#what Im seeing them go through every single day. i don't want to come across that way.

[generalsmemories]

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

[mins-fins]

PAREIDOLIA (D.SC)

SUMMARY . . . history just simply always manages to repeat itself, the artist and their tired university student roommate who just can't help but admire them in ways friends don't look at each other..

PAIRING . . . dong sicheng x male!reader

GENRE . . . insanely fluffy

WARNINGS . . . none!

WORD COUNT . . . 1.8k

NOTES . . . why is winwin so majestic tf 🙁 my wayv bias is yangyang i have NO IDEA what you're talking about, im so mortifyingly in love with winwin but not in a "i want to kiss him" way in a "i wanna bake him cookies and run my fingers through his hair" way and that's basically the same thing

sicheng has become long used to coming home and seeing y/n in the middle of another artistic project. it's usually a painting, because that's the easiest thing to do in their small apartment, one the two of them fought tooth and nail to be able to afford. on some days he'll be creating costumes out of construction paper, or he'll be sewing, or he'll just be sketching on the couch. 

it's become somewhat of a staple of comfort to him, maybe it's because of how recognizable it is to come home and see y/n, eyebrows furrowed, head tilted, the slightest smudge of paint on his face as his eyes are completely focused on the canvas before him. there's always a small smile that comes to his face whenever he hears the door open, sicheng only catches it on the most certain of days, though.

and maybe it's weird that sicheng remembers every single detail of what happens after he comes home from exhausting classes where all his professor does is talk about is nonsense, this is kind of like the only silver lining to his day after hours of just nothing but life draining lectures.

and no it's definitely not because y/n is just the best serotonin every single feeling sicheng has for him is completely platonic and platonic only!

it's as he's untying his shoes, that he realizes today something is different. y/n is humming, to a song the two of them hear their neighbors blast through the walls every now and then, he assumes the tune got stuck in his head, and he just can't help but now him it to himself.

sicheng puts his shoes away, he glances up for a moment, and pauses, waiting. he then smiles to himself as he watches y/n smile himself, finally acknowledging his presence. "i didn't even hear you, the door closed so quietly".

y/n's comment makes him snicker, but his eyes still don't leave the canvas, so focused on what he's painting in fact that he doesn't register the paint on his cheek. sicheng, like he does on most days, walks up towards y/n and quickly wipes off the paint with his thumb.

y/n makes a small noise, but he ultimately doesn't shy away from sicheng's hand, almost leaning into the touch if sicheng thinks about it. "how do you never notice when you have paint on your face?" sicheng asks, going over to the sink to wash the paint off his thumb.

"an artist never strays away from their artistic craft" y/n comments mindlessly, and sicheng's eyebrows furrow just for a mere moment before he looks back to his roommate, still focused on the random color he's spreading across the canvas.

"did you just make that up, or..?" at the question, y/n finally turns around after what seemed like hours of standing in the same spot, and he snickers at the way sicheng asks it.

"yep, made it up just now".

the response makes sicheng snort, because he knows that's absolutely true considering the kind of person y/n is. "you.. your something alright" sicheng doesn't know why those words are the ones that come out of his mouth, but they make y/n laugh.

"ah thanks, you make me feel so smart, chengie" y/n looks back to the painting, stepping back just a little bit to admire it. he removes his gloves and tosses them away, yawning lightly. "does it look nice?"

sicheng blinks, glancing over at y/n, who is patiently waiting for his answer. he mindlessly stares at the painting of a snowy mountaintop as he tries to think of a compliment he hasn't said thousands of times already. "it's marvelous" y/n gives him a look of confusion, and sicheng just snickers as he does those jazz hands.

"you couldn't at least be a little bit more creative with your compliment?" y/n's face scrunches a little bet, and sicheng just shrugs, rubbing his eyes.

"i'm tired i don't have time for creativity" sicheng yawns, and y/n gives him another judgmental look. "ask me when i'm more awake" he shouts as he walks towards his room, leaving y/n to admire his painting all alone.

y/n snickers, shaking his head.

what a character you are, dong sicheng..

"do you assume van gogh was a weird guy?"

sicheng barely registers the question, because the only sound he's heard for the past twenty minutes is the horribly loud clicking of y/n's pen as he brainstorms ideas for upcoming projects, assignments, and all that other stuff. he narrows his eyes at his laptop screen before looking up at y/n, who was finally done clicking his pen and began sketching.

"what?" is his immediate response, probably because he didn't have enough time to properly assess or process that question. the other thing that being y/n's roommate comes with is having to hear the most random and weird questions. "i'm sorry?"

"van gogh" y/n says again, smiling innocently. "you know, the painter gu—"

"i know who van gogh is y/n" sicheng clarifies, sighing. "i just— what do you think i know about the personality of a famous artist who died over a hundred years ago?" he raises an eyebrow, momentarily glancing back down at his computer screen as he hears y/n's loud sigh.

"i'm researching about him for this project i'm doing".

"you did a project about van gogh already.." sicheng mutters in confusion, and he hears y/n's pen click once again, then the slam of his sketchbook. "didn't you?"

"oh this isn't for school!" y/n exclaims. "i'm just doing it for fun!"

"what kind of psycho does a project for fun?" at the words, y/n snorts, and sicheng can't help but gaze at him. yeah, it's stupid, but he's just so cute, and sicheng has no idea why he's staring this long at him.

fuck, i probably look crazy. i'm literally zoning out on his face, what kind of moron does that?

at least he's self aware.

"nothing?"

"what?"

"on van gogh?" y/n clarifies, and sicheng blinks like an idiot, because what else would y/n be talking about? he shakes his head, and y/n pouts in an unserious manner.

"at least your here to humor me" y/n says, picking his sketchbook back up as he begins flipping through it, he pauses at a certain page and smiles brightly at what's sketched on it.

sicheng doesn't really know what y/n draws in his sketchbook. y/n is pretty big on privacy, so sicheng never made it his thing to figure out what's in y/n's sketchbook because he doesn't want him to.

though, the way y/n's smiling at his sketchbook gets him curious.

"are the sketches causing you that much joy?"

y/n snaps up, his face going embarrassingly red as he closes his sketchbook once again. he smiles, then awkwardly laughs as he looks away, lightly scratching his arm. "yeah, um.. i just really like the sketches i made".

sicheng laughs, glancing back at his computer screen. it's so hard not to constantly stare at you when your.. well— you.

but they're just friends, nothing more.

"when i was younger i always wanted a garden of strawberries" y/n states as he paints said garden of strawberries on the canvas in front of him.

y/n is always the most busy on weekends with his artistic projects. he'll legitimately spend half of his day painting, another half making a halloween costume even though halloween won't come for the next seven months, and the other half sewing a sweater he's going to wear once every few months. sicheng has seen it all, and he's gotten used to the normalization of y/n just doing another artistic craft everyday, still being able to rest a whole eight hours.

he admires his way of just being such.. what is the phrase, a hard worker, he could say. y/n was just always up, doing something, he was never bored or not doing something, he was very much just an always working person.

"strawberries? out of everything?" sicheng asks, stirring the spoon in his cup of coffee mindlessly, he's too busy staring at y/n to pay attention to his now cooling cup of coffee. y/n gives him one of the most judgmental looks ever.

"what do you mean? out of everything? strawberries are amazing!" y/n counters, and sicheng laughs at his tone of voice. "they're one of the best things mankind has ever actually made".

"okay but why a garden of them?"

"so i can make strawberry flavored things everyday, duh" y/n dismisses the amount of red coloring on his apron, and his gloves, too busy trying to figure out how to finish his painting of his dream garden of strawberries.

y/n narrows his eyes at the painting, studying it for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if the painting was talking to him or not. "is this ugly?"

"what?"

"the painting? is it ugly?"

sicheng furrows his eyebrows, staring at y/n like he just asked the stupidest question in the world. y/n usually doesn't care about his opinion when it comes to paintings, because sicheng isn't an artist like he is, so sicheng has no idea why he would suddenly ask him about what he thought about his painting so suddenly.

"no? your paintings are never ugly.. why would you ask that?"

sicheng's question-answer makes y/n narrow his eyes at him. sicheng assumes he wasn't expecting that answer that then turned into a question, with the way he goes silent, and with the way his face flushes so much more obviously than it usually does.

sicheng doesn't get why he notices that the most, y/n is pretty unpredictable, he gets flustered at some of the most random times, and it's only at certain moments that sicheng notices how red his face is.

it's hot in the room, that's it, that's why, there is absolutely no other reason his face is so red right now.

he's just thinking of excuses.

"thank you" he whispers, turning back to his painting as he removes his paint splattered gloves. "it's a new day, i just wanted your opinion".

"that's strange".

"well if i'm not strange then i'm not interesting" y/n hums as he puts the finishing touches on his painting, and with his back turned, sicheng can admire him fully, without worrying about him getting caught and then having to explain why he was staring for so long.

sicheng is so busy admiring him, he doesn't even notice that he hasn't taken a sip of his coffee yet.

[sourbinnie]

Hi omg I just came across ur page, I loved your recent it was so cute & now I’m dying for more comfort Hyunjin.

Can I request reader being on her period so she’s rlly irritable and then Hyunjin comes home saying he has a stomach ache and she thinks he’s just joking around so she just ignores him but then later realizes he’s being serious when he doesn’t eat dinner n feels sick so she feels bad and takes care of him.

title -> misinterpreted pair -> hyunjin x fem!reader genre -> hurt/comfort + fluff warnings -> mentions of periods + mentions of food + cursing a/n: yall i think im a sucker for hurt/comfort jinnie, thank you for you request! <3 it came out shorter than i expected but i still hope you like it ¡! :(

as if the day couldn't get more annoying, periods happen. ok, it's not like i had a lot on my plate but there's no worse sensation than your uterus kicking you like you deserve it. it was painful, annoying and overall made me feel like complete garbage. i carried through work like i could, continuing with my day like i wasn't suffering every step of the way. getting home was a task too but i managed through it and decided to throw myself on the bed, trying every single position to see if it would make the pain go away. 

i know i wasn't the easiest to deal with when i was like this but i was hoping hyunjin would understand. 

speaking of him, he was just about to come in through the door every minute now and the things that i usually get ready for him, are not there. like i said, i hope he understands that it's not my best day and he can get them on his own. i know practice must've been a lot and i truly wish he would take care of himself better.

"(y/n)?" i hear my name being called out and i don't even have the strength to get up. feels like the weight is pulling me down again. i manage to do so in a few tries but everything still spins and hurts around me. "missed you baby." he says when he sees me and gives me a hug which i have to retract because of the tightness of it all. he looks at me confused which i have to explain.

"i'm on my period and everything sucks right now." i say calmly but dying on the inside. "i'm sorry if i'm gonna be a bitch to you at any moment but right now i just need to rest."

"oh, that's okay i actually had like a stomach ache through the whole day so i get it." and i just sigh 'cause i knew he was messing with me. he always likes to do that and even with the confused look on his face, i wouldn't fall for it at all. i decided to not linger on it and go to our room to get my sweet sleep as much as i wanted to stay and cuddle with my boyfriend, i knew it would only bring pain and uncomfortability.

✉ ✉ ✉ 

getting up and being met by the moon in the night sky was not my plan all along. hyunjin was by my side, he didn't even try to cuddle with me which i thanked for but he looked a little odd. i couldn't place my finger on what it was but i had to get up and make dinner before it was too late. as i tried to concentrate in the cooking and not the pain (again), i tried to place my finger around what was going on with my boyfriend. 

could it be that things didn't go well today? but he didn't look mad or sad. he also didn't say anything about the boys (usually there's one or two comments about felix). maybe he was just tired and didn't need me on top of his business and i was just panicking over nothing.

"babe?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts and there was definitely something going on. he looked pale but at the same time it looked like he had a run a marathon with all the sweat and i was starting to see things better. "oh no, jagi i love your cooking but i think i'll pass today."

i placed the dinner on the table and i looked at him. he never passed on my cooking so something 100% was off today and what did i miss? as i got close to him i tried to repeat our conversation today. my hand went directly to his forehead and as everything started to make sense with him burning up, i said.

"fuck you weren't lying, you truly had a stomach ache." i felt like crying right then and there. even if i felt terrible, i still would do anything to take care of hyunjin. it hurt that i put myself first when he was hurting just as much as me. i didn't want to cry though, this was my chance to make it better unless he hated me at this very moment and didn't want me to do anything and-

"you're thinking too much and yes i did or i still do. i don't know, everything's kinda of spinning and i think i might have a fever." he said and i immediately sat him down as i looked for the termometer. thinking of every remedy and healing technique i went through my entire life as i came back and made him open his mouth. 

"i'm sorry jinnie. i should've been more careful and paid more attention to your words." i said and he wanted to say something but i stopped him. "nuh uh no moving! also i'm gonna tell the boys you're not going tomorrow." that's when he also wanted to protest but i took the termometer out and checked. 

"so? do i have a fever?" he said and i nodded as he responded with a sigh. "i can't miss practice when we're learning a new choreo though, babe you know how it is".

"but you also can't practice if you're basically running a fever and feeling dizzy, what if you pass out?" i said and i could see that he was seeing my point. "just let me text chan and then i'll have all the time in the world for you."

"but what if you get sick too?" he pouted and i just smiled because even in the sickness of it all, he still cared about me. he really was the sweetest guy i've ever met.

"if i get sick, i get sick baby, there's nothing bad about it plus i get to spend time with my favorite person." i said laying him on my lap as i messed with his hair and caressed his cheek.

he eventually fell asleep and i just couldn't stop looking at him. i decided to slowly get up without disturbing him, then i would call work and tell them that i would be taking the day off to spend it with my loved one 'cause it's what he deserved.

[remapped-soul]

once again with an italian song, this time for charlos

"occhi diversi tutte le sere ma sempre il solito vecchio sorriso" >>> different eyes every single night but always the same old smile

i'm imagining something romantic and cheesy and charles' eyes changing with the light :)

once again, im so sorry how late this is. i had an idea for this ever since you sent me the ask but only now found the energy to write. i hope you like it <3 I tried making it cheesy and romantic. what's for sure, charles' eyes are definitely changing hehe. your prompts have been amazing and I had so much fun writing them

this is a companion piece to my charlos demon au. read it here

tw: mention of the lv incident, and charles is angry about it, but nothing too graphic.

This year was supposed to be different. This year was supposed to be their year. Prayers on his lips, the devil by his side, Carlos was supposed to win this year. Instead, he's barely scrapping in the top 5 as it is. To say he is frustrated is an understatement.

"I thought a deal with the devil meant glory," Carlos says the night after the race in Melbourne. "I thought the car would be strong. I thought--" the voice catches in his throat "--I thought I'd be strong."

Charles is motionless next to him, eyes a blue so dark and deep, no shadow disturbs them. Carlos is a little afraid to look at him.

"It will come." Charles presses his mouth against Carlos' shoulder, heat sipping through the shirt. He inhales, long and deep. He's just like a dog sometimes, Carlos thinks, a little amused, a little fond. Protective and possessive.

"Easy for you to talk." Carlos shakes Charles off. The artificial light of the hotel room slants in his eyes, and for a second, Charles' irises are not deep blue, but milky white. Carlos' heart seizes in his chest. He blinks. Charles' eyes are back to normal. "You were Senna in the past life."

Charles rolls his eyes. "I made a deal with you, not with Ferrari. I can't help them if they're not ready to pay the price."

"And I am? Paying the price?"

Charles smiles, crooked, lopsided, dimples popping, and kisses him into quietness.

*

It gets better until it doesn't and Carlos has to retire his car in Spa halfway in. It's Charles' turn to be on the podium, and Carlos is so angry he can barely stand to look at him.

"It's just a third place, Carlos. Nothing to stress over."

They go back to the hotel right after Charles finished his media duties, and Carlos wants nothing more than to be alone. He thinks slamming the door would have gotten the message across, but when he turns around, Charles is already there, by the bed, waiting, hands in his pockets, eyes a dull grey.

"A third place and three championships," Carlos sneers now, looking over Charles' shoulder. He can't stand the look in his eyes. "Nothing to stress over."

Charles sighs, exasperated. "I existed before you, Carlos. I will exist after you. My life now is nothing but a moment, painted in a different color. I don't choose my lives, the same way you didn't choose to be bound to me. If I could, I'd always be a king, a winner, but my life is defined by the contracts I make the same way yours is defined by things outside of your control." Charles stops, an angry breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He doesn't talk about his life, his existence as a being outside of the human realm, if he can help it. "You know what you got to do if you wish to never see me again."

Carlos finally looks at Charles. His eyes shine like marble in sunlight. Outside is dark, a starless night.

"And if I do? Will the old Charles be back?" Carlos still remembers the days before he made his pact. The sweet Charles, the shy Charles. The one that blushed around Sebastian Vettel.

"You drivers always think you're so different from one another, but you're all the same." The Charles in front of him gives him a sad smile. "There is no old Charles. It's always been me."

Carlos suddenly feels nauseous. He stares at Charles, at his eyes, at the grey melting into blue. "I think…I think I need to be alone." A pause. "Please."

Charles tilts his head to the side, watching Carlos. Carlos blinks. Charles is gone.

Later, they will be fine, as fine as a demon and human can be. They will fall into bed again, and Charles will let Carlos touch him, slide into him raw, make love to him. Charles will let Carlos wrap his hands around his throat, kiss him breathless, mark him. Charles will let Carlos believe he has power, and Carlos will let it happen, accept it. He will accept anything, everything as long as he gets to enjoy this for a little while longer.

*

The win in Singapore comes with a bang, and Carlos doesn't have time to think if Charles gave him this only to appease him. He is yelling over the coms, yelling as he gets out of the car, as he embraces the team. He sings every word of Fratelli d’Italia up on the podium. Fred pours champagne over his head, down his overalls. Carlos accepts everything with the biggest smile on his face. He won. He won for Ferrari. With Ferrari.

A tiny voice in his head tells him, you won before Charles this year, before Il Predestinato. It's delightfully mean. Carlos shoves it back where it came from.

He doesn't spot Charles anywhere until after his press conference, when Carlos is pulled into a desolate room, a hand on his mouth to silence him and a cheeky smile greeting him in the dark.

"Hi, champion."

Carlos grins against the fingers. "Hi back," he mumbles, pulling Charles into him by the waist.

Charles' eyes are a kaleidoscope of red-pink-purple, a sunset trapped in his irises. "My beautiful champion," he says and then he kisses Carlos hard on the mouth. Carlos parts his knees, Charles steps closer, pushes his hands underneath Carlos's shirt, fingers on his stomach, skin against skin. Carlos shudders.

"Bebe," Carlos mutters as Charles kisses down his neck. "Not here. Hgmm." Charles bites at a particular sensitive spot on Carlos' neck. "We don't have time."

Charles' eyes glimmer as he looks up at Carlos. "Is that a challenge?" He asks and drops to his knees before Carlos can get a word in.

Ten minutes later they're sliding into their chairs as the debrief starts, and if Carlos fixes his pants and Charles wipes the corner of his mouth, no one bats an eyelash. After all, they were only a few minutes late. No one scolds a Ferrari champion.

*

The manhole blows up underneath Carlos' car in Las Vegas. It brings the first practice to an end and rules him out of the second one. Because of the damage, he will most likely get a penalty on Sunday. It’s a mess. Charles is fuming.

Carlos watches as Charles paces the length of his hotel room, threat dripping from his tongue like a thunderstorm, and he speaks in French and sometimes in Spanish. Other times in languages that are not familiar at all. Carlos would laugh about it, would pull Charles into his arms, tell him not to worry, kiss the frown off his face. He’d do that and more if it weren’t for the shackles shining bloody red around Charles’ neck, around his wrists, eyes matching as they flare up with every new word.

Charles’ threats are not something to laugh at. They’re real, and if Carlos doesn’t do anything about it, Charles will level the city.

“It’s what they deserve,” Charles spits. “If there is something the humans have been constant about- it's money. It’s always about money. They’d risk everything for it. I should cut their fingers off, one by one. Make them choke on money. Teach them the consequence of greed.”

Carlos sighs. He doesn’t think too much about it and grabs Charles by the arm, pulling him into his lap.

“Cariño,” Carlos soothes, pressing a kiss underneath Charles’ right eye. He puts his fingers on Charles’ neck and doesn’t think about how it burns. “You’re older than mankind. Why are you still surprised?”

Charles growls low in his throat. “They messed with what’s mine.” Surprise and pleasure zip up Carlos’ spine. He drops his hands around Charles’ shoulders, pushes and pulls until Charles gives in and melts against his chest. “I am fine, really. I am here, aren’t I?”

Charles huffs. He grips the hem of Carlos’ shirt and presses his cold nose against Carlos’ neck.

“You could’ve lost your legs,” he mumbles.

“Not for long,” Carlos says as he draws lines on Charles’ back. Up and down, left to right, as soothing as he can make them. “I have you.”

“Yes,” Charles relents, finally, fight going out of him all at once, shackles fading until they leave only unmarred skin behind. “Yes, you do.”

He presses a kiss under Carlos’ ear. If Carlos senses a hit of teeth, too sharp to be human, he doesn’t mention it.

“Will you leave the city and its people alone?”

Charles smiles against his neck. “For now. For you. They owe you a life debt.”

“Yes, yes, my fearless demon,” Carlos says and then tightens his hold and flips them on the bed, Carlos on top, Charles splayed underneath him. For the next several hours Carlos makes sure Charles doesn’t have time to think about decimating the world. Charles lets him.

A pact with the devil is not so bad after all.

[viennacherries]

what is your favourite thing that you’ve ever written?

this maybe isn't the answer you were looking for/expecting, and it's a little bit personal/deep, so sorry for that.

my actual favourite thing i've ever written is the eulogy i wrote and spoke at my mum's funeral. she passed when i was 16 after a long battle with cancer, but her passing was still very sudden. we were told she had about 6 months just days before she died.

it was more of a 'celebration of life' rather than an actual funeral. my mum wasn't religious and we wanted it to reflect on her more rather than a god she didn't believe in. it was amazing. friends she hadn't seen in years travelled from across the country and even the world to come and say goodbye to her. there were so many people that we didn't have enough chairs, and the room was completely full because people had to stand at the back and sides.

i've put it below the cut, if anyone wants to read it. it's obviously very emotional, so be prepared. but it's also very hopeful, in a way that i think you have to be when you experience a profound loss.

i turn 21 in just over a week, and i think about her and this speech around my birthday. 16 year old cher was very scared, but hopeful that things would get better, and im glad she was right.

I think everyone is aware of the fact they'll have to say goodbye to their parents someday from quite a young age. I think the problem is I never imagined it would be this soon.

To an extent I had prepared myself when mum was first diagnosed with cancer. I had to accept that there was a chance I had to say goodbye. But then I didn’t have to.

I never got the chance to prepare this time. Maybe that's what feels so bittersweet. Would things have been different if I’d known sooner? If I'd known the last time would be the last time. Would I hug her tighter? Would I say all the things I needed to say?

Or would I have just never let go?

Would any of the words felt right? Would any of it have felt enough? Or would I have spent forever regretting the words I misspoke or the ones I missed? Maybe this way is better because it was unclouded by the fear of the future.

There are so many things I wish I'd told her. That I didn't blame her. That it wasn’t her fault. That I loved her more than she knew. That I hoped she found peace.

I really hope she has. I think in my heart I know she has.

I see her in everything. In the sunset and the sunrise when the sky is clear. In every Robin or Blue Tit that seems a little too calm around me, that lands a little too close or sings extra loudly. I see her in the kindness others give me, because I know she has inspired it because they loved her. It's like she’s talking to me. Like it's her telling me things will be okay. When I hug my family or friends I hold on extra tight as though it's her, and I never ever want to let go.

I think something I hadn't considered is how hard listening to music would be. Because suddenly all these words have a new meaning and you hear them in a way you never have before. Or a song comes on that I know she loved and I realise I'll never hear her sing it again or watch her dance to it while we're stopped at traffic lights.

For the last four years people have told me how strong I am. I don’t think it's true. I think she was strong. She pushed through every day. She put up with [brother's name] and I at our worst and our best. she brought people joy and she made people feel loved. She never stopped fighting. I don’t think I'm strong, I don't think any of us are. I think every day she kept going she gave everyone a little bit of her strength. I think she made us strong by being strong. I think her strength inspired ours. Everything I am is her. Some days I look in the mirror and I feel like I'm looking at her, if not for the way I look then for the person I am. Because I'm a reflection of her. Of everything she taught me. I have always lived every single day of my life trying to make her proud. I hope wherever she is she knows I'll never stop.

She always gave the best advice, even on the days where it wasn't what I wanted to hear or I got angry because I didn’t think I agreed, she always knew what to say. I only wish I could ask her one more thing.

What do I do now? What happens from here? How do I keep going without you?

I'd like to think that I know what she'd say. She'd tell me I'm strong. She'd tell me she's with me. She'd tell me she believes in me and she'd hold my hand.

All of my memories of mum right now are painful. Because I know they're just memories. But they make me hopeful because I can hold onto them forever. They make me hopeful because someday remembering her won't hurt, it'll feel warm and I'll feel love. Someday we'll all be okay.

Our memories of mum keep her alive. Even when she’s gone. I want you all to think of her and when you do, I want you to smile, just like she always made us all smile.

Remember her with love. Remember who she was. She loved you.

So to you mum. Because I know you're here and I know you're listening. I hope you see how loved you are. I hope you feel it. I hope you know I don't blame you. I hope you know it wasn't your fault. I hope you've found peace. I hope you know just how much I love you. How much we all do. I can't wait to see you again.

[georgiaheartsdilfs]

that was staring from across the room | goodguyfitz x female reader

my masterlist ↪M A S T E R L I S T

warnings / other notes ↪I'mm aware he's a controversial influence. II couldn't care less whether you support him or not. I personally, enjoy his content and his humor. ↪ she/her pronouns used ↪swearing, drinking, drug use ↪ im aware mason has a gf (if you didnt know, he does) ↪ sexts / mention of sex

prompt ↪ the misfits were having their annual boozy party and you were invited. recently cameron (fitz) and you had gotten into a heated argument over a small thing, so there was a lot of tension in the air whenever you were near him.

A misfits party, it seemed like every other week that the misfits held a party where there were booze, weed and every other recreational drug you could think of.

But, it wasn't every day that they held a party as big as this one, a party for one of their friends. It was Chad's birthday today and of course, being his friend, I was invited.

Stepping into the Misfits house I am welcomed with an overwhelming smell of weed and the familiar sounds of people stuffing their nose with coke, I never did drugs of course. I lived a happy life without them actually.

"y/n!" mason slurred, already wasted off his face, wrapping his arms around my shoulders his breathe reeked of alcohol and ciggies but it was comforting because that was the mason I knew.

"hey macey" I laugh "god well don't you fucking look sexy you fucking dog." he says removing his arm to take a step back and look at my outfit, which was only a simple dress with flats, nothing too interesting for these aussies.

"thanks mason." I smile looking around, the house was crowded and packed "the boys are playing a game do you want to play or anything, its fucking truth or dare." he says pointing into a crowd of people "truth or dare?" I question him "chad the cunt wanted to play." he says "come come" he grabs my hand pulling me along.

Dragging me through the crowded corridors and packed rooms, finally making it to a room where it was just the Misfits and close friends.

Some of the Misfits were out like Matt, Swagger and Cameron.

But shortly after they returned with a fuck ton of alcohol which made the party from the house even more vibrant and loud even though the people in this room literally weren't even apart of that party.

"truth or dare." chad mumbles to me, rubbing his nose I look around. Cameron was staring at me with his judgy eyes, "dare" I grin to Cameron before looking back at chad.

You see days before this party, Cameron and I had gotten into an altercation where he called me some very debatable names resulting in his shit being burnt. He and I were never dating nor did we question what we were but I did have some sort of feelings for him, so thats why his name calling hurt me more than it should've.

"I dare you to kiss mason, on the lips. no side kiss bullshit." the room woo'd at the last part of the dare. I shrug, I wasn't drunk but I also wasn't going to back down from a dare especially when I cockily grinned at Cameron who I swore I'd do everything to make jealous.

Mason laughs "fuck it come here." he says and I get up and walk towards him as he cups my face and kisses me, roughly yet tenderly, the booze taste in every inch of his mouth. I'm not complaining, it was a way to get drunk without actually touching a bottle.

We pulled apart and I sat back down, crossing my legs and the room was now filled with laughters and multiple rounds of applause from everyone except one person, the one person that was staring from across the room.

The one with the blue eyes, who was sat directly across from me. Twirling a silver ring between his long pale fingers effortlessly, crossing my legs I stare directly at him, not moving a single bone in my body "truth or dare" I smirk, he nods. Understanding at what game I was playing.

"dare" was the first word I had heard come out of his mouth in a few days, thats how long it had been since I had heard from him.

But as those words left his mouth, the room fell quiet. Everyone feeling the tension between him and I "guys you pricks had to make it awkward..." toby says, "you heard me... dare." he says leaning forward not moving his eyes from mine.

"send a sext to the seventh person in your messages." I shrug, it wasn't some big dare that was suppose to get him going but I couldn't think of anything when he was staring at me like that. He pulls his phone out of his pocket not moving his eyes from mine "whats with the eyes McKay?".

"alright, guys, come on." Jay says "no, let them go at it." Mason says "if anything these cunts will be fucking by the end of the night." he continues placing a lit ciggie in his mouth.

Cameron scoffs typing a message "done y/l/n" he flips the phone with a smirk. My phone goes off and it was him.

i know you're mad at me, you're hot though and i'd fuck the shit out of you.

"who was it?" Everyone asks Cameron eagerly and I look up from my phone "I need to take this." I lie standing up and walking out of the room, heading straight to the bathroom.

Banging on the door to hear people having sex, I grunt kicking the door angrily before making my way downstairs to the alcohol. Sure there was alcohol upstairs but the message... the message.

I look at the alcohol, it was teasing me "here" a guy says handing me a bottle "thanks" i smile before walking off.

I didn't make it back to the room filled with Misfits, instead I down the bottle and make my way back. Only he had that kind of affect on me. The affect that makes me swoon even when I hate him, that affect that makes the purest of hearts go bad.

Time had passed and I was now 10... 11.... 20 something bottles in. The party hadn't died, infact it was more alive than ever and every single worry had disappeared... including my phone.

In a panic I run back to the place that gave me alcohol "what's the, phone." my words were slurred, of course they were I was drunk. "what?' the man had said "y/n?" a loud voice yelled from the stairs, I spin around and see Cameron.

"shit, shit." I say slowly realising and running out back hoping he wouldnt find me.

Not look where I was going, I run straight into the pool. Swimming back up I scream "FUCK" this night just turned terrible.

Cameron runs out and sees me in the pool, giving me his cocky stare once again. "get up" he says placing his hands on his hips, eventually lifting one up to rub his dome. He was fully sober, sure he had been drinking but he didnt drink enough to be even licked (partly drunk).

"no" I slur, pushing my hair out of my face. "y/n, get out." he says and I stare at him, narrowing my vision to him and only him "what are you going to call me a dish-washing prostitue again." my words continued to be slurred, but they were nothing but the truth.

Everyone outside stops, staring at him and I.

"y/n, i won't repeat myself get the fuck out." he say taking off his shoes and cap, getting in the pool before grabbing me and pulling me towards the edge "let go of me." I try shimmying out of his grip but he was strong. He lifts me up onto the ledge, using his arms as back support as he leaves them wrapped around me.

"i'm sorry." he admits and the party goes back to normal.

He was still standing in the pool "i can't hear you the music is loud." I mumble leaning foward "Im sorry" he says "as you fucking should be." I point to him and he nods.

"KISS" someone yells from above, "who the fuck" "mason" he cuts me off "and don't ever look at me like that again." I slur to him, my mind was on straight after hearing his apology. The words... not so much.

"what?" he says "you fucking staring you mud cunt." I say "I was just admiring you." he shrugs before letting go of me and lifting himself up.

"well, then stare at me like that again."

[iheartchv]

Hi, I was wondering If I could get a cod matchup?

Im Ecuadorian-American. I’m an INFP, and I speak English, Spanish, and French. I’m also starting to learn Mandarin Chinese.

I’m 5’8, with dark brown hair that almost looks black, and brown eyes.

I have a HUGE extended family, but they don’t live in the US. Im from New York.

Personality-wise, I’m very shy and quiet, being selective of who I make my friends. Once I do though, I become very close to them. I’ve been described as a hidden treasure, like a pearl one might even say.

I am a bit of a nerd, (I even wear glasses, but they’re not too strong), I love playing COD (if you couldn’t already tell,) and Magic: The Gathering. I also like to draw, but have a mini panic attack when I see the prices of sketchbooks and charcoal pencils.

My music taste can only be described with “emotional whiplash,” because I love songs that sound very happy but have super dark lyrics. Aside from that, I love pop, Latin and Afro pop, EDM and RNB 

My love language is mostly gifts and quality time. If I’m really close to someone, it’s physical touch. In public, I’ll do something discretely, like holding somebody by their pinky. If it’s hidden, like under a table. I’ll be a little more daring, like putting my hand on their thigh.

Hope you have a good day! Take care of yourself, and sorry if this is a lot to take in!

//i tried to finish this before going to work; wifi at work sucks big time >3>

🤔 I'll match you with...

König 👑

I think you'd be paired with König

Scenario time:

Let's say you're in the military (your choice of what field/what you specialize in)

König and some of his Kortac comrades came by to talk with Captain Price

Kortac was thinking of borrowing some of TF 141 for a mission

König walked around the base, looking for those he saw fit; you were one of those soldiers/specialists

That's when he met you

And when his eyes met yours, for some reason, he felt something wash over him.. it was strange

🤍

At first it might seem like nothing is happening between you two, what with you both keeping to yourselves

Until he sees you with a sketchbook and a pencil

He sees it move across the page, his interest piqued

I headcanon that König is a creative person

I mean, look at his gear

It isn't military grade but it does and serves its purpose

So he'll come up to you, trying to gather what he needs to push himself to get to talk to you

"What are you doing?"

Despite him being a big man, you didn't hear him behind you

You jumped, your heart pounding from surprise

"Oh, did I frighten you?" He playfully said, although he was masking that he wanted to apologize for scaring you

"N-no..."

Silence for a second

"Just... practicing some shadows and shading..."

There is a landscape on the page

He's amazed at the skill you have though he's trying to be subtle about his interest in you

"That is... very good"

🤍

You two would make a cute couple

During briefings or meetings, I can see you touching him under the table

And König would try not to be flustered

Under his mask you'd know he was blushing

Your eyes sparkle with mischief

His eyes would look at you, tell you that you would be getting it when the meeting or briefing is over

One of König's love languages is gift giving

If he sees something that reminds him of you, he'll get it for you

Or he will make something for you

Quality time is another one of his love languages

Being alone with you is all he'd ever want

It don't matter if he watches you draw or play a game, you both do something together or not, he'll just enjoy being around you

Hugs and cuddles from this giant teddy bear 🧸

Forehead kisses, on top of your head, open mouthed kisses everywhere

He'd sigh

"I adore you, liebling"

His hands would run through your hair, trace over your facial features as if he was memorizing you, burning every single detail into his memory

Who would've thought there would've been someone so gentle underneath his tough exterior?

❤

[whatiwillsay]

If Tily was real, why is there nobody else ever speaking on it besides the people in your immediate circle? Keep in mind everyone across Gaylorism agrees Swiftgron was definitely a thing. I just don't see it.

tily had some avid shippers in 2016/2017 when they were hanging out. i’ve seen it for myself on the l chat. they got shouted down again and again by kaylor shippers who refused to let go of the past and wanted karlie and taylor to come out and get married. it didn’t matter that lily and taylor were up each other’s asses and karlie was no where to be found except hanging out with josh. people got emotionally attached to kaylor and refused to let go.

but that’s the difference between you and me. you say no one’s ever talked about tily but me because you haven’t read every single page of taylor’s old l chat thread like i have. you haven’t done the research like i have. yet you come here and say “i don’t see it”. yeah! you don’t. because you haven’t been looking for it. i’ve been looking for the truth. every other gaylor focuses on kaylor and confirmation bias shows them what they want to see. i dont. i look at everything. i look at what taylor was ACTUALLY doing and who she was ACTUALLY spending time with.

you come here and say literal falsehoods into my ask box as if you’ve made a point. and let me tell you it gets old. like no offense anon but why would you assume you know more than me? do you think im stupid? do you think i didn’t go looking through every archive and forum to find every bit of gaylor info i could? do you think i don’t vet my sources?

it just gets fucking old to be right about so much and to work for so long and so hard and do so much research and to work so hard at presenting it, just to be hated and rejected from the community for it.

ONE fandom niche was completely unaffected by lavenderhazegate and it was MINE. because i have been preaching the truth and we were prepared for it. i have been preaching that taylor and joe, whatever they started out as, are real and that yes she does write love songs for him and that’s fucking fine. i have ALSO been begging and begging people to stop assuming every thing taylor does has to do with queerness. proven right again by her joesplaining the word lavender.

the rest of the fandom freaked out, was “furious”, spent hours talking about it, were outraged, some have said they’re done with taylor, cancelling merch and album orders, but WE were FINE. because we already knew she would do some shit like this. we know joe is real and we know taylor is a dumb bitch and not some queer scholar icon. she’s a dumb rich bisexual girl who loves her boyfriend. and that’s FINE. and we already knew that.

yet you come here, not having even listened to my tily episodes not even having read the tily posts on my blog (and i know you didn’t because we’ve mentioned those l chat shippers from back in the day on the episodes and on the blog) trying to accuse me of making it up.

nah not today i’m exhausted of all of this. go do your own research if you don’t trust mine. come to your own conclusions. ship what you wanna ship. but if you’re not going to do the work i’ve done, don’t come to my blog and act like i’m full of shit.

[shadyteacup]

Hi, I really have no clue how to puts words on my thoughts so ig I shall start by apologising I kinda have nobody to talk, I've read your writings for a while now and I always love them so it kinda ended up like a safe place even if that may sounds weird? I've been feeling really down, idk since when maybe 5 or 6 months or even more I don't really realise. My mind has been sm of a mess I don't know how to deal with it anymore I worry over deaths of beloved, insecurities, weird dreams or disturbing thoughts, studies, future and relationships or just interaction with others. I've always had to bottle up those feeling and this issues bc my parents(I'm a minor) always said seeing a psy was for weak or crazy people (ngl I wanted to punch them) so I didn't get any help. The only thing I'm holding to stay sain all seem to fly away, I can't get rid of the past and I'm scared of the future, where everyone would be deconnected and nothing would be real anymore. I know that's dumb and childish to worry over such things and it's like I keep walking to a wall my mind created and then one day I'll crash into it, lost the person I love the most, I will be all alone forever and nothing could fill me. Idk how to talk to other too, I end up cracking some jokes and make fun of what scares me bc i'm afraid of their reaction, they're gonna laugh at me and distanciate from me and I'll be all alone bc socialising with other hard .I've seriously asked myself if I should end my days, thinking it would be the only way to put my mind at ease, to fully relax and don't worry over a single thing. I want to see again those I've loved and still love. If I care for the whole world why don't anybody look up for me? I'm a coward so I can't even handle this by myself and take a decision alone but I acknowledge that so I'm not even ashamed anymore. There again I sincerely apologise for venting to u about my whole issues and on heavy subjects with a poor English and sm mistakes that I would feel ashamed to read what I just wrote.

At least I wish you a good day/night, that everything goes well for u and by the occasion I wanted to tell you how i love your writings and your blog is really amazing for me <3

Hi

I know I took long to answer this, and by now you've probably given up any hopes of getting an answer back

But it took so long because I was going through this too, and every time I tried answering, it ended up triggering me.

There was a time when I was suicidal myself.. idk if I should call it that, because I never acted on it, but yes, constant thoughts of wanting to off myself did flood my mind back then.

In fact, I felt that way exactly during the time period of receiving this ask, making it rlly hard for me to help u..

uk, in Hinduism, there's a saying that goes, "if you want to help others with something, practise it yourself first"

There's a whole story about how this God, who loved eating malai/makhan (sort of like cream, made from milk- but that's not the point), was approached by a mother, who asked him to help her son quit his own malai addiction. She wanted him to do something about her son's addiction. So He asked her to give him 10 days to solve the problem.

After said time, He came back to the duo, and simply said, "Stop eating so much malai, son, its not good for your health." to the son.

You know why He took 10 days? He tried to end his own addiction, first. Because in order to help others, you must help yourself first.

And, unfortunately, my 10 days aren't over yet. But every time I come across your ask in my inbox, I yearn to be able to do something about it. Because I want to help you, but im not qualified to do so.

Just remember that there are other people going through what you have gone through/ are going through, and that you are not alone.

Yes, maybe talking to a therapist might help you, but if your parents aren't allowing you to do so (ik, adults can be dumb about such things), search for therapists online. Im sure there are free consultations available online. Or even better, if your educational institute provides a student section, you can talk to them. I'm pretty sure most of the institutes today have a psy available for students to talk to. Make the most of it!

As for the suicidal thoughts, remember how valuable you are. Your life isn't a fickle thing to give up on so easily. In the end, you are your own strength and best friend. Talk to yourself, be kind to yourself, and most importantly, be truthful.

Wanna know how I overcame my intrusive thoughts? I talked to myself. Literally, I sat in front of a mirror and talked. At first, it felt a little weird, but you know, after a while, I found comfort in that. I became my own therapist, and helped myself out of it. This was tough, since due to the pandemic, everyone from my family was home, but I still managed to lock myself away in my room for some time. And I used to whisper, or talk softly so as to not let anyone know what im doing.

u n I were going through the same thing, but I hope its all in the past for you<3

again, im truly sorry that I couldn't muster up the courage to answer this earlier, and I hope this helps you.

and remember, I care about you, n so do your parents. they might say no to a therapist, but they care about you, and love you. You never know, maybe they themselves went though something similar earlier in their lives, but didn't know how to vent it out. Parent are sometimes grown ups who don't know how to perfectly handle a situation, so they do/say what they have been taught to do/say in such situations. Society can make seeking therapy a taboo, or a big deal, and maybe they don't know how to see beyond that. Don't hate them for it, but do remember to never make the same mistake when you grow up... I really do care for u, n truly love you, so pls, take care of urself

[abishekmuses]

Marketing is seduction

Style is a virtue - it's an external indicator of the lens through which you view reality, events and situations. It's the "Frame" that you inhabit - it's an expression of your aesthetic ideals - it shows the world where you find beauty. It shows the world the internal cadence - the tempo that marks the beat of your movements through life. More importantly, it reflects your capacity to appreciate beauty and your commitment towards embodying beauty and the extent to which you are willing to go for beauty.

We are fart-bags that are filled with flesh that's slowly rotting. We emanate odours, burp and one day, we'll die. Before that, depending on how unlucky our lot is, we suffer a bunch of ignominies - injuries, heartbreaks, embarrassments - we shit our pants, we get hard for people that don't want anything to do with us naked - we get jacked up wanting to see people naked - people who themselves will one day get old and need diaper changes or surgeries where their shit comes out through tubes on their abdomens. Why am I painting this grisly picture?

Because none of this stuff is news - we all know this. This is the nature of our physical reality as humans and this truth isn't lost on most of us. However, there is still is extraordinary capacity for style that we possess - This capacity to appreciate beauty - to do things with a sense of aesthetic - to " present" ourselves as works of art rather than as stinking pieces of meat.

Beauty makes life beautiful - duh! Ok let me try another way. Beauty makes life tolerable. Why do any of the things we do if we don't do them beautifully? Every moment, a human has the choice to frame things in such a way - do things in such a manner - that it can be elevated to poetry.

Again, none of these ideas are new. We know how the act of drinking coffee can be an act of ugly compulsion - think lines of irritated, haggard looking people at an airport starbucks waiting to catch an early morning flight - or an exercise in love, style and aesthetic bliss - think of someone who wakes up, works out, showers, does his hair up just right - puts on a clean white tee shirt and crisply ironed chinos - and with meticulous precision, arranges his cup, his spoon, his milk jug, his coffee grinder - and goes about infusing as much love and devotion as possible into making that cup of coffee - pouring his attention into every single step involved - doing it with a sense of care like not getting a microscopic part of the process perfectly right would be the end of the world. That's what i mean by elevating actions - making poetry out of life.

i'm not speaking about OCD though. that's just as unaesthetic as being slapdash as far as Im concerned. Insouciance is attractive. Devotion with insouciance - now that's poetry.

I think seduction is closely tied to this. An expert seducer is someone who values aesthetics - he lives it and breathes it. He might not even necessarily understand it as such. But his movements, his life possess a quality of otherworldliness. a sense of cinematic allure. A sense of art. Something elysian, astral, supernal. A sense of something immortal and infinite. Something that isn't so immutably beset by the banal, the mortal, the rotting and the mundane.

I feel like marketing is very similar to seduction in this sense. marketing is all about framing things - It's about creating something a bit more ethereal around commodities/products/services -which are just banal things.

A product is a commodity. It belongs to the realm of flesh and bones. A brand is something undying - it belongs to the realm of demigods. It is something supernal. Something astral. Something that is nebulous, subtle and powerful.

I'm writing all this just to get down some ideas that I've been working with. This is an attempt to publicly post my process.

I came across the term public journal recently - I guess this is an attempt to have one of those myself.

Paralysed with potential - This is an itneresting idea

Best writers make errors -e diting is key

Excitement is actually a really subtle form of fear - when it doesn't allow us to settle into the present moment - I catch myself these days with a feeling that i would traditionally label as "positive" - a feverish sense of excitement - like hey "I'm pumped!!!" - but upon closer inspection, it's an attempt to move away from the present moment. It's a refusal to accept the intensity of a given moment and relax into it - accept it. It's using the mind to project an imaginary future where the intensity of internal state in this moment is used to create positive fantasies in the future - subtly suggesting to yourself - i'll be happy and fulfilled then" - subtly sowing seeds for waking up the next morning (or whenever) with regrets for not inhabiting that fantasy reality.

[carmen-dioxide]

just wanted to come on here and gush about my partner

my partner who peppers little kisses across my whole face early in the morning, and again when its time for bed

my partner who helps me take off my shoes and clothes at the end of a long day,pajamas waiting on the bed beside me

my partner who always checks in to see if i need to sit down or leave an event because i may be overstimulated

my partner who talks to our cat and holds him like a baby

my partner who would do anything for me if it meant i was happy

my partner who even after nearly 4 years together still has me check my mac n cheese noodles to make sure they are the correct texture for me even though at this point he cooks them perfect every time

my partner who will help me wash my hair during depressive episodes and makes sure im eating and sleeping enough

my partner who drives whenever we go somewhere because he understands my PTSD

my partner who lets me gush about my special interests for hours

my partner who makes me feel safe

my partner who admires me and tells me he still gets butterflies when he is around me

my partner who loves my body no matter what size I am

my partner who holds me through my panic attacks, helping me regulate my breathing and giving me water so i don't make myself sick

my partner who reminds me to take my meds

my partner who combs his fingers through my hair and rubs my back to help me fall asleep

my partner who accepts and supports my sexuality and gender identity

my partner who willingly has listened to criminal minds, law and order and homicide hunter every single night at bedtime for 4 years

my partner who i cannot wait to marry one day.

[honeycombstrawberry]

so like porcelain

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: m+

warnings: depictions of torture and canon-typical violence

word count: 6,372

prompts from my inbox (all anonymous): ""omg I'm so glad requests are open!!!!! I literally went through your entire Adrian list and I'M OBSESSED!!!! more Adrian comforting/being protective of reader pls I beg" and "hi i saw requests are open again :D id like to request smth with adrian/vigilante where reader gets injured on a mission and it gets all angsty bc he planned to propose to reader but every time he makes plans and is about to pop the question smth always comes up so doesn't really have a chance to ask them and now he's thinking that maybe it was too late but eventually reader does get better after a really close call then he decides that it doesn't really matter when or where he does it so he just goes in. i really love ur writing and it would mean a lot if you decide to pick this up and im sorry if it's a bit too specific or not up to your liking but if you do then tysm im advance 🥺💙" and "thoughts on reader and adrian getting in some nuclear argument and dont have time to make up before going on some mission. reader gets kidnapped. adrian goes crazyyyyyyy. some good angsty hurt/comfort mmmm mmm mmmm"

one-sentence synopsis: you're so sure you know why adrian's upset, but you don't get a chance to confirm it before it seems like it just might be too late.

author's note: i combined a couple of prompts for this one and i hope you love this story! i'm excited about it!! i got so many requests today and i'm so excited about so many of them!!

read on ao3!

Adrian hasn’t been himself for days.

Like, for days. He’s usually pretty twitchy in general, but this has been next level anxiety. He is seemingly constantly on edge. You keep catching him staring at you when he thinks you’re not looking, but it’s not the regular sort of stare he gives you— the one where he starts looking at you and forgets to stop and you look up to find adoration across his face when your eyes meet.

This is different.

Lately, Adrian’s been staring at you with a sort of— intent. Like he’s resolved about something. He seems determined, in a more serious way than he normally does, and it’s starting to put you on edge.

Usually, Adrian’s a fairly open book. He expresses what he feels when he feels it, says what he thinks when he thinks it, does what he wants to do when he wants to do it. He’s not someone who holds back often, and he especially doesn’t keep things from you. Whatever it is that’s unsettling him, he doesn’t want you to know about it.

You know that could only be a bad thing. It has to do with a mission, you think— or maybe it has to do with you.

You start to grow more and more certain that, whatever it is Adrian’s thinking about all the time, it has to do with you. He starts asking if you want to get dinner all the time, if you want to go out, if you want to do something special. You’re both busy, though, and half the time the plans are canceled because he has to go on a mission, or Chris needs urgent help, or something similar. He always gets so agitated and pissed off when he can’t follow through on whatever he was planning, which is when you start to put the pieces together.

He’s planning to break up with you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see this coming sooner. It was only going to be a matter of time before he got sick of this. He has so much energy, he’s so— so wild, so different, so unique. So— Really, he’s so unhinged, but it’s part of what you love about him. You should’ve known he’d never want a life with somebody like you.

Once that thought takes root in your mind, it’s impossible to weed out. You see the evidence every day, in every single thing Adrian does. He’s more tense with you than normal, a little distant. He’s not speaking his mind. He’s definitely thinking things he’s not saying, which is so viciously unlike him. You’re starting to worry that you don’t know him anymore— that he doesn’t want you to know him.

He still tells you he loves you. He still comes home to the apartment you share. He still sleeps beside you in bed.

But— you can’t help but feel that— something’s different. Something fundamental has changed in Adrian, and he hasn’t told you what it is. Maybe he doesn’t want to tell you what it is. Maybe he doesn’t want you to know; maybe he doesn’t want you to know him. Even if you feel like you’ve connected, and that this was going to be it, the great love of your life, maybe he doesn’t feel that way.

You don’t know how you could have missed it, but you don’t know what else this could be. You’re dreading the day he finally just— does it, tells you, rips the bandaid off and stops prolonging his own suffering. You love him— you love every moment with him— but he must be hating how long this is going on for.

You start to feel like a mess, yourself. Adrian’s twitchy, and so are you; Adrian’s frustrated, and so are you. He gets more twitchy when you’re twitchy, and the cycle just feeds on itself.

Adrian texted you earlier today and asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. You feel like this might be it, if he finally gets to pull it off. If nothing stops him, tonight will be the night he breaks up with you; you’re sure of it.

You can’t focus for most of the day, after that. You’re glad you have work today, if only for something to distract you as best as it can. Still, your mind keeps wandering back to Adrian, and your heart races every time you remember, and your stomach twists, and fear crawls up the back of your throat. You’re dreading it; you can’t believe you’re about to lose this, and you don’t even know why. You thought everything was going so fucking well.

By the time you get home, you have to convince yourself to go inside. You can see Adrian’s car in the lot, so you pull into your spot beside it. Your heart is practically slamming against your ribs. You dread going inside, but you have to.

Your legs are lead when you head up the stairs of your apartment complex. You get to the apartment you share with Adrian, and you take a deep breath outside the front door before letting yourself in.

“Hey, I’m home,” you call, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. You’re still hoping you’ll be able to convince him not to go, that you’ll somehow be good enough tonight that he’ll change his mind about ending this. Or maybe he’ll just— Explain, and you can figure out what’s going wrong, and the two of you can work on fixing it together—

Adrian comes flying out of the bedroom, half of his Vigilante armor already on, and your heart sinks even further than it already had. Your palms prick with nervous, clammy sweat.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and he seems— frustrated, actually, or pissed off. “Chris just called and—”

“—he needs you and you have to go,” you finish for him.

The two of you stand in silence for a beat. Then, Adrian says, “If you want, I don’t have to go.”

“No, you should go,” you tell him, and you mean it. He’s a hero; it’s not your right, to tell him not to go just because you’re scared. If anything, at least this will give you a little more time before he tells you he’s done, before this is over, before he leaves. “If he needs you and you’re not there, you’ll be mad at yourself. And me, I guess.” He studies you for a long moment. His brow furrows behind his glasses, face creasing as he’s thinking, examining you, trying to figure you out. You wonder if he suspects that you know what he’s going to do.

After a beat, Adrian says, “Why would I be mad at you?”

You— don’t really know the answer to that, because you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. You don’t think anything has changed, really; nothing you’re aware of is different, anyways. Your best guess is just that— that he doesn’t love you anymore, so it’s— probably not that he’s mad, just— frustrated, and indifferent, and ready to be finished. Agitated, maybe.

Your hands have a slight shake to him, chest tightening, goosebumps prickling up over your legs and arms in a fear response when you tell him, “I don’t— I don’t know. Why would you be?”

“I don’t know,” Adrian says slowly. He glances down at the hunk of armor in his hands, then back up at you, clearly torn on what he’s supposed to do next.

You don’t think you can do this anymore. You just— In this moment, you can’t think about sitting here alone for another night, wondering if tonight’s going to be the night Adrian decides to come back and tell you he’s done. Your chest hurts like it’s being split open, and you feel like you’re going to fucking— pass out, or throw up on the floor, but you know what you have to do.

You steel yourself, and you say to Adrian, eyes fixed on his knees, voice trembling, “If— If you’re going to break up with me, just— please, just— do it.”

Adrian doesn’t respond. You exhale shakily, a shuddering rush that gusts out of you as you realize he’s still not fucking saying anything. This is the person who never stops talking, and he’s staring at you in total silence.

Your hands are actually fucking shaking. You keep waiting for him to talk, and he keeps not talking, before you finally have to say something, so you start to tell him, “I d—”

The sound of your voice apparently unfreezes him from whatever just possessed him, and he’s suddenly talking a mile a minute, asking, “What the— What the fuck are you— What the fuck are you talking about? What are— Wh— I d— What? What the f—”

It’s all just variations on the same thing. You try to take a deep breath, but you can’t get it in deep enough, rattling shallowly in your chest. You can’t look up as you listen to his stumbling half-denials. It feels like you’re in a nightmare; you can’t believe this is it. You can’t believe you fucking said something to start this. Maybe you could’ve convinced him if you only had more time—

“You don’t have to keep putting it off,” you say softly, cutting him off. “You want to tell me, tell me.”

“You don’t know,” Adrian says quickly.

“Adrian—”

“You don’t,” he snaps back. “Don’t— Don’t say— You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

You laugh dryly, no humor in it. The back of your throat hurts when you say, “You’ve been trying to tell me something. I’m not stupid. I just— I wish you wouldn’t—”

“What are you even saying?” Adrian demands. He makes an agitated noise, then turns back to the bedroom. He whirls around again, asks you, “You don’t know anything.”

You glare back at him. “Don’t treat me like I don’t know what you’re—”

“You don’t know,” Adrian snaps. His voice is short, agitated, and he shoves his hand through his hair, the other clutching his armor so tight his knuckles are going white. “Just— I just— If you just give me, like, a day, I’ll figure it out, okay? And then it’ll all be over—”

Your eyes flick down again, your heart starting to break in half when you hear that. ‘It’ll all be over,’ on echo in your mind.

“What will?” you ask, shaking.

“What?”

“What’ll be over?” you ask again. “Do you— I mean— Us? Do you mean—”

“Why would you—” Adrian starts to demand, then crouches, his body unable to properly manifest the agitation he’s feeling. He straightens back up, paces, then looks up to you, asks, “I don’t— What— Why?”

“Why what?” you ask, bewildered. “Just— What are you trying to tell me? Are you breaking up with me, is this it?”

Adrian stares hard at you, eyes wide. His chest is heaving; yours is, too, heart racing.

For a beat, he doesn’t speak.

“Adrian,” you ask him. “Tell me.”

“That’s not it,” Adrian says helplessly.

“Then what is it?” you ask. Again, he pauses; again, he seems to be turning over some thought, keeping it trapped in his throat, and you push the heels of your hands into your eyes, aching inside. “Okay. I’m just gonna— Okay.”

“You have to trust me,” Adrian asks of you.

Your chest is aching when you ask him, “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because I can’t,” Adrian pleads, “Because— Because that’s— That’s how—” He’s frustrated, makes an agitated, trapped noise. “Why can’t you just— fucking— Fuck!”

“I’m trying,” you shout back at him. “Don’t— Don’t fucking yell at me, Adrian, Jesus fucking— I’m scared, I want— I want to know why you’re doing this, but I guess— I guess I’m not surprised. Because I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d—”

The ringing of his phone in the next room cuts you off. It’s the same song that always plays when Chris calls, but it doesn’t make you smile, now.

Now, all you do is stare at Adrian, tears swelling in your eyes and starting to spill over. Your throat burns, hot and sharp and thick. He looks from you back to his phone in the bedroom, and once your eye contact is broken, your hands start shaking. You take this dismissal for what you know it is, starting to twist away.

“What— No, I don’t— I don’t have to go,” he says.

“Yes, you do,” you say. “Being Vigilante is always going to come first for you, and I—”

“You don’t know shit if you think that,” Adrian snaps at you. Your brow furrows, chest aching, stinging.

“Guess I don’t know shit,” you bite back.

“No,” Adrian says, “You fucking— don’t, because otherwise you’d listen to me—”

“You’re not saying anything, Adrian,” you tell him. “You’re not— You’re just— I—” You wrap your arms around yourself, glaring downwards. After a beat, you glare back at him, heart throbbing painfully into your bones. His eyes are bright and his face frustrated. “Why won’t you just say it?”

“Why are you trying to make me say it?” Adrian asks. “Do you want to leave? Because I w—”

“Please,” you stop him, voice breaking apart. You can’t hear him say what you know he’s going to say; can’t hear him say, ‘Because I won’t stop you,’ because you think you’ll go crazy if you hear it. You turn around, saying, “I just— You— You can tell me when you get back.”

He’s quiet, for a second. Then, he says, “I don’t— Are you… Like— Are you happy? Do you—”

“Adrian,” you tell him, the knot in your throat swelling. You finally start breaking, crying in earnest. You keep your face turned away; his phone starts to ring again from the next room.

“I sh—” Adrian starts, then stops. He finally says, “I should get that, I might— He might need me.”

You nod, still staring hard at the trim of paint where the wall meets the floor. Softly, you tell him, “You deserve better than me, anyways.”

You grab the front door and jerk it open, throwing yourself through it and tugging it shut behind you. You lean against the door for a moment, then exhale shakily. Inside, you can hear Adrian coming closer to the front door. You’re already ready to turn around and pull it back open, because this doesn’t solve things, and you just— If you can just get Adrian to communicate, to tell you what’s happening, then you can both fix this.

You can’t give up. You see that now, you see it clearly. In the heat of the moment, yeah, you just— You shouldn’t have done that— You needed space, but you need him more.

Adrian’s on the other side of the door, and you turn to open it before he can.

But a hand wraps around your mouth and nose from behind, jerking you backwards into a sharp grip. There’s a burn of pain in your throat, and then a sting in your sinuses, and then everything completely vanishes.

When you wake up, it’s cold. You think— You think you’re lying down on something— hard. Something solid. You blink, but there doesn’t seem like there’s any change in the light, just darkness to darkness. It feels like there’s a vibration nearby; you come to realize it’s a sound, and then you understand it’s a voice, halfway through speaking.

“—n’t manage to capture both,” the rough voice is saying. It’s a low pitch, crawling under your skin, echoing nearby like you’re underwater, shimmering through stone. “Vigilante escaped. But—”

There’s harsh lights behind your eyelids, suddenly, and you flinch, eyes flying open instinctively, squinting against whatever’s happening, shocked.

“We do have his partner,” the voice continues. You can see the shadowed outlines of two people, though it’s hard to focus in the aggressive lights. You see them at a strange angle; you belatedly realize you’re laying on the floor.

You start to move, but there’s pressure around your throat, your wrists, your ankles, your waist. You realize you can’t actually move, your body pinned and trapped, kept close to the ground. Panic starts to eat at your chest, confusion and terror erupting inside of you. You lash at your restraints, but the metal bites at your skin.

“He’ll come,” they say again. “And when he does, we’ll get Peacemaker and Waller’s daughter.” A sharp pain sparks through your leg in a jolt, and you cry out, twitching backwards. “A stepping stone. We can lead him here with them.”

“What are you thinking?” a different voice asks, scraping against the insides of your bones. Your teeth hurt hearing it, metal-strange.

There are footsteps, then a beat. A hand is touching your face, then, and you jerk, twitching away, trying to pull back so you can see what’s happening. The hand grips you tighter then, and then there’s a tug on your hair, a chunk being lifted, considered— and then yanked out, and you cry out at the lance of pain through your skull.

“First clue,” the low voice says, near to your ear. You can’t look up, cheek pressed down to the cold floor, throat clamped down to keep you still, shaking.

You don’t understand, but you do; they want Chris and Leota, for obvious reasons, and Adrian’s an easy way to get to them, and you’re an easy way to get to Adrian—

Or, you were. He doesn’t want you now, and you left, and you don’t— You don’t know if he’s even going to come. What if he didn’t open the door at all? What if he just thinks you left and never came back? What if he doesn’t come—

Your chest hurts, but you realize that’s the best option. If he doesn’t come, then he’s safe. Not only that, but the entire team is; Chris and Leota aren’t in danger, and the 11th Street Kids are safe. Adrian’s friends— the people who have become your family— will all be protected if they don’t come for you. It’s painful, but it’s the only choice.

It’s a fair trade. It doesn’t— You wish it wasn’t this way, but, over the days that you’re trapped in this place, you come to understand this is the only way.

The people keeping you try to get information from you, but they don’t know you’re already mentally resigning yourself to dying for this if you have to. You’d sooner let them kill you than give up the people you love, even if you were on the verge of losing them all anyways. You still love them; you’re not going to let anything happen to them as long as you have a say in it. Even in the worst circumstances, you think any of them would do the same for you. Even Adrian.

You have to hope they won’t come now. That he won’t come now. You love him. You still love him, even now; maybe you love him even more now.

When they hurt you, it’s not— It’s not easy, to take the pain, but it’s easier, knowing that it’s for them. Knowing that every second of pain you experience is a second Adrian is spared feeling that same agony is one of the only things that gets you through this. It hurts, but you can do it for him.

You would’ve married him, you think, when they’re holding your head underwater, and you close your eyes and think about him and don’t confess anything. You would’ve lived with him forever, you think, when your joints are wrenched and your knees finally break after days of nearly giving. You would’ve loved him until you died— and you will, you think, when the air is knocked from your lungs and you lose consciousness again and wake up cold and confused and alone once again.

You don’t know how long it takes. The schedules they keep here are confusing, inconsistent. It’s been days, you know, but you’re not sure how many.

The first thing you realize is that you’re alone longer than you normally are. At first, you think it’s a new ploy. You’re left in the total and absolute darkness, shaking, pinned to the ground. You’re hungry, and you wonder if this is their plan, maybe: to let you starve on the cold stone floor in here, trapped in place, until you go insane and tell them everything without even realizing you’re speaking.

In that darkness and lonely silence, you wonder what you’d tell Adrian if you go to talk to him one more time. You think you’d apologize, tell him you’re sorry that your last conversation was such a mess. You have so much time to think about it; you consider your conversation, your argument, in a million different ways, deciding what you want to say to make it all better.

You’d tell Adrian you love him, and that whatever he was feeling, you just wanted to hear it, and you’d work it out together, no matter what it is. You’d apologize for getting upset, and ask him why he was pulling away. You’d hope you could move past this, if you had the time.

You know you won’t have the time. You just want to say you’re sorry, to tell him you love him, to hear him say he loves you one last time.

You close your eyes, turning your face down as much as you can, letting the aching wounds on it press into the grit of the floor, dirt snagging in the edges of your face. You sigh, just trying to be calm. There’s not much you can do except just breathe, and think, and hope, and dream. You think about Adrian, as if you can feel his arms around you again.

Down the hall, there’s a slam. You wait for the inevitable opening of the door, the pain that will follow. You wonder what it will be next. You know, ultimately, it doesn’t matter, because Adrian won’t be feeling that pain, so it’s okay.

The door does finally open. You brace, waiting for the pain, squeezing your eyes closed, waiting.

Instead, you hear a breathless noise.

“Down here!” a familiar voice calls, but— not one of the familiar voices from here. One of the ones from before, and you start shaking when you recognize it as John’s.

“No,” you groan into the floor weakly. “No, no, don’t— Don’t do this to them, please, please don’t hurt them, I’ll— I’ll do anything, just—”

There’s a hand on your shoulder, and you cry out, shaking, throat aching. You can’t help the sobs that come up, begging, “No, please, don’t—”

The hand snaps away from you, and John’s voice speaks again, saying, “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. You’re gonna— You’re gonna be okay. We’re going—”

“No,” you whisper to him. You try to breathe, then push your eyes open as well as you can. “You guys have to get out. They’ve been trying to find you. They want to get to Leota, you— You have to go—”

“We know,” John says. “They’re all dead, it’s fine. Your boyfriend made sure of that.”

You can’t process that, for a second. Then, you think, Adrian, in a rush, and you sob into the floor, hands grasping against nothing.

“Is he okay?” you ask him, aching. “Please, is—”

“What? Yeah, he’s fine,” John says. “You know you’re chained to the floor, right?”

You huff a humorless laugh, shaking.

“I’m just making sure you know,” John points out. “Because you are the one we gotta make okay here.”

There’s suddenly noises in the hall, and then Chris is there, huge and filling the doorway and you think this is too good to be true, this can’t be real. You’re terrified, but if they’re right— If they’re all dead, if you’re really safe— They can get you out of here and maybe it’ll be okay. Even if— Even if they don’t want you anymore— If Adrian makes you leave— At least you’ll all be okay. You can have that.

Chris comes closer and says, “I’m gonna rip these off, okay?” and you nod as best as you can against the floor.

He starts at your ankles, tears one free with wriggling tugs until it’s yanking out of the floor. When he starts working on the next tight chain, your other ankle getting worked free, your eyes squeezed shut, you hear more boots in the door.

“Oh, God, no,” Adrian’s voice says. Tears spring up again, burning your eyes. You want, more than anything, for him to come to you, but you don’t know if he’ll want you after—

You don’t even have time to finish the thought before Adrian’s hand is gently touching your head as he falls to his knees beside you. He says, “Please, don’t— J— Are th—”

“They’re alive,” John tells him, as Chris snaps off the next ankle chain. He moves up to your arms next.

“Hey,” Adrian says, his hand gently laying on your cheek. “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m right here, I got you, okay? It’s all gonna be okay, we’re gonna get you out of here— Oh, fuck.” His hands go to the bindings around your throat. “Chris, can—”

Chris leaves your arm for a moment to go to your throat. Adrian holds your shoulder, his thumb stroking along the edge of a bruise.

“You’re okay,” Adrian tells you. “You’re okay, it’s okay. Breathe. You’ll be okay. I’ve got you now, I’m not gonna let you go. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you, I got you.”

With Adrian bracing you, Chris breaks the bindings pinning you to the ground, the chains coming apart in his hands, a bite against your skin that quickly vanishes. You suck in a breath, and shift your head. The muscles scream, and Adrian’s gloved hands hold your cheeks, gentling you. You can finally flick your eyes up to him, and you see the Vigilante mask. You meet the red visor, and you can feel tears streaming down your face.

“Please don’t leave me here,” you beg him, black eating up the corners of your vision. “Adrian—”

“Oh, no, hey, no,” Adrian hurries to say. “I’m gonna take care of you. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I’ve got you now, I’m not leaving you anywhere, okay?”

You exhale shakily. Upwards, you tell him, “I love you,” before your voice breaks and you say, “I’m sorry—”

“No, no, hey,” Adrian cuts you off. Chris breaks the last chain holding you to the ground, and Adrian’s lifting you into his arms in the next beat, lifting you up against his shoulder, into his lap.

“Don’t leave me,” you beg again. “I don’t want—”

“Hey, I’m not leaving,” Adrian promises. Your tears don’t stop, and Adrian promises, “I mean it, I’m not, I—” He looks away, then back, red visor meeting your eyes. “It’s so fucking stupid, you’re going to be mad at me, I hate myself, but I was trying to ask you to marry me and all I did was fuck everything up and I didn’t tell you and then you were gone and I couldn’t—” Adrian sucks a breath in, wet on the other side of the haze between you. “Please, I’m not— I’m not trying to break up with you, I’d never, I love you. I was being fucking stupid and I never should’ve let you go, I can’t— I love you. I love you,” and then his hand is cupping the back of your head.

His mask presses to your forehead, then to your mouth, where his mouth should be. That encroaching blackness seeps closer to the center of your vision, gnawing away your consciousness. You’ve been here a while, you realize, and your racing heart isn’t doing you any favors. You can’t see well. It’s hurting, but— less, now, so it’s easier.

“Hey,” Adrian says. “Hey, hey, keep— Keep your eyes open, look at me. Look at me—”

You can’t. You want to, and you try, but you don’t have a choice. It happens to you; you’re awake, and then you’re not, slipping away from the vague outline of Adrian’s eyes through the Vigilante visor, not sure if you ever even saw him at all, or if this was one last dream before you finally let go.

In this sleep, you dream. They’re not fully formed, just shapes and colors and nonsense and feelings, but they give you the illusion of time passing, and you rest in this sleep. It’s a healing sleep, cleansing.

When you wake up, you almost do feel rested. You shift, coming into your body in pieces, awareness seeping in like a fog that creeps away.

You open your eyes last. You blink upwards, and see white and grey and blue. It’s unfamiliar, and your frown, turning your head to the side. There’s a crinkle under your head, and a teal curtain to your right.

There’s also a hand in yours. You shift to look towards that feeling, instead, and you see Adrian slumped forward in a chair beside your hospital bed. The side has been lowered to let Adrian rest his upper body on the mattress, his hand in yours, his cheek pillowed on your thigh. His glasses are at an angle, half-hanging off his face, and he’s dead asleep, breath fanning warm from his parted lips over your thighs through the sheet and hospital gown covering you.

You shift gingerly. The haze that had been eating at you when you were trapped in that facility is finally gone, your mind clear again. You’re not sure what they were dosing you with, but clearly it was something, because you can’t help noticing its absence.

Reaching up with your other hand, you realize your forearm is in a cast. You frown, but your fingers are still free, so you keep reaching for him anyway.

You thread your fingers through his hair, just reveling in the way the soft curls twist around your fingertips. You stroke your thumb along his hairline, then down to his cheek, shifting to fix his glasses for him.

His brow twitches, and then he’s blinking, his eyes flickering as he yawns and returns to himself. As he awakens, he slowly becomes aware, his hand tightening in yours.

When he realizes you’re not only holding his hand back, but stroking his hair and looking up at him, he’s surging upwards, cupping your face in his hands. He lets you go just to take you again, kissing you hard before drawing away, kissing your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your temple, your ear, and then back again to your cheek, your jaw, your chin, your lips.

“I love you,” he says against your mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, you have to know I love you. I can’t lose you, okay? And it doesn’t matter if— It doesn’t matter if everything’s perfect, it doesn’t matter if I don’t propose perfect, that stupid— That stupid book doesn’t fucking matter, I’ll just— I want to marry you,” he insists to you.

He scrambles for his pocket, then pulls a ring out. No box, no bag, nothing. Just a loose ring that he holds up in his hand between you, offering it to you in a thrust forward.

“I love you,” he repeats. “I want to marry you, please, if you’ll still have me. If you still want me. I’m so sorry I fucked up, but I promise, I promise I won’t fuck up again. I’ll tell you everything, and I’ll never try to keep something from you again, and if I want to surprise you, I’ll just— I won’t— I won’t let it get that far again, I swear, I didn’t get it but I do now, I really do, I was thinking about it this whole time and I’m sorry—”

You use as much of your strength as you can to push forward into him and seal him in another kiss. You tilt your head just enough to angle it right, and his returning kiss is desperate, biting into you. His jaw is loose, his kiss turning sloppy when he makes a broken noise into your mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Adrian whispers to you. “I didn’t get it. I didn’t— But I do now.”

You’re just trying to breathe, to process this. It feels like you’re dreaming, but this is more than a dream. Everything you ever wanted, and, somehow, it’s reality.

“You fucker,” you rasp. “You were trying to surprise me?”

It’s so fucking stupid. It’s so fucking Adrian. Your chest swells; you can barely fucking breathe, right now, looking at him like this.

His face is splotched pink as he explains in a rush, “I wanted to propose and I told Chris that and he told me that I should do some fucking research before just doing that so I found this book, right, and it said to plan the perfect proposal, and I kept trying and it kept getting fucked up and I couldn’t do it, and then you thought I was leaving and I would— I would never leave,” he tells you, firm, hard, loving, determined. “I would never leave. I felt like I was going fucking crazy without you, thinking that— Thinking you were thinking I don’t love you, that I would leave, because I would never. And that stupid fight, God, I am so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have— I should’ve told you right then and there, but I was still trying, and I shouldn’t have been. I should’ve told you right there that I— I love you. That I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, and I want to marry you, and if you hate me because this happened to you because of me, I get it, I do, and I love you, and I’d— You can do anything you want, anything. But I love you. I love you,” he tells you, eyes burning, just like yours are. “It’s more important I have you than do this perfectly. I was so scared I’d never get to do this at all.”

“Adrian,” you breathe. There are tears on his face, which— You almost never see that. They smear hot on your cheeks when he presses into you, kissing you again, his face a crumpled scrunch as he kisses you with ferocity, determined to keep you.

He separates from you and offers you the ring again. “I’d get if you said no, but—”

“Yes,” you tell him, throat rasping. “I— Yeah. Adrian, yes, please, yes—”

Adrian slides in for another kiss, slotting together perfectly with you. His lips part, and he sighs, then smiles, dragging to kiss you in the space right under your eye. His hands slip to your arm, your wrist, your hand, your fingers, and he slides the ring on, not letting you separate from him.

“It’ll be okay,” Adrian promises you. “I love you.”

In the next days, you’ll tell Adrian everything that happened to you while you were there. He’ll hold you when you tell him about every pain you endured, when he asks about every injury he finds. When your tears burn hot and overflow again, he kisses each mark on your skin, doesn’t release you until you can breathe again.

In return, he tells you what happened in your absence. He tells you about opening the door and finding you being taken, about fighting to take you back only to see you taken into a van and driven away while he was waiting. He’d tried to run after you, but someone had tried to shoot him, and he tells you how he detoured, half-conscious, to find Chris and regroup. He tells you about days spent searching for you with the rest of the team, countless hours spent. He tells you about the people he killed with satisfaction, relishing that their loss has led to your return. The rest of the 11th Street Kids will fill in the gaps, and they’ll take turns sitting with you, and they’ll tell you all, in their own special ways, just how much you matter to them, even if it’s not in so many words.

Leota will thank you, and kiss your cheek, and read quietly with you when you’re too exhausted to speak. John plays games with you until you’re laughing with hysteria, having too much fun to think about the pain. Emilia puts the television on and only talks occasionally, though she holds your hand most of the time. Chris brings music, and rags on you most of the time, and you can’t help smiling at him. Adrian never leaves, refusing to move from your side, often correcting their stories and recounting his side of things instead.

He tells you then, too, about finding you in that place, and you tell him about finding him in return, and you know it’s going to be okay. You know, now, that he’s not going anywhere, that you’re not going anywhere. When he kisses the scar that winds around your throat, you remember not a fleeting moment of dread and doubt, but the overwhelming, consuming heat of his love instead, saving you in all ways, allowing you to save him in return.

“I love you,” he says all the time, now, just to make sure you hear it. It’s the first and last thing he says every time he sees you, even if he’s just leaving the room and reentering. He wants to make sure you know, that you never think otherwise.

“I love you,” you tell him all the time, now, just to be sure he knows. It’s the first and last thing you say every time you see him, even if you’re just going to sleep and waking up again. You want to make sure he knows, that you never think otherwise.

“I love you,” he says, and “I love you,” you always reply, because there is nothing more important than knowing and acknowledging and feeling that, as often as you can, as fiercely as you can.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25

[vquacki]

It's My Fatherly Duties!

It's My Fatherly Duties!

Short DAD Scenarios 

Characters: BONTEN - Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Sanzu Haruchiyo

~ Inui Seishu, Kokonoi Hajime, Izana Kurokawa, 

~ Souya Kawata (Angry), Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Warning ⚠︎︎ : Mature content, cussing, MINORS DNI

Note : requested, I added some characters. Hope ya don’t mind! These are pretty short, just little things I put together. Word barf kinda..? Anyways- I hope you enjoy :))

R I N D O U 

His lashes fluttered open when he heard a loud crash coming from the hallway, along with a string of cuss words sounding like his daughter's voice. 

“What the hell was that?” You groaned, not a single word was uttered from your husband when he sprung out of bed, bolting to the bedroom down the corridor.

“Tohru?!” Rindou yelled, flinging open the door. Revealing your teenage daughter fully dressed, half way through her second story window. A facade of pillows under her blanket seeminging meant to be her ‘sleeping body’.

“Oh dad, I-”

“What the hell are you doing” The man was fuming by the ears, pajamas ruffled when he jolted out of his slumber. 

“Is Tohru okay?” You peeked from behind the broad shouldered man. 

“I was just going to get fresh air!” Your daughter lied, making up a somewhat excuse to appease her angered father. 

“Hey Tohru! Hurry up and get down here!” You heard a boy's voice call out, looking over at Rindou’s face to see the man's darkened expression.

“Who the fuck is down there? Is that a boy?!” He growled, stomping his feet over to the glass. Pushing past his daughter to take a look. 

“Oh shit- her dads here. Let’s book it!” The kids whispered, but loud enough for Rindou to make out, hastily running down the dark street. 

“You little shits! Don't you dare come back here!” Rindou growled, slamming the window shut in the process. 

“What! Dad!” Tohru whined, 

“You're so grounded young lady!” Rindou shouted, not caring for the sleeping neighbors beside his shared condo at three in the morning. 

“Rin, she was just having some fun!” You defended, you were also like her when you were her age, trouble makers run in your blood. Actually Rindou couldn't even talk- he was running roppongi at her age.  

“No! She's just too young to be hanging out with boys!” Rindou’s brows joined together as he withered in front of you. 

“But we dated when we were her age-” You deadpanned at him, 

“Grounded! My final answer!” 

R A N  

Ran was coming home from a late night bonten meeting, mouth agape when he saw his daughter’s feet dangling out from her window. 

Fearing the worst he sprinted to the ground below his child, hands outstretched to catch her if she were to misstep. 

“Mitsuri!” His voice boomed,

“Eh? Dad?!” His daughter stuttered, slowly slid out the window, climbing down like she had done this many times prior to this awkward occurrence. 

Toes easily touching the grass with ease, not a scratch upon the females porcelain skin. 

“Ran?” You yawned, cracking the door ajar. It was late, you waking up to your husband's screams outside your house. 

“Mitsuri, what are you doing climbing out your window like a maniac?!” Ran scowled, hands running through his messed up hair. Sweat dripping down his temple from the not so pleasant adrenaline rush. 

“I was just gonna hang out with some friends..” your daughter answered, fingers gripping the edge of her shirt, scarily waiting for her dad’s reaction. 

“At this time of night? .. out your window?”

“Ye-”

“Phone privileges. Give me it.” Ran demanded, palm stretched out. 

“But-” no question she was a tad bit spoiled by her father. You being the bad cop, while your husband played the good cop for his beloved daughter. 

“If you want to go anywhere all you got to do is ask!” Ran plucked the phone from his daughter's hand, a wave of relief washing over him. Secretly thanking whatever being watching over him that it wasn't some sort of gang related subject. 

“This is what you get for spoiling her!” You laughed from the sidelines, hand clutching your stomach.

“This is your fault too ya know!” Ran argued. 

“I’m the one who tries to discipline her! But someone always lets it go!” You emphasized the special somebody. 

“Whatever” Ran sighed, This was a lesson for the usual carefree man, a special lesson he wouldn't forget in the many years to come with his unborn future children. 

S A N Z U 

It was Sanzu’s best day of his life when his daughters were born, the two only being about one year apart. They were spoiled to the core, anything they wanted their money liberl father blessed them with. He thought they were the sweetest things ever, them both being a daddy's girl after all. 

He never would have expected to see both of his daughters outside his humble abode, standing beside two boys, most likely a double date. 

He stared in shock, hands pressed firmly against the glass, teeth gritting. 

“Huh? I tucked them into bed an hour ago” You rubbed your eyes, riding yourself of the sleepiness threatening to drown you. The pink haired only tutted his teeth, swifty twisting the door knob to confront the four children outside. 

“Oh you better run” your oldest daughter whispered, gesturing for the boys to make haste from her deadly father. 

“You better not come back here, unless you want trouble you fuckers!” Sanzu yelled, red in the eyes from anger. Not bothering to chase after the two scoundrels. 

“Dad, mom! What are you guys doing awake?” Your youngest asked, sheer panic in her eyes, watching her insane fathers unpleasant smile. 

“I swear you two will be the death of me” Sanzu uttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. A irked gleen in his orbs as he stared them down. 

“They were just friends dad, stop overreacting” the older daughter said, 

“I- You little shi-” He bit his lip to suppress his anger fueled words, knowing well it would definitely hurt his precious children's feelings. Having regretted it later if he were to say those sinful words. 

“Now now Sanzu, let's head to bed” You wrapped your arms around your lover, dragging him inside the house. 

“You can sort out their punishment tomorrow, after a good night's sleep” , coating him with reassuring words. That day he learned how misjudged he was of his children, even so he still loved them with all his heart.

I Z A N A 

Izana had his feet kicked up, relaxing in his office while he watched the moon. He had a clear view, the street lamps positioned next to the sidewalk, the side of his beautiful house facing his office window. He was enjoying his free time, mind taking over his body while he thought about his life choices. He was in ease until he saw his son's window light up, a long string of rope being tossed out the opening. 

Sitting up from his chair, he rushed over to his clear casement. Throwing his window open, a boy and girl standing beneath his son's window. The two holding the rope still as your child tried to slid down. 

“My my Yuki, where are you off to?” Izana laughed, nerves finally relaxing when he figured out what was going on. Calmly settling into the frame, head leaning on his chin. It wasn't like he had the right to be upset, he did much worse when he was his son's age. Robbing, fighting, killing. You name it, Izana’s done it. 

Sneaking out was nothing compared to what he did, but he wasn't gonna just let his son go. He was more wise now, he knew for a fact he didn't want his son to end up anything like him. Sure, he wanted the boy to have fun, but in a normal kid way. 

“Dad! Um- I”

“You better get your arse back up that window before I drag you around with that rope” Izana smiled, Totally different from the sentence he was portraying. Not forgetting his manners, giving a nonchalant wave to the other two kids. 

“Zana? Who are you talking to?” You asked, placing a cup of tea you had prepared for Izana on his desk. 

“Oh no one doll” Izana answered, closing the window before walking over to you. 

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He proposed, trailing his hands around your shoulders, guiding you to the door.

“But the tea I made”

“Im tired~” 

Overall the male wouldn't want to talk further about the situation, nor would he discuss it with you. Trivial matters held no place between you both, as long as the child did not dare do it again. 

I N U I 

Inui wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, the AC wasnt working at the motor shop. Him, draken and yourself were sweating bullets, the hot material around you not helping. You had decided to help the pair around the shop, cleaning what you could. Or helping with cashing every customer out, it would've been an easy task if it wasn't blazing hot. 

Leaving your daughter home alone, obviously thinking she’d stay and do her teenage things. You couldn't be more mistaken, astounded as you watched her fiddle around with a boy across the street at the ice cream parlor. 

“Y/N please don't tell me that Kagura..” Inui’s jaw dropped, the wrench that was once in his clasp dropping to the ground. Startling the concentrating Draken that was crouched over a motorbike. 

“What's wrong Inui? Y/N” Draken twisted his body around, raising a brow when you two just started muttering to each other like two creeps. 

“Is that... a boy” Inui held his chin between his fingers, squinting to get a better view of his kid. 

“You trying to catch flies with your mouth Inui? Close your yap” You whispered, 

“Y/N! She's too young, I feel like I just held her in my arms not too long ago. She can't get married just yet!” Inui argued, he would've been on the verge of tears if he didn't have a reputation to uphold. 

“What? The fuck are you on Inui? She's probably just with a friend!” You patted his back, reassuring the man. 

“Boys and girls can be friends ya’know” you added.

Cueing the two children across the road from you, feeding scoops of ice cream to each other.

“I don't think friends do that..” Inui looked over at you, eyes widening when you swung the motor shop’s door open. Hands coming around your mouth to amplify your words,

“Kagura, is that your boyfriend?” 

“WHAT?” Inui almost fainted, the ledge behind him holding his wobbly frame up right. 

“I didn't know you guys would be here!” Your daughter jogged across the street, leaving the boy sitting by himself. 

“And no! Just a friend” She answered your embarrassing, blushing as she stared down at the ground.,

“I sense some lies” you wiggled playfully at the flustered girl. 

“What! Anyways, Sorry I left the house without telling you” Kagura apologized, 

“Just don't do it again, without my permission..” Inui stated, 

“Especially not with a boy.”

K O K O N O I

Bribing people is his forte, and if they did not obliged? Threatening always did the trick. 

And that's exactly what he did when he saw his descendant out with a male. All was dandy until the boy came running back, babbling about how his girl was the so called ‘love of his life’.

“Hey brat, you got a death wish?” Kokonoi asked, leaning against the door frame. 

“Koko go easy on him, he’s just a kid” You nudged the man, a mischievous grin plastered on the males face. 

“And I kinda think it's cute” You said, a small smile erupting from your daughter that was not so far behind her parents. 

“I approve, kid! I like your romantic drive!” You clapped, 

“Y/N!” Kokonoi pouted, 

“You better not try to bribe him with money again” You threatened, waving a finger at the whiny man. 

“Yeah! I like him too, dad!” Your daughter agreed. 

“You're like twelve, go play chess or something” Kokonoi barked, crossing his arms in disapproval. 

“Dad, I'm sixteen!” 

“That's what I said” 

S O U Y A 

He almost had a panic attack at the sight, having to shield the man from the scene playing out. Your twin daughter saying their goodbyes to their dates, followed by a kiss. You removed your hand when the boys were no longer in view, riding off in their motorcycles. 

“Shira, Nihra” You held Souya up by the shoulder, the light headed male limping towards the worried kids.

“What's wrong with dad?” Nihra questioned, eyeing her ghostly pale father. 

“He's out of it” You giggled, 

“I'm not crazy am i?” He stood tall, letting go of the arm you had draped around him. 

“There was boys-” His voice cracked. 

“You saw that dad?” Shira sweat dropped, watching as her fathers should leave his body. 

“Next time ask before you go out” You smiled, you weren't too strict on the two. They were Souya’s children, earning most of their adorable traits from him. Even his fighting skills. 

“This better not happen again, i'm trusting you” Souya grumbled.

“Sorry pops” The two girls remorsefully sollied the man, both hooking onto one of Souya’s arms as they helped his shell into the house. 

N A H O Y A 

Nahoya was beyond pissed, infamous smile widening. Taking fast steps towards your daughter and her significant other. 

“Look boy, I don't know who you are. But my daughters not up for grabs” Nahoya grinned, cracking his fingers. 

“O-okay sir” the boy was jittering, body trembling from the males intense arua. 

“If I catch ya here again” he used his finger to slash his neck, motioning to the death that would happily greet the boy if they were to ever meet again.

“Yer dead meat kiddo”  Nahoya laughed, watching as the boy ran for his life. 

“Dad, that was really extra!” Your daughter sneered, a pout on her lips. 

“Shut up!, you're grounded rat!” Nahoya shouted. 

“Yeah Nahoya, there was no need to threaten the poor kid. He looked like he was gonna piss himself.” 

“Exactly the effect i wanted”

End Note : as I said this was a word barf T-T, so it’s quite short.

Reblogs & Notes are always appreciated! Take care! ♡︎♡︎

[wnderkoo]

summary: what happens when the man who broke your heart is your only option as a date to your sister's wedding? pairing: jungkook x original character genre: second chances au | fluff, angst, smut tags/warnings: angst?, post breakup awkwardness, oc is relatable tbh, some random telenovela i came up with from the top of my head, one bed trope cus im a whore for that (fight me i dare you) they’re still obviously in love ugh.

chapter one. | series masterlist

"There has to be someone else! Mami please." I've spent what seems like three hours having a one sided conversation with my mother on the phone and I'm close to my breaking my point. I know her english isn't very good, but it's just unbelievable how she can't understand what the words 'I. Am. Not. Going. To. The. Wedding. With. Him' mean. "But mija, all your tias and tios miss him!" She exclaims over the phone. "And I know you miss him too!" Her voice is over-bearingly whiny because I know how much she misses him too.

But I don't want to face him- I don't really know if I can.

My mother seems to notice my silence on her end of the line and sighs. "Please, just think about it mija. I think it will be good for the two of you." Her voice has gone softer, almost comforting, and I nod before realising she can't see me. "Okay mami, I'll talk to you later." I say, and hang up. I'm not sure what she means by that, since there is no us anymore.

The two of us had dated back in high-school- from the ninth grade until a few months after we graduated. We were, dare I say it, genuinely in love, and now I can't go to a single family gathering where my tias won't ask where he is or how he's doing. He's so friendly and loveable it makes me barf. We were perfect together, and I don't know what happened. All I know is that the day he told me we needed to talk was the day I stopped believing in love. If we were so perfect, why did it end? The next thing I knew, he had moved across the country.

The quiet of my apartment prompts me to sigh and run a hand through my hair. That exhausting phone call had opened all the floodgates and now, every memory from those two years together pooled in my mind. And as my eyes scan across my apartment, I see him. I see him on the couch, with me wrapped in his arms as we watch a movie- one that I know will make me sad, but I choose anyway just so he can comfort me and kiss my tears away. I see him across the room, in my kitchen, frying eggs as I sit on the island in one of his tee-shirts. I see him on my balcony, dancing with me in the rain because we're sappy like that, his bright smile shining even through the gloomy backdrop of grey skies and angry clouds.

And just like that, I'm missing him. I don't think I've ever stopped missing him, even in the relationships I've had after him. It sounds like a douche-bag thing to say, but no one has ever loved me the way he did, and I have never loved anyone the way I loved him. If I still believed in soulmates- he would be mine.

I wrack my brain trying to see where it all went wrong, coming up empty. To anyone on the outside, we were on a steadfast track to marriage and kids. But one day, maybe he just changed his mind. I remember how clammy my hands were as I stood in the elevator of his apartment, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked down his doorway. The four seconds after I knocked that it took him to open the door felt like hours, and the crestfallen expression on his face when he finally did open the door told me everything I needed to know.

It's bittersweet to think about how he held me as I cried. His arms were around me, holding me to his chest as if he hadn't just dumped me and thrown my heart on the ground to bleed out. Maybe dumped is too strong of a word. See, as heartbroken as I was, the breakup couldn't have gone any smoother. There were tears, a lot of them, and not just from me. I'm not sure why exactly he was crying- I was the one getting broken up with. But nothing was thrown and no cheeks were slapped, we merely held onto each other until we couldn't and I pulled away and weakly mumbled 'I should go now.' I'll never forget the way my heart split in two when he kissed me on my tear stained cheeks and whispered the words 'get home safe.'

It took me four days to stop crying at every little thing that reminded me of him, songs we listened to, movies we watched, things he'd say. From the nights I had spent stalking his social media I know that he's doing well, and as much as I wish he was miserable- I'm happy that he is. He seems to be okay after the break up, so I'm okay too.

I catch myself before the tears can start to roll down my face, deciding that tonight is not the night to be weeping. To distract myself, I decide to cook dinner. There's barely enough in my kitchen to make an almost plate of mac and cheese, but I seem to manage.

It's halfway through my movie marathon on the couch, when my phone rings. I fish it out from under the blanket and a number I don't recognise sits at the top of the screen. I hesitate before pressing accept and bringing it to my ear.

"Hello?" I ask, chewing on a piece of macaroni that was stuck in my mouth.

⠀

"Lina."

⠀

That voice. Deep and rich like honey, it echoes in my head and my heartbeat immediately picks up just from that one word alone. Shivers run through me and my body goes rigid. I could never forget his voice, no matter how hard I tried. When I don't reply, the voice speaks again.

⠀

"Lina? Are you there?"

⠀

"Yes." I immediately wince at the squeak in my voice and awkwardly clear my throat, willing myself to pull it together as I wait for his reply.

⠀

"Can we talk?" ⠀

⠀

The fancy sign plastered above the restaurant's entrance stares down at me, taunting me to go in as if it knew exactly who was waiting inside. 

Before I can convince myself to go home and that this was a terrible idea, I adjust my shirt for the third time and push open the door. I meet his eyes from across the dimly lit room and I almost turn around and bolt out the door. I don't know why I thought I could do this. See him, talk to him. But the second I see him sitting there, hair slightly messy from running a hand through it one too many times (a habit I know him to do when he gets nervous), I instantly freeze.

Jeon Jungkook still looks good as ever. His hair is longer and he looks like he has his life together. Good for him. Even dressed in a simple black shirt, he out dresses every man in the room. It almost pisses me off.

I didn’t know he was in town until he had called earlier and asked to talk over dinner. Was it petty of me to be upset that he didn’t message to let me know? Probably. 

I take a breath and walk towards his table. The restaurant is classy, but cheap enough that I wouldn't think of this as a date, not that I would anyway. "Hi." I say just as he stands. He's gotten taller. "Hey." He says with a smile. God, I almost melted on the spot. I missed that smile. I see him deciding whether or not to pull my chair out so I beat him to it, pulling it out myself. "You look good." He says as we take our seats. "Thank you." I reply, only letting a fraction of a smile show.

I'm not sure how i'm supposed to feel right now. I haven't seen this man in almost year, and the last time I did, he kind of really broke my heart.

When the waiter approaches our table, Jungkook orders for the both of us, knowing exactly what I like without asking. It's bittersweet, but even still, it makes a part of me feel warm.

When he had called earlier that afternoon, it was to ask if we could talk. I'm not sure wether he was referring to the wedding or wether he wanted to see how I was doing, although I'm pretty sure it was the former. I wasn't sure how long he'd been in town, or how long he was planning to stay, and maybe I didn't want to know.

"So, how have you been?" Jungkook asks after swallowing a sip of his water. Here it is, the awkward small talk that masks what we're both too scared to say. "As good as someone can be after the love of their life breaks their heart." I joke, feeling bad when Jungkook's face falls. "I'm kidding." I add quickly. 

The table goes silent.

"Anyway.." I cough awkwardly, reaching to take a sip of your own water. Please kill me now. "what about you?" I ask."Yeah, it's been good." Is his simple reply. Silence falls over the table again and I wish the ground would just open up and swallow me whole. It was never this hard to talk to him.

"So.." Jungkook begins. "Vera's getting married huh?" He says, almost in disbelief. My lips turn up at the corners, anyone who knew my sister knew exactly how much she could be at times. It was a wonder how she managed to find someone who could put up with her long enough to marry her. "Yeah," I smile. "Tae's a great guy."

Taehyung and Jungkook had met a couple of times. They were both family favourites at every gathering. My tias loved them because they were tall and handsome and never turned down one of their home cooked meals. My tios loved them because they were beasts at soccer, always fighting over who was on who's team at family matches.

"Tia Cora called me the other day.." My eyes immediately widen. I didn't even know my mother had Jungkook's number. "She said that I'm your date to the wedding now?" I close my eyes and exhale bluntly through my nose. I really needed to have a word with that meddling mother of mine.

"It's not official." I clarify. "It's just my original date is.. unavailable now," I internally cringe at how pathetic I sound. "And you might already have a date, I don't really know since we don't exactly talk, but if I can't find another date before the wedding, and if you're free, then I would probably need to go with you. I have no problem going alone, but I'm the maid of honor, so I kind of need a date-"

I stop, realising that I'm rambling and that Jungkook is staring at me, with a look of fondness? "I'll be your date." He says simply. I'm about to protest when he speaks again. "It'll save you having to look for someone else." He watches me as I think it over in my head, it would save me the dignity. And as pathetic as it sounds, I'd rather dance with Jungkook than anyone else.

"Okay then." I smile.

Our food comes and we waste no time digging in. We eat in silence, and this time it's a comfortable silence. The two of us take turns sneaking glances at each other and to any onlooker, it looks like your typical awkward first date- if only they knew.

I don't question why Jungkook and I couldn't have just talked on the phone and saved me the heartache of seeing him sit right in front of me yet be a world's reach away. But just for tonight, I'll let myself laugh loosely at his jokes and smile at his dorky face, no matter how much my heart pounds in my chest telling me how much I miss him.

We split the bill, because this is not a date. And afterwards we stand outside the restaurant in a bubble of awkwardness. It seems neither of us had thought it through up to this point. Do we hug goodbye? kiss? shake hands?

"Do you want a ride to the airport?" Jungkook asks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Since my mother had booked my ticket, I'm guessing she also booked Jungkook's. "Oh.. if it isn't any trouble," I say timidly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear that had been moved by the night breeze. I come to the realisation that I no longer know how to talk to him anymore, internally cringing at how I sound like a lame victorian duchess. "No trouble at all," Jungkook smiles, rocking backwards on the heels of his feet.

Silence passes and his eyes linger on me for one beat and then two. "You should head home before it gets late," Jungkook says, and I lift my gaze to meet his. I see him debating something in his head, but he doesn't seem to go through with it. "Goodnight Lina."

⠀

"Goodnight Jungkook."

⠀

Neither one of us makes a move to leave, eyes still on the other. Jungkook's stare seems to say a million words that he can't and maybe if things were different, I could ask him what they are and we would talk like we used to. It's only when he smiles tentatively, reaching forward and straightening my coat around my shoulders, that I finally turn around and walk to my car. When I turn around, he's still in the same spot, waiting until I'm in my car before he even moves a muscle.

I sit in the driver's seat of my car, smiling at him from behind the windshield, feeling all kinds of emotions. He waves before turning and walking the opposite way. As I stare at his retreating back, I curse the universe for not giving us our happy ending.  ⠀

⠀

It's 9am and my apartment looks like the aftermath of a tornado. Clothes thrown haphazardly over my bed spill onto the floor, makeup products a mess on my bathroom counter as I hurry to pack my suitcase in time to make it to the airport before our flight leaves.

My lack of organisation wasn’t entirely my fault though, I had thought I had another day to pack, but turns out that our flight was scheduled a day earlier than what I had read in my flight information email. Staying up until 4am watching Disney movies was entirely my fault though, and this exact moment is when I realise that my actions may in fact have consequences. After zipping up my suitcase and making sure I look decent enough, I hurriedly haul myself and my suitcase down to where Jungkook waits on the street in his shiny white car.

It was the same one I’d ridden in so many times, the both of us singing along to whatever music played on the radio. It was the car he picked me up in for all of our dates, and the car he drove me home with. The same car where we’d f-

Slamming the boot shut, I decide that my mess of an apartment will have to wait till after we get back from the wedding. I throw myself down into the passenger seat dramatically. "Good morning?" Jungkook says hesitantly when I sigh and slouch into the seat. "Morning." I reply, eyes closed as I rub my temples. I'm thankful when Jungkook doesn't question me and starts the car, leading us straight to the airport.

I'm thankful again when Jungkook does all the talking at check-in, loading our suitcases onto the conveyor belt before leading us to our gate. We stop at a cafe and I immediately slump into a seat, forehead meeting the wooden table with a thump. I barely register Jungkook's retreating footsteps until 5 minutes of silence go by before I hear him sliding into the seat in front of me and set something down on the table.

I lift my head and see two cups of coffee. I grumble a thank you when he slides one forward, sitting up and taking a sip. My eyes go wide when I taste the sweet liquid on my tongue. "You remember my order?" My heart swells when Jungkook nods. It may only be an iced latte with extra caramel and honey, but he still remembered. That fact alone makes my insides warm and fuzzy. "Thank you," I say, trying my best to give him a smile. It's the least I can do for being such a mess. "And I'm sorry I've been so grumpy this morning- I'm starting to regret that movie marathon." Jungkook chuckles and with it my world shakes from side to side. "Don't worry about it, you can sleep it off on the plane." He smiles.

As we wait for our flight to board, Jungkook and I engage in light conversation while we sit and watch planes take off and land. My head finds itself on his shoulder but neither of us acknowledge it, his shoulder is comfortable and warm against my cheek. I glance around the airport, people-watching. I wonder about each person who passes by, where they're headed and what their story is. I wonder what people think when they look at me and Jungkook, and what they think our story is. I wonder too. We're friends now I think, but is that how our story goes?

When our flight is called to board and the chaos of people lining up has my nerves tensing, Jungkook leads me with a hand on my lower back towards the tunnel. He takes our passports out of the front pocket of his backpack and hands them to the flight attendant, who rips our boarding pass before handing them back to Jungkook and wishing us a safe flight.

On the plane, we make our way through the narrow hallway towards row J. Jungkook lets me in first, letting me have the window seat although I know for a fact that it was assigned as his. I guess he remembers how much I love looking out the window during takeoff. When the captain comes over the PA system, everyone settles into their seats and the flight attendants begin with the safety briefing.

I barely listen, playing with bracelets that decorate Jungkook's wrist, a habit I formed back when we had dated. I draw my hand back instantly when I realise what I'm doing and lift my head, pretending to watch the briefing. I miss the way Jungkook's mouth turns into a small frown at the disappearance of my touch.

Once we're up in the sky and the seatbelt sign turns off, I stare out the window and watch the city fade into the clouds. When there's nothing left but blue and white, I sit back and yawn, propping my head up onto the arm rest with my elbow. It's uncomfortable but I'm on the edge of falling asleep, so my neck problems will have to wait. My eyebrows furrow when I feel Jungkook hold my head up, the sound of the armrest coming up between us confuses me even more, but when he lowers my head onto his shoulder I realise he was just trying to make me comfortable. I'm too far into sleep to retaliate by saying this can't possibly be comfortable for him, but he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I love the warmth of his body, and im too far gone to care that we're way too close right now. But his arm holding me to him is comforting, and I let his thumb rubbing circles on my waist send me over the precipice of sleep.

The next time I'm awake is when we're just about to land, when Jungkook squeezes my side gently to ease me awake. I lift my head from his shoulder in a haze, wondering why my ears feel so blocked before remembering that I'm on a plane. The sun has set and the clouds are grey against the night sky. "Sleep well?" Jungkook asks tentatively. I turn to him and nod, rubbing my eyes. They widen in horror at the small puddle of drool left on Jungkook's shoulder. My eyes narrow at him when he only laughs at my mortified expression, waving it off by saying he'll change at the airport when we land. "Thank you for letting me sleep on you," I say bashfully, still embarrassed by the drool situation. "Did you get any sleep?" I immediately feel guilty when Jungkook shakes his head. "I got a lot of sleep last night. I didn't mind." I realise how much I missed how caring this man is, and it makes a pool of dread settle in the pit of my stomach.

I stare out the window as the plane touches down on the tarmac runway, tracing the colourful lights as we slowly glide towards the terminals. When I turn my phone on, It's almost 10 o'clock at night, I really slept for 12 hours? The plane comes to a full stop, and the seatbelt sign turns off just as the captain comes over the PA system, welcoming us to Amalfi, Italy.

Jungkook and I walk through the tunnel towards the airport, and I wait outside the bathrooms as he changes his shirt. I don't think I'll ever be able to live that down. When Jungkook comes out, his navy blue tee has been swapped with a white one. He gives me a smile before leading us towards baggage claim. I let him haul both of our suitcases onto a trolley, and I follow slightly behind him as he pushes it outside to the taxi bays.

Jungkook waves down a taxi and loads the suitcases into the boot before I can even help. He motions me into the backseat, before closing my door and getting into the passenger seat. As Jungkook makes casual conversation with the driver, I stare out the window, watching the bustling nightlife as it spills onto the streets. Everywhere I look there's culture and a warm, inviting atmosphere.

We pull up outside a nice looking hotel and thank the driver before getting out. I childishly run to the boot to grab our suitcases, pulling a face at Jungkook who merely laughs. The taxi takes off and I turn around and survey our surroundings, the hotel is right in the middle of a town centre with night markets and restaurants scattered throughout my peripheral vision alone. I'm too busy admiring to realise that Jungkook has taken our suitcases and is walking up the stairs to the hotel.

"Not fair!" I yell from where I stand on the street. I run to catch up with him, almost tripping on the stairs, just as he reaches the front desk. Jungkook ignores me as I stand next to him with my arms crossed, eyes boring holes into the side of his head as he talks to the lady at reception. "Enjoy your stay," She smiles before handing Jungkook two keycards and giving me a slightly worried look.

When he finally turns to me, Jungkook nods to my suitcase as if to say 'go on' and I grab it and saunter off towards the elevators with a flip of my hair over my shoulders. I roll my eyes when I hear his chuckle behind me, We get off on the third floor and Jungkook leads us down the hallway to our room. I stop dead in my tracks when I realise that my mother never mentioned whether she booked two rooms or one when I talked to her last. As I walk to catch up with Jungkook, I pray that there's at least two beds in the room. Knowing my mother, I'm sure she thought it'd be completely fine to make us share a bed, not knowing exactly how mortified I would be if that happened.

Jungkook opens the door to our room with his keycard and lets me walk in first. I hesitantly make my way inside, noting that the room is fairly nice, with a decent sized bathroom and a mini kitchen along the other wall. When I reach the heart of the room my face falls. "What's wrong?" Jungkook asks, walking in behind me. "There's only one bed." I mumble. It's a kind sized bed, but even that isn't enough room between the two of us for me to be able to sleep comfortably.

"I'm gonna go down and ask if there are any other rooms available." I say awkwardly. Jungkook holds out a keycard and I take it and practically run out the door.

After ten minutes of begging the poor lady at reception if there are any other rooms, and her explaining how they're fully booked out for the next few days, I'm on the edge of crying. I thank her for her time and apologise for being difficult before walking outside and calling my mother. I ask her what in the universe would make her possibly think I'd want to share a bed with Jungkook and she merely laughs and half asses an apology. I tell her that I'm tired and that I'll see her soon before hanging up and running a hand through my hair.

The air is warm and humid, yet everything feels lively around me. The streetlights cast a golden glow on everything they touch and, across the street, a band plays music outside a cafe while people talk and children dance. I stay out here, sitting on the top stair of the hotel, just admiring my surroundings before I eventually get up and head back inside.

"Lina?" Jungkook calls from somewhere in the room as I shut the door behind me. "I was starting to get worried," I hear him chuckle. I take my shoes off and throw them down in the hallway before plodding into the room. My face morphs into confusion when I see where Jungkook has made himself at home on the chaise lounge chair by the window. "What are you doing?" I ask, a hand on my hip.

"You can take the bed," He says and I immediately shut that down with a forceful no. "You take it." I say. "It's only fair since you let me sleep on the plane." Jungkook opens his mouth, probably to object, but I cut him off. "And you're too big for the couch, Jungkook. Look at you- you're literally about to fall off." He can't argue with that, body already halfway off the couch. "Well then I'll sleep on the floor." He shrugs, making me sigh. I can't let him do that, he already sacrificed 12 hours to make sure I slept comfortably on the plane, any more and people would call me a sadist.

"Get up," I say. "We'll sleep on the bed, just um.. put some pillows between us." It seems logical, we're both adults- we should be able to sleep in the same bed together. But I know that somehow I'll manage to wake up tangled in him. My body simply can't stay away.

"Okay," Jungkook says, sitting up. I hold back an 'I told you so' when he groans in relief and stretches his back. "Do you wanna order room service for dinner?" He asks, sitting down on the bed. I saw a nice restaurant down on the street, but we had a whole week in Italy, and tonight had been more stressful then I intended, so room service it was. "Yeah, I'm gonna take a shower though, so just order what you think I'll like." He nods and I grab fresh clothes from my suitcase and walk into the bathroom.

10 minutes later, I walk out with a towel around my head, dressed in a cream spaghetti top and sweatpants. The smell of lasagna and steak lingers in the air when I step out, and my stomach makes an involuntary noise. Jungkook stands to take his own shower, and I sit back against the headboard, switching through channels on TV as I wait for him.

He comes out in less time than I did, now in a black tee and pyjama shorts. His hair is messy and wet and I get the sudden urge to run my hand through it. I cough to cover up the fact that I'm checking him out, averting my eyes elsewhere. "You didn't have to wait for me, you know." Jungkook says, sitting down on the other side of the bed. "I didn't mind." I say, handing him his plate of lasagna.

We eat, watching the random Italian telenovela playing on the TV that I’ve become engrossed in. Lucia has just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend, Alessandro, who tells her that he is doing this for her. He cups her cheek with his hand, "Amor, I love you more than anything in this world, and if it means seeing you thrive in the arms of another, then I will let you go. You deserve more than I can give you, and I will cherish every moment we had together for the rest of my life." She screams and cries, begging him not to leave her, but he does, with teary eyes, whispering, "I will always love you." I don't realise how deep my frown is until I turn and see Jungkook's worried expression. "Sorry," I stifle a laugh. "Poor Lucia, they were so perfect together." Jungkook hums in agreement at my statement before going quiet again. I don't question it, far too invested in Lucia and Alessandro's love story. By the end of the movie, Alessandro realises that Lucia is the only one for him, and runs to her, confessing his undying love before she unhappily marries someone else. They reunite in a flurry of tears and kisses, and she whispers against his lips, "I can thrive in your arms too,"

At some point we had gotten under the covers, pillow wall in between us as agreed. Jungkook had turned off the lights after brushing his teeth and the credits of the movie plunges us into almost darkness. I turn, and the white light of credits illuminates the tears in Jungkook's eyes. "That was beautiful," He says with a sniff and I grin. Jungkook reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, making the room pitch black. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to stop thinking about the movie. There's something more than just the part of me thats a sucker for romance.

"Hey Jungkook?" I ask into the darkness. After a moment of silence I realise he might be asleep, turning onto my side to follow. "Yeah?" He finally says. I didn't really have anything to say, maybe I just wanted to hear his voice. Or maybe I wanted him to ask if I was thinking the same thing as he was.

"Nothing, goodnight."

 I hear the smile in his voice, even in the dark, when he replies.

⠀

"Goodnight Lina."

⠀

this is actually from my  wattpad archives, i wrote it back in like september and thought i’d post it on tumblr for all you lovelies <3 

❀ taglist: @mwitsmejk @jxoni​

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

seeing someone else.

BISHOP LOSA. MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by @encounterthepast: Hello lovely Aurora, can I request angst prompt number 7 with Bishop please, thank you, 💕

❝ prompt: “Don’t you dare to lie to me again”.

❝ request by @arveeee: Hello my dear, so I was thinking, and there is one sentence to that can't go out of my head. So it is: "let me in" with Bishop (I know I'm boring). Well I believe in you, I love you , and I love your writing. Say hello to Arya.

❝ request by anon: Hi, Aurora. I love your writing sm 🥺 I was wondering if I could request an imagine with my man Bishop? I was thinking of something like the reader and him being in kinda like a friends with benefits situation, but she decides to break it offf because she’s really upset. And maybe Bishop doesn’t understand so she eventually explains to him that she wants more out of their relationship and he reassures her they are more and they always have been? Maybe leads to like soft/romantic smut? Thanks so much!

❝ request by @meteora-fc: hello hello! so, that new trailer huh?😵 would absolutely love if you could write me something for a stressed out bishop with the prompts "Stop ignoring me, it’s driving me crazy!" and "Let me help you make it better." Thank you tons!!💖

❝ words: about 1.4k.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

Another tequila shot goes down your throat, ripping it off as you almost smash the small glass on the table. Tossing your head back as you rest your back against the sofa, sitting on the floor, you take a look around you. The gloomy has taken over your house as the night has fallen a couple of hours ago. It's the fourth night you are trying to forget about Bishop and whatever you two had. But you can't dismiss from your mind his caresses —his fingers drawing patterns on your back, his lips touring your neck with delicate kisses as if he was afraid of breaking your skin, his mustache tickling your inner thighs, his raspy voice articulating your name in moans. It's the fourth night miserably failing, remembering the last time you spent together, the way he was holding his back pretending he wasn't sad because you were leaving him.

“Obispo, it's over. Don't make a big deal. We're just friends who occasionally fucks”. You scoffed somewhat annoyed because of him and his interrogation, but how could you tell him you were falling in love with him?

“I ain't making any deal, (Y/N). I just want to know what made you change your mind and keep a wide berth”.

“I'm seeing someone else”.

"Don't you dare to lie to me”. He growled, taking a step closer towards you with the intention of stopping you from picking up and packing the less stuff you had in his house.

“Think what you want”. You replied, rolling your eyes.

The first tear flows in the left corner of your mouth not appreciably at first, but then, some more until finding yourself crying. You miss him so much. You miss watching him sleep peacefully in the small hours, drifting slightly when you caress his cheek using your fingertips. Flexing your knees to your chest, you wrap your arms around trying to contain the loud sobs, hiding your face between them. How have you been so stupid to fall for him like that? The two of you made it clear from the very first moment. Friends with benefits. But after a couple of weeks, you started to notice that he used to push away any other woman that it wasn't you, he didn't spend much time in the clubhouse preferring to do it in your house —cuddling, watching movies, playing poker; kissing every single inch of flesh covering your anatomy.

Reality hit you the moment he murmured something like you're a miracle, thinking you were calmly sleeping between his strong arms and your back stuck to his chest, no distance among your bodies. You knew it was a thing produced by the alcohol running through your veins and it wasn't fair for you to fantasize about the idea he was catching feelings for you. So you just ran away, like a coward.

Some clumsy knocks on the front door of your house bring you back to reality. At first, you try to ignore them. It's not like you're in the mood for visits, knowing that probably it's Leti at the other side of the place, worried because you haven't replied to her text all day. But she insists and insists. And you know how stubborn she can be sometimes. Serving yourself another shot and drinking it in just one gulp, because you're too sober to endure another of her Ted talks about positivism and what he has lost, you stand up on your bare feet. Everything around you spins dizzyingly for a second until you can react, feeling every knock like a hammer hitting your brain.

“I've heard you the fi—”.

Opening the door to receive her, your vocals get frozen as you face Bishop in a deplorable drunk state. Just like you are.

“Let me in”. He barks, not being able to look at your eyes, trying to pass you away to the inside, but you stop him.

“Go home, Obis—”.

“I'm home, shut the fuck up”. He frowns taking a sip from a bottle of whisky you haven't noticed till now. “You think you can kick my fuckin' ass outta your life by saying you're seeing someone else? You think I'm fuckin' stupid, queri— Were you crying…?”

From anger, his tone of voice falls to one lower and lower, as the concern and the worry cover his annoyance completely. Throwing away his drink to somewhere over the grass of your yard, he holds your face onto his palms. His touch causes you to tremble. His warm touch causes you to break into aching sobs, panting as you can't breathe properly. All this time you've been thinking you have missed him, but you didn't have a real idea of how it feels until his fingers have been laid on your wetted skin.

Bishop comes closer to you, touching the tip of your nose with his. You can smell the mixed scent of cigarettes and whisky emanating from his cracked lips, it doesn't bother you, tho. “Don't kiss me, please”.

Until this precise moment, he has loved your begs and pleads to his bones, but now he hates them more than anything he could ever hate in his life. It breaks his heart. He can't deal with your rejection one night more.

“Why…? Why can't I kiss you?” He asks desperately at the edge of his tears. “Please, stop ignoring me, it's driving me crazy. I can't even take care of my own shit without you by my side”.

Your knees feel weak at his words, still believing he only says that because you're just a good lover, the best in the sheets, as he told you once.

“I… I…” You babble nervously, trying to not place your hands on the laps of his leather kutte to finally push him into the needed kiss you've been craving for the last four days. “I love you”.

And why the confession doesn't take him by surprise? Why doesn't he look confused? Why does it seem like he already knew it? Bishop can't help but draw a fleeting grin across his face.

“Do you think I came here, falling into pieces, just because it feels like being in Heaven when I'm deep inside you?” He whispers, clicking his tongue slightly. “I didn't believe you when you told me you were seeing someone else. But the minimal thought I could have about it made me lose the less sanity I have”.

You blink stupefied at his own confession about his feelings. Your fingers tour his abdomen up in slow motion, starting to have some faith in his words.

“Mi amor…” Bishop mumbles in soft giggles shaking his head. “I adore you, mi amor. I don't want anything else than to share my life with you, and only with you”.

He doesn't wait for a signal from you to kiss your lips, he just takes what it's his. And you can't hold back a painful gasp, expelling in it all the sorrow you've been carrying for the last four days being separated from him. Your hands grip his shirt in two fists, pushing him as much closer as the two of you can be, about to melt in the same figure. All this time you have been trying to not love him, to forget him; and you were just delaying the inevitable. You are made for each other, that's a fact. Your lips fit to perfection —your bodies, your hearts.

“Tell me you love me”. You whimper against his mouth, causing him to smile because of your need of making it real by these simple three words.

“Love isn't enough to express what you make me feel”.

Bishop bends down without prior notice to wrap his huge hands on the back of your thighs, urging you to jump onto him and surround his waist with your legs. You haven't forgotten how good his warmth takes over you when he holds you like that, walking inside your house and kicking the door close. Guiding his steps across your place and its hallways, he reaches your dark dorm barely illuminated by a post light outdoors. He lies you down on your bed —a bed that has welcomed you for the last eight months in every kind of state. Drunk, tired, happy.

Now, you're a mix of them. Drunk in tequila, tired of crying, but happy for having him back for the rest of your life.

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