you. You’re worried about such a silly thing?

“Y/N.” He steps forward, his thumb moving to hold your chin. He tilts your head up, guiding you into a kiss. It’s soft, and loving, and immediately your fingers are twitching against your sides—itching to reach out and hold him.

“You are perfect as you are, and I have never thought otherwise.”

He kisses you again, his free arm moving to curl around your waist and tug you closer. You feel your heart aching in your chest.

“Lucifer—”

“You need not compare yourself to others, because there is no one else like you—and you are radiant in every sense of the word. I give you my word as the Avatar of Pride that what I speak is the absolute truth.”

His voice is quiet, and tender, and full of adoration. You feel like crying.

“I love you,” you whisper the words against him, voice a little broken, and Lucifer smiles before kissing you again. He will try his best from now on to help you feel a little more comfortable in your own skin.

Mammon:

The second brother invites you to Majolish to watch one of his fashion shoots, and you agree despite knowing how self conscious it will make you, because you know it will make him happy.

So, you find yourself standing in the back of the studio, watching Mammon on the temporary set—which is composed of an oversized mattress, and colorful pillows. He’s wearing slacks, and a button up that’s not buttoned at all—revealing his toned body. Since it’s a group shoot, he’s surrounded by equally enticing male and female demons. And while the sight should get you going, considering they’re all so attractive, it just makes you feel...bad.

Biting your lip, a sick feeling rising in your chest, you end up stepping out into the hall. Mammon finds you there soon after, a look of relief on his face when he spots you with your back against the wall—arms hugged together.

“There ya are! I thought you had left!” He runs up to greet you, but his smile wavers. He can tell you’re upset—gaze straying away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He reaches out, hands hovering nervously. Had he done something? “I...if I did something wrong you can tell me...I didn’t mean to upset ya—”

“No, it’s not you,” you mumble, cutting him off. Now he’s even more confused. “I guess...I got upset seeing you and all the models. I know I don’t look anywhere near as attractive, and that thought started to gnaw at me, so—”

“What are ya talking about?” he interrupts you, head cocked to the side curiously. “I think you’re hot as hell.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, surprised at his words. “What?”

“I-I mean!” suddenly he’s turning red, hand lifting to sheepishly rub at his neck. “I’ve never thought that ya weren’t attractive, ya know? Ever since you came here my heart can’t help but flutter whenever I see ya…”

Your heart aches. “Mammon…”

“Listen! I just…,” his shy gaze turns back to you, and he reaches a hand out, cupping your cheek. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

He leans in, but hesitates for a moment, so you’re the one who ends up sealing the kiss.

“Don’t worry about that kinda crap, okay?” he whispers against you, his arms lowering to wrap around your waist—holding you tightly. “Or else The Great Mammon will have to start knocking some sense into that silly human brain of yours.”

Tears blot your eyelashes, but you can’t help but giggle.

Levi:

You love Levi dearly, but he has an Akuzon addiction that needs to be addressed.

Recently, Akuzon had apparently expanded their clothing options—stocking more cosplay-like pieces—and Levi had thrown them all into his cart without second thought. Now that they’ve arrived, he’s begging you to come over.

Except, he doesn’t tell you why he wants you to come to his room until you’re already there—watching as he unpacks the multiple bags worth of questionable clothing.

“Ooooo~! This one is especially cute!!” He holds up something pastel, and undeniably adorable. You don’t disagree—it is cute, but...as you stare at it, an uncomfortable feeling settles in your stomach.

Can you even pull off something like that? You’re sure Levi is hoping that you’ll look like one of the cute anime characters in his favorite shows, and you don’t want to disappoint him.

As much as you would love to try on the clothing and model for him, you don’t believe you’ll be able to do the outfits any justice.

“Y/N?” the demon calls your name curiously, noting how you’ve gone silent. You’re no longer paying attention to him, your head hung as you stare off to the side—a perplexed look on your face.

“W-What’s wrong?” Leviathan drops the clothing held in his grap, stepping towards you. He knows that he can get a little overly excited about this stuff, but you’re typically tolerant of it…

“I don’t know if I’m the right person to model for you,” you end up saying, voice quiet. An array of negative feelings are swirling in your head, making it hard for you to say what you want to without vomiting all your worries at him.

“I’m not...built the same as an anime character, or the cute 2-D people in your video games. The clothing won’t look the same on me, and I don’t want to ruin the images you probably have in your head.”

“Y/N—,” he cuts you off, his hand grabbing your own. He lifts your hand until your fingers are splayed against his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

When you glance up, his face is flushed.

“I...this is how I get every time I’m around you,” he tells you honestly. “Whether you’re in your RAD outfit, or pajamas, or just a t-shirt and jeans...I...m-my heart always beats l-like this.”

He looks like he’s about to phase out of existence—embarrassed beyond belief with everything he’s currently confessing to you—so you instinctively reach your free hand up and cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, cheeks aflame.

“I think you’re so cute,” he mumbles, amber eyes staring right at you. “You don’t have to look like Ruri-chan, or anyone else. I...I like you. So, please don’t think those things about yourself...”

“Levi…” There’s adoration in his gaze, and you can’t help but kiss him.

Beneath your palm, you feel his heart skip a beat.

Satan:

The Avatar of Wrath has recently become accustomed to inviting you out on little coffee dates. It’s a chance for both you and him to escape his brothers, and have a space to yourselves where you’ll be able to talk freely.

The cafe the two of you frequent is dark, and cozy, and right up Satan’s alley. So far, all of your experiences there have been pleasant.

Today, however, the stunningly attractive barista is throwing herself at Satan as he orders your drinks, and a familiar uncomfortable feeling begins rising in your throat.

Just great.

Chin resting in your palm, you watch the two interact—Satan maintaining his pleasant composure, even when she presses her arms beneath her chest and asks if he wants any company. You see him shake his head, and you assume he mentions that he’s already here with someone, considering the barista’s gaze strays to you. She looks you up and down, an unkind amusement swimming in her eyes, before she turns back to Satan.

...wow.

You face yourself away, feeling bitter, and anxious as you wait for the fourth brother to return to your side. That assuming he does. You wouldn’t blame him for running off with the Barista—

“Y/N,” two hands reach out and cup your cheeks, guiding your head to the side. You manage to note that Satan is now crouched beside your chair—barista abandoned—before his lips connect with yours.

“I love you. You’re absolutely stunning.”

“Wha—,” you flush red as he pulls back, shocked at his actions. Satan usually isn’t so open about his affections in public. “You...how did you—?”

“I was watching the barista when she glanced past me. The rude, yet satisfied look on her face was telling enough,” he says, a bit of anger slipping into his tone. However, it’s quick to melt away when his gaze refocuses on your blushing cheeks.

“Just so you know, I think you’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so.” He presses back to his feet, the tips of his ears turning red. “So...don’t mind what others say, and be kind to yourself, okay?”

At a loss for words, you reach your arms out and hug him around the middle. He blinks in surprise, but a chuckle leaves his lips—his hand petting against your hair.

“Do I need to start telling you how much I adore you every day?”

“I might die,” you mumble into his shirt, and he feels his heart ache. He’ll be sure to start expressing his affections for you more often. He doesn’t want you feeling down about the way you look, because he has never given it a second thought.

In his eyes, you’ve always been perfect.

Asmo:

Asmo is unfortunately stellar at reading your body language. So on the days where your self-confidence and self-image aren’t best, he’s right there, trying to subtly raise your spirits.

Today, when he notices you picking at your food during breakfast, a frown on your face, he knows it’s going to be one of those days. And he doesn’t like seeing you upset.

So, he invites you to come to his room for a nice, relaxing spa day.

You agree, although it takes a little bit of convincing on his end.

Soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of Asmo’s outrageously large tub. He’d prepared a milk bath for you—the white, swirling liquid thick, and heavenly smelling. You’re a little nervous to disrobe and sink inside—especially considering your current mental state—but...you end up doing it anyway.

Once you’re shoulder deep into the tub, Asmo knocks on the door, making you jump.

“Are you up for getting a scalp massage?” he questions, peeking his head in. There’s a kind smile on his face. “I’d love to give you one.”

It takes you a moment to answer—your gaze lowering to look at yourself. It’d be impossible for him to see you beneath the milk, so that helps you feel a bit better…

“Okay,” you say, and Asmo is quick to skip inside. He rolls up his pants to his knees, his calves dipping into the bath on either side of your shoulders. A moment later, you feel his fingers rub through your hair, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Feel good?” he questions, and you hum in acknowledgement. Silence falls for a short while—Asmo simply focusing on easing the tension from your body—but he can’t let his thoughts go unheard.

“You know,” he starts by saying. “I don’t understand why you’re so hard on yourself. I think you’re positively stunning.”

“Asmo…”

“No, I really mean it!” he pouts, getting the feeling that you think he’s just saying that to try and make you feel better. “You’re cute, and scrumptious just the way you are! And I’ve always thought so—since the moment I laid my eyes on you when you were summoned by Lord Diavolo for the exchange program.

“So just...take my word for it, please, and let me be the positive voice in your life when your silly brain is making you think otherwise.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and his hands move to gently hold your cheeks. After a moment, you reach up and place your hands on his own. Your chest aches at his words, conflicted, but more than anything, you feel grateful.

“Thank you, Asmo.”

“Anytime, darling. I’ll always be more than happy to shower you with the love, praise, and affection that you rightfully deserve.”

Beel:

Beel loves inviting you to the gym with him, because when he’s done working out, he’s starving, which means it’s a good excuse to go out and have a meal with you.

Most days, sitting on the sidelines at the gym, or hopping on the treadmill and getting a good walk in doesn’t really bother you. Especially because you get to watch Beel as he exercises.

Today, however, you’re feeling entirely too self conscious as you sit on the empty bench press beside the Avatar of Gluttony—watching the way his arms flex as he lifts the heavy weights.

You know that the gym is typically an accepting place—an area where people (or in this case, demons) of any shape and size can come to work out—but you just feel like you don’t belong. Not accompanying Beel, at the very least.

He basically looks like he was handcrafted by god himself (and very well may have been)—his face handsome, and body toned in all of the right places. And here you are, unable to compare to him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His voice reaches your ears, and you look up to find him staring at you in concern. You can only guess that you’d had a pretty sour look on your face while you’d been lost in your thoughts.

“It’s...it’s nothing, Beel.” You force a smile, not wanting to burden him with your current emotions. He frowns, regarding you for a moment, before he lets it go.

“Okay, I’m gonna change, and then we’ll go eat.”

“Alright,” you respond, immediately pressing to your feet. You head for the door without saying anything, intending to wait for him outside per usual.

A few minutes later, Beel exits the gym to find you sitting on a bench nearby. Your leg is bouncing anxiously, gaze zoned on the concrete at your feet.

“What’s wrong?” he questions again, taking a seat beside you. His tone indicates that he won’t be accepting “nothing” for an answer this time.

You knot your hands together in your lap. “I just...do you ever get embarrassed? Bringing me to the gym with you?”

He blinks. “Embarrassed? Why would I?”

“I don’t know, because I’m...not...up to par with a lot of the demons in there? Or, because you look like that, and I look like this, and—”

“I’m lost,” he cuts you off, looking confused. “Are you saying I should be embarrassed because I’m bringing a cute human with me to the gym? Maybe it is a little weird, considering this is the Devildom, but—”

“No, not just because I’m human. I meant—”

This time, he silences you with a kiss. His large hands cup your cheeks, holding you tenderly.

“I know what you meant, Y/N, but I disagree,” he tells you, uncharacteristically serious as he sits back. Then, a bashful smile spreads on his face. “I actually think you’re really adorable. Anytime I look at you I think of my favorite food. I love you just how you are, and will never feel embarrassed having you at my side. So, you should remember that from now on, okay?”

He reaches over and slots your hands together, tugging you to your feet.

“Now, let’s go get some ice cream.”

Belphie:

Both you and Belphie are aware that one of Belphie’s favorite activities is napping with you. Particularly, with his hands wrapped around you, and his face pressed between your shoulder blades.

Recently, you’ve been passing on all of his invitations to share a nap.

And he’s seriously starting to go crazy.

Had he done something to upset you? You always seem normal whenever you’re talking with him and his brothers, but when he sends a text asking you to come over and nap, you’re either busy, or just don’t feel like it.

Today, he decides to try and bring the nap to you.

He waltzes into your room mid-afternoon—pillows and blankets tucked beneath his arms. Without waiting for a response, he makes his way to your bed and sets everything up, making a perfect little fort for the two of you to nap in.

Once it’s set up, he crawls his way inside and then rolls over, turning to face you.

You’re stood at the edge of the bed, arm awkwardly held in your grasp. You don’t move to join him. Belphie sighs.

“Did I do something wrong?” he finally asks, wanting to resolve the issue if he has. He can’t take this anymore.

“What? No, it’s not you,” you tell him, surprised to hear his question. The demon blinks at you, now even more confused. If he’s not the reason you’ve been avoiding napping with him, then what is?

He fixes you with a curious stare—letting you know that he won’t be leaving until you tell him the truth—and you sigh.

“I just...haven’t been feeling too good about myself lately,” you admit to him, eyes glancing off to the side. “And because of that, I started thinking about you holding me when we nap, and ended up getting self conscious, wondering if I felt weird in your arms, or if—”

Before you get the chance to continue, Belphegor is grabbing your wrist—tugging you down against the mattress. With your back facing him, he’s quick to scoot up behind you, his arms wrapping around your midsection like normal.

“I never have cared about looks, or any of that stuff,” he mumbles, giving you a squeeze. “You fit perfectly in my arms, and always will, so don’t overthink it.”

“Belphie…”

“I love you for you, okay? I think you’re cute, and all that jazz. Now don’t make me say it again…”

Sounding embarrassed, Belphegor presses a kiss to the back of your head. You place your arms atop his own, smiling softly.

“Thank you.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms.

#om!#obey me #swd obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me fic #obey me fluff #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #levi #satan #asmo #asmodeus #beel #beelzebub #belphie #belphegor

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

* * *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice

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warriorsbutnotreally · 3 years

Text

Why Squirrelflight And Finleap Are NOT The Same - Discussion

I have a lot of opinions on this, do bare with me

because I can say now

if you put Squirrelflight asking Bramblestar about kits on the same level as Finleap pressuring Twigbranch

Assume I don't like you

Unless you have a legitimate reason to compare a domestic abuse victim to someone who was actively manipulating his mate to consider having his babies so that he felt 'like he could stay with her', I don't care what you have to say

Because there's a big difference and it's a little thing called context and power dynamics

That being said

disclaimer that I am aro/ace, so this is coming from the lens of someone who doesn't understand romance but knows a bad situation when I see one

///

tw; mentions of abuse and manipulation

Let's start with Finleap

As apprentices he has a cute friendship with Twigbranch and it's implied the two like each other as a little more than friends, though Twig doesn't seem ready for that commitment just yet

We first see the topic of kits come up in this conversation.

“I know.” Finleap spoke softly. “It’s scary having so much responsibility. And these are our first apprentices. But it’s okay for us to make mistakes and it’s okay for them to make mistakes. We’re learning together.” “But I’m supposed to know what to do.” A lump sat in Twigbranch’s throat like a stone. “Why?” Finleap wove around her and stopped as he caught her eye. “You’re a great warrior, Twigbranch. And you’re kind. You don’t have to stop being kind just because you’re a mentor. Trust your instincts. Push Flypaw when she needs pushing, but encourage her too. You must know how good a little encouragement can feel when you’re facing something new and difficult.” There was warmth in his gaze that touched Twigbranch’s heart. He really cared whether she’d be a good mentor. He wanted her to succeed. She purred and touched her nose to his. “Besides,” he went on, “mentoring will teach us patience. Imagine what good parents we’ll be when we have kits.” When we have kits! Twigbranch pulled away. Finleap’s gaze was misty. Was he really thinking about having kits already? They weren’t even mates yet. Twigbranch wasn’t ready to be tied to the nursery. She was barely ready to think about having a mate. She changed the subject. “Let’s check the border.” She didn’t want to hurt Finleap’s feelings. “Flypaw! Snappaw! This way!” she called to the apprentices, scanning the bracken until they appeared, then turned and headed along the trail toward ShadowClan’s border.

It's important to note the obvious negative reaction she has, even outside of her own thoughts. She was perfect fine with touching him until kits are mentioned. She's also quick to change the topic.

It's also implied here and in a couple other places that they hadn't even had this conversation before, as it's sprung onto her without any warning.

And if you don't believe me, consider this paragraph -

His confidence soothed her. He seemed so sure of himself. Even when he’d been pulling Puddleshine free, he’d known he could do it. He was sure they’d be mates too and that they’d have kits one day. And the thought didn’t scare him. Anxiety wormed beneath Twigbranch’s pelt. Then why does it scare me?

Twigbranch isn't ready for kits and the fact Finleap is shows that they're not seeing eye to eye on the issue. He's confident he wants to be a father, but she's not sure she wants to be a mother just yet.

He wants her to be on the same page, even if she isn't ready.

“I like it here, but I don’t feel like I belong.” Finleap glanced at his paws. “Which is why I want to start a family. Here, in ThunderClan. Then I’ll feel part of the Clan. I’ll feel like I have something here that is truly my own. I want to have kits.” “Kits?” Twigbranch’s mouth was so dry, she could hardly speak. Finleap watched her, his gaze expectant. “But you know how I feel about kits,” Twigbranch blurted. “I’m not ready. I want to concentrate on mentoring. I’ve told you all this.” “I know.” Finleap held her gaze. “But I need you to think about it again. I have to feel I belong here—that you want me. If you don’t ever want to have kits with me, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at home in ThunderClan.”

"If you don’t ever want to have kits with me, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at home in ThunderClan."

That's a really shitty thing to say to someone especially your bestfriend / girlfriend

"I'm worthless here unless you give up part of your young adult life to providing me with children"

This isn't even a Fernsong situation where he offers to live in the nursery when she's able to go back out. No. He wants her in the nursery with her kits.

Next time we see these two

She glanced at Finleap, wishing he would say something encouraging. “I’m glad Bramblestar picked us. What if it’s the last chance I get to see Violetshine and Hawkwing?” Please tell me everything will be okay. “I thought kin wasn’t important.” There was bitterness in his mew. Twigbranch flinched. Since he’d told her he wanted to have kits, Finleap had been distant. She always seemed to be the one to start conversations, while he only replied in short, vague phrases. Her heart ached, but what could she do? Promise to be his mate? Give up mentoring Flypaw so that she could have his kits? Anger pricked at her belly. He was pressuring her into something she didn’t want yet. But she loved him, and she could understand that he was acting out of unhappiness. If only he could find his place in ThunderClan. She’d planned to keep stalling—refusing to give him a straight answer—to give him time to adjust. But what if SkyClan left? It would force him to make a decision. Clan or kin? She changed the subject. “I hope Reedclaw has recovered from her cough.” Finleap didn’t respond.

Now Finleap is giving her the cold shoulder, being such a piss-ant about her not wanting kits that he's not even willing to comfort her when both their families might be being chased away.

And moments later

Twigbranch was unnerved. Sparkpelt had been her mentor. Had she always wished SkyClan would leave? Why didn’t I realize? “Do you think the other Clans feel the same way?” Finleap shrugged. “If they do, then SkyClan will have to leave.” Her mouth grew dry. Hearing Finleap say those words out loud made her realize that she hadn’t truly thought it was possible until now. But he was right—SkyClan would have no choice but to leave if none of the Clans were on their side. “I really might never see Hawkwing and Violetshine again.” Finleap didn’t speak. Didn’t he care? “Will you go back with them?” She stared at him, her heart pounding. “I don’t know.” He avoided her gaze. Was she going to lose her kin and her love at the same time? What would be left if they went? Feeling sick, Twigbranch followed her Clanmates to the tree-bridge.

Not only does he voice her fears out loud, but he doesn't deny that he'd stay with her if she isn't with him. This is a manipulation tactic and a very shitty and terrible one that that for him to use again the girl he allegedly loves.

At the end of the gathering -

“SkyClan!” Leafstar called to her Clanmates from the long grass. Harrybrook and Macgyver hurried after her. “We must go,” Hawkwing mewed huskily. He turned away. Twigbranch gazed frantically at Violetshine. “Is this the last time I’ll see you?” “I don’t know.” Violetshine touched her muzzle to Twigbranch’s. Her breath was warm in the chilly night air. “It’s up to Leafstar now.” “Good-bye.” Twigbranch could hardly speak. Her throat tightened as Violetshine pulled away and headed after Hawkwing. As she turned back to her Clanmates, she saw Finleap. He was watching Plumwillow and Sandynose disappear into the grass. She hurried to his side. “Did you say good-bye?” He didn’t answer. The sorrow in his gaze pierced her heart. “Are you planning to go with them if they leave?” She felt numb. He stared at her. “I love you, Twigbranch. But if you don’t want to have kits, I should go with my kin. At least I’ll be somewhere I belong, instead of chasing a dream that might never come true.”

His wording is honestly just terrible.

His dream with Twigbranch is only to have children with her. He may say he loves her, yeah, but according to himself, he's willing to leave her forever just because she's isn't committed to the idea of having babies with him.

I want to say this now

If someone you like is willing to ditch you because you don't want to raise a family, be it at the moment or ever? Leave them. They're not worth it.

You shouldn't feel obligated to have a family with someone.

After SkyClan leaves, Finleap decides to stay in ThunderClan.

Of course, his pity party isn't over.

In the days since SkyClan had left, Finleap had seemed uneasy. They’d talked after the Gathering and he’d decided to stay in ThunderClan. Twigbranch had been relieved. Of course Finleap was upset at losing his kin, and at first she’d tried to be supportive, but it was like he was clinging to the loss. He’d started to act as though he’d made the wrong choice. He’d begun to eat alone and go to his nest early instead of sharing tongues with the Clan. He was acting like an outsider. Frustration itched beneath Twigbranch’s pelt, growing stronger each day. How could Finleap ever feel like part of ThunderClan if he didn’t try to fit in? At least he’d stopped talking about having kits. Had he really accepted that they wouldn’t have kits until they were both ready? Twigbranch wasn’t sure the matter was settled. Part of her wondered if Finleap wished he’d left with SkyClan after all.

This is where communication between the two is an issue.

Of course Finleap is going to be upset that his family is, as far as he knows, gone forever.

However

He never once clarifies that he's only upset about his kin to Twigbranch, his girlfriend, making his breakdown seem torn between missing his family and not liking the idea that the girl he likes isn't ready to have babies yet.

Not only that, Twigbranch has a huge point here.

Finleap claims kits will make him feel like he belongs in ThunderClan. However, outside of Twig and the idea of kits, he hasn't done much to try to bond with anyone in the Clan. Even outside of the conversation about kits, he mostly interacts with his apprentice unless he's out helping someone.

He's not focused on making friends, or being a great ThunderClan warrior. His only focus is having a family with Twigbranch and nothing else.

Granted we don't see his POV, but we do his actions and what he says to the cats he apparently cares about.

Her talk with Tree expresses more of her concerns with her relationship while they're out trying to find SkyClan.

Twigbranch followed his gaze. “I can’t imagine having kits,” she mewed guiltily. “Finleap wants to already, but I’m not ready to give up being a warrior.” “You don’t have to give it up,” Tree reminded her. “Queens only stay in the nursery until their kits are weaned, don’t they?” “I guess.” Was she being selfish, wanting to focus on herself? “But I don’t want to worry about that yet. I like being a mentor. I’m learning so much every day.” “You’re young,” he mewed gently. “There’s no rush.”

For the first time she's being told that it's okay that she doesn't need to feel ready and that there's nothing wrong with taking her time on deciding what she wants.

Of course this leads to-

“Well done!” As Twigbranch purred admiringly, she saw Finleap padding toward them. He was carrying a bedraggled sparrow. It was skinny and looked more like crow-food than fresh- kill. He stopped beside Flypaw and laid it on the ground. “I was thinking that we could share this . . .” He eyed the fat rabbit lying, half-eaten, between Twigbranch and Tree. “But I guess you don’t need it.” Anger hardened his mew. Twigbranch shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize you were bringing me food. Tree just offered and I was hungry.” Finleap wasn’t listening. He was still staring at the rabbit. “I guess he knows where the best prey lives. This used to be his home. It’s easy to hunt when you know the territory.” Tree stared at Finleap coldly. “I could catch a rabbit anywhere.” “Did you used to catch rabbits to impress Violetshine?” Finleap mewed pointedly. “Or have you forgotten Violetshine?”

Immediately he's jealous of Tree because he was thoughtful enough to share a rabbit. And Warriors has shown us that there's nothing inherently romantic about sharing prey. It happens all the time and not specifically between mates or two courting cats.

It's a common social interaction between Clan cats.

But Finleap's acting like he caught them sharing a nest.

Tree had been hard on him, but Finleap had picked the fight. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, even though he was acting like a fox-heart. She hurried across the cave. Finleap was sniffing at the bedding, his pelt bristling. “Oh, so you can tear yourself away from Tree?” Twigbranch blinked at him. “What are you talking about? Tree loves Violetshine!” He glanced at her angrily and padded out of the cave.

He accuses her of liking Tree and when she denies, he walks away.

She chases after him and then this argument goes down

He stopped as he reached a swath of heather and turned on her. “I bet you don’t even want to find SkyClan! You’re probably happy to see Violetshine gone now that you’ve made Tree notice you.” Shock froze Twigbranch. “Do you have you bees in your brain?” She stared at him. “How could you say something like that? I would never betray my sister. And I’d never make Tree try to notice me. I told you! He’s just a friend. And he wouldn’t do that to Violetshine, either!” “You haven’t left his side since we left camp,” Finleap snarled. “I’m leading the patrol, and he knows the way!” Twigbranch snapped. “Every time I look at you, your muzzle’s in his ear.” “We were just talking! I’ve got to talk to some cat. Ever since SkyClan left the forest, I feel like I can’t talk to you.” Grief pressed in her belly. “I don’t know why you stayed with me. You’ve made it pretty clear that you wish you’d left with SkyClan.” “I stayed because I love you!" Finleap spat. “You’ve hardly looked at me. If that’s love, I don’t want it!” She lashed her tail. “You don’t know what love is!” He glared at her accusingly. “Of course I do!” Why was he being so mean? “I love you!” “Not enough to have my kits.” She stared at him, wind tugging at her fur. “Is that it? If I won’t have your kits, you don’t want me?” “I want you to love me enough to have kits.” Hurt sharpened his gaze.

Again what he's doing here is shitty and he's being jealous of another tom talking to his girlfriend, despite this tom just being a friend, all because he's being nice to her

Not a good sign

And, of course, the apology just sucks. It comes out of nowhere and it doesn't feel like he earned the right to be forgiven

he hurt Twigbranch, made her doubt what she wanted, and treated her like shit

`“But I thought you loved me.” He sounded surprised. “You told Violetshine you loved me very much.” “I do,” she mewed softly. “But not enough to have your kits. Not now. Maybe not ever.” Finleap glanced at his paws. “Let’s forget about kits, huh?” She blinked in surprise. “Forget?” “I was wrong, Twigbranch. Seeing SkyClan again made me realize . . . however much I love my kin, I love you more. I don’t want you to have kits if you don’t want to. I can live without them. But I can’t live without you.” Twigbranch stared at him. “Do you mean that?” “Yes.” Finleap’s eyes shimmered with love. “I’ve been so wrapped up in feeling hurt, I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you—or how much I was hurting our relationship.”

Now, not every character needs a grand realization

But

I don't think just a simple "I'm sorry" makes up for how he made her feel and the harm he did to their relationship and the fact it took this long for him to realize that his girlfriend his her own cat and not just a kit-making factory.

And this is one part of a very long story

Now let's talk about Squirrelflight

Specifically Squirrelflight's Hope, but I will also make references to Omen Of The Stars, as that's when her worse breakup with Brambleclaw/star happened where

may I remind you

he ignored her and treated her like garbage for many moons and when he thought there was a chance she might die was when he finally decided to make amends for her horrible crime of

*checks notes*

protecting her sister's kits from a system that punishes not only halfClan kittens, but the kits of medicine cats

"but she lied" I hear you cry

and to that I say

and?

Bramblestar lied about much worse things than where three kits came from and, may I remind you, he trained in cat hell with his very obviously evil dad who he had been judged for being the son of.

And cats lie in Warriors all the time and it's very rare that they're punished for it

and no, saying you find her annoying also doesn't justify anything

The punishment doesn't match the 'crime' here.

Let's get into Squirrelflight's Hope

The first time kits are brought up is by Bramblestar, him talking about it in a negative light.

... She didn’t feel old yet, but it had been a long time since she’d felt the rush of excitement she used to feel in her first moons as a warrior, whenever she was picked to go on patrol or attend a Gathering. She pressed closer to Bramblestar. “Do you miss being young?” He shrugged. “I miss being irresponsible. Back then, the only thing we had to worry about was our next hunt. That was before we became leader and deputy, and before we had kits to look after.”

Obviously, Squirrelflight doesn't agree there

Squirrelflight felt a pang of longing. Sparkpelt and Alderheart were grown, and she’d never had a chance to know their littermates, Juniperkit and Dandelionkit, who had died. She’d been hoping to have a new litter by now—tiny kits to nurture and love. But they’d had no luck. “Having kits didn’t make me feel old. I liked the responsibility. It’ll be good to feel that way again.” She glanced hopefully at Bramblestar. When he didn’t comment, she prompted him. “Don’t you think?” “Of course.” He didn’t look at her. Anxiety prickled beneath her pelt. She’d wanted him to sound more enthusiastic about kits. “Let’s pretend we’re young again now. It’s almost like we’re sneaking out of camp.” Squirrelflight kept her mew light. “Half the Clan are already in their nests, and the rest will be asleep by the time we get home.” “I wish we could.” Was that a sigh in Bramblestar’s mew? “But we can’t be late for the meeting. And we have to go straight back to camp afterward; Birchfall and Lionblaze will be waiting to find out what happened.”

It's important to note now that Squirrelflight wants to feel young and wants to feel important, something that she doesn't feel now as an older molly.

Things have been serious lately and she wants to lighten the mood, but this is brushed off by Bramblestar.

It should be noted that the leaders - and not Squirrelflight - are talking about how their Clans need territory because they have expecting queens. Squirrelflight has an internal reaction, yes, but doesn't say anything.

Bramblestar's also being a hardass here and Squirrelflight does have a good idea, but he's quick to make her feel bad about it.

“Might be.” Bramblestar’s tail twitched angrily. “Or it might be overrun with snakes, or dogs, or foxes. Warriors might die thanks to your idea.”

There was no sign the gathering was leader only. If it was, why bring non-leaders? And everyone had been having an open discussion about possible ideas.

But Bramblestar shames Squirrelflight for trying to be helpful.

And of course, we start reaching this scene

“But we’d all have bigger territories if SkyClan moved.” Squirrelflight hurried after him. “And you heard Harestar and Leafstar. The Clans are growing. There’ll be more kits by newleaf, more mouths to feed, more apprentices to train—” “More kits!” Bramblestar lashed his tail. “Is that all you think about now?”

She's not talking about her own kits. She's literally referencing something previously brought up by two other Clan leaders. However, Bramblestar turns this against her, lashing out about an already dead conversation that didn't last.

A conversation that he had brought up both the first time and this time.

His words stung like claw marks. She watched him disappear into the grass, her chest tightening. “Don’t you think about it?” She pushed after him, but he was already hurrying ahead. He was on the tree-bridge by the time she caught up to him. She followed him over it and jumped onto the far shore. She fell in beside Bramblestar, breathless as she tried to keep up. “Don’t you think about kits, Bramblestar?” “I have kits,” he snapped. “Alderheart and Sparkpelt? They’re grown up now!” “I know!” Bramblestar didn’t look at her. “They’re old enough to look after themselves. Why are you so desperate to be responsible for new lives? Isn’t being deputy enough?” “It should be, but it’s not.” Squirrelflight felt panic welling. “I’m getting older with each season. One day I won’t be able to have more kits. I just want another litter before it’s too late.”

Not only did he run off after bring this conversation back, but he continues to shame Squirrelflight after he stops running, implying that she's not content being deputy.

She's worried because she's scared that she's getting older.

The fear of growing older is a common fear and brushing it off as someone being irrational isn't fair to the person.

and to get to the scene where she's "like Finleap" according to those people out there with pebbles instead of brains.

“I know.” Bramblestar sounded weary. “And of course I want kits. Just not as much as you do.” Squirrelflight stopped and stared after him. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

She's not asking this to guilt trip or manipulate. We'd be seeing signs of that way before this question.

Instead this is given the context of being asked in desperation.

I remind you that Bramblestar had spent an entire arc being harsh and cold to her, making her feel small, and he had been making her feel small again, berating her and having her question her ideas.

He's being a piece of shit and she's scared that this is going to turn into all those moons of OotS again.

Even if she was trying to, the power dynamic isn't in her favor. Not only is he older than her, having been made a warrior before she was even born, he's the leader. He has 9 long lives ahead of him.

As shown here she's painfully aware of it, too

Bramblestar turned, his eyes sparking with exasperation. “Yes! But I am responsible for our Clan. And if the other Clans are planning to start up more trouble with SkyClan, I need to focus on that. I don’t have as much energy as I used to. I’m getting older too.” “No, you’re not!” Anger flared in Squirrelflight’s chest. “You have more lives than me—” She broke off as a realization washed over her like ice water. Was that why he didn’t care about kits? He had plenty of time to have kits in the future, maybe even with another mate, when she was dead. The thought made her feel sick. Bramblestar’s next litter might have a mother who wasn’t her. She stared at him, unable to speak.

She doesn't put it past Bramblestar to move on after she's gone, despite his older age and that was also proof in Bramblestar's Storm, where he was actively interested in courting Jessy.

Her fears here are valid. Not only is she older, but she only has one life to live. He doesn't.

And he's perfectly in the right to not want anymore kits

However, his attitude and behavior to his mate is absolutely terrible and instead of talking to her, he's belittling her and making her feel bad for wanting things.

And for having different opinions at that

His gaze shimmered suddenly as though he saw her pain. “I’m sorry.” He hurried to her side and pressed his muzzle against her cheek. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I was angry. I felt you weren’t on my side at the meeting. I was trying to protect SkyClan.” “So was I!” She pulled away indignantly. “I was trying to find a solution that would keep the peace.” “Maybe you’re right. But that isn’t the point. You’re my deputy.” His tail twitched. “You’re supposed to back me up in front of the other Clans. We need to look united. You know how quickly Tigerstar smells weakness, and how he exploits it.”

Then why make her deputy again?

“And you did the ShadowClan border patrol.” Squirrelflight’s tail-tip was twitching, though she kept her voice low. “And yesterday you trekked all the way over to RiverClan and risked your life rescuing that kittypet.” “So?” Bramblestar began to feel frustrated. “I’m fine. It’s not a problem.” “It’ll be a problem for the rest of us if our Clan leader collapses from exhaustion.” Bramblestar heaved a long sigh. “Remind me why I chose you to be my deputy,” he muttered through his teeth. “Because I won’t let you boss me around,” Squirrelflight retorted, her green eyes flashing. True, Bramblestar thought ruefully.

Oh yeah, cause he doesn't want a yes-man deputy

Or maybe he wants a deputy who only challenges him when it's convenient and/or doesn't make him look like an idiot.

Which is kinda

not great

“It looks a lot like weakness when a deputy disagrees with her leader in public.” Bramblestar shifted his paws. “You should know better! You should have discussed your idea with me in private and we could have taken it to the other Clans together.” “It might have been too late by then.” Squirrelflight paused. She didn’t want to argue. And besides, the issue with SkyClan wasn’t what was worrying her now. “I’m sorry I spoke up without talking to you first. But is that really why you said you don’t want to have kits?” Bramblestar gazed at her, his eyes round. “I’m sorry if I made it sound that way. I do want to have kits with you.” “Really?” Her heart lifted. “Yes. If that’s what you want.” Squirrelflight stared at him. There was resignation in his eyes. Grief twisted her belly as he stared back at her blankly. She turned away. I want you to want it too.

Here's where the argument that Squirrelflight, in any way, is equal to Finleap falls apart the most.

She doesn't need to be told that he doesn't feel the same.

She can see it in the way he acts.

She knows he doesn't and she lets the conversation die. Yes, she still thinks about how Bramblestar may move on and have a new litter after she's gone, but she doesn't talk about it, instead keeping her thoughts to herself, not wanting to rock their unstable relationship any more than it has been.

Most of this book has Squirrelflight second guessing what she wants and believing that maybe she was in the wrong for talking openly about a possible idea when everyone else had been doing it.

There's literally a scene where she's having what, in my opinion, feels similar to the start of a near panic attack where her thoughts spiral into a dark pit

But it hadn’t been just the kits he’d been upset about. She’d contradicted him in front of the others. But they were close to fighting! Squirrelflight flicked her tail indignantly. And I have a right to my own opinion. Her plan for SkyClan could be the perfect solution. She couldn’t have held her tongue even if she’d wanted to. Bramblestar had implied that a good deputy would have kept quiet. She shook out her pelt. Was that what Bramblestar thought—that she wasn’t a good deputy? Hurt sharpened its claws on her heart once again. She closed her eyes. Chasing thoughts like this wasn’t going to help her feel better.

The way Bramblestar spoke to her struck so deep that Squirrelflight feels selfish for having her own wants, as seen by her talking to her sister.

Squirrelflight let out her breath. Never mind the awkwardness—Leafpool will understand. And she needed reassurance. “He said he doesn’t want more kits as much as I do.” Leafpool’s eyes rounded with sympathy. “Oh, Squirrelflight.” Squirrelflight nodded. “I know. It’s—” Selfish of me, she was about to say. Because I’ve already mothered two litters. But Leafpool didn’t let her finish. “That must have hurt,” Leafpool said softly, dipping her head. “I know how much you want another litter.” “Bramblestar says he’s getting old and that the Clan is enough responsibility.” She trailed into silence, the memory of the argument stinging her afresh. “I’m sure he’d love kits if you had them,” Leafpool mewed. “But I can see how he finds the thought overwhelming.” Squirrelflight blinked at her. “Do you think I’m being unreasonable, wanting more kits? I know I . . .” “No, of course not. But you already have Alderheart and Sparkpelt. And, in a way, Jayfeather and Lionblaze.” Squirrelflight nodded, but her heart ached. “They don’t need me anymore.”

The power dynamic between Bramblestar and Squirrelflight aren't fair and, again, he's in his right to not want any more kits right now

but the way he spoke and made her feel like her wanting kits at all was terrible and that she should feel bad isn't the way to handle a relationship where two people have two different wants

And for more proof that Bramblestar doesn't make his deputy, who is also his mate, feel important

we have this line

And as far as kits went . . . Leafpool didn’t understand what it felt like not to be needed. Leafpool was needed every day. The Clan depended on her, sometimes for their lives. It was different for Squirrelflight. Even as deputy, she was just one warrior among many.

She's made to feel like another warrior, a replaceable cog in a machine, when Bramblestar had never been made to feel like that while he was deputy

In fact, in Squirrelflight's own words

"Who does Brambleclaw think he is, treating me like I'm still wet behind the ears? Toms are so much trouble! You don't know how lucky you are, Leafpool, not having to worry about things like that. Well I know there was Crowfeather..."

After becoming deputy his confidence and ego went up and he made it known that he wasn't just another cat

He was ThunderClan's deputy

But he never allows his mate to feel like that

In fact, he actively puts her down

He starts making up rules just to keep her in place and lashing out when she tries to fight back. Even when Squirrelflight is trying to be happy that Sparkpelt is expecting kits, Bramblestar brings up their conversation.

Yes, Squirrelflight did feel a little envious, she felt guilty about feeling that way and just wanted to be happy for her daughter

but he was the one who brought up how she wanted kits and he didn't, further making her feel shameful

he didn't even aid in comforting his daughter when her pregnancy brought pain after he sparked the fight with Squirrelflight. He was just watching as Squirrelflight helped their daughter, Squilf being the one to talk to her gently when she was worried about the intense craps she was feeling

When Sunrise, one of the Sisters, is actively dying, he refuses to allow anyone to help her until the medicine cats talk to StarClan and when they get an unclear message, he's more than willing to let her die

When Leafpool refuses to allow this, he actively challenges the medicine cat in front of the entire Clan and Squirrelflight snaps to her sister's defense once more.

Squirrelflight held her ground. “I have to do what I think is right.” “Even if it costs you your Clan?” “ThunderClan is stronger than that,” Squirrelflight spat. “At least I hope it is. If our future depends on letting a cat die, then it’s not the Clan I thought it was.” Bramblestar stared at her. Uncertainty glittered in his gaze. “Why are you doing this to me?” His words pierced her heart. “You’re my deputy. You’re my mate. You’re supposed to support me.” “Being a good deputy doesn’t mean blindly following orders.” Squirrelflight didn’t move. “It means standing up for what I believe, and this time, I believe I’m right.” The camp seemed to swim around her. She knew she was hurting him. But she had to convince him. As the Clan watched her silently, their eyes round in the moonlight, Bramblestar backed away.

Bramblestar tries to manipulate her and that's where the big power dynamic comes in

he's the leader

he's older

he had gone out of his way many times to make her feel small and weak compared to him, even imposing reckless rules just to try to keep her where he wants her

he wants to use her emotions against her

and when she refuses to let him hurt her more

he strikes her with more sharp and hurtful words

Around him, the Clan got to their paws. Mousewhisker and Twigbranch helped Tempest and Hawk lift Sunrise. Leafpool nosed her way into the medicine den. Bramblestar narrowed his eyes, his face like stone. Squirrelflight tried to drag her gaze from his, her heart cracking as he curled his lip. “StarClan wanted unity among the Clans,” he snarled. “Thanks to you, there’s not even unity in ThunderClan anymore.”

“Thanks to you, there’s not even unity in ThunderClan anymore.”

because she didn't want an needless death, he blames her for the discourse he created

this is only a portion of the Squirrelflight mistreatment in this book, but it's all that I'm going to mention since it deals with the topic at hand

and of course we know she decides she doesn't need more kits after all

but what I want to say is

these two stories aren't even

Finleap is manipulative and tries to make Twigbranch feel like she needs to have his kits to prove she loves him or to keep him around

Squirrelflight wants to have more kits, but is made to feel like her needs are selfish and that she should feel bad for these feelings

Twig and Bramble are valid for not wanting kits just as much as Fin and Squirrel are valid for wanting them

However, Finleap isn't in the right for pressuring his girlfriend to marry him and have kittens when she isn't ready

and Bramblestar isn't in the right for shaming his mate for wanting more kits and making a scene out of their relationship problems

and before any incels find this

their genders wouldn't matter in this

if Finleap was a she-cat harassing the tom she liked to have kits with her to make her feel like she belonged in a Clan, I'd still feel the same way

if Squirrelflight was a tom who wanted more kits, but his female leader mate berated him and made him to feel guilty for wanting that, I'd feel the same

it's not about toms and she-cats, men and women, or whatever terrible black and white gender binary lens you're looking through

it's about two different types of shitty mates in two different situations

those being Finleap and Bramblestar and their manipulation of Twigbranch and Squirrelflight respectively.

#discussion #finleap #twigbranch #squirrelflight #bramblestar #warriors #warrior cats #cw; mention of abuse #cw; manipulation #cw; finleap and bramblestar are terrible in canon #and their redemptions are half-assed cause the erins still want you to root for terrible couples

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inkedtae · 4 years

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a brew of wings ⇾ myg. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ dragon!yoongi x witch!reader (f.)

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𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ your tiny tea shop is the perfect front for harbouring hybrid fugitives

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In the humble village of Daegu, sandwiched between a blacksmith and mechanic, a tiny tea shop lives - exactly where Namjoon said it would be. But, not at all like his mother had described all those years ago. Technology has bled into every corner of her once little world. Yoongi wonders if she would still recognize it as he watches customers filter in and out from under his wickered hat. The tea shop seems all too busy to resemble anything close to a hybrid asylum, but Namjoon was specific. Perhaps Yoongi shouldn’t trust knights of the king. Most have a reputation for hybrid mistreatment. However, there isn’t much logic in letting Yoongi run so far only to be captured in an obscure tea shop. And besides, Namjoon is a friend. Perhaps the closest he’d encountered in a long while.

“She’s going to scold you.”

“Nix loves me too much to scold me.”

Nix. The familiar name redirects Yoongi’s attention to the two men walking by him. The taller one, with features so symmetrical they almost seem unreal, rests a fishing pole over his shoulder. The shorter one, with the sharper tongue, carries a bag that clatters with glass. They enter the shop causally tossing curses at each other. Yoongi reaches into his pocket, unfolding the little piece of parchment Namjoon ripped to scribble on.

utopia, nix, huckleberry lemon on ice.

One glance up at the flickering neon sign above the storefront attempts to spell Teatopia, but the first strokes of light seem to be dead. Instead, it glows atopia. Tremors of the midnight train suddenly resonate around the evening market. All lights flicker and dishes clatter, though the villagers' conversations carry on. Their affairs remain uninterrupted, eyes focused only on each other. Yoongi clenches his fists and digs his feet into the ground to steady himself until the train finally passes. When he glances back up at the neon sign, parts of the first ‘a’ flicker out to read utopia.

Rolling his shoulders back, Yoongi bears his fangs behind sealed lips, as a precaution, then pushes the door open. A bell chimes. Patrons sit around velvet draped tables. They engage in lively conversations, breaking steamed buns together and sipping on all sorts of tea. But, it’s the steady crackles of the fireplace that pique Yoongi’s interest. The amber embers beneath the flames soothe the heaviness upon his chest. One breathful of floral smoke, and he sinks into comfort.

That is until a black cat purrs down by his feet. Yoongi snaps his gaze down to find it circling between his legs then prancing off behind the counter. The two men bickering outside sit at the bar in front of a woman looking more unimpressed the longer they speak. Yoongi retracts his fangs, eyes fixated on the way your brows dance with annoyance. And that dress. He doesn’t care much for fashion but you seem to wear it differently, simply. Most people, much like him, travel with layers. Only a black dress clothes you, sleeves flourishing at your wrists and laces around your cleavage. Though, he really shouldn’t let his eyes wander.

Yoongi ignores the heat rushing to his cheeks as he approaches the counter. The black cat sits by the one-eyed register. Its tail swirls and emerald eyes remain on him. He tentatively takes a seat by a sleeping old man, a couple seats away from the arguing men.

“Nixy,” the shorter one smirks. “You wouldn’t scold me, right.”

You, Nix it would seem, cross your arms under your chest. You hold a blank expression until the taller one sighs and grumbles, “He stopped for a pack of stray dogs.”

“Jin! You promis- He purposely mislead us to fish for a couple of hours!”

Jin gasps then nudges his friend. “Guk, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Guk scoffs, returning the shove. He stands from his seat and attempts to tower over Jin, only to get a hand slice to the neck. A quick exchange of smacking hands breaks out between the two, the sleeping old man beside Yoongi suddenly wide awake.

“Land one in the gut!” He shouts.

Yoongi winces at the volume. He mutters a curse under his breath before his annoyed gaze meets yours. You watch him for a beat, two, three, then blink your attention back to Jin and Guk. A wave of your hand separates them with a slide back. Frustration still rages in their gazes. Yoongi holds his breath, diverting his gaze to the floor. Recognizing rage in others often triggers his hybridity. The dragon tickles in his palms as thick, black talons replace his nails. Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes shifty, breath heavy.

You bite your lip. Jin and Guk fall silent, their words cinching in their throats. “I don’t want to have to send Apolla to babysit you,” you sigh. The black cat purrs in hiccups, as if laughing. You let a smirk grace your lips, continuing, “This next batch needs to be delivered on time.”

With a twirl of your finger, glass vials, now filled to the brim with multi-coloured herbs, float back into Guk’s bag. You, then, beckon the pouty men closer. They shuffle towards the counter. You tug two tiny crystal pendants from your charm bracelet and pin one on each of their sleeves. “These should help you stick to your path,” you mutter. “Soak them in saltwater once all the orders are complete.”

Though they roll their eyes, both men nod in understanding. Guk offers an innocent smile, Jin a playful one, before turning to the door. Whatever spell you had over their voices seems to wear off by the time they exit. “Little punk,” are Jin’s final words.

Yoongi’s hands clam with sweat as his talons retract under the cover of his pockets. He sighs heavily. Gaze shaking behind his short hair, he shifts in his seat. The old man’s snoring returns sinking in with the crackling fireplace seamlessly. Yoongi wishes he had this man’s freedom. The ability to fall in and out of sleep in a public place without fearing for his safety. Is it his identity or the shop that makes him feel this secure?

“What can I get you?”

He flinches. Meeting your curious gaze, he mutters, “Huckleberry lemon.”

“Infused or blended?”

Momentary panic flashes in his eyes. If you notice, you don’t make it known. “On ice.”

The action is quiet, subtle, but Yoongi hears it clearly. Your breath hitches. You swallow thickly, looking him over once, twice, then ask, “On or in?”

“On.”

You wave a hand. The lights of the shop flicker out, candles taking their place. Yoongi shoots to his feet, talons and fangs returning. His temples suddenly ache where his horns should be. Oh yes, Yoongi remembers, Horns surface in defense too. Setting his jaw, he ignores whatever sentiment scratches at his throat and whips his gaze around the store, searching for the first attack. However, he merely finds the patrons preparing to leave. They seem all too familiar with the switch between electric to flame. A few of them even mutter curses under their breath.

The old man stretches by Yoongi, to which he flinches. “Another rogue broomstick?” He asks you.

“A mop,” you correct before tugging on your ear. A loud clattering boom sounds from the closest by the end of the counter. Yoongi jumps back, looking to you for an answer. You avoid his gaze.

The customers bid you a goodnight. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They swim with panic instead. Yoongi perks his ears towards you, instantly picking up the quick beat of your heart. It’s hammering, blood sprinting around its cycle within your veins. He glances down at your hands. Your nails have scratched their way to the edge of the wooden counter, knuckles tense as you grip onto it.

Once all the customers have left, you circle around the counter and ask, “Is Namjoon okay? What happened?”

Yoongi stumbles back, eager to create distance amongst you. “Yeah, he’s fine. He told me you’ll find me a place to stay.”

“Where is he?”

“Seoul.”

You pause. Not a single breath dares escape you as you assess his word. Yoongi raises a brow. What exactly is your connection to Namjoon, he wonders. You went out of your way to find out as quickly as possible if anything was wrong. He licks his lips when realization finally colours your features. A bitter curse slips past your maroon lips. Without another word, you rush back around the counter and begin scribbling onto a loose piece of parchment. You roll it up once you’re done. “Apolla,” you call. The black cat leaps from counter top to top, landing by you effortlessly. You slip the note into her collar and whisper, “Make sure they read it and seriously consider it before leaving to the next, okay?”

Apolla meows, rubs her head in your hand then jumps off the counter. Yoongi peers over the counter to see where she’s gone, but he can’t spot her anywhere in the candle lit darkness.

“Do you have the note he gave you?”

Yoongi snaps his attention back to you. Your back faces him again. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the tiny piece of parchment. You pluck it right out of his hand and roll it up with your own note then whistle a high melody. Distant hoots grow louder behind him. He looks to the door as it opens on its own accord. A black owl swoops into the shop. You tie the message to its left leg, offer the owl what looks like a rat tail, then send it off. The door shuts the moment it's gone, locks clicking.

Finally turning to Yoongi, you tip your finger up and his hat falls to his back. Yoongi glares. Your sporadic writings and dismissals might have been interesting at first, but now he’s looking for answers. How is this witch supposed to help him? Namjoon promised he’d be safe here and, though the shop feels secure, you do not.

“Agust Dragon,” you whisper.

Yoongi furrows his brows. His gaze shifts to the draped windows and locked doors. Who told you of his arrival? Perhaps this was a trap. Was it to see how far he could get, to have this entire little town witness his defeat? The cruelty of the king does not know restraint. If anyone was to lead him back to his mother’s village to further humiliate him, it would be the king. Yoongi rolls his shoulder back, inhaling deeply as his talons surface once more. Taking a step back, he asks, “How do you know that? He didn’t write that in the note.”

Your eyes glow with concern. Had Yoongi not been fixating on every change, he wouldn’t have caught the underlying tone of your gaze. It’s almost as if you’re questioning just how much he knows. You wave a hand at the radio. Through the speakers, a robotic voice informs, We interrupt your scheduled programming to alert a hybrid breach in Seoul. Agust Dragon has escaped royal captivity. All-

With another wave, it switches back off. “It goes on for a while about your scar too,” you add.

Tremors of the taser used to detain him flash within his veins. The glint of that pearl sword blinds him with the haunting pain. Between those stone walls, he fully transformed. Had he known it would be the last time, he would’ve spread his wings wide, tipped his head to the sky and bellowed a cloud of fire. Within the smug, he’d inhale deeply and do it all over again. Perhaps he would’ve escaped then. Perhaps he would’ve endured more scars. At least, Yoongi thinks, I would still be a dragon.

The clatter of dishes pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks his attention back to where you stood, only to find you mixing something in a black caludon. Jars of various contents hover around you, some peaking at the mixture over your shoulder. Yoongi watches you move further in the kitchen behind the counter like you’re floating yourself. Movements so swift, sharp, susintically enchanting, he can’t take his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries. Your power is an outlaw to nature yet looks so natural. Is it a charm of who you are or who you’ve become?

“I’m not sure what’s nourishing for a dragon,” you say over your shoulder. “I try to adjust the glamour to the hybrid. There isn’t much about dragons.”

“Yet.”

The speed of your gaze to his soul makes him shiver. You don’t regard him with hostility, but something much worse: curiosity. The very bane of his existence. Only, hints of concern cushion the blow of this realization. Yoongi can sense your intentions in the way you calculate your words. You explained what you’re working on without prompting. You ensure he knows you’re here to help by mentioning nutrients rather than sedatives. Yoogni may not know you, but he knows Namjoon well enough to know that if he trusts you enough with this information, then you might not be as big a threat as your curiosity is.

You return to the counter with a red and gold patterned teapot. The colours swirl around a white base in slithering motions. Yoongi assumes it’s a simple meld of lines until he makes out the bold eyes of a dragon. Shooting you a glare, he asks, “Is this a joke?”

The smirk on your face does not comfort his annoyance. Whether or not you recognize this, is hard for Yoongi to tell. There’s something painfully unreadable in your eyes. You never regard him with pity, even if he knows his face is bruised, clothes dirty and hair smells all too strong to ignore. Something else laces your looks that soothes and riles him all at once.

“It’s charmed to reflect your greatest desire,” you explain.

Yoongi pauses, looking down at the teapot again. The wings of the dragon flap then spread wide, like gliding over the winds. He blinks back his frustrations, reverting his attention to the flower painted cup in your hands. Regret pricks his heart, his conscious scolding his tongue for lashing out all too quickly. Just because he can’t completely trust you, doesn’t particularly mean you don’t have pure intentions regardless.

He clears his throat and mutters, “Sorry.”

After pouring dark violet tea into the cup, Yoongi watches as you squeeze a bit of honey in. You shrug his apology off while giving the tea a good stir. Sliding the cup towards him, you tentatively search his gaze and ask, “So, what did you see?”

Yoongi ignores the question. He keeps his attention focused on the tea, bracing himself before that first, initial sip. The moment the spice soaked chia touches his lips, he is thrown into a euphoric tranquility. Notes of cinnamon, ginger, anise stars and peppercorn evade his senses. His body voluntarily melts into the warm comfort spreading within. And that little bit of honey you added, offers just the right amount of sweetness, and that’s not something Yoongi particularly cares for.

It takes pulling the cup away from his mouth for him to realize he’d drank it all. Face warm, he glances up at you. He’d never really met a witch before, merely seen them around. He doesn’t remember his mother mentioning any in Daegu when she resided here. They seemed to flock around Ilsan, near the wooded mountains. It’s rather common knowledge that the closer they are to nature, the stronger they become. Their strength usually also manifests greaty in covens. So, why is this one alone?

Wiping his mouth, Yoongi holds the cup out. He may not completely understand your motives, but that tea is too warm to turn down. You smile and refill it. He takes another sip, removing the cup from his face so as to not to chug it all at again. You pick up on his actions and quietly giggle to yourself. Yoongi bites back a smile. Maybe it’s the tea, but he finds something about your laugh that’s all too pleasing. It feels familiar, a little sentimental, and profoundly personal.

“What’s your name?”

He raises a brow. Was Agust not enough for you? Or do you know that it isn’t who he really is? “How did you-”

“You look like the cautionary type,” you interrupt. “The type to bear his fangs and talons on the slight chance that danger is just around the corner. So, I would assume you didn’t tell whoever caught you your real name.”

And he thought he hid that so well. You’re smarter than he expected you to be. Or perhaps, more accurately, you’re more perceptive than expected. The longer he remains in your presence, the more he realizes he has completely underestimated you. Originally, you were just some middle maiden, redirecting lost hybrids upon a knight’s command. Now, Yoongi is starting to wonder if perhaps you’re the one in command. However, if you can sway knights of the king, why wouldn’t you use that power for something greater than relocating refuge hybrids? Why not destroy the system all together?

Either way, your potential summons a ghost of smirk to his lips. “And why should I tell you?” His tone is almost teasing, but simply because Yoongi is curious now. How much attention are you offering?

You rest elbows on the counter and lean on your chin in your hands while trying to hide a smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

In a reactive loop, he mentally repeats your name until it’s seared into his brain. His dragon hums in approval, like it was expecting it, expecting you. Yoongi presses on. “What’s the point of Nix then?”

“A coven name burns into your soul,” you whisper. “Much like a dragon does when born.”

“I thought you said you don’t know much about dragons.”

You smile, rolling your eyes like he’s the one being tested. Sitting up, you turn back to the kitchen and ask, “Have you eaten?”

Yoongi barely parts his lips before you cut in again and call over your shoulder, “Or would you rather get washed up first? Hmm, that might be best. Finish your tea and I’ll show you to the bath.”

A snap of your fingers and the kitchen comes alive. You shut the curtains into the back, but Yoongi makes out the charmed sponges and dishes being cleaned. The closest that clattered not to long ago, opens just enough for a broom and mop to waddle out. They rush to the back, the mop bumping into the broom. For a moment, the two nudge each other back and forth, until your echoing steps scare them into continuing on their path to the kitchen. They slip between the curtains.

In near silence, Yoongi sits alone in the shop. The distant spray of the sink only just breaks the hearth’s crackling concentration. Every sip of tea settles the fuming dragon. It’s something about the spicy kick and earthy tones of mint - at least he thinks it’s mint. He wonders what gives it this violet colour. Is it the magic? Is it you?

It’s rather odd, now that he thinks about it. Three days of travel, of near survival only to find solstice in a cup of tea. Perhaps that’s the true magic you offer. A sense of peace is a sip away? Or maybe it’s the lack of concrete walls and iron chains. His mother would enjoy this tea. His father would look forward to the food. But Yoongi craves the steam of a bath, the warmth of a pillow. And the dragon within yearns for your presence. If Yoongi wasn’t so sunk in tranquility, he’d search for a reason. Alas, he cannot be bothered.

“You ready?”

The chime of your voice snaps his gaze away from the teapot. Yoongi glances down at his cup to find it empty again. Why can’t he every savour the taste?

With a nod, he hops off the stool. “How far is it?”

You toss him a confused look. Nodding towards the right, you reply with a chuckle, “Just a couple of steps.”

The teapot and cup hop off the counter and into the kitchen as Yoongi watches you disappear down a hallway. You return with a half-smile, regarding him as if he’s the strange one, enchanting dishes and speaking in half-truths.

“Well, come on!”

A sharp retort sits on the tip of his tongue. Yoongi swallows it before it can cause more damage than necessary. Orders don’t resonate too well with the dragon. It burns his throat with disobedience. There is a better way to do things: his way. He doesn’t particularly like being forced into another. Still, he follows in silence.

You lead him to the tiny office that looks more disorganized than anything else. Layers of loose parchment and letters bury a mahogany desk. Dried wax, leaked from overused candles, splatters over every surface. Blankets atop a sapphire and opal patterned carpet lay in disarray. You bend over in front of him, his face reddening and eyes shooting to the ceiling, to find cobwebs and burned lights tangled around the beams. With a grunt, you flip up the carpet and a little hatch appears. A stomp, two, three and it clicks open. A dark staircase makes itself known.

“After you,” you smile.

Yoongi furrows his brows. Are you insane or simply numb to your own oddities? He’s having a hard time deciding when you flash him such an innocent smile. Glancing back at the dark staircase, even his dragon begins to question your sanity. “You want me to enter this basement first? The hidden, dark basement?”

It takes a moment but his point finally dawns on you. Brows shooting up, you let out a nervous giggle and decide to enter first. “It’s not a basement,” is all you offer as a means of comfort. Or at least that’s what he thinks you say. You’re about halfway down before saying anything at all, voice distant and echoing.

Where else can he go, he wonders. It would be hard to find a hidden place after being spotted in the town. He doesn’t even know the terrain that well and there isn’t just some tree he can climb or cave to scurry into. You’re unfortunately his last hope for safety. Perhaps you just have a skewed version of it. Yoongi just hopes it's not as skewed as the king’s.

Against his cautionary judgement, he descends. Each step beckons him closer to warmth, a reality he wasn’t expecting. An orange hue dances against the stone walls as he reaches the last few steps of the spiral staircase.

You’re right. Again. It’s not at all a basement, but a home. Yoongi inherits the serenity, familiarity and security the moment he arrives. Book shelves galore, candles a plenty and belevenance at every glance. You move around the living room with a pillow and a stack of blankets. Dropping by the foot of the emerald couch, your attention falls back to Yoongi. In his dirty clothes and unwashed hair, he feels so out of place from the purity your home radiates.

“The bathroom is just down that hall,” you say, pointing to one of five hallways on the right side.

You’re odd. Yoongi didn’t think that would be something he’d respond to. He nods as a thanks, ignoring the way your generosity strokes his heart. Perhaps, he wonders while shuffling down the hall, humans are wretched. And witches, the so-called horrors of horror, are benignant. Or, it could just be that you are. Either way, Yoongi has witnessed something tonight that he hadn’t in a long time. Acceptance.

He spares you one last glance, hand hovering over the brass doorknob. You’re holding a wand and attempting to transform the couch into a bed. The dragon reminds him that you don’t know him, where he comes from, how long he’d traveled, or what he’d done to be chained. All you know is a friend sent him here and his hybridity makes him undesirable. Such a luxury, the dragon whispers, to trust and be trusted.

Agust doesn’t like to talk about himself. You learned this quickly. After the first night, you tried to pry again. Who else escaped? How long had he known Namjoon? Any chance he’ll be offering that name now? But, he won’t budge. Sometimes, when he’s tired of all your questions, he’d walk away. The excuse is usually that he’s looking for a book, but you haven’t seen him pick up anything besides an anthology of flight. You decided to give up all together, not daring to ask the real question on your mind, like how he got that scar.

Other times, however, he’ll turn the questions onto you. Maintaining eye contact, he’d listen to each answer and engage in a little conversation about each point. Three weeks have elapsed, and you still have yet to decide if this is part of his diverting tactic or if he’s genuinely interested. In both cases, it’s good to know that he’s willing to have a conversation about something.

It’s also reassuring to find that he’s adapted to your routine seamlessly. He mentioned something about wanting to help out around the shop his third morning in Daegu. The look on his face was too precious to deny. Curious, unsure, tentative, he muttered the question like it meant everything and nothing to him all at once. You were wondering if he knew that Apolla still hadn’t returned with news then, but now you’re sure. He glances at her food bowl every morning, as if looking for signs of her presence.

Three weeks is the longest she’d ever looked for a safehouse. You expected that not many people would want to harbour a known fugitive, but hoped that someone would. Most hosts recognize the danger of associating with a hybrid. The consequences are the same - execution. Perhaps risks run higher when a face is attached to a name and continuously circling the news.

Your greatest regret, however, is how relieved you are that he won’t be leaving. Sure, Agust is stand-offish and too blunt at times, but there’s just something about him that reels you in. The rasp of his voice, the indifferent wonder in his eyes, how he walks like he rather be flying is endearing. He almost floats with determined desolation, like he digs the very hole he’s in to get out. The deeper he is, the stronger he becomes. You’re not sure if you find that admirable, but it’s something merely Agust-esque.

He leans on the counter now, reading that same anthology again. You’re sure this is his fourth time through it. He still soaks in every word and takes his time with each page. A customer approaches the counter with a bright smile. You stop cleaning one of the tables to watch Agust deliberately ignore him. Being a dragon, he can sense when someone is near and how they might be feeling.You know this from the stories your coven would trade. Dragons, being a rarity, are something like gods to witches; you haven’t really met one before Agust.

“Good evening,” the customer greets. He hops onto one of the stools as Agust ignores him. His smile wavers. “S-sir?”

“Shh.”

The customer blinks. He looks around as if wondering if he’d really just been shushed. “I would-”

“Shh.”

You sigh, muttering a quiet plea to the gods under your breath. Then, you catch it, the smirk plaything on Agust’s lips. It’s so tiny, hidden behind an annoyed persona, that if you hadn't been paying such close attention you would’ve missed it. He’s not ignoring the customer to gain a reaction out of them, but out of you. And for some odd reason, that makes your heart skip a beat.

Agust flips the page then finally acknowledges the customer. An amused look holds his features as the customer stutters their order. “Orange basil?” He questions, hints of disgust drenched in his tone. Before the man can part his lips to reply, Agust sighs and shrugs. He looks at you, and raises a brow. It’s rather teasing, silently asking why you’re staring.

After wiping your hands, you carry the tray of teacups and little teapots back to the counter. The magic takes over once you stand by Agust. He follows your every movement, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips for a few seconds too long.

“Jimin,” you greet, ignoring Agust like he had done to the customer.

He picks up on your actions quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Suck up,” he whispers.

“Is he supposed to be behind the counter?” Jimin asks. He avoids Agust’s gaze, knowing his question would earn him a glare.

“Not with an attitude,” you reply with a bright smile.

Agust rolls his eyes, prepared to chuckle until he hears Jimin laugh. He sighs as if the daily customer is intruding. Within seconds, his interest in the conversation falls. That cursed anthology consumes his attention all over again.

You mask your disappointment with business, turning to the kitchen. The caldron already heard the order and began it’s brew just as you have enchanted it to do. Agust knows this. He’s watched you recharm the pots every morning. And every time you run back here, you know he notices. Sometimes you can feel his eyes following you when you walk away from him. There’s a faint pull in his gaze, like he’s pleading for your return to his side. At times, you find yourself longing after him too when he’s in such close but distant proximity.

A quiet hoot shatters all your thoughts. You rush back to the counter in time to find the door burst open and Grako swoon in. Agust already had his gaze locked on the glass, his inner dragon probably having picked up the thumping flaps of feather in the wind.

Some customers gasp and duck agains their tables. You ignore their confused stares, knowing they’ll chalk this up to one of your strange quirks. Grako lands on the counter, scaring Jimin enough to make him jump out of his seat. Agust enjoys the sight a little too much.

“Can you get the seeds by the sink for me?” You ask Agust, hoping to grant Jimin a moment without ridicule. Without a word, he makes his way to the kitchen.

You fight every instinct to follow after his frame and focus on the owl. Searching for Namjoon’s reply, your heart sinks when you don’t find parchment on the left leg. Your message looks untouched on the right. Untying the string holding it together, you unroll the parchment to find the unchanged message.

Agust sets the sealed bag of seeds on the counter. Grako turns to face him. You do your best to suppress a shaky sigh, but Agust hears it anyways. He ignores the owl eyeballing him and shifts closer to you. The action surprises you enough to distract from your worries. Agust never cared for less distance. Yet, he stands close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He mutters.

Though you want to tell him, you know now is not at all the right time. One too many pairs of eyes lock on you, various ears perking in your direction. You force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing at all,” you reply in the steadiest voice you can muster.

He nods. He doesn’t believe it, but nods. “How often do your charms work?”

You raise a brow. “Often.”

“So are the sponges supposed to wring sink water all over the floor?”

Agust is clever. You never doubted this. He’s perspicacious, calculating and above all downright angelic. However, you try not to let that last detail overtake you too much. It’s just that pierced lip and dark tattoo peeking from under his tunic stun you from time to time. The messy hair, undercut and dark, and that scar that lure you more than they should. It’s all too pure to be so rough, much like his personality.

No, wait, you’ve gotten ahead of yourself again. Agust is clever - yes. He knows just how to get his way with you every time. Anything he wants, you usually offer. His reference of rogue cleaning supplies is just one example of his advantageous perception. Tugging on your ear, you sent the sponges acraze around the kitchen. A cacophony of broken dishes and spilled cauldrons echo throughout the shop. You wonder if you tugged too hard or perhaps used a stronger spell than intended. Did you even recharm the sponges or the entire kitchen?

All conversation halts to the loud mess transpiring behind the curtain. Agust nudges your elbow, reminding you of the switch to flames when enchantments “malfunction.” You mutter a quiet, oh then wave a trembling hand to the ceiling. The lights flicker a few times before the half-hearted spell finally works.

“But-” Jimin tries to say only to have Agust hush him again with a finger upon his lips. Jimin sighs, following the rest of the customers out.

Agust waits for the doors to lock before fully facing you. “So?”

You’re not sure what Agust’s relationship was with Namjoon. You always assumed it was closer enough to trust, but how close is that for Agust? Did Namjoon know his real name? The last thing you want to do is sadden him with your assumptions about your best friend’s silence. However, as you part your lips to lie, you find you are simply incapable of the action when it comes to Agust. It’s not just that he will automatically catch on, but that the act itself dries your mouth. It would feel awkward to lie, perhaps even disgusting.

“He didn’t reply.”

“It’s been gone for a month.”

“I know.”

He searches your eyes. Fingertips hovering near yours, he inhales half a breath. “Maybe he went back to Ilsan?”

Namjoon told him about Ilsan? Your heart festers with jealousy, regrettably towards Namjoon. If Agust knows of Ilsan, then Namjoon must know his real name. The fact that you didn't mention a name at all in your note might have tipped him against replying. You know Namjoon well enough to know he would take the safest option. Is that where Agust picked up his cautionary habit? No, you mustn’t entertain this petty frustration. So what if Namjoon is closer to Agust than you are? They probably spent more time together too. Another wave of annoyance attacks your chest. That possibility seems to irk you more than soothe you as it was meant to.

Sliding the piece of parchment and a pen towards him, you mutter, “Write your name. The one he’d know.”

Agust pauses. You don’t spare him a second glance. It’s childish, you know, but you can't help but be a bit peeved with him. Your mind is actively reminding you that Agust and Namjoon are their own people and do not need to have a smaller relationship than you and Agust do. Your heart can’t shut up about it though. It invades your thoughts with questions that attack your insecurities. Have you been too nice? Too mean? Too lazy with your magic or too powerful? Is he intimidated or simply more comfortable around men than he is around women? Feeding Grako from the seeds in your palm, you clench your jaw and attempt to purge these thoughts from your mind.

Doubt is poisonous. You wish you had an anecdote for this sort of suffering.

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, he doesn’t believe you’re really here,” you all but snap. “So either scribble the stupid name or let him die.”

Your drama makes you cringe. Being too aware of your stupidity in the moment might just be the very worse detail about this cursed conversation.

Agust scoffs. Inching closer, he towers over you. Jaw set, eyes dark with amber rage, he whispers, “You’ll refrain from using such a tone with me if you know what’s good for you.” His calloused fingers trace the outline of your face, as he continues, “I don’t want to warn you again.”

You shudder against his frame. Gulping, you muster whatever courage you have left and mutter, “You’ll refrain from using such threats with me.” You take his hand in yours and squeeze gently, letting your magic tickle his bloodstream. He shivers as those black talons reappear. You feel their impression against your wrist. “If you know what’s good for you,” you finish.

Agust waits, watches. Adam’s apple bobbing, he nods once. His attention returns to the parchment. He scratches his name, blows it dry, then rolls it up like you had weeks ago. You tie the note to the right leg again. You hope your assumption is correct as you secure the knot. After tossing Grako a rat tail, to which he effortlessly catches, you send him off again. This time he is Ilsan bound.

“Who is Namjoon to you?” Agust asks once the doors lock shut again.

You wave a hand to the kitchen to fix whatever disarray you accidentally set it to then answer the question with one of your own. “Who are you to him?”

“A friend.”

You weren’t really expecting an answer. He usually sulks when you toss a question back at him. So, you begin to wonder, why did he answer this one? What is so important about your answer this time?

“A best friend,” you smirk.

He rolls his eyes. “Does getting on my nerves fascinate you?”

You shrug. “Usually.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I did.”

He sighs and you mock it, earning a pointed look. “Did you meet in Ilsan?”

“Yeah. We grew up together,” you answer. Though you love to tease him, you can never keep it up for too long. You always end up giving into him at some point. “We were neighbours. The coven didn’t really like him lurking around me though.”

“Was this his idea?”

You raise a brow. “I thought you were friends?”

“You’re enchanting,” he suddenly blurts.

When your face falls in shock, his cheeks heat up. His words seem as though they are registering for the first time. How enchanting are you exactly?

“What I mean is,” he tries again. “You have the tendency to get your way from anyone you’d like. Jin and Guk have made all glamour deliveries on time, Namjoon rounds up hybrids for you to relocate all over the kingdom, and you recruit every animal you find.”

“Not every animal,” you playfully pout. “Just the useful ones.”

Agust rolls his eyes. Accepting defeat, he shuts his book and tucks it under his arm. For a second, you think he’s about to say something. But, he merely licks his lips and avoids your gaze. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s upset with you.

Later, during dinner, you start to believe your assumptions. Agust seems to focus on everything but you. The beef stew, garlic buns, kimchi, ginseng tea, even pulling out that stupid book again. Never has he opened those pages at the table, always offering you at least sliver of attention. Maybe you have no right for feeling this way, but his disregard for you twinges your pride.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

And that tone. You’ve grown rather sick of it, frankly. He sulks around the house, around the shop and grumbles half-hearted insults. Though you know they’re usually playful, you can’t ignore the festing frustration in your chest.

His eyes gleam with the dragon within. “We both know I can sense your anger.”

“Shut the book.”

“No.”

You raise a brow, silently suggesting a possible source to your anger. Agust shuts the book.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you sarcastically smile.

He stares for a moment then shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you’re so angry,” he says while picking up his plate.

You charm it right out of his hands as he stands from his seat. He glares. You return it. When he reaches for his cup, you wave a hand at it as well. Both dishes hover to the sink. The game carries on until all the dishes float back to the kitchen. You toss a mocking smirk and ask, “Enough flying for you?”

“What do you have against flying?”

It has your attention. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar. How you’ve gotten away with all this hybrid hiding all these ears is beyond me.”

You quirk your head to the side. So he knows this operation has been years in the making. Then what was all that questioning about?

“If you have something to say, then say it,” he baits after taking his seat. He almost sounds like he doesn’t think you will. He should know you better by now.

You stand up and circle the table. Leaning against the edge, towering over him, you cross your arms under your chest and disregard all filters. “How did you escape?”

He scoffs. “Namjoon helped me.”

“Yes, but how?”

A certain darkness falls over his features. He gulps before letting out a shaky sigh. “He was guarding my quarters. We spoke often.” Then he falls silent, eyes reverting to the floor. A moment elapses, two, three, by the fifth he takes another deep breath. “My last night was hard. He told me that he was working on permanent relaction in Ilsan. Something about how the mountains are safest. But after that night, I don’t think he was willing to wait for the right moment anymore.”

So, that’s how he knew of Ilsan. Shame settles over you in heavy waves. You avoid his eye in regret. Even after that, you know you shouldn’t pry. But you continue to ask anyways. “What happened?”

He glances at the anthology. “They took my horns,” he mutters so indifferently you think it’s a joke. Still, you don’t dare laugh. Not when his face is riddled with embarrassment and disgrace.

“Then, I was forced into a full transformation,” he continues. “And clipped.”

You gasp. He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t be so dramatic, (Y/N).”

How can he be so lighthearted? No- you mustn’t question his ways of coping. Regret engulfs you as you look to the stupid book again. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so pushy about it. You’ve heard rumors in the coven, about clipped dragons. You just didn’t think anyone would ever succumb to such cruelty.

“I won’t tell you things if you’re just gonna cry about it,” he grumbles.

You’re crying? Rubbing your hands against your cheeks, you’re surprised to find them wet. “Sorry,” you chuckle. “I just can’t believe they really-”

“So this wasn’t your idea then?”

Shifting closer to him, you wipe away all your tears and shake your head. “Namjoon found me the day I opened. I told him in a letter that I’ve borrowed a home under the shop. A couple of hobbits told me about it on the train from Ilsan.”

His hand slips into yours, stunting your explanation for a moment. You gaze down at them, finding the warmth all too welcoming to vocalize any curiosities. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, as if attempting to soothe your worries.

“Is that how you relocate us? Through tunnels?”

You nod. “He’s a knight of the people. Just like he vowed to be.”

Agust sighs. He stops the smoothing touches and redirects his eyes to the floor. “I’m Yoongi,” he whispers, then quickly changes the subject before you’re able to comment on it. “My mother is from Daegu. I thought I’d find her here even though I know where she’s buried.”

Yoongi. How precious. You repeat the name over and over again until it seers into your brain. A sudden tug to get close gnaws at your heart. A part of you wants to sit in his lap, but another is trying desperately to convince you how bad of an idea that is. The fact of the matter is, though you appreciate the honesty, you can’t help but wonder why he’s telling you all this. After a little over a month of half-sentences and playful teasing at most, he’s suddenly willing to spill all this out to you? It doesn’t make much sense to you, but you’re too afraid to ask. The last thing you’d want to do is downplay his honesty for something material.

Alas, it seems like you don’t have to ask though. Yoongi already knows.

“I want to tell you I don’t know. But, I think you might be the first person in a very long time to not care.” When you furrow your brows in confusion, he lightly chuckles and clarifies, “You are clever enough to know my name is not dragon, despite popular belief, and couldn’t care less that I am one. I’m just Yoongi to you, even if you didn’t know it.”

You cannot deny the allure of him anymore. Hearing him speak of you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters, does more to you than you’re willing to admit. You press your thighs together before slipping into his lap. He wraps an arm around your waist like he’d been expecting this. Yours dangle off his shoulders like you’d been made for this.

He looks so painfully holy up close, like a fallen god. The scar through his eye crushes your guts with anger. He’d seen so many horrors, perhaps even endured most of it. You know it is not because of the dragon. The determination in his gaze, the desire to survive roots further down than any mythical side of him can touch. Yoongi made it this far because he wanted to. And what do all his efforts leave him with… clipped wings and horns? You can’t sit back and watch him pour himself into this anthology another second. It’s clear he misses his wings, even his horns.

“Yoongi,” you start, mind sifting through memories of dragon lore. “I think I can bring your wings back.”

He falls silent. A breath doesn’t even dare escape him. “You keep telling me you don’t know much about dragons.”

“I don’t have any physical books about them or dragon hybrids for that matter, but most covens revere dragons. The greatest stories among us are about how magical you are. A piece of you in any potion heightens the effects tenfold,” you explain.

“So what? You just so happen to have a spell to sprout wings?”

He’s mocking as a defense. You know this though it still doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. “Not exactly. Reproduction spells are tricky. They don’t require the typical notions of a dragon that any other spell might. They tend to be a bit more…” you trail off, eyes dancing all around the room just to stay off him. Shifting on his lap, you suddenly find it all too awkward to be seated here.

“More..?”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have brought this up. “Intimate.”

You expected to hear him retch in disgust, or maybe even cringe. At the very least, you expected his face to fall. Never did you think it would light up, no matter how badly you hoped it would.

“Intimate?” He repeats. “How exactly does that work?” You’re about to answer when he adds, “Show me.”

Heart fluttering, you swallow thickly. Your guts churns with desire, core drenched in desperation as he continues to regard you with cocky indifference. Is he joking? Testing you? You pray to any god listening that he’s serious.

“We should probably fire the caldron first,” you whisper. “The base needs to brew for a while.”

Yoongi nods. “I’ll make sure to give it enough time.” He attempts to hide his smile. You push yourself off his lap and try to ignore how needy you become from a few simple words. You can feel him watching. Body shaking, you’re not sure if you're bursting with excitement or simply anxious. Yoongi seems to have made you feel both throughout his stay here.

Deep breath in, and you bring both hands up to light the fireplace. The charmed calderon fills to life. Rosewater to start; sweet thyme, cloves, wolfsbane, knotgrass and a hint of ginger to brew. Yoongi makes his way towards you, silently watching all the ingredients pour into the black pot.

“When is it my turn?”

Skin ablaze, you bit your lip to hold back a moan. “The witch’s essence needs to be added too,” you mutter all too quietly.

He hears it anyways. “Even better.”

Your nerves are all he can sense. The smirk on his face tells you that much. He’s playing because he knows he can. He knows he’ll get away with it and there isn’t much you can do about that. Unless… there is?

He did ask you to show him how the intimacy would work. You start to unlace your dress, biting back a giggle when his breath hitches. Did he think you wouldn’t do it?

Over and off, goes your dress. In a soft thump, it lands on the wooden floors. Yoongi sighs, eyes shamelessly roaming over your naked body, fixating on every dip of your curves. His balls his hands and makes it a point to keep them by his side. The shift in power makes you giddier than it should.

Raising a brow, you ask, “I thought you wanted to see how it’s done?”

Yoongi chuckles. He licks his lips, looking off to the side for a moment then pulls his shirt off. The symbol of Min inks in arm like a sleeve. A royal dragon. The abuse makes all too much sense now. Not that it has ever been out of place for the king to do such a thing. He thumbs your chin, gently asking to meet his gaze.

“Do you still want to restore my wings?” He asks, like his status could ever change that.

You decide to show him how badly you do on your knees. Hands fiddling with his zipper, you undo his pants and let his massive cock smack your face. Yoongi gasps a moan; your pussy clenches with need. How dare he make such a sound so effortlessly? You just might cum from his voice alone, if he keeps this up. And who told him it was okay to be this thick? He’s so heavy against your cheek, pointing at the soft flesh like it belongs to him.

His eyes gleam, lips stretch into a smug smirk. Well, don’t you? He seems to be silently asking.

Mouth open, you carve a taste. Is dragon cum as sweet as everyone says? Tongue over slit, and you can confirm that it is. Your eyes roll back and whines escape like it’s your first time. It’s just one taste but you can’t hold yourself back. Spitting over his cock, you pump him a couple of times then shove him down your throat.

Yoongi groans. His fingers tangle in your hair. At first, they move in gentle motions. The gesture is enough to tell you not to strain yourself. But then you make the mistake of swallowing around him. Your throat tightens all too deliciously for him to merely watch. Like a switch, Yoongi unbounds himself. His nails dig into your scalp, and hips snap forward.

You gag. And he loves it. Every wet, choked sound struggling to keep up fuels the force of his thrusts. He loses himself all too quickly to even realize that he’s suffocating you. Hands against his thighs, you have to pat him a few times before he returns to his senses.

In an instant, his hands are by his side again as he pulls out. You let his cock rest on your tongue as you pant. Through your blurred vision, you can only just make out his concerned gaze. “Sorry, princess,” he hisses.

As if you thought that honey-thick voice couldn’t get any raspier, he goes and calls you his princess. A loud moan leaves you all too quickly. No one has ever dwelled on you like that. Is his objective to ruin you before the spell casts?

While brushing your hair back, he chuckles down at you. Your soul fills with the undeniable desire to please this man beyond comprehension. You want to hear him whisper how tight you are, tell you how well you’re doing. Until pride glows every inch of your heart, you will not stop choking on his giant cock.

You take him all at once, again. Throat burning, a part of your regrets not working yourself up to committing to all of him. Back and forth, you bob your head on his dick. So big, he barely even fits. Every new thrust means squeezing himself through all over again. It beckons tears to your eyes and strains your jaw. You’re aching, but he’s twitching.

Face scrunched in pleasure, Yoongi throws his head back. “Just a little more, princess,” he hisses. Pulling in deep, he keeps your head still against his pelvis and whispers, “Hold it there. Just stay- fuck, do it again for Daddy, princess.”

Anything for daddy, you wish you would scream. You force yourself to swallow twice more than he asked for, risking a gag too big to ignore. Through gritted teeth, he roars like a dragon in heat and unloads himself in your mouth. Most of it slides down just from how deep he’d reached, but the rest spills out from the corner of your lips.

He doesn’t care. Pulling out, he continues to pump himself at the sight of you. Hair disheveled, cheeks stained with tears and mouth smeared with cum, are you really this big a whore? Or is it all just for him?

You’re granted a moment to catch your breath, watching him watch you with newfound wonder. Vein laced hand, inked and sticky with his own cum, Yoongi pulls you back up to your feet by your neck. He pats your hair down, wipes your lips, then presses a tender kiss upon them.

It’s now that you notice he has always smelt like charred oak, musky and smokey. Everything about him sets you aflame, And though, your lips are on fire from the taste of his, the cold edge of his piercing cools you enough to miss the heat. You moan and drape your arms around his neck like this is some innocent kiss and his erection isn’t poking at your belly.

“Is there any particular way I gotta fuck you, princess?” He questions between sloppy kisses.

You force yourself off him long enough to answer, “Hold me over the pot. We have to cum together for it to work.”

He smiles, jerks his head back when you try to kiss him again. A twinge of embarrassment strikes your heart before he turns you around and softly trails kisses up and down your neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your skin, rough hands kneading your ass. “Fuck, I knew you had an ass but this is fucking insane.”

A smack follows his praise. You cry out his name. He spanks you harder. “You know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me right now.”

You giggle through an erotic moan. He doesn’t like the sound of that. With one hand tight on your neck and the other wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, Yoongi kicks your feet and spreads your legs. Gliding his girth between your folds, he hisses against your ear, “You’ll learn to behave yourself from now on, princess.”

You want to tell him it was never your intention to disrespect him. However, the slow, deliberate punishment he inflicts melts you into him in silence. All you can bring yourself to whine is, “Whatever you want, daddy.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s my perfect princess,” he whispers. Then, he sucks in a sharp breath with you and plunges himself in your tight cunt. You knew he wouldn’t fit probably in your mouth, but you thought that your pussy, sopping for attention oh so desperately, would easily accept him. It’s your fault for underestimating such a massive cock. His tip doesn’t even fit. Yoongi takes to bending you over for a smoother entrance.

“So huge!” You cry only to have him chuckle behind you. Vibrations of his laugh tickle your spine.

Once he finally pushes his way through, breathless moans and groans filling the space between, he gives you some time to adjust. It;s thoughtful of him, but you both know no amount of time will ever get you used to his godly size.

“Please just ruin me, daddy,” you beg, through a broken whine.

“What was that, princess?”

“Please, please just fuck me!”

Tightening his grip on both your neck and waist, he rapsys a dark laugh against the shell of your ear. You shudder, thinking you might just cum now until he starts to ram you. You jerk forward each time despite his hold on you. His hips always overpower everything else. Rough smacks of skin on skin drown your voice until it’s completely gone. You cannot even bring yourself to properly breathe. He’s a beast. Huffing your name, clenching his jaw and sinking his balls into you, Min Yoongi makes it his mission to destroy you.

“Pretty, pretty little girl,” he hisses. “My pretty princess.” Grinding his hips against your ass, cock swilling the mess he’s making of your pussy, he suddenly breathes, “I wanna make you my queen.”

Leaning back into him, you find just enough strength to muster the first words that come to mind. “I’m gonna hold you to that, daddy.”

He moans, softening his hold to shower your face with gentle kisses. A reflection of comfort and familiarity glow in his eyes when he pulls away. His hands slide down to your thighs. He bends a little to hosite you up against him. With your legs spread, he holds you over the calderon and picks up that wickedly rough pace again. You place your hands over his and let him ravish in you.

Slouching, your pussy tights with every new thrust. Doses of you are already dripping into the brew as it boils. Yoongi curses. You thought you felt him twitching a few minutes ago but now you’re sure. In fact, you can even see it. He’s so big an imprint of his cock bulges from your stomach. You watch it twitch again as he shoves his balls deeper into you.

Just witnessing it, triggers your orgasm. You try to hold it off long enough to let him know, only to have Yoongi barks, “Fucking cum!”

You’ve never been one to deny him anything. Convulsing, you let your orgasm run free through you. Yoongi digs his fingers into your thick thighs to keep you steady, all while continuing to ruin you. It seems as though cumming spurs him on to further plough into you. He moves with harsher force and speed than he did when he was annoyed.

He mutters something else in your ear, but you can’t make anything out. Your ears ring, vision blurs and you tremble all over. Toes curled and pointed to the sky, you cry out his name. And, as he pulls out of you to let out leak your mixed cum into the potion, you whisper the spell under your breath thrice.

“Kiss me,” you whine. “Quick.”

Though lacking his title, he doesn’t argue. Lips on lips, you drip out your love and seal the spell.

The cackles of the potion break your kiss. Yoongi sets you back down to your feet then steps away from the heat. You lean back into him, watching the calderon overflow with steam and gleam green.

He pecks your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “So, there really is a potion,” he chuckles quietly to himself.

“What do you mean? Why would I lie about something like that?”

Yoongi shrugs. You push your ass back against him, teasingly. He tightens his hold with a playful smirk. “I just thought you wanted me.”

“I do,” you whisper without much thought.

A relieved smile, gummy and too cute to resemble anything you just did, stretches upon his lip. You peck his chin to which he blushes. Min Yoongi blushing is not a sight you were prepared to see, erupting your heart all too easily.

“Never speak of this,” he tries to grumble indifferently, but that smile is still playing on his lips. When you go to tease him again, he says, “Will this even work?”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” Enchanting a cup, you snap your fingers to beckon towards you. You fill it to the brim with the potion then hand it to Yoongi.

He hovers the rim against his lips. Lost in thought or deliberation, you’re not sure. All you can tell is that it seems as though time has frozen for him.

“Yoong-”

“I don’t want wings,” he sighs. You blink back at him. He takes a breath before adding, “Not now, anyways.”

You look back to the pot, wondering if the entire thing might have been a mistake. He drops the cup into it without much care for the brew that spills and cups your face. “I don’t want wings tonight. I want you.”

“I’m right here?”

“I remember a little about what it was like to fly. Being with you reminds me of that,” he whispers.

Tear prick your eyes, disbelief holding your voice hostage. “Me?” You croak, in confusion. “Yoongi, I-”

He holds you closer and suddenly all your words die in your mouth. You’re not even sure what you were trying to say. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mutters your name like a prayer and whispers, “You’re all the wings I need.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bangtanfairygarden #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #btsguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

Text

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

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antariies · 3 years

Text

Visions of the Past: The Departing

Summary: The Commander never told Braham about their first death at the hands of Balthazar. Years later, he finds out in the worst way possible.

Characters: Pact Commander, Braham, Aurene, Balthazar

Notes: Commander’s POV (2nd-person); set before Jormag Rising; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; 5.6k words, CW: blood, gore, character death, anxiety attack; the departing is and will always be one of my favorite instances and it sucks that we never got an emotional confrontation about it between braham and the commander. hope i did it justice. enjoy!

—

“Commander, can I use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” Braham asks one day, apropos of nothing, sliding into the seat across from you.

You slam your glass of water back down onto the table with a loud smack, screwing your eyes shut and leaning forward as you choke on your drink. After a few seconds of intense coughing and waving away Braham’s apologies, you finally clear your throat enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, squinting at him in confusion, “you want to… what?”

“Uh, use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Only with your permission, of course.”

“…Ah,” you nod slowly, letting the question fully sink in. You bring the glass of water to your lips again as you search for the right words. “That’s…”

A complete and total invasion of my privacy, your mind supplies helpfully.

“...a strange request,” you mutter into the cup. The only thing stopping you from shutting him down on the spot is the fact that it’s Braham. He wouldn’t ask this of you without a damn good reason. “And you want to see them because…?”

At this, Braham lights up, squaring his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what the lost Spirits said. About how I need to be a better leader if I’m going to beat Jormag, y’know? So I figured, since you’re the best leader I know-”

You can’t help the fond eye roll you give him.

“-if I got to experience some of your memories, then maybe I could learn from them,” he finishes, nodding once in determination.

“It’s definitely an unconventional way of learning,” you remark coolly, resting your chin on your hand as you level an even, challenging stare at him. You’ve cowed countless soldiers and politicians with this look alone, honed to terrifying perfection over the years.

Undaunted, Braham sets his jaw and meets your gaze dead on. “I know nothing can replace first-hand experience, but I think this would be a good way for me to practice without, uh,” his eyes flicker down for just a moment and he swallows hard. “Without the risk.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, but you don’t miss the way he absently fiddles with something small and wooden in his free hand and-

Oh, you think, recognizing it and finally understanding. Oh.

It’s been months, but the memory of your first day in Bjora Marches stays fresh in your mind.

It had been freezing cold in the barracks of Jora’s Keep when you and Braham had gotten locked in, but the ice that froze in your veins when you watched him stumble upon the mangled body of his former guildmate was colder still.

“Alva,” he’d whispered, stricken with grief as he sank to his knees beside her body.

“I’m sorry, Braham.” The words sat like ash on your tongue, tasting the same as the first time you had ever offered your condolences and every time after that. You never really got used to it.

“Garm… used to rest his head in her lap.” Braham had pulled her head into his lap then, smoothing her hair out of her face with the utmost care. You turned away to give him as much privacy you could, but the dead silence in the barracks meant you heard every hitched breath and muttered prayer to the Spirits. When he returned to your side after a few minutes, he was clutching a small wooden figurine.

“It’s Wolf,” he explained softly when he caught you looking, “Alva made one for each of us, but I gave mine back when I left, I… I had no idea she’d kept it all this time…”

He carries it everywhere now: a constant, physical reminder of his failures as a leader and as a friend.

You know the feeling all too well.

Unbidden, an acrid tidal wave of bitter jealousy swells up inside you. It’s not fair. You never had the chance to practice leadership because you were thrust into your rank, your title, in the middle of a war. You had no one to guide you. Every lesson you learned was written in blood and people paid for your mistakes with their lives.

The wave reaches a roaring apex, then swiftly crashes and breaks against the rocks of your guilt and better judgement.

It’s not his fault, you tell yourself, that you were given the short end of the stick. If you had had the opportunity to practice, to learn from someone else’s mistakes without risking the lives of anyone under your command, wouldn’t you have taken it too?

Of course, you think, picturing the Pact Memorial that still stands in Caer Aval to this day, of course I would have.

“Of course,” you say, gaze and voice gentle, “I think that’s a great idea, Braham.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting- wait, what? Really?” He stares at you incredulously, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I honestly didn’t think you would say yes so-”

“Well, now that you mention it,” you start mildly, before stifling a snort and shaking your head in amusement as he scrambles to retract his words. “Yes, Braham, I’m sure. C’mon, let’s go before I actually start having second thoughts.”

As he helps you clean up the remains of your lunch, you can’t stop your mind from dredging up every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the past eight years. You shut your eyes in a fruitless attempt at blocking out the memories, a long-suffering sigh trapped in your lungs.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, you’ll be in control of the memories you show him. What could go wrong?

“Hey, Aurene- oh. She’s not here.” Braham says, stopping at the entrance of Aurene’s lair.

You walk past him, a smile stretching across your face as you look around the room. It teems with plant life. Curtains of ivy hang from the tops of the room’s arches while giant Maguuma lilies and dozens of other flowers grow out of cracks in the floor, reaching toward the sunbeams that stream in from the open skylight. Clusters of Aurene’s iridescent Brand crystals cover the walls, filling in the holes left by years of neglect.

In the middle of the room, the Scrying Pool gives off a faint light of its own, its waters swirling lazily as you approach. The spot where Aurene normally sits is vacant, though, just like Braham said. Closing your eyes, you reach out to the bond you share with her. It hums at the edge of your consciousness, quiet and comfortable when you’re not actively talking to her. You give the slightest tug.

‘Just checking in. Where are you?’

A few moments later, a familiar sight flashes in your mind. A vast stormy sky, filled with blue-tinted thunderclouds and stretching as far as the eye can see. The Mists.

Then, Aurene’s voice in your head, clear as day. ‘Trying to figure out what Jormag is up to. So far… I still have no idea.’

“Are you talking to Aurene?” Braham asks. You nod. “Tell her I said hi!”

‘Braham says hi.’ you relay.

‘Hello, Braham!’

‘Alright, we’ll let you get back to it.’ You smile inwardly, a rush of affection warming your chest. ‘Be safe. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Champion.’ Aurene croons happily in your head.

“Aurene says hello,” you say, opening your eyes. “She’s keeping an eye out for Jormag in the Mists right now. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Braham says, slight disappointment coloring his tone, “Does that mean we can’t use the pool?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though,” you answer, walking over to it. Kneeling as close to the edge as you dare, you lean over to look into the waters. Your reflection wobbles with every ripple from the pool’s constant, self-sustained swirling and you study your distorted face until you catch some movement above your mirrored shoulder that doesn’t seem to be from the pool.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn lightly, tossing a flat, unimpressed glare over your own shoulder.

Braham, to his credit, looks sorry for maybe half a second before grinning in a way that is decidedly far from it. Still, he concedes and backs away from you with his hands slightly up in surrender. “Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I would never,” you lie, turning back to the pool so he doesn’t see your smile. You make a note to push him into it at the first chance you get. “I’ve used the Scrying Pool a few times now and I can tell you that it’s way easier to view your own memories rather than someone else’s. Feels different too.”

When you first used the Scrying Pool to view Ryland’s memories, it wasn’t anything like Kas’ glamour during the All-Legion Rally. You weren’t just wearing his face and spectating from inside his head, you were Ryland. You felt everything, including his thoughts and his emotions, as if they were your own. It had felt so real that after waking up, it took a few seconds for you to realize that you weren’t him. Aurene had to calm you down as you scrambled around for a flamesaw that was never yours and shouted for a warband you were never a part of.

You can only imagine the state you would have woken up in if you had overstayed your welcome in Ryland’s memories.

It was different with yours, though. Those were easier to fall into, like slipping into a dream, and you always woke up from those with complete clarity.

Speaking of your own memories…

“I think I know the perfect one to start with,” you say, dipping a hand into the pool and focusing on a memory you’ve already used it for. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to access a memory without Aurene here, never mind control it. You don’t even know if two people can go in together, or whose body Braham would end up in. So you start off easy. Something you both remember. The leather of Braham’s armor creaks as he settles down next to you and does the same. He watches on in awed silence as the water glows brighter, swirling faster and faster until a small whirlpool forms in the center and pulls at the lily pads closest to it.

A familiar darkness crowds the edge of your vision and you let yourself fall backwards into the memory.

It’s not hard to spot Braham when his blood-red hair contrasts so starkly against the bright, white snow that covers the land and comes down heavy from the sky.

That, and he’s also waving at you from where he stands outside the gates of Cragstead.

“Hey!” he greets once you’re in earshot, shouting over the wind, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

You glance around. “Just us, huh?”

Braham grimaces. “You heard what Brimstone and Whitebear said. I tried sending out notices too, but…” he shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “Nevermind that, we have to go. My friends are in there.”

Turning your eyes upwards, you catch sight of billowing plumes of dark smoke as they start to pour into the sky. A strong gust brings the stench downwind and both you and Braham wrinkle your noses in distaste at the same time.

“No time to waste,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

You tighten your grip on your weapons and follow closely behind Braham as he leads you through the driving snow to the heart of Cragstead, cutting a path through the strange alliance of Flame legion and dredge along the way.

This is an evacuation mission, first and foremost, you remind yourself. Your gaze sweeps over the empty lodges and homesteads, searching for people. It’s not so different from the evacuation missions you used to do with your order when Zhaitan was still alive and a threat, its Risen minions encroaching further and further into the homes of Tyria’s minor races.

You find the villagers soon enough, all rounded up into small groups in the center of the town and trapped inside shimmering domes of fire magic. An equal number of charr and dredge guard each dome, their mechanical weapons whirring and spitting the occasional flame.

Braham growls at the sight and hefts his mace, rolling his shoulders in anticipation.

“Wait,” you caution, throwing an arm out to stop him from charging in. “We can’t just rush in. We’re way outnumbered.”

“We took care of those other guys just fine,” he argues.

“Those were just stragglers we picked off,” you gesture at the domes scattered around. “Here? There’s a dozen of them and only two of us. We can’t take them all in an open fight-”

Braham makes a frustrated noise and you hold up your hand.

“-which is why we switch tactics,” you finish, flashing a sharp grin at him. “They haven’t noticed us yet. Here’s the plan.”

The thing is, you’re no stranger to being outnumbered. Your entire time in Orr was spent leading handfuls of people on high risk, high reward missions, after all. It was kind of your specialty.

So it’s with practiced ease and calm authority that you explain your plan now, laying out a classic divide-and-conquer strategy that’s gotten you and your small squads through countless skirmishes against all odds.

It’s a flawless ambush, all things considered.

You and Braham hit them hard and quick, fighting in tandem as you push the offensive and give them no time to react or warn their allies before you cut them down. And with the help of his protective guardian magic, you two manage to free everyone without a single casualty.

“Where are the others?” Braham asks immediately as he helps an older man to his feet.

Despite his clearly injured arm, the man pulls him into a quick hug before answering. “They were chased up the mountain, to the shrine. I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough…”

“It’s okay, Haslo, I’ll go. Will you be-”

“We’ll be fine, thanks to you.” Haslo claps him on the back. “You and your friend be careful!”

When Braham looks over at you, you nod. Of course I’m coming with you.

The trip up to the shrine is shorter than you expected, but you think that might have something to do with the lack of flaming charr or dredge along the way. That only puts you more on edge and you ready your weapons, wary.

You don’t hesitate for a second at the entrance of the cave, charging in to catch the massive Flame legion charr and his grunts off guard. You’ve only known Braham for a few days and fought alongside him for less, but you two fall into a steady rhythm almost instantly, barely having to exchange words. You make quick work of the goons, letting him take care of the hulking charr. Braham doesn’t even let him get a taunt out, stunning him with a shield bash before swinging his mace into the charr’s snout with a brutal, deadly uppercut, spraying blood across the cavern walls.

With the threat taken care of for the time being, you and Braham free the rest of the villagers and escort them down the mountain, dispatching any stray Flame legion or dredge who tried to escape in all the chaos. While there weren’t any casualties, fortunately, there are still plenty injured, so while he talks to some of the other villagers, you help tend to the wounded as best you can. They have a long walk to Hoelbrak ahead of them, and you don’t envy them the trip.

You’re tying off a bandage when you hear him call your name.

“There you are,” he says, stopping in front of you. “Hey, thanks for everything. Really, I mean, I don’t know if things would’ve turned out as well as they did if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, tilting your head at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“After we get everyone to Hoelbrak, I’m gonna find out where all these Flame legion and dredge are holed up so we can track them down.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Uh, that is, if you still wanna come along…?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Guess I’ll see you soon, then?”

The pleased grin Braham gives you is warmer than any hearth and twice as bright.

“See you soon!”

“Oh no,” Braham mutters, the first thing you hear as you blink away the last of the memory. “Oh, Spirits, noooo.”

“Something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice light even as you eye him up and down in concern. It was his first time using the Scrying Pool, after all. Had it affected him differently?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I just… I just can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that.”

You keep a straight face for an admirable three whole seconds before bursting into snickers. When Braham groans and buries his face in his hands, you only laugh harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, smiling, “I thought it suited you.”

He glowers at you. “You’re just saying that.”

You make a non-committal noise and wiggle your hand in a “so-so” gesture. He groans again, falling backwards onto the floor.

“That was really cool,” he says after a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Being in your head, I mean. I felt so… in control the whole time. Like I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Leaning backwards on your hands, you tip your head back and close your eyes. “You were impatient—well, you still kind of are—but you handled yourself better than some soldiers twice your age. And you’ve only gotten better since then. Give yourself a little more credit, Braham.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him flush at the praise, sitting up abruptly.

“Thanks,” he coughs into his fist, fighting a grin. “So, uh, any more memories you feel like sharing?”

You hum. “Several, actually. Ready to go again?”

You, grabbing the handles of a cannon with both hands and holding on for dear life as The Glory of Tyria lurches to the side, sending Destiny’s Edge, Pact soldiers, and Risen alike sprawling flat on the deck. When the airship finally rights itself, you waste no time, bracing your shoulder against the cannon and shoving hard until you have Zhaitan directly in its sights. The Elder Dragon is on the verge of death, pieces of its own body sloughing off itself as it clings desperately to the side of the tower. You take a deep, steadying breath and fire.

You, the only thing standing in between a crowd of fleeing civilians and a swarm of cutthroat Aetherblade pirates as they drop down from their airships. Lion’s Arch can be rebuilt, but lives can’t be replaced. You do a quick headcount, zero in on the weakest-looking one, and leap into the fray.

You, tracking down your teammates one by one as you tear through the dark, vine-twisted labyrinth under the Silverwastes, an undying behemoth of a Mordrem wolf hot on your heels. You lead them all safely through the maze, driven by the fierce desire to protect your friends. You will not lose anyone today.

You, the legendary Pact Commander, at your best.

After a few back-to-back trips down memory lane, you both decided to take a short break. For his part, Braham had opted to swing his legs over the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. When he asked whether or not it was okay to do so, you just shrugged and told him you had already cannonballed into the water before. Multiple times.

“How are you feeling? No headaches or anything?” you ask after a few minutes of rest.

“Nope. I do feel pretty commander-y, though.”

You snort. “Commander-y?”

“Mhm. I’ve been in your head too long. Any second now, I’m gonna start spouting a bunch of your expert advice.” Braham clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated voice that you swear sounds nothing like you. “‘Remember, it doesn’t matter how long the hog’s been dead. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting in a toxic cloud. You can always try to eat it.’”

You roll your eyes and swipe your hand through the water, splashing him. “Okay, that’s it, I’m revoking your pool privileges. We’re done here.” You pause, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, I think we are done here. I don’t think I have any more memories to show you. None that would help, anyway.”

“Hmm, what about your time in Elona? I wasn’t there for that.”

“Uh, you definitely were,” you say, shooting a quizzical smile at him. “Or do you not remember storming Joko’s palace with me?”

“No, no,” Braham laughs, waving dismissively, “I meant before that. I wasn’t there for… ugh, what’s his name again? Balthazar?”

For a brief, blissful moment, you only recall the part where you killed him.

Then your free hand flies to your chest on instinct, ghosting over a wound that no longer exists.

“What about him?” you ask, a little louder than necessary. You cringe inwardly, but Braham doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, everyone told me you somehow took control of Joko’s Awakened army and got them to fight on your side,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’t believe them at first, but that sounds exactly like something only you could pull off.”

You can hardly hear yourself over the frenetic pounding of your pulse in your ears. “Did they… tell you anything else?”

“Not really,” Braham frowns, finally turning to face you. “Why, is there- woah, hey, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Commander?” His voice spikes with worry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in your throat, you try again. Still nothing.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to force yourself to speak that you don’t even realize your other hand is still in the pool until you feel the tug of an old memory on your consciousness.

Ripping your hand out of the glowing water in a panic, you can only stare in horror as that does nothing to stop the ancient, powerful magic from pulling you helpless back into the dark.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

You throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging a fireball as it blazes past your head. Ducking behind a crumbling pillar, you press your back up against the stone and try to catch your breath.

You’ve bought yourself some time, at least.

This is a fight you know you can’t win, but the walls of flames surrounding the spire prevent your escape, so your only hope is to keep Balthazar distracted until reinforcements arrive.

“Any second now,” you mutter, and you don’t know if you’re trying to reassure or convince yourself.

You grit your teeth as another wave of pain wracks your body. There’s a nasty gash in your side, larger and deeper than the rest of your cuts, and it oozes sluggishly, soaking your armor in blood.

It’s bearable for now, but you can’t afford to be slowed down.

“Are you hiding, Commander?” Balthazar sneers, “How pathetic.”

Your answer to that is to dart out from behind the pillar, launching a flurry of attacks along his flank and back. When he twists around to send a volley of fireballs your way, you just tuck yourself into a neat dodge-roll, avoiding them all with ease. If you wince and stumble on the landing, you pretend not to notice and hope he didn’t either.

“Aw, you missed!” you taunt, sounding way braver than you feel, “How pathetic!”

Balthazar’s face contorts in fury. “Enough!” he shouts, and both the flames surrounding him and the spire seem to burn hotter than ever.

Before you can react, the ground beneath your feet erupts in a column of fire and you scream as your world is engulfed in a white-hot inferno. When the initial blinding agony finally passes, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, pointed stones digging into your back and your weapons flung too far out of your reach.

Get up.

You only manage to twitch your fingers.

Get up. Now.

Your throat burns raw. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a pained whimper.

GET. UP. BEFORE BALTHAZAR-

You sense Aurene before you see her.

“Ah, the scion, finally come here to defend her champion.”

Finally…?

It clicks. Your heart stops.

Balthazar’s been toying with you this whole fucking time.

It’s impossible for you to form words, let alone make any sort of loud noise, so you try to warn Aurene through your shared bond instead, panic rising with every passing moment that she doesn’t respond.

‘GET AWAY,’ you practically roar at her, ‘TRAP. IT’S A TRAP. YOU’RE FLYING RIGHT INTO A TRAP, TURN AROUND, PLEASE-’

And Aurene roars right back at you. There are no words you can hear—you don’t think she’s old enough for that yet—but she can convey her feelings through the bond and right now she’s drowning out your desperate warnings with them. She refuses to abandon you. You are her guardian and her champion and she loves you and you promised over and over to protect her so she promised the same and weren’t you the one who taught her about loyalty in the first place?

It takes one self-sacrificing idiot to know one. You would laugh if you weren’t so fucking terrified of losing her.

Your vision swims and you only catch glimpses of Aurene’s skirmish. She’s a bright blue blur, swerving expertly in the air as she dodges fireballs and lets loose her devastating dragon breath every time Balthazar tries to swat her out of the sky. Snarling, he launches some sort of phantasmal chains at her and-

No.

No, no, no, nonono-

“Aurene!” you scream. The exertion sends you into a coughing fit, but you don’t care.

You’re crying now, too. You don’t care.

Balthazar is saying something, but you stopped listening to him ages ago. It’s a monumental effort just to crane your head towards Aurene, your vision clearing long enough to see her staring at you, eyes blown wide in fear as terror rolls off her in waves.

She tries to apologize and you rush to soothe her.

‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ you reassure, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, I love you so much, it’s not your fault, never your fault.’

Maybe you’re projecting a little. Whatever.

You only stop when a giant metal boot steps squarely into your line of sight, blocking her from view. You glance up.

Balthazar towers over you, his giant, flaming greatsword hovering menacingly by his side.

The fear that lances through your gut is primal.

You can’t die yet. Not here. Not now.

He notices the way your wide eyes trace his sword and bares his teeth in a humorless grin. Oh, he’s enjoying this, relishing the power he has over you.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, given your reputation,” Balthazar remarks casually, circling you. With a lazy wave of his hand, his sword floats over and suspends itself in midair right above your chest.

Your already labored breathing dissolves into short, shallow gasps.

You can’t die. You’re not ready.

He lets the sword hover for a few more seconds before grabbing the hilt with both hands, raising it higher over your body. His face twists with hate, eyes blazing molten gold as they bore hungry and vengeful into yours.

You don’t want to die.

The edge of the blade glints orange from an indifferent sunset.

Please.

There’s a sickening crunch as he swings it down hard into your chest, punching through your armor and sternum and crushing most of your ribcage in the process. Then the blade severs your spine and you lose all feeling in your lower body.

Distantly, you think you hear someone scream, high-pitched and anguished. Was that Aurene? Or Taimi? Maybe both.

Certainly not you, although you’d tried to. What remains of your lungs are filled with more blood than air at this point, and it pours out of your mouth when you open it.

I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t remember what you’re apologizing for. Or who you’re apologizing to.

You’re so tired of blood. Tired of pain. Tired of feeling.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It does.

The only reason you don’t wake up choking back a scream and clutching your chest like Braham does is because you’ve relived this in your nightmares far too many times for it to rip that kind of reaction out of you anymore. Still, it takes you longer than normal to push yourself into a sitting position and even longer for your pulse to even out. Fighting the urge to curl up and disappear from the world, you rush over to where Braham sits hyperventilating.

“Hey, Braham, hey, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re here, you’re alive,” you reassure, and you’re surprised at how calm you sound. You work on getting him to match your breaths, counting out every inhale and exhale.

“Oh, Spirits,” he chokes out after his breathing steadies, his voice nearly cracking as tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “that was… how- h-how did you survive that?”

Your mouth shuts with an audible click. Biting your tongue, you look to the side, carefully avoiding eye contact.

You could lie.

Lie and tell him the airship made it just in time and the medics brought you back from the brink with a miracle. Another close call, but you pulled through like you always do. Spare him the pain, the grief. It’s been years, and there are more important things to worry about right now. It would save you both so much trouble.

“Commander?” he asks softly, earnestly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Deafening silence, for a beat.

Two.

Three.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Braham says eventually. When you finally bring yourself to look at him again, his brows are furrowed in confusion. He stares at you in concern, scrutinizing. “You’re… definitely still alive.”

“I sure am.” Neither of you miss the tired bitterness that bleeds into your sarcasm. You wince and sigh, running a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s a long story.”

And to this day, you still haven’t told anyone all the details. You’re not sure if you ever will.

“Who knows?” Braham asks.

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, Rytlock, Canach, and Kas were there when it happened. Taimi… overheard.” You don’t know which is worse: being the one to hear you die, or finding your body after the fact.

They’re not the only ones who know, but they’re the only ones who matter. Even then, you swore them all to secrecy.

“Taimi called me around that time,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “Did she…?”

Braham shakes his head. “She was crying too hard,” he says, speaking slowly as he focuses on remembering. “She said something about you, but she couldn’t get the words out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, she just hung up on me. Then she called me back a day later to say it was nothing and to pretend it never happened.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else.

“I always wondered what she was trying to tell me,” Braham smiles sadly at you. “Guess I know now.”

You swallow hard. “You’re… taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not the one who died,” he shrugs, even as his hand comes up to brush across his chest absentmindedly.

But you know how it felt, you think, How I felt.

The thought hangs in the air, unspoken.

“Are you okay?” Braham asks after a while.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, automatically, “I’m fine.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He looks pointedly down and you follow his gaze.

Your hands are shaking where they rest in your lap. Gritting your teeth, you clench them into fists. They don’t stop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more to yourself than anything. “I’m fine.”

The shaking travels up your arms until your shoulders are trembling as if under an invisible weight. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. You’re pathetic. You-

You don’t resist when Braham pulls you into a warm embrace.

“It’s been years,” you mutter, blinking rapidly against the itchy heat behind your eyes. “I thought I’d be over it by now.”

“It always hits you when you least expect it,” Braham says quietly, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You know he knows you hate pity, but this is the farthest thing from it. “When did you get so wise?” you tease.

“Learned it from you,” he says, voice tinged with pride, and now it’s your turn to flush. He squeezes you tightly once before letting you go. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” you say, and this time you mean it. You breathe in deep, feeling lighter than you have in ages. “I’m okay. Thank you, Braham.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grins, and promptly shoves you right into the Scrying Pool.

His boisterous laughter echoes off the walls and drowns out your indignant spluttering. When you pull yourself out of the pool, drenched and dripping water everywhere, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead sprint down the hall.

You chase after him, smiling, and leave your memories behind you.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #braham eirsson #pact commander #me finally posting another commander pov fic after three years: hiiii.... how yall doin....#anyway this fic has been rattling around in my noggin for eight months now. here u go take it from me #i will take a hammer and FIX the commander and braham dynamic #2k4s gc saw it firstttt #thank u pals for beta-reading ilu #if u enjoyed this fic! would u pls consider reblogging? :3c #my writing

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