#one a departure from a world that no longer has a place for him

[mamsieur]

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell. 

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best.  She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable. 

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really. 

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls.  Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle.  Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world.  The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left.  Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight. 

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.  

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley. 

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him.  He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole. 

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible.  As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay.  You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest .  It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun . 

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits.  Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you.  You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details.  Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him. 

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much.  You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you.  Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you? 

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy. 

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away . 

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me." 

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly. 

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room. 

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene. 

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted. 

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again.  You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table. 

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..." 

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down.  "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..." 

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan. 

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back." 

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down.  You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face. 

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission.  Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them. 

You stopped breathing. 

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on. 

The enemy fired. 

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile.  Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house. 

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?" 

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !" 

They were dead. 

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead .  And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom.  You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy. 

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him .  Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it. 

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?” 

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.” 

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you.  Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red. 

You should tell him.  But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze.  You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..." 

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed. 

And you could easily get used to it .

#top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #dad pete mitchell #reader is pete daughter #jake seresin #bob floyd #penny benjamin #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #angst with a happy ending #pov second person

[bby-deerling]

nesting partners (penguin x reader)

happy birthday penguin!!! this was originally written for my sweet friend @queenmimi2817, but she has graciously allowed me to share this with all of you! <3

masterlist || commissions

cw: suggestive content, established relationship, fluff

tagging: @guilty-sugar @willowbelle @eelnoise @fanaticsnail @indydonuts

As Penguin paces back and forth along the rocky beach for what must be the seventeenth time, Shachi sighs in annoyance.  “It’s just a rock, Pen, pick one already!” he complains, exasperated.  Penguin huffs and doesn’t respond, his eyes glued to the ground.  Despite his friend’s claim, this was not just a rock—it might be dorky and silly of him to be searching for the smoothest, most circular rock he can find, but after you had brought up the fact that real penguins propose to their mates with a carefully selected pebble, he just couldn’t get the idea out of his head.

And then he spots it in the corner of his eye, slightly darkened from a wave crashing over it.  It’s nearly spherical, and completely grey, with no dings or dents or discolorations; he knows, deep in his bones that this is the rock that’s meant for you, the one you deserve, that will demonstrate just how serious he is about you.  He holds it in the palm of his hand, smiling softly to himself while Shachi rolls his eyes from underneath his sunglasses; while he was happy for his friend and thought the two of you were a very cute couple, Penguin’s lovesickness admittedly drove him nuts at times, especially when his own love life was nothing to write home about by comparison.  As the pair makes their way up the beach, Penguin brimming with excitement and nerves, they spot your figure running towards them; Shachi waves you over while Penguin straightens his back and hides his hand behind his back, wanting to keep his gift for you a surprise.

But surprisingly, you beat him to the punch.

“I made something for you, Pen!” you exclaim, holding out a wide, flat rock in your hand.  The stone itself has imperfections, but you had adorned it with a tiny miniature painting of two penguins holding hands, with small pink hearts around them.  Penguin’s jaw drops in surprise, touched that you spent the time making him such a thoughtful gift.

“I love it—yours makes mine look a bit lame, though.” he says sheepishly as he holds out his own rock, despite the lack of a painted personal touch, you excitedly snatch it up all the same, marveling at just how smooth and round the pebble is.

“It’s perfect!  Thank you—I love you so, so much!” you say gleefully, throwing yourself into his arms and standing up on your toes to kiss him.  He accepts the affection readily, cupping your face and curling an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer and deepens the kiss, on cloud nine and without a care in the world—to the point that he seemingly forgets Shachi is still standing right beside the two of you.

“Gross.  I’m headed back to the inn.” he teases, though his jaw clenches in mild annoyance as he walks up the steep path towards the coastal lodging the crew was staying at.  However, as he realizes everyone else is hastily packing their belongings and heading back to the Polar Tang, his lips curl into a smirk as he resolves to mess with his two friends who were so obnoxiously smitten with each other—and so when Law asks him where the two of you are once he gets back to the submarine, Shachi simply shrugs.

“I told them we were leaving soon—they must not have been listening.” he laments with feigned annoyance as he attempts to hide the smirk on his face.  Impatient as usual, especially when trying to keep a strict time schedule, Law doesn’t wait much longer before disembarking and heading back towards the inn himself, with strict orders to the rest of the crew to stay in place and prepare for departure.

Though when he gets back to the inn and swings open Penguin’s door, a terse lecture on the tip of his tongue, he admittedly wasn’t prepared to see the two of you in such an intimate position, lips locked heatedly together; one of Penguin’s hands is grabbing at your breast while the other is around his cock, lining his head up with your entrance—that is, until you notice someone else is in the room with them, and you snap apart, a small scream of shock leaving both of your mouths.

“You two really couldn’t have done this back on the submarine?” Law asks, beyond exasperated; his tone is even, but a bright red flush creeps into his cheeks.

“Fuck—sorry, Captain!” Penguin squeaks out, his face burning red as he shoves his cock back into his boxers and zips his boiler suit up; you scramble to pull your shirt down and position the sheets over your lower half, heart racing with embarrassment from getting caught in the act.

“Don’t worry—I’m not looking.” Law says to you dryly as he rolls his eyes in an attempt to diffuse the situation, though he’s not quite sure if anything can make the awkwardness hanging in the air any less painful.  Eyes glued to the corner of the room while the two of you get dressed, he regains his composure and authoritative tone.  “We were supposed to depart an hour ago.  Shachi said that you guys knew and still didn’t show up.” he says, annoyed.

“Huh?  He didn’t say anything to either of us about that.” you say, confused and thankfully fully clothed as you tilt your head.

Law lets out a sigh as the pieces click together, irked that Shachi had pulled the wool over his eyes in order to mess with all three of you.  “I don’t care about your excuses, you should’ve been on the ship at half-past two.” he says stubbornly, scowling at both of you as you hurriedly shove all of your belongings into your bags.

The walk back to the Polar Tang is still tense and awkward, though Law tries to break up the thick tension in the air by asking about the rocks that both of you were fidgeting with.  Excitedly, your embarrassment washes away as you tell him all about the mating habits of penguins, and how now that the two of you have gotten rocks for each other, you’re now ‘penguin married’—whatever that means.

“Tch—you guys are dorks.” he chuckles in response as you board the submarine.  The three of you move to head towards your assigned stations, but Law’s voice stops both of you dead in your tracks.

“Penguin—” Law says, waving him over, silently dismissing you.

“Yes, Captain?” Penguin asks, a bit of hesitation in his voice.

“Use protection next time.  The last thing we need on the Polar Tang is a baby running around.” he says, attempting to keep a serious tone, but near the end of his statement he can’t hide the smug smirk that creeps onto his face, nor the small chuckle he lets out when Penguin turns beet red and mumbles an embarrassed “Yes, Captain.” under his breath.

#one piece x reader #penguin x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece drabble #one piece scenario #one piece penguin

[arainbowofchaos]

You're my light ✩

pair: Jungkook x reader

genre : mainly angst and a sprinkle of fluff, owing to Jungkook's charming persona :)

warnings: mentions of alcoholism, depression, agoraphobia, daddy issues and grief

word count: 9k

summary: Trapped by social anxiety within the confines of your home, your world transforms upon Jungkook's arrival, your new neighbor. Little do you know, he's not just a stranger but a figure from your past with some hidden history. Could Jungkook hold the key to mend your emotional wounds and lead you towards healing?

[A/N]: Please lemme know what you think I'm getting anxiety just posting the whole thing, kinda put my heart in it. Thank you for taking the time to read.

Emotionally wounded, you watch raindrops collide with the windowpane in your kitchen, wondering how the rain would feel on your skin. Rain is a soothing melody, a solace that you have come to cherish. Over time, this sound became comforting, like a song on repeat. On days like this, the push to do anything fades away, and the guilt dissolves.

Childhood memories of carefree puddle-splashing play in your mind, a stark contrast to your current existence. You long to regain that spirit, but stepping outside triggers a heartache. It's sad how you have become a recluse, avoiding the world. In shame, you look at your hands, still holding the knife you've been using to chop vegetables. The rain has captured your attention, making cooking an afterthought.

This routine has become your comfort zone. You no longer venture beyond your home, convinced that there's nothing worthwhile outside. You find contentment in isolating yourself from the world around you. Your sensitivity is heightened to the point that everything wounds you – every comment, gesture, and thought grazes against you, leaving scars that will never fade. You've resigned yourself to living with these wounds indefinitely, seeing no reason to expose yourself to new ones. 

Your mother had preached the importance of moving forward, but confidantes are scarce since her departure. Loneliness envelops you, and you carry your burdens alone. Pills offer fleeting relief from the pain, granting you sleep.

Your father's feelings of resentment towards you are like a cloud that comes and goes. He struggles with alcohol, which makes things even more complicated. Even though you left his home a long time ago, he still shows up at your place from time to time, causing scenes and making things difficult. His hurtful words and actions when you were younger have left deep scars, making you scared of trusting men and feeling like you don't deserve love. 

Until your new neighbor steps into your life.

One Monday morning, he rings your doorbell persistently, but you consciously choose to ignore it. The chime continues to echo, punctuating the air with its urgency, yet you remain resolute, showcasing your mastery of avoidance.

His second visit takes a different turn. Instead of ringing or knocking, he leaves a dish of hwajeon for you on your doorstep, thoughtfully covered with a plastic dome. As you bend down to retrieve the dish, a note beneath it captures your attention.

"Hey there, I'm your new neighbor. Hope we can meet soon. Jeon Jungkook."

You're speechless. No one has ever made cakes for you before this day. Neither neighbors nor family have ever shown the slightest attention since your mother passed away. On that afternoon, you indulge in three floral cakes, sitting on your couch and sipping your red berry tea. And in that moment, your heart feels a bit lighter than usual. It's strange but for once, you feel like someone actually cares.

Jungkook doesn't wait long before coming for his third visit. When he knocks this time, you open the door right away, handing him his plate. It's been cleaned and carefully wrapped in a bag. Taking the bag quickly, he looks at you with surprise in his big brown eyes.

"Hey, I'm Jungkook." 

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Thanks for the cakes... they were really good," you say, feeling a bit awkward. This kind of attention is new to you.

He grins, his dimples catching your attention. With that in mind, you take a quick look at him from top to bottom. He's tall and wears loose clothing, with piercings in his lip, ear, and eyebrow, and his arm is covered in tattoos. His underground style seems to suit him perfectly. He's definitely not your average guy.

"Thanks. I run the Kiwa Café downtown. Maybe you could drop by sometime?" 

"Yeah, sorry, I'm not really the type to go out. Have a good one."

You attempt to close the door, but he stops it with his arm. He’s got some strong arms.

"Wait, what if I bring you more treats to try? Since you don't really go out." he suggests.

You're taken aback, finding it hard to believe what you're hearing. Your expression softens as you timidly nod. Jungkook responds with a warm smile, saying, "Great, I'll drop by tomorrow with more goodies. And perhaps you could treat me to some coffee?" He playfully winks and takes a step back. His body remains turned toward you, as if he's reluctant to turn away. You thank him once more and close the door before he leaves your driveway.

You're left in a state of shock. What does this guy want? Why is he being so kind? You can't quite grasp the situation, but one thing is certain: you appreciate his way of talking to you. He effortlessly makes you feel comfortable, a rare occurrence for you.

The following day, Jungkook shows up at your door, dressed in a black crop top, a denim jacket, and blue ripped jeans. He's brought chocolate-filled hotteoks for you. You're torn between the excitement of the pancakes on your kitchen table and the delight of having Jungkook strolling through your apartment, softly singing. His presence carries a warm aura that envelops you in its positive energy.

You've fulfilled your promise and offered him a cup of coffee, complete with a metallic pink plate and a dessert fork. He finds the color charming, and you blush because compliments about your tableware are a rarity. As you both savor the sweet treats and chat, you learn more about each other. You find out that he's a lifelong resident of Busan and that he chose to move out of his parents' house because his brunch restaurant is thriving. The business is doing so well that he's been able to hire additional staff. He's looking to create more space in his life to enjoy moments outside of work.

When he asks you why you no longer leave your home, you honestly reply that there is nothing waiting for you and that you are content with the way things are. He listens without passing any judgment, a quality you greatly appreciate.

As your conversation drifts to cooking and books, you uncover that he's a sensitive and humorous individual, incapable of harboring negative judgments against others. Talking to him feels effortless; he has a way of making you feel at ease and never foolish. His voice carries a gentle cadence. He speaks slowly, ensuring that each word glides smoothly from his lips. There's no rush, just like the soothing sound of raindrops tapping against your window. It dawns on you that you could easily become accustomed to the comforting sound of Jungkook's voice filling the air as he talks to you.

Your conversation is abruptly disrupted by a forceful knock on the door, and your heart clenches as you apprehensively consider the potential visitor. In an instant, your father enters without warning, causing your heart to race. His surprise is unmistakable as he takes in the sight of Jungkook in your kitchen.

"Who's this guy?" Your father snaps, his gaze fixed directly on Jungkook. His anger radiates palpably, and you can easily discern the influence of alcohol in his slurred speech.

You remain silent, feeling deeply uncomfortable and shocked. Jungkook notices your immediate tensing as he enters. Just moments ago, you were just fine, but now it's painfully clear that this new arrival is unwelcome. Since you don't respond and seem terrified, Jungkook decides to speak up.

"I'm Jungkook, your new neighbor. And you?" Jungkook stands up and extends his hand to your father, who responds with a forceful strike rather than a handshake. You shiver from head to toe, feeling helpless in finding the right words to say.

"Get the hell outta here!" the man continues aggressively. However, Jungkook appears entirely unimpressed; he's determined to understand who this man is to you and won't leave you alone with him unless you confirm it's your wish.

"Y/N, you good?" Jungkook's concern shows. Tears well up in your eyes, and no sound emerges from your mouth. You feel like you can't breathe; a panic attack takes hold, and you're desperately trying to calm yourself.

"And she's crying again, what a mess!" your father curses. Those words are enough to prompt Jungkook to take a step forward, his tone resolute but composed.

"Sir, I'd appreciate it if you left now," Jungkook addresses your father calmly. "Y/N needs some space, and I think it's best for all of us if you give her that."

Your father's face turns red with anger, and his frustration becomes even more evident. He clenches his fists, and for a moment, it feels like he's about to explode. "An' who do ya even think y'are, tellin' me how t'handle my own family?" he fires back, his voice rising.

Jungkook maintains his composure, though a trace of concern flickers in his eyes. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I just want to help. Y/N deserves a bit of calm right now," he says, his tone even.

Your father's anger escalates into a scene. He raises his voice, exclaiming, "I dun' need no stra-nger tellin' me 'bout my own daugh-ter!" His words reverberate in the room, thickening the tension.

Jungkook keeps his gaze on your father, his patience unwavering. "I'm not here to lecture anyone. I'm just asking for a bit of understanding."

After a heated exchange of words, your father lets out an exasperated sigh and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The room is left in an uneasy stillness, the weight of the confrontation lingering in the air. You're now alone with Jungkook, your heart still racing from the encounter.

Jungkook returns his attention to you, his expression softening. "Hey, you're okay. He's gone now. Just take deep breaths, alright? You're safe."

His words provide a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. You manage to steady your breathing, focusing on Jungkook's reassuring presence.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice still trembling.

Your new neighbor offers a gentle smile. "No need to thank me. I'm just here to make sure you're okay."

Without a word, Jungkook takes a step closer, his intention clear. You feel a warmth emanating from him, an unspoken gesture of support.

And then, in a moment of profound understanding, his arms envelop you in a gentle embrace. You welcome it, allowing yourself to lean into the hug, feeling his comforting presence wrap around you. Your hands find their place around his small waist, fingers curling slightly.  It's been years since you've been hugged. Feeling Jungkook against you, his black curls tickling your face, his scent—a blend of orange and passion flower—is intoxicating.

...

The recent days have brought a wave of happiness, unlike any you've experienced in a long time. Jungkook has become a constant presence, visiting you almost every evening after closing his café. Each time, he arrives bearing the day's leftover treats, and you've noticed a pattern – it's almost as if he sets some items aside especially for you, given the appearance of new treats daily.

When he arrives, the two of you embark on culinary adventures together. Seeing him wear your pink apron unexpectedly charms you. He often ties his hair in a small bun, a detail you can't help but notice and find appealing. His comfort in your space is noticeable, and he respects your boundaries. He doesn't ask intrusive questions, and his curiosity never makes you uncomfortable. You feel grateful that he doesn't push for explanations after the incident with your father. 

As the days pass, Jungkook's daily visits continue, leaving you to ponder the underlying reasons behind his actions. This situation intrigues you - you perceive yourself as ordinary, yet his consistently caring behavior since the beginning prompts you to wonder what might be driving it.

It's hard for you to fathom why your new neighbor seems so determined to drop by every day. You've contemplated the possibility that his feelings might extend beyond friendship, but considering you've only known each other for a week, it's unsettling.

It's the way he gazes at you intensely when he assumes you're not looking, and how he naturally gravitates towards your presence. It's not an everyday occurrence for such an attractive individual to show active interest in you. Slowly, you find yourself beginning to rely on his company, and it leaves you feeling anxious.

Gathering your thoughts, you find the courage to ask the question that has been swirling in your mind.

"Jungkook... I gotta know, why do you come over every single day?"

Surprise lights up his eyes; it's evident that he hadn't anticipated such a direct inquiry. He clears his throat, and a slight blush graces his cheeks.

"I really enjoy hanging out with you. If my visits bug you, just let me know" he answers, his voice gentle and reassuring. He fidgets with his lip piercing, briefly averting his gaze before locking eyes with you once again, a newfound intensity behind his look. While you accept his response, an intuitive feeling suggests that there's more beneath the surface.

"How can I put this?” You start to ponder with a touch of caution. “I like having you around. But I can't help but wonder if this routine might get old for you."

He shakes his head vehemently, his gaze tinged with a hint of sadness at what you've just suggested. Then, he asserts with conviction, "I value every moment we spend together, whether it's here or anywhere else. I'd love to take you out sometime, but I don't wanna rush it. What matters is us being together like this."

His way of conveying his feelings is beautifully simple; he genuinely just wants to spend time with you. You're flattered, and your astonishment is transparent on your face – it's as if you're struggling to believe the sincerity he's displaying. As Jungkook takes a step closer, the soft scent of his cologne envelops the room, infusing the air with a comforting familiarity. He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers warm against your skin, and looks at you with a tenderness that's impossible to misunderstand. The truth of his intention is unmistakable.

"I want you to know how amazing you are. Seriously,"  he tells you with unwavering enthusiasm. Your head unconsciously tilts toward his touch, like a flower leaning into the sunlight, and your motion garners a fond chuckle from him. "And you're super cute, too."

Even though you're not really looking for romance, you find yourself hoping to have him around as much as you can. You know that his interest might not last forever, but you're not focusing on that right now. The happiness he brings you in the present is what matters most.

This is what ultimately leads you to the decision of accepting his invitation to join him for a drink at his café.

"You know what? I've been thinking... I'd like to check out your café. See where you work," you admit, your words laced with a mixture of curiosity and eagerness.

Jungkook's face brightens, a wide grin forming on his face. His enthusiasm is palpable as he practically springs up from his seat.

"Really? That's awesome!" he exclaims, the genuine delight in his voice making your heart skip a beat. You both reach an agreement that this visit will happen before the café's opening hours. The next day, he'll come to pick you up in his car, a detail that adds a tinge of excitement to the anticipation.

...

If you were to describe Jungkook's café, you'd say it's vibrant and luminous. The space isn't huge, but it's cozy. Along the bay window's entire length, carefully arranged flower pots create a greenhouse-like atmosphere. Small tables are tucked away in this space. The use of materials, like wood and black metal, adds an industrial feel. The ambiance radiates warmth and elegance, suggesting he's tailored the café to match his personality.

From Jungkook's expression, you can tell how delighted he is that you wanted to explore his work. You understand how much energy and passion he's invested in his business. It warms your heart to see him bustling behind the counter, preparing your black sesame lattes while humming a happy tune.

When he joins you at the table nearest to the bay window, right beside the azaleas (which are so exquisite that you want to appreciate them up close), he places the two lattes on the table with utmost care. A heart-shaped milk foam graces the surface of your latte, an attention to detail that elicits another slightly quicker heartbeat from you.

Amused, Jungkook observes your contemplation of the drink, a playful glint in his eyes. You lift your gaze, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush, and you offer a genuine expression of gratitude. If he punctuates this exchange with a sly wink, it's merely to incite laughter and a fond roll of your eyes – he's become quite attuned to your reactions.

Taking out his phone, Jungkook seems a bit nervous and asks, "Can I take a picture of you?" 

"Why? I... uh…" Panic sets in – photos aren't really your thing, and you kind of wish you could just disappear.

"It's like your first time out in forever, you know? Capturing the moment could be cool."

But you're not totally convinced. You're thinking of saying it's kind of silly, and honestly, you don't feel like you deserve all this attention. I mean, you're mostly here because of him, right?

"What if you took a picture of me too?"

It's this last proposition that changes your mind. A photograph of Jungkook is something you genuinely desire. Perhaps it could be a way to keep him close even when he's absent? You might seem like a stalker, but your newly awakened feelings can't be suppressed. You nod and retrieve your rarely-used phone; this seems like the perfect opportunity.

He gets into a pose all effortlessly, with this tender look in his eyes. You snap the shot, capturing his cute smile forever in your phone's gallery.

"Now it's my turn."

You're not sure how to pose, so you just kind of shyly look at him while holding up your latte.

"You look really nice," he says quietly from behind his phone, and those words make you way happier than you'd admit. Taking a sip of your coffee, you segue into conversation.

"Your coffee is amazing, and I really love the vibe. I get why it's doing well."

He grins at your nice words, looking kind of proud.

"Thanks, I'm glad you like it. You're welcome here anytime."

"I don't want to bother you while you're working, though."

"Nah, you're not bothering me. Time drags when you're not around."

And you're not sure if it's the latte or just his friendliness, but words start flowing out before you can even think.

"I could actually work here. It'd be a good spot for me to write my articles."

Jungkook nearly chokes on his coffee, but he's got this big happy smile on his face.

"That would be awesome," he says, all gentle and sincere.

This is the first time a man has made you feel so desired in a way that isn't just about the physical. He also feels the need to have you around all the time. He's equally invested. And even if you don't fully comprehend your contribution, you're determined to reciprocate, to make him feel as special as he makes you feel.

...

You've been involved in writing literary articles for a long time, tracing back to your primary passion: reading. It all started with a simple personal blog during your teenage years, where sharing your thoughts online gradually captured your interest. As your blog gained more followers, you could sense your confidence and pride blossoming. Suddenly, at 20 years old, an unexpected opportunity knocked on your door. A renowned literary journal offered you a chance to write a weekly article. The thought of working remotely and getting paid to review new publications felt almost unreal. Writing was the most cherished aspect of your life, and this offer meant the world to you.

But little did you realize that this enjoyment of yours could deepen even further... until that fateful day when you made the decision to spend your time working in Jungkook's café. 

As you step into the café on your own, he instantly notices, rushing over with uncontained excitement to envelop you in a tight hug, even lifting you off the ground. The words of genuine pride he whispers into your ear create a unique warmth that ignites within you. Experiencing his authentic appreciation becomes one of the most heartwarming sensations you've known.

And then, unexpectedly, he brings forth an assortment of beverages – tea, lemonade, and orange juice – with almost whimsical efficiency, all in quick succession, "to keep you perfectly hydrated!" His insistence on not accepting any payment only adds to the sincerity of the gesture.

As night's curtain descends upon the café, he bids his farewell to the last customer, turning to cast you a smile that seems to hold the very essence of genuineness and sincerity. "What an absolutely incredible day!" he exclaims with an infectious enthusiasm that swiftly spreads to you. 

Throughout the day, you've been attentively observing Jungkook as he effortlessly manages the café's bustling operations. Every interaction with customers is an exquisite display of his innate politeness and warmth. From the way he greets them with a genuine smile to how he takes the time to inquire about their preferences, it's clear that his kindness isn't reserved just for you. 

You're deeply moved by how your connection with Jungkook has grown. He's been persistent in breaking down your walls from the very start. This transformation is clear: in a short time, Jungkook has become a significant part of your life, a cherished friend. Despite initially thinking you could handle things alone, you're now openly admitting that his presence brings you real happiness.

The issue lies in the fact that when you return home in the evenings after your days spent together, the burden of anxiety returns to rest upon your shoulders. A new kind of apprehension emerges – the fear of losing the friendship that provides you with so much solace. Tears well up at the mere thought of a future without him, and you're frustrated with yourself for feeling this way. Why does it seem so difficult for you to appreciate the current moment? You find yourself convinced that someone as wonderful as Jungkook doesn't belong in your life, especially when he embodies all the qualities you could ever wish for in a person.

...

Jungkook vividly remembers the first time he laid eyes on you. Both of you were in middle school, but in different classes due to your two-year age difference. He was pushed by a classmate from your class because he was doodling cute characters on paper instead of playing soccer. Instead of making fun of him like everyone else, you stepped in to defend him. At that time, you were more confident, and confronting others didn't bother you. You simply couldn't ignore injustice. When you helped him pick up his pencils from the ground and flattened his crumpled drawing under your books, you said words he could never forget, "Hey, don't let anyone boss you around. You've got every right to follow your passions!" with a wink that made his stomach flip. He didn't know what love was back then, but that's when he started paying attention to you.

That's why he noticed the exact moment when the change occurred in you. He still doesn't know the reason to this day, but it used to torture him. He observed how you withdraw into yourself. You spent time alone during breaks, barely responding to your classmates' invitations. He liked coming close to you to draw, and you didn't object; you let him do it as you read your book quietly. Occasionally, you exchanged knowing glances, but no words were spoken. During those moments, he felt like he was supporting you – not leaving you alone like everyone else seemed to do. How could he not notice the spark extinguished in your eyes? You, who used to talk and laugh loudly, had become silent.

And then one day, you finished school and he lost sight of you. It made him really sad, his heart felt broken without you around. What you might not know is that Jungkook never forgot you, even during the years when he couldn't find you. He held onto memories of you, even when he had chances for romantic relationships. The idea of you stayed in his thoughts, making it difficult for him to let go completely, his mind always coming back to you.

A few months ago, he came across an article written by you – he couldn’t believe it. Just seeing your name brought back so many memories. He dedicated hours to reading your frequently updated blog. Learning that you've been residing near his café filled him with immense joy. He felt like the luckiest person alive.

And so, he decided to leave his parents' home and quickly found a place to live right next to yours. Some might find this weird, but for him, it was a natural step to reconnect with you. Your warm welcome was just like it had been before. Believing in destiny, he sees this reunion as something meant to happen. His goal now is to help you find your carefree self again, if you're open to it. And it seems you are.

There's one thing that Jungkook would like to come clean about: he wants you to remember the 12-year-old boy he was. He needs to admit that he was that person to you, even if it might change things between you. 

...

It's 6 AM, and Jungkook's awakened by his usual alarm – just like every morning, you're the first thing that pops into his head, especially since your photo adorns his phone’s wallpaper. It's been a few weeks of almost daily hangouts, and he senses you're opening up bit by bit – he really wants to gather the guts to ask you out. He worries that if he waits too long, you might start misconstruing his intentions. He just wants to make it clear he doesn't want you to see him as just a friend. 

Running his fingers through his dark hair, he lets out a groan before burying his head in his pillow. He knows he'll have to gather his courage and take the leap soon. Jungkook gets out of bed and heads for a shower to clear his mind – when he's suddenly alerted by the sound of his front doorbell ringing. Quickly slipping into a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, he rushes to open his front door.

Standing right there is... you, and it doesn't take him long to realize that your eyes are red and puffy, and it's evident that you've been crying. Your braids are disheveled, and you're still clad in your hello kitty pajamas.

"I... I kind of just showed up... I saw your lights on... I'm... sorry... didn't mean to bug you," you sob, and it's a heart-wrenching sight that tugs at his emotions. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his embrace, aiming to provide comfort.

"I'm here, you're not bugging me at all, you did the right thing by coming over. C'mon in," he reassures you in a gentle voice. Jungkook's scent carries a hint of soap, and you're enveloped in it, feeling the warmth of his body beneath your cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat has a soothing effect, helping you regain control of your own breathing.

As he welcomes you into his home, Jungkook closes the door behind you and leads you into his living room. There's minimal furniture – just a sofa and a TV – he moved in not too long ago, after all. And most of his free time has been dedicated almost exclusively to you. He motions for you to sit on the couch and takes a spot nearby, leaving a small gap between you to avoid overwhelming you. To his surprise, it's you who scoots closer, seeking solace in his arms again – and he's more than happy to oblige. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as if silently saying, I'm here.

"Hey, what's going on, Y/N? You seem really upset," Jungkook worries. His voice still holds traces of morning huskiness, and his warm breath brushes against your skin. You're enveloped in a comforting atmosphere.

"I... I'm just struggling... with everything... and it's like I'm scared of every little thing," you admit, but what you really mean is I feel like I’m suffocating when you're not around. "Before you came along, being alone was fine... but now…”

And maybe nobody else could quite grasp the weight of what you're expressing, but he gets it immediately – he holds you even tighter, offering reassurance.

"I like being around you too. You shouldn't stress about it, it's a good thing,"he says gently.

"Nah," you reply with a serious tone. "I don't want... to end up relying on whether I see you or not... it's kinda silly, I barely know you." And even if you come across as rude, you don't care. You need to let it all out. Your eyes are brimming with tears as you try to explain. "If you leave, what am I supposed to do? I don't want to feel like I can't function without you."

Jungkook chuckles softly—not at you, but at your words. You're not used to relying on anyone. You've lived in seclusion for so long that the simple realization that you're comfortable with someone triggers a tsunami of tears within you.

He decides that now is finally the right time to be honest. You were the one who first confessed your feelings to him—albeit clumsily. And seeing you cry like this, it's clear that there's something there for him, even if it's just a tiny spark.

"I can't imagine doing well without you either," Jungkook admits softly. Your face turns to him swiftly as his words reach your ears. His gaze is unapologetic, genuine, full of tenderness, and you can barely meet his eyes because of how intimidated you are.

"What do you mean? We've only known each other for a few weeks," you express, a bit stunned. "How can you be sure about that?" You inquire further.

Jungkook pauses - this is the moment. His hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "To be honest, we've known each other for a bit longer." You lean back a bit, pulling away from Jungkook, much to his regret, but it's expected; his words have taken you by surprise.

"What do you mean by that?" you ask, cautious and a bit skeptical.

"Just give me a moment, I'll be back soon. It'll make sense," He says with a reassuring smile.

Jungkook gets up from the couch and disappears for what feels like a long, endless few minutes before he returns, holding a photo album in his hands. He settles back down beside you and offers you the album. "I was around 12 years old in these class photos. Maybe it'll jog your memory."

You could have never predicted what was about to unfold. As you turn the pages of the album, suddenly there's a photo of a little boy looking back at you. He's dressed in a school uniform - much like the one you wore in middle school. And you recognize him, but it's hard to believe it could actually be Jungkook, right?

Your eyes widen so much that no more tears come out; you're just in shock. You can't even speak.

"Look, I hope you're not mad. This wasn't easy for me to spill out. I was worried you'd want nothing to do with me after this," he says with a touch of nervousness.

You shake your head, finding it hard to believe his words."Wait, Jungkook, you're telling me this little guy is you? The one who used to draw next to me every single recess?"

He nods, a bit shyly, and it's like you're seeing your old schoolmate all over again. The one who was always hanging around, no matter where you went, bringing you some kind of comfort during those tough times after your mother passed away. Suddenly, all those memories, the good and the bad, are swirling in your head, and honestly, you just want to hit reset, go back to square one. You jump up, needing to leave, to head back home, pop those pills to make the past just shut up.

"Don't go like that, just let me explain." Jungkook tries to hold you back, but you're already in the entryway, your hand on the doorknob.

"I probably shouldn't have come here. Jungkook, I... I'm not mad at you, but I really need to leave."

"Wait, hold on. Can we talk instead of you leaving like this? Please, don't disappear on me again!" And he's yelling at this point, his voice echoing in the room, and you realize the pain it holds. Suddenly, you're no longer thinking about yourself, but about this vulnerable boy who wants to keep you close. What are you afraid of?

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know. I... I don't think I deserve your attention. It's like a waste of time for you to be with someone like me." you declare with frustration.

"I might not know all the details about your past, but I see you as an amazing person. And I really care about you, like, a lot." Jungkook's words come out gently, his gaze steady on yours, as if he's trying to express the sincerity of his emotions. 

"Can you give trusting me a chance?" He's asking sincerely, and you want to agree, but you're afraid of how he might react once he realizes how messed up you truly are. 

With a reluctant nod and a hint of hesitation in your gaze, you still find yourself willingly accepting the hand he's reaching out to you. There's a sense of liberation in letting your guard down. Confronting your anxiety attacks with Jungkook by your side seems to surpass the effectiveness of any medication, even though it involves the potential risk of future pain.

...

"Have you continued drawing, Jungkook?" You inquire, a genuine curiosity lacing your words.

His response is tinged with humility. "Yeah, I still doodle here and there, but I won't pretend I'm some pro. It's just a thing I do for fun." 

A playful grin forms on your lips. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

He playfully retorts, "Well, you'll probably find out sooner or later if you stick around."

A chuckle escapes your lips. You're in it for the long haul.

After the revelations Jungkook shared, everything suddenly clicks into place, a puzzle of emotions now neatly assembled. The enigma of why this extraordinary man took interest in you unravels, fittingly revealing its answer. Welcoming a figure from your past back into your present is as bewildering as it is enlightening, considering the deliberate isolation you've woven around yourself. Encountering a familiar face wasn't part of the story you had envisioned.

From that morning onward, a new rhythm emerges. You initially thought you'd want alone time to process the revealed truths, but surprisingly, you find yourself craving his company, seeking the comfort he brings. He becomes a regular presence in your space, creating a cozy spot on the sofa bed where you engage in countless conversations that stretch beyond twilight.

During quiet nights, if you stir from slumber, you retreat to your bedroom with a mix of hesitation. He pretends to be asleep, his breath shallow, and you ponder whether his gaze would reveal more in the dim light. In recent days, touch has become a silent language, fingers grazing skin to convey comfort and understanding. Your thoughtful gestures extend further, seen in the room you make for him in your bathroom and closet. He transforms into a dependable source of support, and you both intuitively sense the ease with which you share moments and spaces.

Here's the thing, you find yourself yearning to deepen your connection. Despite feeling shattered, you're attuned to the moments when your heart races. What you feel for him goes beyond mere fondness; you desire him in a way that leaves no room for doubt. As he rises in the morning, stretching and gifting you his first smile, you find yourself yearning to kiss him. Yet, the beauty of your dynamic lies in its naturalness, making you eagerly anticipate the day when such a moment will unfold seamlessly between you two.

Yet, the weight of your past remains a burden you carry alone – you can't bring yourself to accept his love until he's aware of your complete history. You're well conscious that his perception of you might shift dramatically, perhaps even pushing him to retreat. He clings to an image, a nostalgic notion of you from his childhood, and you've undergone significant changes since those days. Even though he's cognizant of this, you pick up on his yearning to resurrect the person you once were – and that's simply unattainable. You'll never revert to that former self. So, being honest, when he confesses something later while you both relax on the couch – his head on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair – you’re not prepared.

"I think I might be falling in love with you," he confesses, his words breaking the tranquility of the moment you're sharing in front of the screen.

The admission catches you off guard, and you react with a mixture of surprise and conviction, "That can’t be."

"Why do you say that?" His tone carries a touch of reproach as he lifts his head to meet your gaze. It's evident that your response has struck a chord with him, and you're already grappling with a pang of guilt.

"I'm not the best person, you know... I've caused pain to people in ways that don't make me deserving of your affection. Trust me on that," you explain, hoping he won't press further.

He leans back slightly, a contemplative look on his face, "You should talk to me about what happened. I'm not trying to rush you or anything, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. Always."

The sincerity in his eyes and the way he puts his feelings on the line encourage you to open up, to let him in, even though you're fearful of the judgment that might come with revealing your past.

You curl up into a small ball, wanting to appear as small as possible.

"What do you wanna know?" you ask him, your voice soft.

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, determined to seize the opportunity you're giving him to learn more about you.

"I'm kinda curious about what went down when you were 14, the time you started isolating yourself in school to read," he says, sounding pretty straightforward.

"You actually noticed that back then?" you respond, genuinely surprised that he paid such close attention.

"You used to be this bright presence, and then, you changed. I caught onto that real quick. I was too shy to ask you about it. I still regret it, you know…" His voice wavers at the end, revealing the sincerity of his words. He really wishes he could've been there for you.

"You were just a kid too, Kook," you say gently, using the nickname that brings a smile to his face. "You were more there for me than anyone else, and I appreciate it."

He never anticipated finding you again, let alone receiving your gratitude. Whatever you're about to reveal to him, he wants to spend the rest of his life protecting you, making up for lost time. He wants to hold you in his arms. He wants to kiss you. He wants you to finally understand that he loves you deeply, and that nothing could ever change that.

"I lost my mother, and it's my fault," you finally admit, the pain clear in your trembling voice. "I caused the car accident."

Jungkook remains silent, allowing you the space to share your story without interruption. He gently caresses your wrist, a silent encouragement for you to continue.

"Back then, I had this blog where I shared my favorite books, but my dad didn't like it at all. He was having this huge argument with my mom when everything happened," you explain with a heavy tone, avoiding his gaze as you speak. Tears start to well up, and your voice wavers, "My mom was always on my side. She meant the world to me, and when I lost her, my whole world just fell apart."

"Oh, sweetheart..." he murmurs gently, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace that you welcome despite your feelings of guilt. "You can't blame yourself for this. Were you in the car too? And your dad?" His question is tender, his disbelief evident as he realizes the burden you've silently carried for so long.

"My father and I survived, but he holds me responsible for the accident and wants nothing to do with me," you share, your voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. "I lived with him alone until I turned 20. I tried to continue my studies, but when I got the offer from the journal, I left. I could finally make a living and never see him again," you recount. "Yet, from time to time, he comes back just to make me feel awful, like he did the other day when you were here."

Jungkook is appalled by your father's behavior. How could anyone blame a 14-year-old? It's beyond comprehension.

"Wow, that's just... messed up," Jungkook responds, his voice filled with disbelief, "I'm really sorry you had to go through that. I can't believe your dad would do that to you. Blaming you for something like that and cutting you off?"

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of your past still evident in your tone. "Yeah - he couldn't handle the fact that I was doing something he didn't agree with, even if it was just writing about books. And when the accident happened during their argument... Well, he put all the blame on me."

Jungkook's grip on you eases slightly, his empathy palpable. "But you managed to get away from that toxic environment," he remarks, his voice warm. "You grabbed the opportunity and moved on, working at the journal and building your own life. That's pretty damn courageous if you ask me."

You manage a half-smile, the memory of your journey to independence still vivid. 

He lets out a soft sigh, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "You’re not blaming yourself for what happened, right?"

A gentle chuckle escapes you, laced with a hint of irony. "What do you think? I isolated myself all those years. It's hard to forgive myself."

Time feels suspended as you've just opened your heart completely. There's nothing left hidden. To your astonishment, Jungkook hasn't fled as you half-expected he might.

His touch remains warm against your skin, a silent reassurance that he's here to stay, regardless of the scars you've unveiled. In his eyes, you see a mixture of empathy and affection, as if he's been waiting for this moment to understand you more deeply. The weight of your shared emotions hangs in the air, mingling with a newfound sense of intimacy.

"I hope you can forgive yourself someday. And thank you for sharing your past with me," he says softly, his voice a soothing tune that dispels the tension in the room.

You manage a small smile, touched by his words. "It wasn't easy to open up, but I'm glad I did."

His fingers tenderly brush against your head, as if affectionately tousling your hair, "You don't have to carry your burdens alone anymore. I'm here for you, no matter what."

The sincerity in his voice resonates within you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch. In his presence, the weight of your past seems just a bit lighter, the pain a bit more bearable. As the minutes pass, the silence between you feels comfortable, a testament to the unspoken connection you've forged. With Jungkook by your side, the wounds of your history don't sting as sharply. It's as if he's a balm for your soul, mending the broken pieces with patience and care.

As you bask in the quiet companionship, you realize that the journey ahead won't be without its challenges. Healing takes time, and vulnerability is a journey of its own. But now, you have a partner who's willing to walk that path alongside you, no matter how rough it gets. 

...

Since opening up to each other, a shift has occurred in you. It's as if a dormant part of you has awakened, nudging you to venture beyond your comfort zone. You start small with grocery shopping and even a cinema visit, hand in hand with Jungkook. Soon, solitary walks, workdays at various locales like the park, library, and Jungkook's café become your norm. Life starts to regain its hues, and appreciation for it blooms once again.

While strolling in the park one day, a familiar face approaches you, etched with anger and accusation. Surprised, as you've been feeling watched lately, you realize it wasn't just paranoia.

"So, now you decide to step out, huh? Putting on a show?" Your father's words sting with bitterness. "While I've been miserable since your mother's death, you seem to have magically found happiness? You make me sick!" His voice carries a storm, discomfort washing over you.

You face him, his spiteful words hanging heavy. The once-sunny day turns chilly, leaving you vulnerable. Refusing to be shattered by your father's words, you gather courage. "You don't get to hold me responsible for your unhappiness," your voice steady despite inner turmoil. "I've grown; I'm finding my own path."

Your father's anger sharpens. "Oh, really? So, this guy brings you joy while I've been in misery?"

The tension hangs thick, a cloud between you two. Heart pounding, you recall past conflicts, but this time, you're resolute.

"I'm not responsible for your pain. But I won't let it define me either, and I won't apologize for seeking happiness."

Your words linger, a testament to your growth and strength. As you stand firm, the weight of your journey toward self-empowerment shines through your words.

"And you know," you continue, your voice softer, "We both deserve to heal. Holding onto bitterness won't help either of us. I've found a path that brings me happiness; I hope you can find yours."

A pause follows, your father pondering your words. Anger in his eyes wavers, replaced by uncertainty. With a sigh, he looks away, shoulders dropping.

"Yeah, do what you want," he mutters, his tone subdued.

"Thank you," your sincere response. "I wish you well."

Turning, you walk away, leaving tension behind. Your father watches, then turns and walks in the opposite direction.

Arriving home, you find Jungkook, donning your pink apron, making Bulguri Noodles. His presence warms your heart. Sharing the encounter, he expresses admiration for your strength. Grateful, you thank him for empowering you to stand up for yourself, a reflection of the strength you both have shared since your childhood days.

...

As the anniversary of your mother's passing approaches, cemeteries evoke intense aversion within you. Visiting her grave has grown daunting, fueled by insurmountable anxiety and fear of encountering your strained relationship with your father, even with Jungkook's soothing presence.

In the midst of your emotional turmoil, Jungkook offers a beautiful idea that flows effortlessly from him. "Why not create a commemorative day?" he suggests. "Visit her cherished places, do activities that brought her joy. It's about preserving her memory in your unique way."

The weight of uncertainty settles on your shoulders. "I'm not entirely sure if I can handle it," you confess, your voice laced with vulnerability and hesitation.

Jungkook offers a reassuring smile. "If you want, I can be there with you. We could do it together."

"I would genuinely appreciate that," you respond, the warmth of gratitude and emotion swelling within you.

And so, the journey to organize a day dedicated to your mother's memory begins. For you, it's an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with her essence through the prism of cherished memories. For Jungkook, it's a chance to glimpse her through your eyes.

The day arrives. Jungkook dresses elegantly, clad in a crisply ironed white shirt and black linen pants, his black hair framing his face ethereally. On your part, you've chosen a modest black dress, an homage to your mother's favorite color. Jungkook's admiring gaze lands on you, a testament to his appreciation for your choice.

"You look stunning," he murmurs, releasing an almost inaudible breath.

His words melt doubts. With him by your side, you face the day's commemorations with newfound resilience.

Instead of a cemetery, you honor your mother's artistry in an art gallery. Jungkook's presence is reassuring as he walks beside you, holding your hand. 

Art speaks to you, a reminder of your mother's love. Pointing out art that reminds you of her, Jungkook listens intently, genuine interest in his eyes.

You confess, "I used to enjoy when you doodled around me. It reminded me of my mom. She loved drawing. She used to illustrate stuff for kids, but she also had these personal pieces she kept just for herself."

Pride and affection light Jungkook's face. The urge to kiss you is strong, but he restrains it. Today is about honoring the memory of you and your mother.

Leaving the gallery's embrace behind, you step into the warm caress of sunlight and head towards Haeundae Beach. The yearning to bask in the lovely weather and absorb the ocean breeze propels you onward. Memories surge back – those cherished moments, just the two of you. Your mother's days off often translated into these special beach outings.

As you approach the beach, the golden sands extend before you, converging with the vast expanse of azure waters that stretch towards the distant horizon. Jungkook's gaze locks onto yours, brimming with hope and vulnerability. With a softness as tender as a whisper, he asks, "Would your mother have approved of me?"

He looks so young and uncertain, so adorable that your heart could almost burst. The fact that he's even asking this question makes you fall for him a little more.

A rush of emotions floods you, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She'd have adored you," you reply, your voice brimming with certainty. “You two share so many passions and values. She'd have wanted me to find someone like you."

In that moment, Jungkook's hesitation dissipates. His resolve to convey his feelings takes over. He takes a step forward. "Then, maybe you could build your life with me?" he says, his voice carrying hope and charm.

A mix of emotions wells within you, your heart caught between longing and self-doubt. "You might not fully realize what you're getting yourself into."

But Jungkook surprises you, his fingers intertwining with yours, his touch tender. His gaze, so intense and sincere, meets yours as he says, "I understand more than you might think."

Your heart skips a beat, the gravity of his words sinking in. The day, this moment, is a culmination of emotions and shared experiences. And then, without hesitation, he utters the three words you've yearned to hear from him for so long.

"I love you."

It's a confession that echoes in the space between you, a declaration that tugs at the strings of your heart. You didn't anticipate how deeply his words would resonate, how they would weave into the fabric of your being. The tears you've been holding back finally break free, a testament to the depth of your emotions. They trace a path down your cheeks, mingling with your smile as you respond, your voice unwavering and genuine, "I love you too, Kook."

Jungkook's been waiting for this moment, for your reciprocation, for the confirmation that your hearts beat in sync. His hands find your face, his touch gentle yet filled with purpose. And then, with a tenderness that transcends words, he leans in and kisses you. 

As his lips touch yours, warmth envelops you.

You're home.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #my words

[suniix]

i love you | yuta x reader

synopsis | yuta tells you he loves you for the first time before he leaves

word count | 526

note | sorry for being dead. got discouraged from posting bc my stuff won’t show up in tags if i have any links 💀 idk if im shadow banned (how does one tell?🙃) or maybe tumblr is just being dumb.. anyways i kinda gave up at the end idk if you can tell

“I love you.”

His words of affection broke the peaceful air. The trees stopped rustling and the cicadas stopped their summer song. It seemed as though even the world became quiet to listen to his confession.

You could only stare in surprise. When Yuta had asked you to hang out one final time before he left for training you were expecting a sad talk about his journey to becoming a jujutsu sorcerer, not a confession.

The world grew impatient at your lack of response. A gentle breeze started up again, a little fiercer than before, and Yuta’s freshly cut hair moved along with it. You remember the day Maki told you about Yuta getting his haircut. You nearly dropped to your knees in the middle of practice at the news.

This is it! You thought. He’ll come in with an ugly haircut and I’ll finally get over him!

What you weren’t expecting was him to look even better with his new haircut. You didn’t know whether to cry out in joy or pain. Maki could only roll her eyes at your exaggerated response while Panda and Inumaki snickered on the sidelines.

After that day Yuta seemed to carry himself differently. He stood straight and no longer mumbled when talking to others. Yuta’s gentle eyes still remained the same, but now there was a determined look in them. Those same eyes stared deeply into your own, waiting patiently for a response.

You almost forgot you were in the middle of a confession.

You opened your mouth but no sound left it. You wanted to respond, you truly did, but you were scared. Curse Yuta, why did he have to drop something that big before he left. If you hadn’t known this information his departure would have hurt less. You would have eventually gotten over your feelings and moved on, maybe. Now you’ll be forced to live without him, imagining what could have been if you had taken the risk and said something earlier.

Yuta noticed your hesitation to speak and gently grabbed your hands with his. You failed to notice the shake of his hands, focusing more on how cold they were. Was it always this cold during the summer?

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?”

Alright? How could you be alright? The moment you find out your love is reciprocated he has to leave. Your heart ached, already missing him despite him being right in front of you. It felt as though he was miles away from your reach.

“Please don’t leave.” You whispered, afraid if you said it any louder your heart would be forced to accept reality and the tears building up in your eyes would spill.

Yuta gripped your hands tighter. “I’m sorry, but I have to.” He let go of your hand and cupped your cheek. You allowed yourself to accept the affection, nuzzling into his hand. His hands were warmer now.

“I promise I’ll come back, stronger than before, and when I do, I will still love you the same.” He whispered, placing his forehead on yours.

That night your love left, taking your heart with him with the promise of returning.

thank you for reading till the end! :D

#yuuta okkotsu #yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #reader insert

[tamurilofrivendell]

Homecoming | Haldir x Reader

Pairing: Haldir/Reader

Read on AO3

Summary: Haldir returns with the rest of the survivors from Helm’s Deep and, deciding he has wasted enough precious time, confesses his feelings to you.

Prompt: (inspired by this post by @oneofmanyinterests​ - hopefully that’s okay!)

Tags: @achromaticerebus​, @desert-fern​, @firelightinferno​, @weepingdreammarvel​, @silverrose365 

The woods of Lothlórien were quiet, almost as if the trees were in mourning. Indeed, things had been a little solemn since the soldiers set out for Helm’s Deep. The Lord and Lady had barely been seen the last couple of weeks and it was said that they were planning the Lady's departure from Middle Earth. You hadn’t given a lot of thought to sailing west, not of late at least. You couldn’t. All your thoughts had been fixed upon one very specific thing.

Or one very specific ellon.

Haldir had gone with the others to Helm’s Deep. He had gone to fight alongside the men there and, while you knew it was a noble and decent thing they had all done, your thoughts had been quite sorrowful since they left.

You and Haldir were such good friends and you couldn’t hide your worry. Your fear that he might not return. Truthfully, you were more than just good friends... at least on your part. You had harboured feelings towards him for a very long time now but you would not speak of it for fear of ruining the friendship you held so dear. Having him as a friend was better than not having him at all.

The sky was cloudy and you were high up in a tree this day, having sought solitude from the moment the sun had risen. At first you had sat in silence, thinking you would listen to the birds but the forest was so quiet that soon you could not bear it. So you had soon risen your voice in song as you were often wont to do.

It was this song that the weary Galadhrim returned to that day. It lifted their hearts a little even as their minds mourned that which they had lost. Their fellow soldiers. Friends. Not everybody had returned and the journey home from Helm's Deep had been a somber one.

Haldir, usually a leader, had drifted towards the back of the group. It was because of him, of course, that they were quite late in returning to Lórien. He had been terribly injured in that fight and, truthfully, he had thought he would die there. However, upon discovering he was alive, Aragorn and one of the elven healers who had survived, tended him and slowly but surely he had woken. The rest of the surviving elves had refused to return home without their Marchwarden.

The song they heard as they walked through the wood was beautiful and while it did bring them a little hope, for Haldir it made him feel like he had finally come home - and it was only now that he realised his home was a person, not a place.

Veering off from the other elves, he had walked beneath the trees until he found the one you were sitting in. You did not notice him at first and he stood there for a long few moments, simply listening.

When you finally realised you were no longer alone, you cast your curious gaze downwards and Haldir watched as the recognition caused a bright smile to break out over your beautiful face.

"Haldir!" You could have cried. He was here! He was home! He was alive!

"I hope you have not been sitting up there since I left." He teased lightly, the weight upon his shoulders lifting a little. He recalled you sitting in this very tree the morning they had all set off.

"And if I have?" You teased back with a smile, your worry melting away as it was replaced with utter relief to be looking upon his face once more.

You both fell silent for a few moments then, looking back at each other, the Marchwarden and the one he had loved for more years than he cared to count. It occurred to him then that he had wasted quite a lot of time. Never mind the fact that he had all the time in the world - or thought he had, before his very recent brush with death.

“Will you come down?” He asked.

“Why don’t you come up?” You retorted, smiling.

Haldir laughed and then nodded, moving to climb the tree, settling beside you in the sturdy branches.

Your smile had faded away as you watched him, noting the slight strain he had attempted to fully conceal from you. When he looked up next, you were frowning.

“What happened?” You asked softly.

Haldir shook his head, casting his gaze over the forest for a long moment, the memory of the battle fresh in his minds eye.

“Not all of us returned.” He murmured, neglecting to give you any information on his own injuries at this moment. He had healed enough, just the slightest twinge remained and that too, would soon be gone.

You looked back at him sadly, before you reached over and placed a hand upon his arm. “But you did.”

Haldir nodded, his smile returning, brightening his beautiful face. “Yes. I did.”

“Good.” You said, giving his hand a squeeze and lowering your gaze. “I do not know what I would have done...”

Haldir smiled at you gently, the tips of his ears pinkening slightly as his mind flickered to what he truly wished to say but somehow found it felt as if the words had frozen in his throat as he tried to get them out.

You noticed he seemed uncomfortable and tilted your head slightly. “Does something trouble you?”

Haldir smiled slightly at how well you could read him. It had been such for a very long time. The two of you had a kind of synchronicity that had come from your long years of friendship...

...but what if that’s all it was?

What if his feelings were not returned and he lost you? He was not sure he would be able to get past that. Still, he also felt that he could not continue to keep this inside, not now, so he lifted his gaze back to your face and took a deep breath.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Something troubles me greatly.”

You frowned immediately and reached out for his hand. You took it in your own and gave it a reassuring squeeze, wondering if it was something to do with what he had just left, what he had faced at Helm’s Deep, that was paining him. “What is it? Tell me, I can help.”

Haldir’s lips twitched at that and he nodded again. “Yes, I think that you may be the only one who could help.”

You gave him a questioning look at that, raising a confused eyebrow, but you didn’t say anything - allowing for him to continue.

The way Haldir said your name next made you shiver a little, though he didn’t really notice as he was now too caught up in getting the words out before he completely missed his chance.

“When I left Lórien for Helm’s Deep, I could not know whether or not we would come back. Many did not. They are gone and, truthfully, I was almost one of them.” He sighed, his thoughts moving once more to the elvish life that had been lost there.

You absently brushed your thumb over his knuckles, bringing him back to the present moment.

Haldir’s attention blinked back up at you and his heart was in his eyes.

“I realise now that I have wasted so much time. I have-” The briefest hesitation and then he tumbled over the cliff and it was too late to try and climb back up. “I have loved you for many centuries.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared back at him in shock. He... he loved you? He had loved you for... so long? How could you not have noticed? How could he not have said a word!

Though you reminded yourself that you felt the same and you had not said a word either.

Haldir mistook your stunned silence for something it wasn’t and ducked his head briefly, embarrassment flooding through him as he gently peeled his hand from your grasp. Inwardly, he chastised himself. He should have just kept his mouth closed! He had no doubt lost your much treasured friendship.

“I apologise.” He muttered, hiding his dismay behind his usual stoic exterior. “I should not have spoken on it. I did not mean.... I will leave you to--”

“Haldir.” You breathed his name in such a way that made him quickly look back up at you. You had tears in your eyes and, even heartbroken, he could not stand to see you cry - he lifted his hand and gently brushed away the tears as they fell. Though, the next words out of your mouth made him freeze in position, almost not fully comprehending.

“I have loved you the same.” You admitted, gazing back at him with nothing but adoration, watching the soft frown fall away from his expression, his mouth falling open in surprise.

Haldir felt as though his heart could burst right out of his chest with the amount of joy he felt at those six words. He threw all caution to the wind as he gathered you into his arms and just held you for a long moment, in complete disbelief that you could love him as he loved you!

Then, he pulled back, gently framed your face with his hands and leaned in to kiss you.

You were not sure you had the words to fully explain what you felt as he kissed you. Actually kissed you! Haldir! Kissing you! It was unfathomable.

However you were quick to participate, deepening the kiss and pouring all of your emotions into the act. You did not want him to be at all uncertain of your feelings.

Eventually, you both pulled back, a little breathless. Haldir chuckled, looking back at you with complete awe. He caressed your face gently and then let go, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him.

There the two of you sat for a long while, just basking in the glow of your shared emotions. Your love. You sat with your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, and you had never felt better in your whole life.

Soon, you began to sing again.

As Haldir held you close, listening to your beautiful voice fill the air around him, he felt it once more.

He had finally come home.

#haldir x reader #haldir x you #lotr x reader #haldir fanfic #lotr fanfic

[malachiexists13]

CHARACTER/S: Xiao [He/Him]

PROMPT/GENRE: Getting Caught Masturbating/NSFW

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP: Friends/Mutual Pining

REQUESTED BY: N/A

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

//TW:

- Reader is written as afab/fem-bodied but referred to as They/Them; First time sex; Xiao is a virgin, you can’t tell me otherwise; Soft smut; Reader is implied to be the Traveler but does not have to be Lumine or Aether; Praise; Creampie; Biting; Subtle Voice Kink?; slightly possessive behavior; hair pulling; Xiao might be a little out of character?

DISCLAIMER: This is smut written by a minor; DNI if that makes you uncomfortable

SUMMARY: The situation at hand was almost unbelievable. The Conqueror of Demons sat between their thighs, his cock buried inside their cunt. Something they could only dream of within their dirty fantasies. But it was real. And who were they to complain?

AO3: His Name

Y/n had always been careful. Teyvat was a dangerous and unusual world, after all. Being careful was the most they could do to survive in this place. And having strong allies wouldn’t hurt, right? 

That was exactly what they’d thought when they chose to befriend the Conqueror of Demons, Adeptus Xiao. Having him close seemed like a good move, and so they agreed to call his name if they ever needed help. Little did they know just how much trouble it would land them. And it all started when Y/n began developing feelings for the Adeptus. 

But how could they not? Everything about Adeptus Xiao was… perfect. Those golden eyes, that soft teal hair, his strong figure, his voice, his subtle way of showing he cared, that rare smile– everything about him made Y/n’s heart race. But they could never tell him that. Xiao was an Adeptus, the Vigilant Yaksha, the Conqueror of Demons! Why would he ever fall for a simple mortal such as Y/n? 

Y/n firmly believed they had little to no chance with Xiao. But one night… everything changed within a single breeze. 

Everything started on a simple, cloudless night. The cool breeze flowing gently through Y/n’s open window. They laid on their bed, staring up at the ceiling as sleep refused to take hold. Rather, their mind seemed to drift towards a particular Adeptus; one that seemingly occupied their every thought as of late. As their mind drifted further and further, indulging in their dirtiest of fantasies regarding the Vigilant Yaksha; Y/n’s hand trailed further along with it. Their hand slipped beneath the waistband of their pajama bottoms, slipping them off along with their underwear before they began to rub their fingers against their sensitivity. 

Y/n’s eyes closed as their skin began to heat up, pleasure pooling within their abdomen as their hand moved. They tried to suppress any noise, but a single sound slipped out– the one sound they shouldn’t have slipped out– “Ngh… Xiao…” Y/n moaned. Within a moment, a particularly strong breeze filtered into Y/n’s room. With its departure, a strong presence stood in place. And soon, dread filled Y/n as they opened their eyes and saw what– or who– had entered their room. 

At the foot of their bed, there he was. The man their fantasies had been about, the man they’d been infatuated with for weeks now. Xiao. He was staring at them, wide-eyed. A deep blush on his face as he stood, arms crossed, completely speechless. Embarrassment flooded Y/n’s chest as they scrambled to grab their blanket, covering their partial nudity from Xiao’s view. But it was much too late, he had already seen– and heard– exactly what they’d been doing. 

“Y/n. What is the meaning of this?” He questioned, his voice giving nothing away. Was he angry? Disgusted? Y/n couldn’t tell. They cast their gaze aside, unable to look at his uncertain gaze a moment longer. “I… It’s–” “Do you truly think of me this way?” Xiao asked. “W-What?! No! I– I” Y/n stuttered, their face heating up from embarrassment as they stared down at their blanket. Failing to notice the intrigue and slightly amused smile playing at Xiao’s expression. “Oh? So you do not have feelings for me? You just happened to moan my name while pleasuring yourself?” 

“What?!” Y/n muttered, whipping their head up to meet Xiao’s gaze. It almost felt like a trick question. If they were to admit their feelings, would he ridicule them? Or if they were to deny it– what would happen then? Y/n took a deep breath, attempting to calm their nerves. “I.. I do… have feelings for you,” they whispered. Xiao blinked; he had not expected them to admit it so… easily. He turned his head to the side, attempting to hide the bashful look on his face, “...Is that so?” he mumbled, his tone curt. 

“Mmhm…” Y/n gave in response. “Well… Then I suppose I should give you what you want,” Xiao suddenly said. “Wha–” before Y/n could question further, they felt a dip in the mattress. When they looked up, Xiao was sitting right in front of them. His gloved hand caressing the side of their face as his golden eyes flickered between their [color] gaze and their lips, silently asking for permission. They were tempted to give in, but– “X-Xiao…? What’re you doing?” they asked. 

Xiao sighed, “Isn’t it obvious? You called my name and admitted to having feelings for me. As the focus of your… fantasies, shouldn’t I indulge you?” Y/n blinked in surprise, “You… what?” “I have feelings for you as well. Now, do you want me to make love to you or not?” he clarified, staring directly at them. It all felt so sudden. Xiao not only returned their feelings, but was willing to indulge them? Was this not a dream? 

“Well?” Xiao prompted, impatience flashing in his gaze, “Do you want it or not?” Y/n felt their skin flush with heat once more as they thought over Xiao’s words. “I… I do. I want you, Xiao.” they admitted. A smile formed on his lips as he removed the blanket from covering their lower half, grabbing their thighs and bringing their legs to rest against his hips. “Then, can I kiss you now?” Xiao asked, running a gloved hand up Y/n’s inner thigh as the other pressed into the mattress, holding himself up. 

With a small nod, Y/n breathed a sigh of satisfaction as Xiao pressed his lips to theirs. It was soft and just perfect. For so long, they’d imagined this moment with him. And finally– it was happening. Xiao was the one to break the kiss, trailing down to press biting kisses and leave bruises to decorate the skin on Y/n’s neck. Small gasps and whimpers fell from their lips; filling Xiao’s chest with a sense of satisfying pride. He pulled back and stared at the marks he’d left before pulling off Y/n’s shirt and biting down on their shoulder. A gasp of pain came from them as Xiao licked at the mark he’d left, a quiet yet possessive growl in his chest. 

He pulled back once more, smiling at the marks he’d left. “Good,” he murmured, kissing Y/n once more, “You look so pretty like this… Covered in marks that show my claim…” he whispered. “Mm… Xiao… please… I want you so badly…” they whimpered, tugging at his clothing. Xiao chuckled, standing from the bed and stripping off all his clothing without question. He returned to the same position he was before, but this time, he slipped a finger inside Y/n’s entrance. Giving a small blink of surprise as he began to slowly thrust it in and out, “Wow… You’re already so wet,” he mumbled. 

Y/n flushed with embarrassment, wrapping their arms around Xiao’s neck and hiding their face against his shoulder. Small pleads fell in hushed whispers from their lips. They were desperate. They wanted him, but they knew they had to wait. Rushing would only lead to their own discomfort, no matter how badly they wanted his cock inside right at that moment. Xiao slipped a second finger inside their cunt, his motions speeding up ever so slightly upon hearing the moan that came from Y/n’s lips; a breath of encouragement. 

Y/n panted against Xiao’s shoulder, their hand moving to tug on his teal locks as pleasure built up, causing a groan to sound in his throat. Xiao’s fingers increased in pace as he slipped a third one inside. “Xiao– Xiao, please… Please just fuck me,” Y/n pleaded, their impatience taking over. Something snapped within Xiao. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to lick Y/n’s arousal off. Without waiting another moment, Xiao aligned his cock with Y/n’s entrance and slowly pushed in. 

He tried to keep his movements as gentle as possible; though there was still some discomfort. Once his hips flushed with theirs, he stilled; pressing gentle kisses along Y/n’s collarbone. “Xiao… Xiao… mm… please… Please move,” they begged. Though there was still some hesitancy on Xiao’s part, primarily due to not wanting to hurt them, he began to slowly rock his hips against theirs. His cock slowly sliding in and out of Y/n’s cunt. Tiny hints of pleasure building up at the warmth shared between them. 

The situation at hand was almost unbelievable. The Conqueror of Demons sat between their thighs, his cock buried inside their cunt. Something they could only dream of within their dirty fantasies. But it was real. And who were they to complain? “Xiao… mhm… please, faster,” they begged. He obliged, his pace gradually increasing until his hips were snapping harshly against theirs. Y/n gripped the sheets, whimpers and moans spilling from their lips as the knot in their abdomen grew stronger and stronger. 

“F-Fuck… You’re tight,” Xiao moaned, heavy breaths falling from his lips as his skin seemed to glisten in moonlight. “Ngh! X-Xiao! I’m… ugh…” The tightness in Y/n abdomen coiled harder and harder, causing their pussy to tighten around Xiao’s cock as he fucked into them. Suddenly, the coil snapped. Their orgasm washed over them as their release coated Xiao; walls fluttering around his cock as he continued thrusting his hips through their orgasm. His own followed afterwards, white spurts painting their insides. 

It had all felt so sudden– but it was an impulsivity that Y/n had enjoyed. Xiao slowly pulled out; stifling a moan at his post-release sensitivity as he did so. He laid down next to Y/n on the bed, moving them so that they rested their head atop his chest. With a hand gently running along their back, Xiao brought their hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against their palm. “Go to sleep now. I’ll take care of you in the morning,” he promised. 

With little to no argument, Y/n drifted off to sleep. Comforted by Xiao’s warmth within their slumbers.

--------------------------------------------------------------

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin xiao #adeptus xiao #xiao x reader #xiao #smut #genshin smut #genshin xiao smut #xiao smut

[presiding]

How you'd rewrite Dishonored death of the outsider if it was fully fledged game with 10 missions? (like Dishonored or Dishonored 2)

Oooh!! Enrichment in my enclosure - thank you for asking! Thinking about a total rewrite was a great exercise. Fair disclaimer: I haven’t read the books & their canon-status can’t hurt me. To me, the Dishonored games stand out due to their immsim design philosophy, and thinking about some of the industry reasons for DotO’s departure from that, if I could make a standalone game with ~ten levels I would, but with the same budget I’d also happily make two DLCs made slowly over a longer timeframe with greater attention to detail.

Game structure

Finding Daud // Billie’s past

The fate of the Outsider // Billie’s future

Game story

Setting & Characters

Billie: What has Billie been doing since she’s returned to Serkonos? Knowing the Dreadful Wale will sink, she’s sold it for scrap & has set up an agency in Lower Aventa. She’s something of a detective/odd-jobs man (& assassin when it suits her). Business is booming, life is good. I think a long-running implication that she's becoming Daud in some ways would make for an interesting subplot.

Karnaca: a city that unfolds. In the first levels, Billie feels like a forgotten woman, a ghost slipped through the cracks, but as levels progress there are hints & references to how her past actions have affected others & shaped the city

Alignments: Witches, gangs, religion, industry; missions for clients who can’t necessarily pay their way. Missions that allow the player to explore/understand Karnaca in a deeper way.

Daud: Billie is unsure if Daud again will bring her any closure. She’s been thinking of him since her time with Emily, and his name keeps popping up.

Deirdre: the charm is a more functional heart, similar to Jessamine, as well as her own character design. Perhaps she doesn’t see Deirdre until she chooses the powers, or until she’s in the void (see next point)

First arc: Finding Daud // Billie’s past

Powers: the Outsider offers Billie powers even though her life is finally, actually good, so she’s pissed off. A choice - she can take them, or play no powers mode.

Breanna Ashworth is this arc’s villain - she wants Delilah back, and knows that Daud has banished her before, wants to know how he did it. Grief & desperation has changed her, and she no longer has her high society veneer. The remnants of the Karnaca coven, now powerless, have stolen from the Overseers to arm themselves to the teeth, and to neutralise Daud’s powers, in addition to black bonecharms.

Billie’s in a race against time against Breanna to find Daud, but by the last level it becomes clear that Breanna *has* found Daud, and has been torturing him for information about the void. Her dynamic with Billie is complicated by their past.

I think betrayal would be an interesting theme, so maybe one of the levels gives you the option to ally yourself with Breanna under false pretences.

Second arc: choosing the fate of the Outsider // Billie’s future

Delilah is the core villain, but she’s obsessed with killing the Outsider so she can take his place, having been violently ripped from her perfect world in her own painting by Breanna (who meant well), & knowing the Empire doesn’t hold her interest... but a perfectly mouldable void & infinite power does take her fancy.

As remorseful Daud is obsessing about preventing Delilah from taking power, Billie’s doing some detective work and learns more about the Outsider (he’s not showing up and monologuing - she’s finding this out herself. A level idea could be a raid on a ‘haunted’ houses where the void is thin)

Delilah succeeds in taking the Outsider's place, leaving the Outsider dead or mortal depending on if you are able to save him. Delilah has split her soul from herself before and she’s very much clever enough to learn the Outsider’s name to render him mortal.

Daud knows he’s dying, though, and it might be an ultimate sacrifice to save both Billie’s life, and the Outsider’s.

So during the final battle, there’s an option to make Daud the Outsider, because Daud wants Billie and the Outsider to have a shot at a normal life, and his life was forfeit in his own mind…

… or, reluctantly accepting the Outsider’s help, Billie finds a way to cut the void’s access to the world, rendering Delilah an all powerful god over a dead & silent world.

Because of the past/present focus of this you could even have levels set in the past - missions with Billie & Daud. Perhaps Billie as POV character, and Daud dropping by the way that Billie did in Knife of Dunwall. That’d be neat.

A heap of ideas here, hope there was something you liked :)

#dishonored #death of the outsider #daud #delilah copperspoon #billie lurk #the outsider #i dont know why you asked me this but i love that you did. thank you anon! #i wanted to stick to the topline ideas rather than dig into what the levels could look like #and you'll notice i mostly avoided the things introduced in doto. ie plot points & new characters #because none of them really pass the fandom test to me. i just dont see anyone obsessed with things from that game #and i could write an entire separate essay about cults in videogames & morality #i want billie's choices & life to have felt like it has meaning and made a difference #and i wanted the game to feel like it was more about billie even if its also about power & the fate of the world #and though i dont love where they went with the outsider & daud in the game. i do love having really high stakes

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Halbrand’s sweet words while he harbours a secret…

An elf pointed down a stone path to a green patch of land circled by a body of water. Thanking him, you departed in the direction hoping to find Galadriel. As you neared the sweet-smelling greenery there was a rustle from a nearby thicket. You paused and a brown-haired head appeared. 

“Y/n.” Halbrand greeted as he emerged from the edge of the lake. “What brings you here?”

Grateful to see him, you smiled. “Elrond was looking for Galadriel. A passing elf mentioned that she may have come down this way.” You replied.

Halbrand straightened his shoulders, hoping that they would be wide enough to conceal the elf in question sinking beneath the waters surface. He shook his head. “I don’t believe that I’ve seen her down this way.” 

He lied as naturally as breathing. He had every intention to leave for Mordor before more questions were raised but the disheartening look on your face made his chest knot. How had you managed to cause such an effect on him - the Deceiver?

His mind formed the words to begin an exit but his feelings overcame the rational thoughts. “Why don’t we search the upper halls together.” He offered with a smile, watching your sad demeanour visibly lift.

Looking up at him, you mirrored his smile and stood to gaze at upon his face.

For a mere moment, Halbrand wondered if you had discovered his secret and were waiting to speak on it but he tread carefully on the matter.

“What is it?” He asked.

Raising a hand to his face, you brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes before lightly tracing his cheek.

“Nothing, I just - this place has quite the effect on people.” You replied. “For example, you look…”

Halbrand leaned forward and winked. “Impossibly charming?” He teased.

The jest managed to coax a sweet laugh, one that Halbrand was due to miss upon his departure.

Composing yourself once again, the smile turned into a grin. “You look radiant. As if the sun has graced you with their flames.”

Halbrand chuckled and took your hand, for nothing more than to hold you close until he no longer had the privilege.

“If that is so then I must confess that when you are near, I feel the warmth of the moon.” He flattered before falling into a softer more sincere tone. “And I see a light guiding the lost through the dark - someone who has reminded me of what it is to love.”

His words touched you so deeply that you avert your gaze to where he was caressing your skin. You only wanted to help him and Galadriel on the quest to restore his crown. Never did you think to fall in love with him on the way.

Halbrand brought a hand to rest beneath your chin tilted your head up so his eyes could meet yours. He held your gaze, melting the world around before speaking again. “You are a gift. One that I will never forget.”

Halbrand leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against yours and felt that moon-like warmth spreading through his being when you kissed back. He would have revelled in the blissful moment longer had he not remembered Galadriel behind him. Pulling away gently, Halbrand smiled.

“We should probably leave before they think that I’ve stolen you away.”

You could help but chuckle at his statement. He would have no need to steal you, he simply had to ask.

Giving him a small nod, you stepped back and turned towards the stone steps that led back up to the tower. “Shall we?”

Halbrand gestured forward. “After you.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #halbrand x reader #halbrand imagine #sauron x reader #sauron imagine #rings of power imagine #rings of power x reader

[isthehorsevideocute]

#2Raw2Ride and why horse people everywhere are alarmed

I was surprised that no one has mentioned 2raw2ride through this blog yet though given the vast majority of media coverage on this guy I've seen us from equestrian content creators I suppose not a lot of non equestrians have heard about this.

For those not in the know, there is a social media clout chaser who according to him quit his six figure job so he could plan a ride on horseback from Austin TX to Seattle WA. This in of itself is not a bad thing but, he has made so many decisions that has alarmed the horse world. Many people have done this kind of trek on horseback but it takes a lot of preparation for you as the rider and for the horses.

The man in question bought this horse who was basically a pasture pet about a month before he started this ride. He is riding a single horse and has not brought along a pack animal. There was and still is no evidence that he has maped out planned stops for resting and supplies. His plan was to make the over 2000 mile trip in 100 days on this singular horse which has not been conditioned for endurance riding. The kind of physical conditioning necessary would take a year of training at least but the horse had no more than 30 days and it's showing through the fact the horse was startomg to deteriorate in body condition from day 1. Here are some images clearly showing his drop in weight.

This was the horse the day he was tried for purchase

He was a chunky boy. Perhaps borderline overweight

This was when he owned the horse but before he left on the trip

Also notice the fact the horse has marks where the saddle would be indicating irritation already. Id say this is a good body condition but instead of stopping here it kept going. Pay attention to the slope of the hip to the tail and the slope of the belly

This is the horse on the day of departure

In the 30 days he owned him before the ride the horse dropped a ton of weight

This was a photo from last week

you can start to see the spine showing from the croup (top of hip to the tail). And th belly no longer has that uniform slope. It's actually becoming concave behind the ribcage. Compare the neck here to the first image. Huge difference.

On top of the weight loss, the horse has shown signs of soreness in the left hind since he left. If this was an official endurance ride, the horse would not have been cleared to make this trip in the first place.

There have been several red flags that many have pointed out that indicates this guy has not educated himself and lacks the horse experience he claims to have.

Improper use of equipment and lack of ability positively identify the equipment he is using

When going over his equipment, he shows the bit and refers to it as a " snaffle" so let's look at bit that could be considered a "snaffle"

These are snaffle bits. A snaffle is categorized as a bit which applies direct pressure to the mouth. In other words the amount of pressure you apply to the reins is what the horse feels.

Now let's look at what he is using

So this is a JR Cowhorse bit and it looks like this

Now this does not quality as a snaffle, it is instead classified as a curb or leverage but because it is designed to put a leverage action on the horse's mouth. Whatever pressure you apply to the reins, the horse will feel multiplied making this harsher by design than a snaffle. On top of that this but has a twisted wire mouthpiece which is one of the harshest mouthpieces there is.

Please also take note of the way the bit is positioned. See how the part that's on top (the lever) is longer than the part on the bottom (the shank). The screenshot from his video has the shorter portion on the bottom and the longer portion on top. The bit is upside down. But wait it gets worse. Bits are generally designed with a curve to the mouthpiece so it can follow the natural curvature of the mouth to make it more comfortable for the horse

Here's the bit i use for my mare who is sensitive near he front teeth. A nice dramatic curvature that is easy to see

Comfy

Now this is a curvy bit if it was backwards

Ouch

Guess what. Not only is the guy's bit upside-down, it's actually also backwards. This makes an already uncomfortable bit even more uncomfortable for this horse who is spending hours a day in it.

Mr. Experienced horseman also doesn't know how to tie a rope halter correctly

This is how he tied it

This is how it should be tied

Knot below the loop or the knot will loosen

The guy said on the news he has ridden for many years and was a champion show jumper. Funny. No one can find a show record on the guy.

2. Not understanding how to properly feed and hydrate a horse under these conditions

In his video going over what he packed, he pulled out a bottle of corn oil and a clearly unused mineral block.

Corn oil is not a good thing to feed a performance horse, because it's pro inflammatory. You're just making an already sore horse more sore. Not to mention any corn product that starts to go bad can make a horse extremely sick. The unused mineral lick shows that the horse is not getting enough electrolytes. Even given free choice many horses don't get enough electrolytes so they need to be added to feed or given in paste form, but all he seems to have is the block. The horse has been showing outward signs of dehydration and with drought season in Texas just around the corner it's not looking great.

3. Lack of emergency supplies (specifically for the horse)

In the same video he showed off what he has in the med kit for his horse.

-thrush medication

-a flathead screwdriver

-two pain meds (both halfway gone when the video was taken 🤔. Also would not be competition legal for welfare purposes as if your horse is on these they are not well enough to tax themselves)

The screwdriver is supposedly so he can remove a shoe, but no you can't remove a shoe with a screwdriver. You'd need at least a couple of farrier tools to take a shoe off even if it is already half off.

This is not at all efficient packing. What he does have is mostly useless added weight and what he doesn't have is vital supplies. If this horse starts to bleed out or needs a hoof packed good fing luck.

4. the hematoma

Ah of course the swelling on this poor horse's belly

jury's still out in what actually caused this but given its location it is either a gaul from an ill fitted girth or from spur irritation.

5. Constant backpedaling

First he stated he would not take donations for this ride. One week later he put his linktree up in his instagram profile stating that donations would go to feeding and caring for the horse. I assume people. Allrd him out on it so now he states it goes toward buying beer. He also has taken more rest days than he said he would and he's been slowing way down on his updates. He allegedly even (finally) contacted the long riders guild asking for help (after rejecting help many times before). It seems even he is starting to notice how ill prepared he is.

Anyways don't feed this guys clout. Don't give him attention and don't give him money. He's a liar and a horse abuser and it seems to him any attention is good attention.

[cinycesum-fan]

i just read your levi analysis. can you explain kenny and levi more? and how kenny affected levi?

this ask has been in my inbox for a while, sorry for late answer

Levi's character is a fascinating study in contradictions, presenting a dynamic interplay between victories on the battlefield and losses in the realm of personal connections. Despite emerging triumphantly from numerous battles, Levi finds himself grappling with the poignant cost of his victories: the erosion of meaningful relationships, the severance from family, and a disconnection from humanity.

A pivotal influence in Levi's formative years was Kenny, a figure deeply entrenched in the philosophy that places a premium on violence and power. This perspective becomes a defining element in Levi's psyche, where his self-worth becomes intricately tied to notions of strength and dominance.

Kenny, recognizing the harsh reality of Levi's upbringing in the Underground, instills in him the belief that survival in such a brutal environment necessitates an unwavering commitment to strength. Levi's daily struggle for survival in the violent underbelly of society becomes a testament to this ethos. Both the narrative and insights from Isayama himself underscore the notion that Levi's focus in the Underground was singular: survival, an imperative that consumed his every waking moment.

Kenny's decision to abandon Levi is deeply intertwined with his own mindset and upbringing. He perceives himself as incapable of kindness, viewing the world as a harsh and unworthy place. Embracing the philosophy that 'might makes right,' Kenny navigates life with a belief system that shapes his interactions and decisions.

In acknowledging his own shortcomings, Kenny openly admits to feeling inadequate as a father. This self-awareness becomes a driving force behind his decision to distance himself from Levi, aligning with his belief in being an unfit paternal figure. The abandonment, in a way, becomes a manifestation of Kenny's conviction that he falls short as a parent.

Furthermore, Kenny's admission that he cannot provide Levi with parental affection takes a poignant turn. Instead of nurturing emotional bonds, Kenny opts to impart skills focused on manipulation and coercion. By deliberately withholding parental warmth and knowledge of their biological relationship, Kenny steers Levi towards a path where violence becomes a tool for problem-solving. This deliberate choice engenders a complex in Levi, a psychological knot woven from the absence of affection and the emphasis on utilizing force in navigating life's challenges.

As a kid, Levi used to make himself stronger in order to receive praise from Kenny. But one day, all of a sudden, Kenny was no longer by his side and left him with a question: “Then what is my strength for?” Later, he crossed swords with Kenny during the dethroning of the Monarchy, and at Kenny’s final moment, Levi finally resolved his hard feelings and discontent toward Kenny. It’s one of the “rites of passage” for Levi.

(isayama) source

Levi carries a profound belief that Kenny's departure stemmed from his own perceived inadequacy—his sense of not being good or strong enough. This conviction becomes a driving force in their confrontations, with Levi seeking to prove himself in an ongoing struggle for affirmation.

At the core of Levi's emotional landscape is a longing for parental affection, particularly from the man who served as his primary father figure following the early loss of his mother. However, Kenny's inability to express typical affection leads him to impart a different kind of lesson—one centered around violence and strength. For Levi, this unconventional form of guidance becomes a surrogate for the warmth he seeks, shaping his understanding that prowess in combat is the path to earning praise and affection.

Levi's childhood was marked by relentless violence, where survival meant mastering the use of force. Alone and fighting daily battles for survival, violence became not just a means of existence but also the linchpin of his identity. The skills that allowed him to endure the hardships of his youth, fighting each day to stay alive, now form the bedrock of his self-worth.

His journey unfolds as a narrative, where violence becomes both a survival mechanism and a means of making a significant impact. As "Humanity's Strongest Soldier," Levi's prowess in combat is not just a skill set; it is the cornerstone of his identity, a defining feature that has shaped him from childhood to the present.

The No Regrets interview delves further into Levi's evolution, highlighting a pivotal moment when he transcended the constant struggle for survival. As he rose above the daily battles, a newfound sense of purpose awakened within him. Contemplating the formidable skills and strength he possessed, Levi began to envision a higher calling – a mission to employ his power for the benefit of others.

The fact that he has great amounts of power means that he carries an immense amount of responsibility. When Kenny said, “Everyone is enslaved by something,” and questioned Levi “Whose slave are you?” Levi also recognized that he is tethered to his own strength, as well as the duty of “I must become a hero”…Mikasa is the same. When members of the Ackerman clan devote themselves to their liege, they’re able to unleash extraordinary power.

(isayama) source

#levi aot #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #anime #levi #manga #character analysis #kenny ackerman #kenny aot #ask #hajime isayama #cinycesum-fan-stuffs #analysis

[im-in-love-with-99-demons-again]

I loved the kurapica and the younger sister of chrollo story a lot can I please request a part 2 for it.

Imagine her feeling so guilty when she gave birth to her twins who also ineated the eyes she send the children to him with a note saying that she doesn't deserve to a mother of the kids and that he finally got 2 more kurta in the world and hope he is happy about it.

The sadder part if you want is her dying after childbirth and the note is her last will for kurapica how would he react the twins and her death because of it.

Imagine kurapica holding the children with the scarlet eyes how protective he would be even watching his friends like a hawk when they see the twins .

WAIT OMGGGGGG THIS IS LIKE 😍😍

idk if you wanted the reader to die while giving childbirth or

from the effect of it later on..

..or after a while she gave birth she offed herself?......yes

Part one: Here

I just realized you wanted her to give the children to Kurapika with the note........I mean I did something like it...sorta 🤧

Warnings: Angst, kinda no comfort

not really spell checked

How long has it been since he last saw you? Days? weeks? Months?

.....not sure but he truly regretted telling you to leave, he didn't open the envelope you gave him that night but it has been tempting him ever since you left.

He tried to text you, call you but to no avail, it just went straight to voice message.

He tried to ask Leorio, Melody, Killua and Gon if they heard anything from you but none of them did. He tried to look for you but not much because he still had work to do.

Now the only thing he didn't do was open the note you had given him before your departure.

-

-

(Y/n View)

these babies were growing inside you and that only made your guilt build up.

You had found out that you were having twins around the 10th week. you had been avoiding going to the hospital and mostly hiding away in a small shack in meteor city, it wasn't the best place to give birth and raise children but ....do you even deserve to mother these children?

Or to even call yourself their mother?! You wondered if Kurapika read what was in the envelope. Not too long from now you'll be giving birth to these twins...only a month away now.

-

-

(Kurapika view)

Kurapika got home late and lazily walked into his once shared bedroom, the house/apartment was so quiet and gloomy without you. He laid down on the bed with his eyes closed as a long sad sigh escaped his lips.

he opened his eyes and looked at his nightstand, his eyes soon laid on the unopened envelope it was the last thing you gave to him and yet he hasn't opened it....Kurapika slowly got up from the bed and lazily picked up the envelope, he looked at it for a bit longer.

He knows he should open it but he remembers what he lost and is afraid it just might make him feel even worse for what he had said to you, but he knew he had to open it.

((Prolonging this 🤡))

Kurapika swallowed down his guilt that was slowly building up and started to slowly opens the envelope.

Once done he took out a letter and picture that was in a small thin case, he sat down the picture wanting to read the letter first. He unfolded the letter and began to read.

As Kurapika reads the letter his eyes widen and the letter slowly falls out of his hands and onto the ground, Kurapika hesitantly turns to the small thin case before picking it up and taking out the pictures from within. His heart sank and his blood ran cold, tears began to form and his scarlet eyes glowed bright. "what...what have I..done?'' Guilt filled Kurapika as he sank down and his head hung low.

He had to find you and quick because supposedly to the letter you should be close to giving birth soon and he can't let you do this alone, he can't let you believe he hates you....but he's unsure if he'll make it on time..Kurapika grips the pictures in his fingers before glaring at the floor, he knew what he had to do.

-

-

(Y/n View)

A month went by and it was only a matter of days before you gave birth and the guilt just kept building up in you, you felt as if now you were taking Kurapika's family again and not only that you killed your children's relatives ((oop-)) and left their father.

After a couple of days went by you were hit with a wave of pain, as you felt a warm sensation come out of your lower region. they were coming.

You quickly took your pants and undergarment off and started to push, ((oop-))  you knew this was extremely risky to do all by yourself but you were determined. you continued to push through your screams.

After some time you hear soft crying from a baby but your relief was not yet, you quickly cut the umbilical cord and tied it with something temporary.

You had to act quick because you still had another baby to give birth too and you kept pushing, you started to feel a bit lightheaded but kept pushing, taking fast heavy breath in and out as as you started to feel the relief coming soon.

After both babies were out you cut the umbilical cord of the other and started to feel more and more lightheaded from the loss of blood and the pain..soon everything went black... "N-no.....I..I need...to stay..."

-

-

(Kurapika View)

Kurapika needed to find you....he needed to tell you he still "Loved You" but the only person who might know where you are is...your brother..Chrollo. As much as he didnt want help from him he had no other choice. If he really wanted to find you then he wouldn't care about what he'd have to do.

-

-

(Y/n View)

You slowly open your eyes to find yourself in bed with the covers over you, but then you remember you just gave birth. You quickly sit up but then a stinging pain in your lower region starts.

"They're alright...they're just sleeping right now" you looked to your left to see Machi. Her nen was always useful for when someone was hurt but her nen wasn't something you'd think would be good for birth but hey it worked?

You look around before raising an eyebrow, how would she be here? Did she search for you? You decided to just ask her later and focused on how you're babies are "C-can I see them....." She nods and goes to pick your baby twins as she walks over to you before placing them both in your arms. "They're both boys..."

(Sorry if you wanted something like one girl and one boy...i can change it)

you stared in awe, they were adorable.

You weakly smile before looking back up at Machi. "H-how did you find me?..." You ask quietly.

"Heard you were missing and well......the boss said he might know where you are....guess he was right, and it's a good thing we came almost on time sorta....you were bleeding...a lot.....are you stupid? you know you can't just do this on your own"

Machi says that last part with a pout as she crosses her arms, you giggle in a bit of shame nodding your head.

“yeah, sorry about that"

"Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to your babies....you almost killed them too doing this alone" Machi was right you look down at your babies sleeping soundly, hearing their soft breathing made you a bit calmer but a sting in your heart made you wince.

"i..I'm sorry, to both of you, i'm so sorry" Machi smiles softly before sighing and sitting down. You said as you started to tear up but held them back and wiped your eyes.

"where's my brother?" You ask softly

"He left earlier today, said he had to do something" <---Machi

"do what?"<---y/n

"Don't know, never told me, just to stay by your side until he returns"<---Machi

"oh....thank you” <---y/n

Machi nods before handing you some water which you gladly took because you only now realized how dry your throat was.

-

-

(Kurapika View)

Kurapika mentally prepares himself for what he is about to do but one thing is keeping him from doing what he doesn't really want to do and that is...Where is your brother?

Kurapika sighed heavily, first he didn't know where you were and you were pregnant, god knows if you gave birth yet.

Kurapika started to walk near places he had last heard that they were, walking past an alleyway a voice calls out. "If you're searching for the boss then listen up"

Kurapika stops in his tracks and looks towards the direction where the voice came, the voice chuckles before continuing.

"The boss would be at the Abandoned church in Meteor city, he's waiting there for you" ((I straight up don't know where their hideout is 🥸)) Kurapika immediately started to walk over to there, even though there was one of the phantom troupe members right there, he could have just fought them first but you matter more and he needs to find you as quick as possible.

-

-

(Y/n View)

You fed your babies once they woke up but something was on your mind, something that slowly started to make your stomach turn. You tried to deny it but that would be foolish.

Once your babies awoke you swear you saw a glimpse of red in the eyes of one of your babies but soon the other also had it......You swallowed the lump in your throat before looking down at your babies happily looking up at you, you smile softly before a sudden pain struck you and you cough out blood that drips down onto one of your son's cheek, the baby begins to cry which makes the other cry as well. Machi gets up with worry written on her face.

"Y/n.....i should have told you sooner....but my nen won't last long on you...your wounds were already taking your life when we found you.....you should have been dead by now if we hadn't found you but still...we were late.

You only have so much time before you succumb to your wounds...i'm sorry" Machi looks down apologetically.

"I see..."

you wipe the blood off your baby's face and your own as well as you then calm down your babies.

"Machi...could you bring me some pieces of paper and a pen please?"

Machi nods and runs off to get them, once she comes back she hands you the stuff and a broken down clipboard.

you take the stuff and begin to write, you knew you didn't have much time in this world so you had to write to the people you love....one last time. As you wrote your hands began to shake and your head began to spin but you had to finish the writings, you coughed more blood into a rag nearby before drinking more water, swallowing the iron taste of blood.

You looked down and decided to name one and left the other for Kurapika to name, the name you chose was ((Baby's name)) once you were done you put them all in different envelopes and the last two you finished were Kurapika's and your brother's Chrollo.

As you set the letter down on the nightstand next to your old slightly broken down bed you started to cradle your babies with a soft smile as you look out the dusted window, you mind then began to wonder how they'd look when they are older but the more you thought the more your heart sank because you knew deep down you wouldn't be there for them when they go to school when they learn go walk or when they grow up or even when they say their first words....

you wouldn't be there to experience motherhood and you didn't just feel bad for yourself but for your children who will have to grow without a mother and for Kurapika who would be alone to father them even when he's busy.....and Chrollo.....you knew he would be sad about your death but he might never really show it, saying something like death is beautiful or some shit but you knew deep down it hurt him severely.

Suddenly you were brought out of your daze to the sound of a camera taking a picture, you look to the source of the sound and find Machi chuckling.

"You looked really pretty, here let's take another this time face the camera"

Machi says, aiming the Camera at you again, you smile while holding your babies in your arms higher.

Machi takes the picture and soon it comes out of the camera, she waves it around a little before giving it to you.

You smile before taking them and placing them in one of the letters.

-

-

(Kurapika's View)

Once he got to Meteor City he was greeted with an almost destroyed city ((....yes)) he then started to look around for a building that looked like a church, as he walked more into the city he saw a big building with a caved in ceiling.

He began to walk inside through one of the broken walls stepping over anything in the way, he looked around before his eyes landed on a man with slicked back black hair and very pale skin, he was reading out of a book.

Kurapika walked up closer with a glare as he clenched his fists. He breathed in deep to calm himself down, because his scarlet eyes were showing through.

"I suppose you are here to ask about the whereabouts of my dear sister"

"Do......do you know where she is?'' <---Kurapika

Kurapika tried to keep his voice calm but it was slightly hard since he had to face the man that killed his entire clan.

"I do"

Chrollo sighs before closing his book and standing up.

"But....I don't quite like helping someone who killed my members...."

"You're one to talk"

Kurapika hissed under his breath.

"But i will take you to her.....because......we are family now"

Chrollo smirked while Kurapika clenched his jaw.

"Follow me.....before it's to late"<---Chrollo

"Late?"<---Kurapika

"Yes....you see Y/n was already well......dead when I found her but one of my members had fixed her up the best she could......"

Chrollo said as he walked down and began to walk outside, Kurapika's eyes widened, you were...dead? Kurapika soon caught up with Chrollo, they both walked in an awkward silence before reaching a worn down shack. As Kurapika got closer he began to hear soft voices but only one was clear to him and it was yours. He immediately ran to the front of the shack and stood in the doorway with his arms by his side, you turned to look at him and your eyes widened.

-

-

(Y/n's view)

How did he know you were here? You saw his eyes start to water as he shakily took a step closer.

"Y-y/n...."

Kurapika's voice broke a bit.

Machi gets up and leaves to give you some privacy.

"Kurapika?....."

the minute you say his name he runs up to you and pulls you into a tight hug crying out saying he was sorry and that he loved you, you started to tear up and began to cry because in truth you began to think he hated you and this was all you needed to hear to make you finally feel at ease, as you both cry you soon hear soft crying that soon turns into louder.

Kurapika pulls away and sees the babies crying, his eyes widened.

"T-twins?...."

Kurapika smiles before whispering.

"They look beautiful"

Kurapika looks up at you before wiping some of your tears away before sliding his hand more to move some of your hair out of your face and behind your ear, he slowly Leans in and kisses your nose then your lips.

he pulls back and asks if he could hold one of them you slowly nod, as he picks one up he starts to calm him down while you calmed down (Baby name).

You smiled as you looked at Kurapika doing surprisingly a good job at calming down the baby, you then look back at the front door to the shack and saw your brother leaning on the door frame, he had a small weak smile on before leaving...So he...brought Kurapika?.....they helped each other?

you smile at Kurapika who smiles back at you but then a strong pain struck your side and you coughed out blood again this time much more than before, Kurapika's smile faded and got replaced with a worried one, you tried to breath but it felt clogged so you swallowed down the blood but more and more just came which made you cough out more. you try to move the baby away from you so as to not get blood on him.

-

-

(Kurapika's View)

Kurapika tried to help his best even though he knew it was pointless, he still tried because he can't just stand there and watch you die right in front of him and your babies.

Tears started to fall from his eyes as you started to fall limp and your eyes began to slowly shut, your body fell back onto the bed weakly you held Kurapika's hand with a weak smile as your tears fell you whispered.

"I...love..you"

your hand then went limp and your breathing stopped.

Your body slowly became cold, Kurapika couldn't stop his tears from falling and the sound of your babies crying didn't help ease his stress and guilt of not being there for you guys.

-

-

(Chrollo's View)

Chrollo stood right outside the shack walls hearing as you died and the cries of the ones you loved.

Chrollo slowly looked up at the sunset sky with a sad smile he sighed as a single tear fell from one of his eyes, he quickly wiped it away as he began to walk away.

-

-

(Y/n's View pov)

I felt weak...did I die? No, I can still faintly hear Kurapika and our children....but it's starting to fade.....I can't die.....not yet....I feel numb and cold, is this all there is to death?

* hours later Kurapika got finished with your grave, he didn't bury you, he didn't have the guts to do it, so he surrounded you with your favorite flowers and placed one last kiss on your lips before whispering. softly

"Goodbye.."

Kurapika began to walk away with the twins in his arms asleep. Kurapika walked with his head hung low, he soon passed by Chrollo before stopping and muttering.

"Thank you....for letting me see her"

then he walked away. *

-

-

(Chrollo's View)

Chrollo watched Kurapika leave before walking back to the shack and seeing that he made a grave for you right there surrounded by flowers.

((Where did he get the flowers 😶‍🌫))

Chrollo came up to you and placed a single black rose behind your ear. Chrollo then whispered softly.

"I'll soon join you...by the hands of the man who broke your heart...."

With that he left.

-

-

Once Kurapika got back he saw Leorio but didn't bother talking because he wasn't in the mood and Leorio saw that and respected it even though he had so many questions because to Leorio it looked like Kurapika had just kidnapped two babies.

After a couple of days Leorio and Melody had came up to Kurapika's place and Kurapika had answered the door ((Surprisingly)) he looked tired and his eyes lacked something.

Kurapika had let them in and both Melody and Leorio were greeted with baby cries which Kurapika immediately ran to calm them down and see what they needed.

"Are they yours? and did you find Y/n?"

Leorio said but the minute he mentioned your name Kurapika froze.

"They are mine......."

That was all Kurapika said as he slowly turned his head and glared at both Leorio and Melody with his scarlet eyes. Leorio quickly nodded and didn't question it further.

A couple days later Kurapika had read the letter you gave him and the pictures of you holding the twins made his heart melt.

He had found out you had already named one of them and he knew which one it was because there was a birthmark in the exact same place you had one.

Your letter had also questioned if he was happy that he had two more kurta's in the world which he sadly sighed because at the moment he would have been happier if you were also still here but he was grateful for the life you had given him and vowed to protect them with his life.

-

-

(Y/n's View)

Two buttons In front of you, one reads 'yes' the other 'no' the question for the buttons...

"Would you like to live again?"

THE END

Anywho I know it took me forever

it's cuz I kinda lost motivation....

I'm back tho sorta.

I can always continue this and make it end happily, so like a part 3......

Word count: 3,439

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #hunter x hunter x reader #kurapika #hxh chrollo #hxh kurapika x reader #kurapika x reader #kurapika x y/n #kurapika kurta #request #angst #yes sir #idk how to tag this #idk man #idk what else to tag #but i know #x reader #fem reader #hxh leorio #hxh Melody #hxh killua #hxh gon #anime and manga #anime x reader #anime x y/n #sad

[skewiieramble]

i'll love you anyways.

Despite Seungmin’s distaste for humans, Minho is still eager to know more about him. He finds himself drawn to the werewolf’s elusive nature, and fuelled by his own hubris, believes he might stand a chance in finding his way past the walls he puts up. What he doesn’t consider, however, is what it truly means to be an animal. Dogs will still bite.

Lee Know/Kim Seungmin (minor minchan + hyunsung)

General audiences, warning for somewhat graphic depictions of violence. Werewolf Au, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

WC: 4.9k

ao3 link

“Do you want me to talk to him, then?”

Chan looks at him, eyebrows knitted together in surprise as he stares at the man behind the counter. He says it like it’s the most obvious, unsurprising statement in the world– he’s never really taken an interest in the whole werewolf thing. Why now?

“Min– Are you sure?” 

Chan asks, peering over the counter, fiddling with the loose shift key on his laptop’s keyboard. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Minho turns to him languidly, placing the glass down somewhere under the counter where Chan can’t see. He watches intently as he unties the back of his apron, deft fingers working at the knot. He’d offer him some help– hell, he’d jump right over the bar if he asked him to. But, in true Minho fashion, he’s never one to bother asking. They’re the same in that regard, so Chan can’t be too upset over it– but the sudden interest stings, just a bit. Mostly because it’s not him he’s interested in.

Chan sighs, closing the lid of his laptop a little harder than intended. The sound makes him wince, and even earns an unreadable expression from Minho, looking back over his shoulder as he hangs his apron up on a hook. 

“I suppose you’re right. Whenever you’re free then, yeah? There’s no rush.”

Chan murmurs, packing his laptop into his bag with a bit too much faff– as if to drag out the moment, busy himself so he can spend just a second longer with Minho. 

“I’ll drop by tomorrow, if I have time. Now get out, I have to close up shop– for real this time.”

Minho has a slight bite in his tone– playful, but still enough to make him feel a little askew. It’s probably his feelings, stirring up in his chest that’s making him feel this way. He’ll be fine in a couple days, he promises. It’s just a wolf thing, he’s sure.

The restaurant’s always a cozy place after hours. Chan began frequenting the place at exactly when it would close– just to bother the handsome bartender that’d work there in the evenings. The smell of dish soap and residual alcohol paired with idle chatter about everything and nothing at all was enough to keep him coming back– the empty restaurant, a place reserved for them, and them only. Chan offers one last look at Minho, the dim lighting of the bar perfectly accentuating his features. Chan doesn’t notice he’s staring until Minho makes a face at him– something between playful annoyance and exasperation. 

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving!”

Chan says, with a laugh he forces from his throat. Minho rolls his eyes, turning his back to him as he busies himself with something behind the counter again. The clack of the restaurant doors punctuate Chan’s departure. Minho doesn’t see him leave. 

—

The trek up to Chan’s place– Chan’s estate, he should say– is more than a little rough, to say the least. The path up is overgrown, just barely trodden down enough to weave through the dead undergrowth, and that’s not to mention the thick snow blanketing the woods it’s surrounded by. Minho parked his car a little ways down– the driveway is long enough, (and maybe a little scary if you’re visiting in the evening) but nothing his old four by four can’t handle. Minho himself, however.. Well, he’s doing good enough against the elements, he supposes. 

It’s not a long walk, really.  After a couple minutes, he can finally see the ridiculous expanse of the house from beyond the thicket. According to Chan, it was his grandparents’ home before they passed away. His parents had planned to sell it, until Chan had mentioned he’d take responsibility for the place if he moved in, the reason being that it was situated relatively close to his University. They’d agreed, and Chan was granted the keys, the house now repurposed from a comfortable family home to a literal den of wolves. 

Minho kicks the snow from his boots at the door, scraping his heels against the doormat before he lets himself in. He’s just about to bend down and untie his laces when he’s startled by the loud clacking of claws against the hardwood floor– and before he can even process what’s happening, he’s bombarded by a flurry of white fur and incessant panting.

“Jeongin-ah– yes, okay, yeah– hello to you too.”

Jeongin barks at him, yipping like a dog and spinning in circles in pure, barely contained excitement. By far Jeongin is the least skilled in controlling his wolf form, turning into a big hulking mass of white fur at even the slightest provocation– and when Jeongin pushes his head into the palm of Minho’s hand, he’s promptly reminded of how much he is insistently not a dog person. 

It takes a good few minutes and a couple of scratches behind the ear until Jeongin finally loses his interest, disappearing off to god knows where. Maybe he’ll go lie in the middle of the hallway, or somewhere else mildly inconvenient, he thinks as he rolls his eyes. Minho shucks off his shoes and his coat, hanging them neatly on the hook by the door, and then bee-lines to the kitchen before he can make his rounds of the house.

Here’s the thing about werewolves– they eat like crazy. And to nobody’s surprise, when Minho opens the cupboards and checks the fridge, they’re once again near empty. He makes a mental note of things he needs to buy, filing through each drawer to see what’s missing. Vegetables, fruits, meat, snacks, the instant ramen Chan likes to buy in bulk. Minho isn’t obligated to go grocery shopping for them– it’s not his job, and it’s not like he has to. But, with the convenient excuse of “you’ve got a big kitchen, and you never use it?” Minho makes sure all the wolves (and Changbin) are at least fed when he makes the time to visit. 

Once he’s done nosing about their kitchen, Minho saunters out and toward the living room, almost tripping over a sleeping Jeongin in the doorframe. He carefully steps over the comically large animal, trying his best not to wake the slumbering beast, before making his way over to the couch. 

When Minho gets close enough to peer over the back of the sofa, he finds Han sprawled out over the cushions, reading some manga he’s far too absorbed in, his awestruck expression telling. From what he can make out from the head of dirty blonde hair buried into the crook of Han’s neck, Hyunjin is the one laying atop him, chest rising and falling being enough evidence that he’s asleep.

It takes a moment before Han finally notices Minho, and he smiles.

“Ah- hyung! Are you making dinner?” Han grins, but it’s shortly replaced with a look of concern as Hyunjin stirs, an irritable drawl escaping from the blonde. 

“Maybe,” Minho responds, his voice just above a whisper. “I’ll have to get groceries first. But- I’m not here for that, anyways. Do you know if Seungmin’s in?”

Han blinks at him. “Seungmin? Why? I mean, he’s home.” He says, making sure to quieten his tone. “He’s in his room.”

All Minho does is nod in return, his gaze wandering past Han and toward the fireplace situated opposite. He squints, meandering his way around the couch and the cushions spilling onto the floor before crouching down in front of the fire. He chucks in a couple bits of wood, poking the charcoal around with the fireplace poker. Han’s voice breaks through the white noise of the crackling fire.

“Wait, so- why Seungmin, again?” 

Minho stands, staring at the fireplace. “I said I’d talk to him.” His words are quick, nonchalant. “For Chan.” 

Minho turns back to Han, who gives him a look. Something somewhat unreadable, but speaks of concern nonetheless.

“Right.. Be careful, then.” Is all Han musters, returning to the manga he was so interested in.

Minho takes this as his cue to leave, leaning over the couch to offer a flick to the back of Hyunjin’s head with his thumb and index finger, scurrying out of the room before Hyunjin can retaliate. A sly laugh escapes him as he hears Hyunjin’s whine of complaint, followed by Han’s laughter and playful bickering between them. The exchange stirs a warmth in Minho’s chest. 

—

The stairs creak beneath Minho’s feet, his steps slipping into the ever so slightly dented hardwood, smoothened by time and continuous use. It’s difficult to make out in the dark, but he can see the claw marks torn through the staining as he walks his way up. At one point, they’d made him uneasy– a testament to what they were, still beasts as much as they were men. But the smaller scratches made it a bit more bearable, and oddly enough, more human. It served as proof that Chan and his siblings had lived here prior, kids who were just as unruly as puppies, crashing about this home just as the others do now. A smile tugs at his lips as he imagines a younger Chan, scurrying down the same hallway as Jeongin does now. More than fear, he feels familiarity. 

Minho doesn’t bother turning the lights on in the hallway. For some reason, the wolves don’t seem to mind the dark, and so he doesn’t bother intruding on their habitual behaviour. The window from the end of the hallway pours in enough evening light for him to find his way to Seungmin’s bedroom door, and he knocks once, twice– only to be met with no response.

The thing about Seungmin, from what Minho has been told, is that he’s just a little bit more difficult than the other canines. Nobody’s really sure what he was like before Chan found him, only that Chan has known him longest, and that even Chan doesn’t really know much about him, either. He’s kind, though, Minho notes, dawdling behind Seungmin’s bedroom door. He has a witty sense of humour that contrasts well with his dry nature– he could get a chuckle out of anyone. And despite his elusive nature, his eyes are kind and puppy-like, carrying demeanour somewhat softer than that of a wolf. To put it simply, Minho isn’t scared of him. Why would he be?

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho calls, rapping his knuckles against the door again. “I’m going for a walk. Come with me.” 

“I don’t want to.”

Their conversations are usually like this. A gentle demand, met quickly with defiance, tumbling into bickering akin to that of a married couple’s. But Seungmin’s a homebody, and Minho knows a walk would be good for him, so he knocks, again. He can hear Seungmin groan from behind the door.

“I need to take my dog for a walk. Come on, Seungmin-ah. Let’s go” 

Minho is met with a palpable silence, but before he can lift his hand to knock again, the door abruptly swings open. Seungmin’s hair is dishevelled, tufts of fluffy brown sticking out from all angles– he seems to have just woken from a nap. In an attempt to fix his unkempt hair, he shakes his head like a dog.

“I’m not your dog.” Seungmin says, which Minho thinks is a bit ironic. 

“I’ll be downstairs. Come on, before it gets dark.” Minho says, wandering back down the hallway and toward the stairway. 

Seungmin huffs. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

—

Fiddling with the locks on the back door, Minho finally breaks them from where they’re frozen stiff, sliding the latch free with a resounding clack. It takes a bit of a push to actually get the door open, accounting for all the snow that had piled up in front of it. A big puff of air escapes into steam as he heaves, exuding the last of his effort against the door and kicking away the residual snow, just for his own convenience.

“SEUNGMIN-AH” Minho booms, knowing that the moody wolf is probably biding his time. 

He’s met with silence for the most part, and he sniffs loudly as he feels the cold begin to bite at his nose. He wants to get moving– it would warm him up, if anything. Truth be told, he doesn’t really want to go for a hike in such frosty weather, casting a glance to the expanse of woodland waiting before him. Even so, the setting sun offers at least some sliver of warmth on his skin, and the orangey glow it casts on the woods makes the whole ordeal seem a bit more appealing.

He’s just about to close the door, turn tail and head back into the warmth of the house, until a blur of mousey brown fur dashes past him quicker than he can begin to comprehend it. He watches as the figure dashes up the slope– now realising it’s Seungmin– and disappearing off into the woods before Minho can even ask him to wait. He’s left dumbfounded, his brows pulled together in shock. So much for a walk.

Still, Minho obliges. He closes the door behind him and begrudgingly makes the trek up the slope, shuffling through thick snow towards the woodland awaiting him. There isn’t a pathway through the woods, but he’s walked through enough times to somewhat know his way around. In the winter, the ferns and foliage tall enough to tickle his neck become flattened by a blanket of white, devoid of life and colour in its entirety. It’s beautifully still, quiet save for the occasional birdsong. The crunch of dead twigs and frost beneath his feet seem almost deafening in the silence.

He recalls something Chan said before, about territory and instincts, the thought prompted by Seungmin’s paw prints he’d been absent-mindedly following through the snow. Although the woodland belongs to Chan under the lease of the land owned by his grandparents, the way werewolves operate around territory is completely different. Despite being humans, and despite understanding that the territory might be Chan’s legally, there are other werewolves that still fight for the same land, like actual animals. Chan had made a point to express how stupid he knew it sounded– why would they, as people, need to dispute like animals over the idea of territory of all things? He’d laughed awkwardly, as if admitting it was embarrassing.

It took Minho a while to wrap his head around it. Despite their humanity, they, too, are still animals. It was something Minho knew he could never understand– an inhuman instinct to act solely based on an inherent force of nature. That it is something you must do, regardless of what your mind may convince you otherwise. “That's why Hyunjin’s so.. Jittery.” Chan had explained one evening, “He’s got all these desires, and no outlet.”

That night, Chan had put the idea of being a werewolf truly into perspective for Minho. Instinct was something their body needed to act upon. To deny themselves of their nature was to deny themselves of what made them human, too, reducing all of their feelings into anxiety and pent up frustration– like the jittery, fearful mess Hyunjin was when they had first met, fuelled by his own cognitive dissonance.

Minho slows his pace, soon realising that Seungmin’s paw prints had led to a mass of shrubbery and dead foliage, disappearing beyond where he could follow. He chews his lip, furrowing his brows as he wanders ahead, finding himself in a clearing blanketed in white. The boughs of the trees part, the sky greeting him with a smattering of clouds, accompanied by an array of pink and orange hues. He sighs into the collar of his coat.

What Chan had said began to make sense, but it begged another question that Minho couldn’t bring himself to ask. What was Seungmin’s deal, then? The question that had spurred on the current situation in the first place, what kept his gaze following the brunette every time he stayed round, captivated by what he could not decipher.

Why did Seungmin lean so much into his instinct, over being human instead?

Minho stares at the ground, kicking up a lump of snow as he mulls it over in his brain. He’s not really sure what to think, but he’s broken from his trance when the sound of paws thrumming against snow calls to his attention, a blur of brown appearing in his peripheral vision. He lifts his head, and opens his mouth to speak–

“Seungm-”

Two bodies collide, one intercepting the other as they hurtle through the snow, tossing up white as they writhe against the ground, a cacophony of growls and snarls orchestrated between the two as they snap at one another’s throats. When the larger rears onto his hind legs, Minho can tell it’s Seungmin, his mottled brown fur dishevelled and matted red. As he brings down his paws, the force is so mighty that Minho can feel it reverberate through the ground, his breath suddenly catching in his throat. He doesn’t realise he’s hyperventilating until he stumbles backward, his back hitting the bark of the tree behind him and startling him from his shock.

The noise the other creature makes is terrifying, a whine so pained that it rings in his ears. He watches as the other wolf desperately tries to pull itself out from under Seungmin, gnashing its fangs in an effort to defend itself. Minho doesn’t know what scares him more– the flurry of teeth and claws and the blood spattering the snow, or the fact Seungmin is capable of holding his own and then some. 

When the other wolf finally gets free, it limps away, paws skidding in the snow as it frantically makes its escape. The silence that follows only makes Minho aware of his heart clattering against his ribs. He swallows heavily, slumping down against the tree.

The wolf turns to him. The blood drips from his maw, smeared across his muzzle. Minho holds his breath. 

Seungmin stalks up to him, body language cautious, as if he, too, is scared. The wolf lowers himself ever so slightly, head tilted to the side. Hesitantly, Minho reaches out a hand, finding his way to Seungmin’s jaw. The blood is wet and warm against his palm, and it makes him feel slightly sick, his stomach churning in disgust. However, when Seungmin gently presses the side of his head into Minho’s hand, he begins to feel a little less frightened. He heaves out a breath. 

This was their reality. It dawns on him, shaky as he withdraws his hand. Whether Minho liked it or not, whether he wanted to believe it or not– Seungmin was still an animal. Dogs still bite.

The blood is sticky between his fingers. His gaze flits to Seungmin’s, deep brown eyes meeting his own, and it’s only then the wolf moves the help Minho to his feet, nudging him up and out of the snow with his nose. 

The walk back to Chan’s home is quiet, Seungmin pressed close to Minho’s side as he guides him down through the woods. He glances up at him every now and then, but Minho doesn’t respond, his hand gently clutching at his fur instead. It offers some sort of solace between them.

Before Minho enters the house, he turns to Seungmin, drawing in a deep breath. 

“For the record,” He begins, hand loitering on the door handle as if to prepare himself. “I’m not scared of you, Seungmin.” 

They exchange a look. Seungmin can’t respond, but the look in his eyes is enough to know his words were understood. 

—

Commotion stirs up almost instantaneously as the two enter the house. Seungmin had already dashed up the stairs, but the trail of blood he leaves in his wake doesn’t go unnoticed. Jeongin —now human— was the first to catch the scent, just barely missing his bloodied housemate as he approached Minho, clearly panicking. It wasn’t long until his flustered voice had caught the attention of Han and Hyunjin from the living room, and all of a sudden it seemed the whole house had begun demanding what happened.

The biggest surprise however, was Chan, who came hurtling down the stairs at the news. Chan was usually so composed– things like this didn’t seem to phase him. They had gotten into scuffles with other wolves before, which Chan had usually confronted with utmost responsibility, solving the problems he’d been presented with without any more strife than necessary. However, in spite of what Minho had assumed, Chan had fixed him with a look he’d never been faced with before. His eyebrows were upturned with an intense worry, the ears atop his head pulled back with obvious unease. He’d practically trembled as he took Minho’s bloodied hands into his own. 

It took a bit of reasoning to finally get it through to Chan that he was okay. He’d come out unscathed, fortunately, unlike the conclusion Chan had jumped to in his fretful state. Minho promises Chan he’s fine, even if he’s not entirely sure it’s true. His response is returned by a frown and a nod. Chan knows Minho isn't the kind of person who likes to be pressed for information, but the fur that stands on end at the back of his ears tells Minho that he’s still not convinced. He takes a mental note to reassure him later. 

Minho takes a step back from the group, lifting his hands defensively.

“I’d rather just go wash this off– I promise I’m fine, alright?”

His words are taken reluctantly but still taken, and Minho uses that as his opportunity to slip away. He can still hear the others quietly discuss as he slinks through the hallway, but his mind is too exhausted to care about speculation right now. His biggest concern is washing the mess off his hands, and – Seungmin.

Minho is surprised to see him when he enters the kitchen, mostly because of the giant gash stretching from his shoulder to his upper back, dripping red down the divot of his spine. He’s not sure why he didn’t think wounds would stay consistent throughout their human and animal forms, but Minho hadn’t even noticed Seungmin had gotten hurt in the first place, the wound obscured by thick layers of fur at the time. His stomach knots up with guilt, and he chews at the inside of his cheek. 

The ears atop Seungmin’s head swivel toward Minho’s place in the doorway before Seungmin himself looks over, his body turned halfway towards him. He’s holding disinfectant and a cloth in his hands, the first aid kit laying unpacked in front of him on the counter. He doesn’t say anything, and the two hold awkward eye contact for a good couple of seconds. Minho blinks, as if it’ll break the silence. 

“What?”

Minho doesn’t respond to Seungmin’s blunt inquiry, instead making his way to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. He can hear Seungmin sigh behind him, and Minho takes a peek over his shoulder, watching the younger gently pat the disinfectant soaked cloth against his outer clavicle where the wound begins. Seungmin hisses through his teeth, pained by the sting of the alcohol– but all Minho can think about is how Seungmin is going to deal with the rest of the gash on his back. 

With a roll of his eyes, Minho dries his hands, before standing directly behind Seungmin and slinking his hands around his front, gently taking the cloth and disinfectant from his hands. Seungmin opens his mouth to protest, but as he goes to take the cloth back, he winces in pain from the sudden movement. Minho raises an eyebrow at him.

“Here, I'll do it. You won’t be able to reach, anyways.” He murmurs, wetting the cloth with more disinfectant.

Seungmin huffs, but doesn’t argue, instead turning his back to Minho. They fall into silence once again, Minho gently working at his wounds with utmost care. He’s not usually this gentle with him– with anyone, really, as long as you’re not counting his cats. Even so, when Seungmin groans through gritted teeth, shoulders stiffening at the pain, Minho pulls away until the ache subsides enough for him to continue. 

“Seungmin-ah,” Minho begins, cutting through the heavy silence settled between them. “I’m sorry. For not being more careful.” 

Seungmin doesn’t respond immediately, only gently tipping his head down. Although he’s quiet, Minho notices his knuckles flex from where his hand grips the counter. Minho continues.

“I meant what I said, at the door.” He murmurs, voice lowered as if it’s something only Seungmin should hear. “My opinion of you hasn’t changed.”

Seungmin sharply draws in a breath. 

“Does it matter?”

Minho’s surprised at the answer. A beat.

“Whether or not it does, I thought I should tell you.”

Minho is used to being reassuring. Han is someone who needs it, Hyunjin is someone who thrives off of it– Chan desires it, even if it is unspoken. But the unfortunate truth of the matter is that Seungmin is harder to read, more than anyone Minho happens to be close to. He might know him vaguely, in little snippets he’s able to concoct into a person in his mind– He’s got a witty sense of humour and a dry nature, and his eyes still remain kind despite everything. But the person beyond that is always out of reach, standing across the threshold of what Minho is granted the privilege to know. 

Minho lets out a sigh. Gently, he rests his forehead against the back of Seungmin’s unwounded shoulder. Seungmin seems startled at the contact, but doesn’t move.

“It might not matter to you,” He whispers. “But it matters to me that you know.”

“Even if I’m still violent? Even if I hurt you?” Seungmin retaliates.

He pulls away, moving to turn to Minho– fully this time. There’s a sort of malice veiling his gaze, as if to challenge Minho’s words. The side of his mouth is smeared with blood.

Minho moves to wipe it away with his thumb, delicately cradling Seungmin’s cheek. 

“Even if you hurt me” He promises.

Seungmin’s gaze holds Minho’s, the crease in his brow slightly softening. Minho watches as Seungmin’s adam's apple bobs, averting his eyes as if he’s suddenly conscious of Minho’s stare, ears lowering in a gentle act of submission. Minho swears he can feel Seungmin lean his cheek into his hand, until–

“YAH! WHY IS THERE BLOOD IN THE HALLWAY?”

The sudden yell breaks the two away from each other instantly, Seungmin jolting away and stumbling back into the counter. He hisses in pain as his lower back collides with the marble, and Minho pinches his nose bridge with annoyance, the two turning their attention to the voice now appearing in the doorway.

“Hyung, I didn’t know you were- SEUNGMIN-AH?” Changbin’s hands are full, one with his rucksack and his laptop and the other with a bag full of groceries, which he practically throws onto the kitchen island when he catches sight of the state Seungmin is in. He frets, pushing past a Minho who’s slowly backing away from the two of them. Changbin begins to ask a million questions a minute, and it’s clear Seungmin is struggling to keep up, every sentence ending with an “I’m fine,” and “It’s not a big deal.” Changbin whines, turning to Minho as if he’ll back him up.

“It’s getting late,” Minho says with an awkward laugh. “I think I should get going. I’ll come by tomorrow or something?” 

“But, wait- what happened to-”

Changbin tries to get his sentence out, but Minho is already slowly shuffling backwards out of the kitchen door. Seungmin fixes him with a look, but this time it’s something understanding. Minho discreetly nods back, and Changbin nearly misses the exchange. “Hey- what’s going on between you two-” He says, frantically glancing between them. “wait, MINHO-YAH, COME BACK-”

Minho’s already out the door before Changbin can catch him. 

—

His apartment is cold when he finally makes it home. He slips off his boots at the door, pleasantly greeted with a happy (and hungry) Soonie. The tabby meows at Minho demandingly, and so Minho crouches down, letting the orange tabby sniff at his hands. He's somewhat displeased by the dog smell– but nonetheless rubs his cheek against Minho's fingers. Minho smiles, gently scooping the cat up into his arms, to which the other two finally make themselves known, Doongie and Dori appearing at his feet as he makes his way further into his apartment.

Once the cats are fed and he finally turns the heating on, Minho returns to his bedroom. He’s about to grab a fresh pair of pyjamas and take a shower when he hears his phone buzz in his pocket, startling him. He pats around at the jeans he’s wearing, forgetting which pocket he’d put his phone in, only to find it in the pouch of his hoodie. When the screen lights up, he’s surprised to see a text from Seungmin. 

Thanks for your help earlier. I appreciate it. Is all it says, followed by a dog emoji. Minho finds himself smiling at his phone, amused by Seungmin’s stiff text. It almost makes him laugh. Almost.

No problem. He responds, with a cat emoji at the end.

He throws his phone down on his bed, running his hands through his hair. His cheeks go hot, embarrassed at how giddy this makes him. 

Goodnight, Hyung. Seungmin’s text lights up on Minho’s screen.

Minho’s heart thrums in his chest. He swears he’s going insane.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #2min #lee know #kim seungmin #werewolf au #skewiiefic

[onedaughterofman]

You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it. 

 It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this. 

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror. 

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place. 

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth. 

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come. 

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now. 

 It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself. 

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time.  “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin. 

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords. 

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him. 

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else. 

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then. 

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end. 

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static. 

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you. 

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed." 

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails. 

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

BONUS CHAPTER

#ghost band #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #evil cardinal copia #antichrist copia #ghost band angst #my writing #my fics #you forever fic

[bats4bruce]

serein.

Summary: Returning home from the battlefield of Iraq, Sabrina finds herself adrift in a world she no longer recognizes. Battling demons both internal and external, she seeks solace in the company of her faithful companion, Zion, a German shepherd who has stood by her side through thick and thin. But when Sabrina's path crosses with that of the enigmatic billionaire Bruce Wayne, her life takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other by shared pain and a longing for connection, they find themselves entangled in a dangerous game of love and deception. As Sabrina grapples with her growing feelings for Bruce, she must also confront the demons of her past, including her former comrade-in-arms turned nemesis, the Joker. Unraveling the mystery of her own identity, Sabrina discovers that the line between hero and villain is not always clear-cut.

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, self-harm, suicide, loss of a loved one, graphic depictions of torture, smut (not in this chapter), intense emotion, CC X OC, Already set female character. Mentions of war.

Extras: Hello! This is my own personal comic I've made! I really wanted to share it; I hope someone enjoys it! This follows the event of The Dark Night trilogy, but eventually, it just follows the basic comics. I love writing, and if anyone wants an 'X reader' request, let me know!! Please let me know what you think! The chapters will get longer as it goes on, just hard to start!

Word count: 1.77k

P / 1

Sabrina sat alone at some club, a rare moment without Zion by her side. She avoided bringing him there, the dirty floor, for her companion's sake, and drowned back the drinks, the thumping music echoing around her. Grimacing with every harsh sip, she felt the bitter liquid clawing its way up her throat, yet she fought it off with another swig. Sabrina had given up—no job, no apparent skills beyond combat, and was haunted by PTSD. A hopeless combination, she mused to herself.

"Didn't know you frequented this place." A smooth voice resonated beside her, momentarily pulling her attention away from her spiraling thoughts. Bruce Wayne, in this flashy club?

"Could say the same for you, Mr. Wayne," she hollered over the loud music.

Bruce shrugged. "I don't usually." He gestured to the bartender. "Let me buy you a drink."

"I'm good," she declined, moving to leave and hopping off the high barstool. Bruce, gently grabbing her arm, halted her departure. Sabrina turned back, her gaze intense.

In the loud and pulsating club, Bruce leaned closer to Sabrina, his lips barely inches from her ear as he spoke. "Why aren't you going to the Gala?" His words were barely audible over the thumping bass, his eyes skirting around the crowded dance floor.

"I just don't want to, that's it," Sabrina replied, her voice a mere murmur amidst the clamor. Bruce loosened his grip on her arm, and she noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, a softer, more understanding expression emerging on her face. "I appreciate the offer to attend as your date, deeply flattered, but I'm not a big fan of Harvey."

"We won't have to be around him," Bruce attempted to reassure her, a faint smile forming as he finally met her eyes amid the flashing lights and moving bodies.

"It's in his honor," Sabrina laughed, bemused by the situation, which drew a chuckle from Bruce, his laughter blending with the club's cacophony.

"Then let me take you out," Bruce boldly suggested, his voice a touch louder but still drowned in the club's din.

Sabrina gave him a sidelong glance, a playful glint in her eyes, and responded, "Why?"

"You're single, and I'm single. It makes sense, doesn't it?" Bruce leaned in closer, his tone casual, almost lost in the pounding rhythm of the music.

"Why assume I'm single?" Sabrina leaned back slightly, tilting her head as she questioned him. Despite the noise, her words were clear and firm. She quickly sat back down.

Bruce shook his head, struggling to maintain the conversation amid the uproar. "I know you're single. If not, you wouldn't have sat back down."

The scene continued to swirl with movement and noise, the air thick with energy and the pulse of the music, as Bruce and Sabrina exchanged their banter in the club's vibrant atmosphere.

-

Sabrina reiterated to herself that it wasn't a date. They were going out with Harvey and Rachel, but it definitely wasn't a double date. It was just a friendly outing at one of Bruce's restaurants. That's all it was.

Bruce wanted to convince Sabrina to reconsider attending the gala to show her a different side of Harvey, who wasn't the man who made her heroics about himself during his speech. But she was holding a grudge, and rightly so. Sabrina's phone rang just as she sat on the edge of her bathtub. Zion darted in and offered the device in his mouth. She couldn't help but smile as she took the phone from him, patting his head in gratitude before answering.

"Hello?" Sabrina's voice echoed as she stood up to check her heels. "Hey," Bruce's voice instantly brought a broader smile to her face. "Mr. Wayne, already calling? A bit eager, aren't we?" she teased, a hint of panic underlying her casual tone as Sabrina had barely gotten dressed.

Bruce chuckled from his manor, looking out of the towering windows, a hand casually placed behind his back. "No, I'm not eager," he replied. I just wanted to talk to you before our date and see what you're doing."

"I'm getting ready right now, and I'm about to do my makeup-" Sabrina began, bending over to fix her heel.

"You don't have to wear makeup," Bruce interjected, causing Sabrina to groan in playful frustration.

"I do, just a little at least," she countered.

"People have seen you without it," Bruce pointed out.

"Yeah! When they broadcasted my return from Iraq, I was bleeding and had fresh stitches," Sabrina retorted with a hint of annoyance. "The people have seen me in a lot of ways, Wayne... But tonight, I want to look normal."

Bruce paused briefly, making Sabrina wonder if she had gone too far. However, she heard him sigh dreamily on the other end. "You're so argumentative. It's charming."

"You can't see red flags, can you?" Sabrina teased lightly.

"I love the color red," Bruce quipped back.

As they bantered back and forth, Sabrina couldn't help but feel more at ease. She was still apprehensive about the evening, but Bruce's playful manner helped soothe her nerves. "You're stupid, you know that?" Shaking her head, her grin much wider. 

"Don't forget who agreed to go on this date," Bruce chuckled as he buttoned the wrist of his dress shirt. "I'll see you in ten." That was all he said before the call dropped, and Sabrina snapped the phone shut with a smile. It wasn't a date!

-

Bruce guided Sabrina into the upscale restaurant, his hand resting gently on her lower back, a silent gesture of reassurance. Beside them, Zion stood proudly with a tiny bowtie adorning his neck. As they approached the table where Rachel and Harvey were seated, the couple rose to greet them. Rachel's smile stretched a little too wide, and a silent taunt was directed at Sabrina. She mentally rolled her eyes at the familiar 'I told you so' expression.

Pulling out a chair for Sabrina with practiced ease, Bruce guided her to sit before smoothly tucking it in, a subtle yet chivalrous gesture. Zion settled on the floor beside Sabrina's chair, a vigilant guardian.

"I didn't know they allowed dogs in here," Harvey remarked as he took his seat opposite Sabrina. She ignored him, immediately burying herself in the menu to block out his presence.

Bruce shrugged casually. "They make exceptions when needed. I own the place." His gaze swept over the restaurant, and with a wave, he signaled for a server to approach. "Let's start with some drinks," he suggested, a playful glint in his eye as he turned to Sabrina, who smiled appreciatively at him. He winked in response.

"So," Rachel began, leaning forward and abruptly slamming down Sabrina's menu, "Any thoughts on the gala?" Her freshly painted red nails clutched together as she rested her chin on her hands, her tone bordering on interrogation. Sabrina sighed inwardly, already weary of the impending discussion.

"Perhaps we should save the gala talk for later, Rachel," Bruce intervened smoothly, his tone gentle yet firm. "After all, tonight is a date," he added, the implication clear. Sabrina felt heat rise to her cheeks at the unexpected declaration. "Let's act like it." 

After a few drinks and a satisfying meal, the tension surrounding the gala seemed to dissipate, much to Sabrina's relief. Rachel had refrained from bringing up the event, and the conversation flowed smoothly. Sabrina even found herself warming up to Harvey Dent... However, sometimes we speak to soon. 

"Sabrina, forgive me if I've forgotten," Harvey began, his tone laced with genuine curiosity as he raised his half-full glass of liquor. "What rank did you hold?"

Sabrina offered a polite smile, her fingers absently picking at the food on her plate as she glanced at Zion by her side, ever watchful. "I was a major, Major Swayer," she replied, her voice calm but guarded.

"Major, huh? Impressive," Harvey nodded, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Was it difficult?"

As Rachel and Bruce observed the conversation, Bruce's gaze remained fixed on Sabrina, his concern evident. Sabrina's attention shifted uncomfortably under Harvey's intense scrutiny. "Basic training had its challenges, but special forces were another level," Sabrina explained, her tone measured. "Not everyone made it through."

"And the war?" Harvey pressed, his tone casual but the question striking a nerve. "Apart from the ambush, of course. Did you enjoy it?"

Sabrina's eyes widened in disbelief. Did he really just ask that? Anger simmered beneath her calm exterior. "Harvey," Bruce interjected, his voice a warning, but Sabrina silenced him with a raised hand.

"No," Sabrina mumbled, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I hated it, all of it." If it weren't for the years of harsh training to hide emtion, Sabrina swore she would burst into tears. "A bit insensitive to ask, isn't it?"

Harvey's smile faltered, replaced by a hint of condescension. "Calm down, Swayer. It was just a question."

Sabrina's jaw clenched, her resolve fraying. She glanced at Rachel and then at Bruce, seeking support. "You know what, Harvey? fuck you," she declared, rising abruptly from her seat and tossing her napkin down. "I've had enough." She turned to leave but looked back, "And for your information, I didn't vote you as fucking DA." With a single command, Sabrina signaled for Zion to follow as she stormed away from the table, leaving Rachel speechless in her wake.

"God, some people," Harvey muttered, shaking his head. "Gotham scum, comes with being raised in those... slums. We really need a—" Bruce stood abruptly, a deep sigh escaping him as he followed Sabrina's retreating figure. 

Rain cascaded down in typical Gotham fashion, enveloping the city in a wet embrace as Sabrina and Zion navigated the slick sidewalk. Clutching her arms around herself, Sabrina shivered; the dress she wore offered little protection against the cold. Suddenly, headlights bathed her in a soft glow as a familiar car pulled up alongside, slowing to a crawl. The window rolled down, revealing Bruce Wayne's concerned face.

"Get in the car," Bruce commanded, his voice a mix of worry and insistence. "You'll get sick." Sabrina, however, continued to walk, her stubbornness taking over, refusing to yield.

Bruce tried again, softening his tone. "Look, I'm sorry. You're right about Harvey; he's just a—"

"Bruce," Sabrina halted, her voice breaking as tears streaked down her face. "I... I really don't like Harvey Dent." A breathy laugh escaped her, betraying her attempt to lighten the mood. "I guess I'm embarrassing myself. That liquor was, uh, strong." She brushed away a tear, and Zion echoed her sentiment with a bark.

Bruce's expression softened into a smile, understanding and empathy in his eyes. He leaned over, pushing the passenger door open wider. "Please get in, Sabrina. You're shaking."

Taking a moment to glance around, then down at Zion, Sabrina finally acquiesced, opening the door fully and stepping into the warmth of the car, Zion following closely behind. The scene, lit by the soft glow of streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement.

#christian bale x reader #batman #bruce wayne #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batfam #jim gordon #dick greyson #gotham #dc fanfic #dc joker #dc universe #dc fanart #dcu #dc comics #jason todd #dick grayson #joker x reader #batman x joker #jack napier #harley quinn

[extraordinarilyextreme]

low君's Recap of MLCB

第七名：《莲花楼》！ In seventh place, Mysterious Lotus Casebook! 李莲花长命百岁。 May Li Lianhua live a long life [to be a hundred years old].

《莲花楼》剧里剧外高度一致。它只播了十八天，和李莲花的寿命一样短。它也和李莲花一样好，到现在还让莲络人们久久难忘！播完了反而引发长尾效应：爱奇艺热度破万、豆瓣58万人打出8.5的高分、主角配角纷纷破圈、产出各种莲学热梗。 Mysterious Lotus Casebook was consistent both within and outside the drama. It broadcasted for only 18 days, a length as short as Li Lianhua’s lifespan. It is also as good as Li Lianhua, even now still not leaving lianluoren’s memory for a long time! In fact, its impact has continued to last even after the end of its broadcast: its iQiyi heat broke ten thousand; on Douban, it received a high score of 8.5 from 580,000 ratings; main and supporting roles gained fame [beyond fan circles] one after another; and it created all sorts of popular “lian-style” punchlines. 一字诗：绝！ To summarize in a one-word poem: excellent!

作为一部悬疑武侠探案剧，《莲花楼》有很多优点，但最让人印象深刻的还是人物！ As a mystery/wuxia/crime-solving drama, Mysterious Lotus Casebook has a lot of merits, but what has left the deepest impression upon viewers must still be its characters!  就在江湖之上我们看到了太对惊喜。 Within the jianghu alone, we have seen too many pleasant surprises.

角丽樵疯得彻底也爱得痴狂。 Jiao Liqiao went insane to the point of completion, and also loved to the point of infatuated obsession.

乔婉娩不再等待归人，拿起了她的剑。 Qiao Wanmian no longer waited for someone to return, and instead picked up and drew her own sword.

笛飞声认定了对手就一辈子不会放手。 Di Feisheng recognized one person as his well-matched adversary and thus, in this lifetime, would not let him go.

方多病初出茅庐却热血赤诚。 Fang Duobing was naive and inexperienced, yet also ardently righteous and utterly sincere [wholly devoted].

而从天下第一的李相夷到放下一切的李莲花，他来时一叶扁舟、去时江上漂流，经历了一场对整个江湖的盛大告别后挑了个自己喜欢的结局。 And from the Li Xiangyi who was number one beneath the heavens to the Li Lianhua who had set everything down, his arrival was on a small boat, and his departure was carried away by the currents of the river. After experiencing a splendorous farewell to the entirety of the jianghu, he chose an ending that he himself liked. 

这部剧后劲如此之大在于看完之后有所感。 That the drama’s after-effects were so great has to do with how it made viewers feel after they finished watching.  它在匆忙人世里写放下、写告别、写顿悟、写没有如果不必回头、写从前那样很好现在这样也很好。 Within the hurried bustle of the human world, it told a story of setting things down; of bidding goodbye; of sudden enlightenment in a moment’s time; of no what-if’s and no need to look back; of “How it was in the past, was good; how it is now, is also good.” 原来一念心清静真的能莲花处处开。 So it turns out that with a single thought, the heart attains peace; and lotus flowers truly can bloom all around.

from low君's 《2023年度十大高分国剧》 Top Ten Highest-Rated Mainland Dramas of 2023

Any mistakes are my own.

#mysterious lotus casebook #my translation #love that he referenced all the different songs in his review #莲花楼

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Words left unspoken

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: When writing a love letter for one of your ladies' maids, you start to remember your own feelings for Aemond who you were separated from for years and then all of a sudden you find yourself reminded of how much you are head over heels for the prince.

Part 1

Part 2

Aemond’s POV

Aemond peeked into the chambers he was passing by as he walked along the long and spacious hallways of the castle. It wasn’t in his nature to be prodding, to be nosy enough to peer through people’s quarters but then again, he wasn’t really intruding anyone’s privacy for the room he had glanced toward once belonged to his dear friend: princess Y/N.

Her chambers remained empty after her departure from the Keep and he was glad. The prince couldn’t care less to be rather honest but the boy within him wouldn’t let anyone take residence in her quarters.

It had become somewhat of a subconscious gesture for him to have a little peek inside her room, of which the doors always stayed ajar. It was no longer littered with pretty frocks of the most expensive fabrics or beautifully hand crafted toys that used to, for some reason, always stay sprawled on her floor. He didn’t know when this habit formed nor did he know why; it was not as if he would find her sitting there in front of her mirror, brushing her beautiful hair and then smiling when she saw him in the mirror, standing at the door awaiting to walk her to break their fast together.

Still, he didn’t try to break the habit. This was all he had left of her, apart from the tall stack of her letters that he had kept. He missed her, very dearly but he feared it was too late for him to make amends so he instead just read her letters over and over. For all he knew, she could be betrothed to another noble whilst away at Dragonstone. He often caught himself wanting to be the man who would one day get to announce to the world that she was his wife. Gods, he couldn’t bare the thought of her betrothal being made to Jace. He would throw himself off the cliffs of the Vale and then haunt the boy till kingdom come.

But then again, he had to remind himself he was in no position to get so possessive. Especially since the both of them hadn’t written in years. He had wished to send a letter, so very desperately and he had written one as well- one he was far too afraid to send at first.

Finally getting over his nerves, he rolled up the parchment and poured the wax over it to seal it shut before placing a stamp over the hot wax; the one that had the symbol of a dragon. Once the wax had cooled and hardened, he sent it out with a raven, heart beating even faster than usual.

He’d written it just the night before and he remembered each and every word, as if the script was etched into his mind, as if it was something he'd been reciting to himself each night before he slept.

Ñuha dārilaros [My princess] Y/N,

I know I have not written to you in years although I must say, to me it feels like it has been several lifetimes. The distance between has grown so vast over the course of these few years that now I fear it is a distance I may never be able to lesson. I know I could’ve written and I did not and all I have is my foolish pride to blame.

Try as I might, this might be something I am unable to mend, something out of my control; like how it was never in my power to make my dragon egg hatch. And even though I did claim the mighty Vhagar, queen of the skies I will forever be tormented over never being able to call you mine, dāria hen ñuha prūmia [queen of my heart] for the notion of being able to win you back seems far more onerous than claiming the largest dragon in the world. I do not expect you to write back, I would not hold you at fault for your ignorance after I have treated you with nothing less than the same but I do hope, you will grant me the charitable courtesy of informing me that this letter has reached you well, even if it is in the form of simply a piece of parchment with your initials lazily sprawled on it.

It is of importance for me to know that you are aware of my regrets and the space in my heart that you occupy for I am sure, that the gods have crafted me solely to be complete by you, which is why every time my heart begins to hammer ferociously in my chest, a reminder that I am alive, I always find myself thinking of you in those moments and I feel as though if I let you slip away completely, then this heart of mine will cease to beat for if it isn’t beating for you, it won’t at all.

I am aware this might sound absurd, to hear such words after years of not exchanging any but you must believe me when I say that despite my lack of letters, you never left my mind- not even for a single day. There were times when I had to resist the urge to mount Vhagar and show up at Dragonstone and weep at your door, begging for you to come back for this old castle radiates no warmth if you aren’t residing within it. Just the same as I am cold and distant without you at my side.

The last time I saw you, in the flesh, I was only a boy of ten. I was a foolish lad to not see what the gods had blessed me with until you were taken away. It is both cruel and ironic how I was blind while having both my eyes but then being able to see the truth clearly only after I had one taken away. I had fallen for you and have continued to fall for you each day that has passed since our last farewell. And truth be told, I do not think I shall ever stop falling for you, for hidden beneath this stoic monstrous prince is a boy who is still clinging on to the tiny fragments of hope that you too might feel the same.

If you find it in your heart to forgive me for my faults influenced by my own pride, I should like to mend and rekindle the bond we once shared and if you will have me back, if not as your prince then at the very least as your friend, I should like that very much.

Aōhon va moriot, Aemond [Yours always]

Aemond heaved a sigh as he walked passed her chambers, finally tearing his gaze from the room but not because he wanted to; he could spend hours just staring and daydreaming. No, the only reason he brought himself to look away was that someone had called out for him- a servant.

“A raven arrived earlier, my lord” the younger boy bowed out of respect, holding up a letter bearing a seal of a pale lilac-coloured wax- something Aemond hadn’t seen in years but recognised instantly “a letter from Dragonstone”

Aemond was aware in that moment he might’ve come across as a lad who was being given sweets after weeks of starvation for he snatched that scroll with such urgency he could feel his cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“You may leave” he gruffly spoke, dismissing the boy as he turned on his heels to find solace in Y/N’s old room to read the letter he’d just received.

A letter from her.

He took only a moment to trace the wax seal as he sat on the bed that once belonged to the princess before impatience once again took over and he broke the seal with a new level of urgency.

His eyes scanned the text and Aemond felt as though he couldn’t read fast enough, through he feared his heart was sure to break free from his rib cage for there seemed to be no limit to how fast that was beating.

Her handwriting differed slightly and Aemond knew he was absolutely head over heels for her if he managed to notice something as subtle as that.

His lips involuntarily curled into a smile as he continued to read, and he immediately shot up to his feet as soon as he finished reading all of it.

He dashed down the hallways, hoping to catch that servant boy who had delivered him the letter that he was holding so delicately in his large hand, one might think it was made from glass instead of paper.

“You!” He bellowed when he caught sight of him, a couple of metres away from himself “ready my dragon and my horse to ride to the dragon pit”

Aemond could care less about the scolding he’d receive from his mother or the teasing from his older brother. All he could think of was Y/N. His sweet princess who still cared for him and there was nothing and no one who would come between him and his princess now. He was sure his letter must’ve reached her by now but he did not care and judging by the words she’d written to him, she too was smitten by him. A wave of relief washed over him and provided him with a new sort of confidence.

He would fly to Dragonstone and ask for her hand. He couldn’t thank the gods enough and this time, he would not lose her. This time he would make her his once and for all.

For what is a prince without his princess?

A dragon without its wings?

Aemond without his Y/N?

Nothing. And that was something the prince was not too keen on being.

"I'm coming for you, my princess, my Y/N" he muttered to himself as he headed for the stables "and I am never letting you go again"

Taglist: @beiigegalx

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #ewan mitchell #hotd #prince aemond #aemond stannies #aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond x you