#I wish I didn’t feel like I couldn’t have an accent while speaking English

[posttexasstressdisorder]

https://lefsetz.com/wordpress/2024/04/17/laquila/

Happy Birthday, Mr. Mancini...thanks for three of the biggest tunes of my younger years...and many more!

L’Aquila

We’re here for a hundredth birthday concert for Henry Mancini.

L’Aquila is somewhere between one and two hours from Rome, depending on the traffic. It’s in the Apennine mountains. (You remember them from elementary school, right? Well, I remembered they were in Italy, but I couldn’t have picked them out on a map, nor did I know they were so close to Rome.) It’s a bit over two thousand feet high and feels like it, it’s in the fifties today, and supposed to go down to almost freezing tonight. If it weren’t for the long days, I’d think winter is coming.

Actually, Hank’s birthday was yesterday. We celebrated with dinner in the hotel, in a restaurant with multiple cases of aged beef wherein you can see your dinner before it is cooked. Actually, I was the only one who had steak, from the local cow, as opposed to one from Russia, Ireland or Japan or even America, all of which were in the case. And they served this round bread that was a cross between naan and pizza and it was very good.

But speaking of the food…

I just have to testify about the bread. It’ll crack a tooth, I tell you. Which is the crusty exterior you want, which Americans won’t tolerate. That’s the way bagels used to be, now they’ve got the consistency of Wonder Bread. Furthermore, everywhere you go in America, except for a few restaurants, the bread in the basket they serve with dinner is soft, basically bland, empty calories. But at lunch today, the bread might have looked pedestrian, but the crust reminded me of my youth, back when you bought rye bread at the local bakery, when they sliced it upon order.

So the key is not only making people aware it’s Henry Mancini’s hundredth birthday, but that they consume the music.

Now if you’re my age, everybody knows Henry Mancini. But over the past week I quizzed two twentysomethings and got blank stares in response. Then I started to sing “Pink Panther” and their eyes immediately lit up. But still, it’s such a challenge crossing old acts over to younger generations, attaching the composer to the song. The family switched to Primary Wave to quarterback this centenary celebration, we’ll see how it works out.

Anyway, the conservatory in L’Aquila reached out, they were doing four concerts, would we come?

Well, here we are.

Now the head of the conservatory’s passion is prog rock, I kid you not. Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak English so well, but I did get him to say his favorite prog rock keyboard player was Rick Wakeman.

And the conductor of the program… He’s not that great with English either. But Daniela studied at the University of Chicago, she’s the conservatory’s musicologist. And she’s a fount of information. They say you learn most when you hang with the locals…that is true. Although I still wish I spoke Italian. You know, like Jackie Kennedy, that’s what we heard when JFK was president, before she was married to Onassis, when her image was at its peak, that she spoke six, or was it seven languages. You have no idea of the hope JFK’s election generated. A turning point, a young man to lead us into the sixties. We thought we had something similar with Obama but he punted, for fear of looking like the angry black man. Biden is standing up to the status quo more than Barack, then again, Biden was vice president for eight years and saw firsthand that you can’t negotiate with the unreasonable.

I had to ask Daniela about “Gomorrah.” Of course she’d seen it, and “Suburra” too (although it took a while for her to understand what show I was talking about, I didn’t have the accent right). Streaming television is now the universal language.

So after waking up we went to the Fountain of 99 Spouts. Built in the 1200s. No one knows where the water comes from, supposedly they killed the architect and buried him under the fountain to preserve the secret.

And then we went to the local museum.

Most of the art was religious, but it all made me feel insignificant. That and the Forum back in Rome. You’re born and you feel so important, believing you matter, that you’re going to put a dent in the universe. Meanwhile, almost no one achieves this. And frequently those who are remembered were overlooked during their lifetime. But you see the antiquities and you realize nothing has changed over the years. Oh, of course travel is much speedier, and health care is much better, but everybody thinks they’re important when they’re alive, that the era within which they’re living is the most significant. I don’t know, it’s weird. Museums are sanctuaries, where the trappings of regular society don’t count. How rich you are, what kind of car you drive… You leave those at the door at the museum. It’s just you and your senses. Your thoughts start to percolate. Today money triumphs, but not at the museum. It’s a great correction.

So we’ll be back in Rome, but for less than two days. The whole trip is barely a week.

And L’Aquila is not a tourist town. Although there are ski areas in the mountains, one where Pope John Paul II used to surreptitiously ski. And there is still snow on the peaks. And every car I’ve been in so far has had a stick shift. Nearly extinct in the U.S., from Skodas to Volvos, everybody’s rowing through the gears here.

And oh, on the conservatory stage, I saw this Fazioli concert grand. I figured they couldn’t afford a Steinway. But it turns out Fazioli is usually more expensive, and their concert grand is even bigger, and you learn something every day.

That’s the name of the game.

“Al Conservatorio dell’Aquila parte l’omaggio a Henry Mancini”: https://shorturl.at/houxX

[bush-viper-cutie]

New Student, New Friend

Pairing: Young Snape x french!reader

Word Count: 2,751

Request: #1 “Hi! Can I request a young!Snape x french!reader where the reader's transferred from beauxbatons and isn't fluent in english/has a thick accent? Love your work!!”

#2 “Hi hi! Love your work! Can I request Young Snape x French reader? Sorry if I dont speak well, english is not my first language <3”

Warnings: none

A/N: Hello everyone again! :D I combined both requests because they are pretty similar so enjoy!

Posted: 9/10/21

Masterlist

---

~*~*~ = time skip

(Y/n) = first name

(L/n) = last name

~*~*~

~*~*~ = POV change

---

~*~*~*~*~ *~

There was a strange static in the air this morning, one Severus couldn't quite place. He brushed his long hair back behind his ear and listened in to the hushed whispers of passing classmates.

"...Beauxbaton, can you believe it?"

"Nice to not know someone for a change - "

Beauxbaton? Severus gathered they were talking about a new teacher perhaps? Although it wasn't that odd to get new professors in the middle of the school year. Just last year the Dark Arts professor was promptly replaced when he went mad after a spell backfired on him; In fact, every year there was a new one.

It was strange that the new teacher should be a transfer from another school such as Beauxbaton... Maybe they were fired and no one else wanted them, must be down on their luck. And if that is the case, how very fitting for Hogwarts, home of inadequacy.

Severus, still deep in his bitter thoughts, almost tripped over the shoe that had extended out in front of him. He caught himself and whirled around angrily. "Watch it!" he growled, straightening.

James Potter smirked. "Oh, Snivellus. Didn't see you there.” His Gryffindor friends snickered behind him, bolstering his ego. "I'd get along to class if I were you. Wouldn't want to be late on your first day back."

Severus grit his teeth and did everything he could to not growl his displeasure of being in so close proximity to the pinnacle of mediocrity that was Potter. It had been a week after winter holidays had ended but after another nearly fatal encounter with Black, he’d been forced to stay in the Hospital Wing un-zippering his mouth and a couple of fingers before being allowed back.

The memory of the experience made his knees weak, making keeping his riled demeanor that much harder. He was lucky he'd had the foresight to cover his nose before Black unleashed his hex. It wasn’t a quick run from the lake to the nurse, and he certainly wouldn't have made it with his nostrils zippered together as well.

"Mind your own business, Potter." Severus spat out his name like rotten apples, furrowing his brows in an attempt to seem more threatening however he could not help but notice the hallways getting emptier by the second. He knew better than to get caught alone with Potter.

He laughed and turned to catch up with his friends. Severus watched him go, only relaxing his shoulders after Potter had rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. The hall was empty.

He turned and continued down the corridor when his hearing perked at the scuff of loud footsteps. He whirled around, hand plunging into his robes, but it was too late.

"Levipeds!"

Severus' head snapped back as his feet whipped out from under him. He hung limp in the air, watching his wand roll away on the stone floor. His hair nearly touched the dirty ground.

James laughed. "Welcome back, Snivellus!"

He closed his eyes as his boiling blood rushed to his head. He was hanging upside down in the air, alone in the empty corridor. He couldn't scream for help, he'd just get yelled at for disturbing lessons, and he couldn't reach his wand - as long as his limbs might be, his wand might as well have rolled down into the dungeons. He'd have to hang there until classes were over or one of the portraits decided to help him out for once.

"Eh... Excuse moi?" A quiet voice wrapped in a thick French accent broke the silence.

His eyes flew open and stared straight into the face of a beautiful but completely unfamiliar student. She bent down low to meet his eyes. She must be the mystery person from Beauxbaton, the new student as it turned out.

This was worse, so much worse than being caught by anyone else in the school - except for a very select few. Severus looked around in search of anything that might make this all less embarrassing.

"You need help, no?" Her voice was more confident this time, laced with a hint of friendly amusement.

"Uhh..." He met her eyes and hoped this new student would excuse his red face to be due to all his blood rushing down.

She straightened and pointed behind him. "This is your wand? I'll give to you?" His wand was in his hand with one quick flick of her own.

His eyebrows automatically shot up at her use of nonverbal spells. "Thanks," he tried swallowing but ended up coughing. He covered his mouth and performed the counter-hex, dropping to the floor with a grunt.

She rushed forward, looping her arm through his and helping him up to his feet. She laughed and dusted the dirt off his back while he stood paralyzed.

"Better, no?" she smiled, facing him a foot from his stiff figure. "I'm new seventh-year transfer... And you?"

For a moment his mouth opened but no words flew out, and then all at once words poured out as fast as if under a curse. "I'm - oh - yes you're from Beauxbaton, right? Yeah - er - yes, seventh-year as well."

Her hands flew up and she waved them in front of herself with a laugh. "Slow please!" she laughed again. "One more time?"

Severus gave an awkward laugh that matched hers and nodded. "I'm also a seventh-year."

"Oh!" she held out a paper and pointed down to the class he was late for. "I am so lost! You help me now? Oui?"

She smiled up at him and his heart nearly leaped out of his mouth. He nodded quickly, "Yes - er - oui, I'll help you... Actually, that's my class too..."

"Oh!" Her smile widened, "I need partner for the class! You have one?"

For once Severus thanked his unlucky past self. His time in the hospital wing all week meant everyone would be already partnered up. "No, I don't..." his face flushed red again and he cleared his throat, looking away. "We could be partners?"

"Bon! Lead the way, partner," she motioned for him to lead, keeping a very close pace next to him as they walked. "I am lucky to find you, did not know anyone yet. You are only third person met!"

He gave her a small smile as they walked together, but he knew it wouldn't take long for her to find out his status at the school. Being a new student, he was sure she’d make all the friends she could ever want by the end of the day. Then she'd reconsider her luck after everyone tells her all about her lab partner, 'Snivellus'.

~*~*~

They made it to class late. The professor looked up and frowned, ready to tell them off when Severus' new ‘friend’ spoke up.

"Excuse us, Professor, I am new and got lost."

The professor sighed and waved his hand, giving her a pass. "And I see you're back Mr. Snape. Get to your seats, you'll both be working together - get moving."

The two back seats were empty and Severus was glad to be away from the front for once. His new partner set down her things, and as she bent to pick up her books Severus caught a glimpse of Sirius Black glaring at him from the front, a seat behind where Severus had been sitting the last term. Black had anticipated his return and was obviously annoyed with the change in seating.

"What may I call you, Mr. Snape?" The new student whispered, giving him her full attention despite the lesson continuing.

"S-Severus." He looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. He'd die of embarrassment if they started teasing him in front of her for daring to open his mouth. "And you?"

She smiled. "Severus Snape? That's a beautiful name." She looked back up to make sure their conversation was still private and turned back. She reached up and gripped his tie, pulling him towards her. She leaned and held a hand to his ear, moving her lips inches from his ear. "(Y/n) (L/n)."

Severus’ heart beat faster than it ever had before. The immense drumming in his ears almost made it impossible to hear her whispers. When she released him, he turned to look at her, feeling his face heat up either from proximity or from her warm breath flowing over his face. "(Y/n)... Good to know." He swallowed and realized he had not moved since she had pulled him towards her. He would have felt like an idiot if she wasn’t looking at him so playfully.

"You gonna kiss her, Snivellus?"

Severus pulled back quickly and clenched his jaw at Black.

The professor smacked Sirius' head with a roll of parchment. "Mr. Black, disturb my class again and I'll assign you an essay for every night this week." Severus smirked. "And you, Mr. Snape," the Professor smacked the board, creating a puff of chalk, "- will hand me your notes tomorrow before class - legible notes, might I add."

Severus nodded as the class snickered and turned away from (Y/n). The rest of the lesson went by agonizingly slow. Severus counted the seconds until he could run away to the library, away from taunting eyes. He hated himself for turning so red, but he hated Black even more for making him the fool.

~*~*~

~*~*~

You could tell the boy, 'Mr. Black', had embarrassed Severus greatly. He was hunched over his parchment, focused completely on the professor's words, and never once looking back up at you.

You read the words on the board but soon your eyes ventured down to look at the tall lanky boy currently trying to visibly shrink in his seat. The moment shared between you both still played on your mind. He had beautiful long lashes and deep dark eyes to match. It had been fun to see him so flustered over you, but the guilt of what you'd caused sat heavily on your chest. That boy had noted Severus had been in the perfect position to kiss her, which... did she kind of wish he had?... Just to see - for just a curious taste.

You didn't know what specifically was so alluring about Severus, but you could imagine yourself wrapped in his arms, pulling on his long hair, biting his lips, and hearing that deep voice of his purring for more. Something about him - or maybe everything about him - made you wonder how gentle those hands of his could be.

The bells rang in the distance, marking the end of the lesson. You packed your things and sat waiting for Severus to do the same. He was slow at first and then after a quick flick of his eyes up to you hurried along.

You stood at the same time and motioned for the door, scrambling to translate your thoughts into English. "Lunch now? We can sit together?"

People filed out of the class, which Severus watched closely before turning back to her and answering. "Look, this isn't the only time… I'm not someone to hang out with unless you like hexes and spells to be thrown in your direction."

You could see the hurt in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed, and his down-turned eyes filled with tears that wouldn't fall. Before you could bring yourself to respond, he sighed shakily, giving you pause.

"It's not your fault... I'll show you down and then I suggest you forget about being friends." He pulled open the door and held it open for you without meeting your eyes.

What could you say to him? You stepped out into the corridor, contemplating how to phrase what you were thinking when laughter pulled your focus.

"I see you've met our Snivellus." The stupid boy, Black, came forward talking to you but keeping his attention on Severus. He had long curly hair nearly as long as Severus' and was taller, with proud shoulders held in a loose demeanor that still made him seem important in some way. His eyes shifted to you, "Hope he didn't drip any snot on you while he tried for a kiss."

You scoffed, “You do not understand what you saw. Please leave us alone.”

“Love, maybe you’re not understanding me. For your own safety I insist YOU leave this sniffling slime alone.” Black took a step closer.

Severus pulled out his wand but held it low, at the ready in an instant. "I’m done with your games. Unlike you, you nitwitted tower troll, I have places to be." He finally glanced your way, "Excuse me," and made to leave.

Black blocked his way, laughing at the now pointed wand in Severus’ hand. "Go ahead, I’ll be glad if you finally get expelled for using wands in the corridors. Mine's not even on me."

You eyed the smirk on his face and the tiny shift of his hand towards his trousers pocket. Was that a lie then? Whatever the case, you had enough of this game too. "My friend, Severus, is showing me to lunch. We are going now." You stepped between Severus and Black, giving the taller boy an annoyed look.

"I’m telling you, be careful," Black chuckled. "He might try to kiss you again if you’re too nice."

You paused and stepped back, looking up at Severus, whose eyes were fixed on Black, staring daggers into him. You bit your lip and chuckled the same way Black had, finding a different kind of amusement than him in this situation. "I hope he will."

Severus' head snapped to you, his cheeks slowly going a light shade of pink all over.

Black made a disgusted sound and a show of his fake nausea. “Darling, I don’t think I understood you correctly. Check your dictionary and if that’s not the problem maybe your eyes.”

This boy was really getting on your nerves now. If you’d been back at Beauxbaton you’d’ve already hexed him into a soggy pile of starter yeast, baked him into the perfect Pain au Levain, and chucked him out the tallest tower window. “Move it,” you made sure your French accent coated the word heavily.

Severus’ hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you back. He kept his wand and eyes trained on Black but spoke to you. “Go down to lunch. I’ll stay here to have the chat Black so desperately wants to have with me.” He looked up again, “Let her leave.”

Black smiled, “That’s fine. Been meaning to ask how your winter holiday was after I last saw you.”

You turned to Severus, ready to protest when the door to the classroom opened, cutting Black off. You all stood very still and awkward, hoping to hide the atmospheric hostility that had been created.

The Professor locked the door with a flick of his wand and looked at everyone with concern. "Off to lunch, no need wandering the corridors. Now." He ushered everyone down the stairs, walking close behind in equal silence.

You reached the floor second to last, after Black and then Severus, and pulled on Severus' arm the second your Professor had turned towards the staff room. You kept your hand on him to make sure he didn’t decide to leave before you could talk to him. Before Black could step towards you to continue the ‘conversation’, other Gryffindor students pulled him towards a small crowd gathering across the floor. Whatever it was seemed to be of higher interest and he left with only single backwards glance.

You both watched him go dissolve into the rowdy group and suddenly the air around you shifted. Severus turned instantly, searching your eyes with an intensity you could almost feel. You blushed and slid your hand down his sleeve and lingered on his bare hand. Neither of you said a word but the electricity connecting your eyes and the comfortable silence that enveloped you both spoke volumes. "We could eat together, no?"

His eyes settled on your hand still on his until you let go. "Oui," he whispered with a smile pulling at his lips. “Lunch then.”

As you both walked on, he slowly crept closer with every step, making your shoulders brush against his arm. His pinky tickled the skin on your wrist, making you cough to hide a giggle as you entered the Great Hall. Your eyes flickered up at his and you smiled, seeing a gentle blush and an even gentler smile on his face.

~*~*~*~*~ *~

Masterlist

—-

General taglist:

@setsuna-meiou31

@severuslovebot

@bionic-otp

—–

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 6

Hannibal sits in on a regular conversation between y/n and her family. Y/n insists it could have gone worse.

⚠️Bigass trigger warning⚠️: Verbal abuse, emotional manipulation, blood, mention of alcohol abuse and suicide

Anna lived her life believing that she was the main character, constantly denying personhood to everyone around her. She was the romantic hero, and everyone else existed to forward her plot.

This metaphor was imperfect, however, because in all the books you'd read, the main character must overcome some kind of challenge. Nobody ever said no to Anna. Nobody ever criticized Anna. Nobody but you. So you were pigeonholed into the role of antagonist for it. You had to give her credit; growing up on the receiving end of her and Theresa's torture was a compelling villain origin story.

It was obvious that she only wanted you at her wedding to present her with an obstacle. Heaven forbid her story progress without some semblance of petty drama out of her control. She'd cornered you into a painful catch-22; you wanted vengeance, but you couldn't give her the satisfaction of having her special day ruined. What was your play? Ruin it just a little? Walk away?

These thoughts passed through your mind as you sat through the boring ceremony. You wanted to lean over and whisper everything to Hannibal, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The vows seemed to drag on forever. Liam's English accent grated on your ears and you wished that he would just shut the hell up.

The ceremony concluded and you hoped to skip out on the reception with a purse full of mini cannolis, but fate had other plans. In a last-minute reach for some kind of scene, the blushing bride waved you over to the head table.

"[F/N]!" Anna shouted, with a big smile across her face. "Come on!"

You fought the urge to feel endeared by this. She looked too happy to be harmful. Your guard was all the way up as you and Hannibal approached the table.

Hannibal pulled a seat out for you while you studied Anna's expression. She fixed her doe eyes on Hannibal. You knew from experience that Anna had the same powerlust as grandma and Theresa. She was just better at keeping a lid on it.

"[F/N], you remember Liam?" Anna said, her voice brimming with excitement.

"Yeah." You nodded, scooting your chair up. "Nice to see you again, Liam."

"Good to see you again, too [F/N]."

"Liam is from Birmingham." She bragged, her smile somehow growing wider.

"Alabama?" You piped up before taking a drink from your water glass.

Every time you were forced to interact with Liam, she reminded you that the man with the strong and unmistakable English accent, was in fact from England. And every time, you slipped in the Alabama comment. It was never not funny.

"Liam, Anna," you said. "This is my fiance, Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"Many congratulations to you two." Hannibal offered.

"Dr. Lecter, thank you so much for coming." Anna returned. "And thank you for taking such good care of our precious [F/N]. I hope she's not giving you too much trouble. She was quite a handful growing up, but we made it work."

"Don't flatter yourself, you're only four years older than me." You hide your passive-aggressive jab beneath a smile. "You can't take credit for a job you didn't do."

Grandma always thought Anna's protective, borderline maternal behavior towards you was adorable. Of course, it disgusted you. You were little more than an accessory to her. A baby doll she could simulate motherhood with. But, in fairness to her, that was all you were to the adult in the house too. Monkey see, monkey do.

"So have you two set a date yet?" Grandma interrupted your thoughts, just trying to keep the tension down.

"Goodness, no." Hannibal answered. "Ours is a long-term engagement."

"Yeah." You added. "Not until I finish school."

"Well, it's not my fault you aren't expected to graduate on time." Grandma said into her wine.

You tightened your grip on your water glass. "Well, changing your major halfway through will do that."

"I'm just saying," Grandma continued. Whenever she was 'just saying' anything, you knew she was raring to stir things up. "If you had just stayed the engineering track, you wouldn't have to keep Hannibal waiting."

"Well!" Anna cut in, offended that the attention was off her for more than a minute. "Liam and I waited until after college."

"Yes, Anna," Grandma said dismissively, before turning back to you. "Y'know, Dr. Lecter here could probably tell you that psychologically speaking, women are more likely to drop out of college and become strippers when they change their majors?"

Now it was Hannibal's turn to down his entire glass of wine. "Ms. [L/N], where did you get that information?"

"Oh, it was an article I found on Facebook." Grandma answered. "I'll have [F/N] send you a link."

"Ms. [L/N]," Hannibal cleared his throat. "Are you familiar with the concept of misinformation?"

"Of course." She looked offended at the implication that she could possibly not know something.

"See, social media websites like Facebook are inundated with misinformation campaigns." Hannibal explained. "Your claim is not rooted in any psychological fact."

"Yeah, also," You cut in. You scanned the area for escape routes if your attempt to change the subject went awry. "There's a wonderful documentary about how Facebook misinformation campaigns targeted rural counties in England leading up to the Brexit vote."

"Oh, we have a funny story about Brexit." Anna interrupted, taking the bait, hook line and sinker.

Before she could recount the same boring anecdote about being at some regional chain restaurant when the vote was cast, Theresa and her husband joined the table.

"Sorry we're late," Theresa sat down. "Damage control is a twenty-four hour job. What were we talking about?"

"Misinformation." Liam said.

"Perfect timing." You muttered.

"Finally, all three of my girls are together again." Grandma threw her head back and rejoiced. "When was the last time we all got together? Just us four girls, huh?"

"Remember the day before prom, we all went out go get manicures?" Anna reminisced. "And we took pictures of us all dressed up?"

"Oh I remember." You scanned the area for any alcohol to ingest.

"Oh, this is so funny." Grandma laughed hysterically. "Dr. Lecter, did you hear this story? [F/N] went to the prom with a boy who had all along been using her to get close to Theresa! They got together that night! Dated for two whole years after that."

"I've heard an iteration of it." He said, looking over his shoulder. He flagged down a waiter who was holding a bottle of champagne. "Leave the bottle, please."

"Don't drink too much, [F/N]." Anna scolded. "Save some alcohol for the rest of us."

You made sure to maintain eye contact with her as you filled your flute to capacity. "Grandma's paying, isn't she?"

"Anna, baby," Grandma said, rubbing her temples. "It's fine. Let [F/N] drink herself silly. It's a party, right?"

"Wow," Theresa sneered. You knew exactly what she was going to say next. "Like mother, like daughter."

Everyone at the table had enough decorum to recognize that Theresa went too far. You crushed the champagne flute in your grip, letting shards of glass dig into your skin. You glared at Theresa, blood oozing from your palm and dripping onto the white tablecloth.

Wordlessly, Hannibal removed the offending glass from your hand and swaddled the affected area in a napkin. He put pressure on the cut, letting the blood absorb into the cloth.

"Is this the famed '[L/N] woman telepathy'?" Liam whispered to Anna.

"No, [F/N] is just mad because her mother was a drunk who killed herself." Anna thought she was being inconspicuous.

"This has been fun." You stand up from the table. "Really. Great way to spend a Saturday."

"[F/N], sit down..." Grandma ordered, sounding exhausted. "You know Theresa didn't mean that."

"No." You said, each syllable out of her mouth pushing you a step closer to your breaking point. "Y'know what? No. I don't have to put up with this anymore. Anna, congratulations. I hope you and Liam have many long years together."

You turned around to exit as quietly as you could, Hannibal at your side. Your grandmother, who somehow hadn't hit her daily allotted dose of confrontation, wouldn't have it.

"Dr. Lecter, tell [F/N] she's being unreasonable." Grandma pleaded.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. In his long-spanning career, he'd never once met a person as tone-deaf as Beatrice [L/N]. He kept his quiet composure as he slowly approached the table.

"Beatrice," he said, beckoning her to lean in. He whispered something into her ear that left her stunned and quaking.

You could hear your grandmother's hysterical sobs growing softer as Hannibal hurried you out.

"Keep pressure on that cut, love." He instructed, talking over the increasingly loud shouts of agony from the head table. "You'll need a few stitches."

Once you were far enough from the venue, you had to ask. "What on earth did you say to her?"

"Nothing that you don't already know." He answered, facing forward.

[adonis-koo]

to the moon and back

Summary: Sometimes the distance in relationships really does make a strain and sometimes...it can really make quite the experience, at least in your experience with your boyfriend who only lives half way across the world...

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader, theres like,,,implied Taehyung/Reader if you really squint

Genre: angst, smut,

Word Count: 6.4k

Tags: long distance relationship that I accidentally projected way too much of my own personal experience into 😃, Jungkook just really loves MC, skype sex, I am sorry, mutual masturbation, a little praise kink, Jungkook says baby in korean a lot and once again I am sorry, sex toys, a lil overstim, nothing too crazy tbh, dirty talk, dom!jungkook and sub!MC 🤑

Note: I missed ldr!Jungkook and MC which is based off this sorta imagine I did for them! So I cured it by writing a lil bit about them!! :)

“Hey Jungkook…” 

The said man in question suddenly perked up from where he had been looking down, half his hair tied up and he was rubbing his eyes, he looked tired these days and sometimes you couldn’t help but feel bad. Long distance relationships weren’t always what they were cracked up to be and it wasn’t like you were intentionally looking for a ball and chain at the time...

But well, it was a long night, you were slightly drunk and in a long dry spell so you thought, what the hell? When you signed up for a sub/dom dating website. Again, your intentions weren’t to actually date someone, you were just slightly drunk and horny, and waking up the morning after your phone had been blown up by your now boyfriend. It was innocent at first, you both had a good laugh (to somewhat of your embarrassment) about the whole drunk thing and you were just curious to get to know him. 

It was from there you had learned he lived halfway across the planet in South Korea and not only this but when you began exchanging photos he was by far the most beautiful man you had ever seen. One thing led to another and eventually you both decided to make it official. 

You were used to this of course, you had never actually met him in person and sometimes you felt a little apprehensive to do so, you knew it would hurt Jungkook severely if he ever found out but still...sometimes it felt like you just didn’t know him as much as you wanted too. 

Time zones were a literal hell, by the time you woke up he was getting ready to sleep and most the time texts weren’t sent until the next day, video calls were rare and usually had to wait until the weekend. It sucked. 

Jungkook, if anything, had been trying to convince you to at least fly out to see him, he even offered to pay for your ticket as he was- ahem- apparently in the chain of business for a really well known exports corporation and was a supervisor so he lived very well off in comparison to yourself, who was still in college and buried in debt with little to no money left outside of the expenses of living. 

But again, you were just...nervous...flying by yourself, to a country you had never been too, to meet a man you had never met...You knew realistically everything would be fine, Jungkook was exactly who he said he was, he wasn’t some criminal that was going to murder you and sell your body parts on the black market but…! You just wanted to be safe! To be careful even if that would never happen. 

“Hm?” Jungkook hummed, it was a late saturday night for him but he always stayed up just for you, just to be able to talk to you, to see your face, even if you went hours not talking to one another while he worked and you studied. He told you he just enjoyed looking over at his monitor and seeing you.

Currently you had been curled up on your pillow scrolling on your phone and occasionally admiring your boyfriend’s side profile and strands of hair long hair that fell from his face, “Why did you learn English?”

Jungkook raised his brow a little before suddenly laughing causing you to shift a little in embarrassment feeling as though you had said something dumb, “Well,” He rasped a little, he had been brushing up on his english ever since you started dating but he was also a little self conscious of his accent despite you saying several times over how much you adored it, “English is mandatory to learn in school but I learned extensively due to my family traveling a lot for business and work. I once spent a whole year in New York when my father was employed overseas, that was actually how I became so fluent, classes are fine but experience always teaches best in my opinion....” Jungkook’s lips curled into a smile as he hummed once more, “Which means your studies in Korean would be easier if you visited…” 

Flustered you rolled onto your back as you pressed your pillow against your face, “Jungkook…!” You whined wiggling in your best as you heard his laugh filter through the speaker, “I need you know I really need to stay and study for my finals, it makes up for over forty percent of my grade!” 

“Not even for winter break?” Jungkook let his lips jut into a pout as he laid his chin against his hand, “Jagi I have a bed that’s way too big to sleep in all by myself, are you gonna make me downgrade?” He sighed dramatically as he fell back in his computer chair pulling his hair tie out as his hair fell at his cheeks as he began to fix it. 

You ignored the heat immediately flushing between your legs at the deep rasp of his voice, “My mom’s expecting me to come home to visit for the holidays Koo…” You frowned as you peeped out from behind your pillow to find the massive pout on your boyfriend's face as he sunk in his seat. 

“Sometimes I think you’re just embarrassed to tell people we’re in a relationship,” Jungkook mumbled as he sat up in his seat, running his fingers through his hair as he sulked, obviously trying not to let your rejection make him upset but even through a screen you could always read his moods, sometimes too easily. 

“That is not true!” Your voice was immediately serious as you sat up, fixing your laptop as you set it in front of you, Jungkook was once more slouched in his seat, his hand resting on his cheek as he looked away from the screen, “That is not true Jungkook, I-...” You sighed, “I can’t just drop all my responsibilities here to visit you, you know this, you know hard I’ve been studying for finals and how much my family has been wanting to see me…” 

Jungkook didn’t reply for a moment but you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a scoff escape his lips, “But you still haven’t told your family...have you?” 

“I haven’t had the chance…” You were immediately trying to defend your reasoning when deep down you felt bad that well...he was right...to a degree, but what were you supposed to tell you family? You met your boyfriend on an offshoot website based around sexual play and not only this but he lived half way around the world. 

“You talk to your mom on the phone weekly Y/n,” The longer Jungkook looked away from the screen the more upset he was getting and you could tell and yet you felt so helpless, it wasn’t like you could just reach over and grab his face, or simply hug him and apologize. Once again, you found yourself at a loss of what to do or say. 

It wasn’t that you wished you hadn’t met Jungkook, you’d never in your life change that night, but sometimes you wished things weren’t so complicated and that your fears wouldn’t get the best of you. And you did speak some truth, even if you weren’t nervous to meet Jungkook in person, it didn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t be able to go now with finals approaching and your family expecting you for the holidays.

“I’m just,” Jungkook inhaled sharply before letting out a sigh, “I just feel so frustrated sometimes, I want to be with you, not part time, half time, or only at night. I want to wake up with you in my arms every single day. And I can’t do that, hell I can’t even get a phone call during the week let alone a text at the same time of day if I’m lucky. We just had a work party where everyone brought their partners and I couldn’t bring mine because she lives in America.” 

His upset was beginning to make you upset, it felt like your gut was being grinded and it wrenched in an unpleasant feeling as you spoke, “Look I’m sorry okay? I can’t help it that this is where I live, I understand you want to be with me, you don’t think I want the same thing?” You put your hand on your chest, trying to keep your voice level as you swallowed harshly, “But right now, I can’t help it Jungkook. The holidays just aren’t a good time right now…” 

“Then what was the excuse during the end of the summer when you weren’t even in school and your parents didn’t want to see you?” Jungkook replied, his jaw clenched and hurt in his eyes as he questioned you, “Or was it still because you were sick in the middle of july?” 

“I just met you!” You cried out now beginning to feel genuinely hurt at your boyfriend questioning the sincerity of your feelings, “I wasn’t going to fly out to Korea to meet someone I had only been talking to for three weeks! Jungkook this is-” 

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you! God, that is literally the last thing on my mind right now! I’m embarrassed at the way we met, I’m embarrassed that I- I somehow have to explain to my family that my boyfriend lives in South Korea and that I’ve never met him and somehow explain to them that you aren’t some serial rapist or human trafficker out to sell my kidney! Because that’s exactly what I’m going to hear! And I’m sorry I just haven’t been ready to deal with that!” You couldn’t even stop the tears from flowing down your face as you pressed your hands to your eyes, “It’s easy for you to talk about us because you’re an adult who lives debt free by himself in his own apartment with your own secure job and you don’t have to answer or deal with anyone, even your own parents! That’s not how it is for me Jungkook.” 

Your head was lowered as you tried to muffle your sobs that was the only thing that filled the loud silence that filtered the air, running your hands through your hair as you took a breath. You could hear a sigh on the other side before Jungkook spoke, “Y/n…” 

“You know what,” You sniffled as you straightened up, “I’m not in the mood to talk anymore,” 

“Y/n! No! Jagi listen-” 

“No I’m done!” You argued back as you wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoody, “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Goodnight.” You clicked the end call button before closing down your laptop. Sitting now, staring at your distinct reflection on the black screen before bursting into a new set of tears. 

Your phone’s ringtone was immediately set off as you sobbed, picking it up as you harshly punched the decline call button before it quickly popped back up on the screen only for you to press it even more vehemently. Your phone lit up several times being flooded with messages from Jungkook trying to convince you to talk to him but you immediately turned off your phone as you collapsed back against your bed, weeping against your pillow as you tried to ignore the pure hurt that filtered your veins despite it being justified. 

God you shouldn’t have even said any of that to Jungkook! Really it was your fault you hadn’t seen him, you had made excuses all because you were just scared. He was probably going to break up with you now...Squeezing your pillow tight you closed your eyes as you muffled your sobs. 

“Girl why are you staring at your phone?” Lisa sighed in exasperation, “Don’t tell me…Oh shit…” She sighed as she watched your eyes begin to pitfully water, “What was it this time?” 

“I’m a horrible person be-because I can’t just fucking suck it up and tell my family about my boyfriend and- and I can’t just go visit him!” You were already wiping your eyes despite not even crying yet and you refused to ruin your mascara in a public store. The bookstore was quiet as ever and the barista who worked the cafe was still sorting magazines out on the rack not even paying attention to you both but still you had to keep up your ideals or else you’d be crying all the time. 

“You are not a horrible person oh my god!” Lisa raised her brows before scoffing, she pointed a long acrylic nail at you as she spoke, “That boy needs to calm his hormones, you are strapped for the rest of the holidays. Y/n! Come on, seriously you need to draw some boundaries with him! Just be honest and it’s going to save you both a lot of trouble.” 

You sunk in your seat as your lips began to tremble making Lisa sigh, “How many messages did he send this time?” 

“Twenty four.” You mumbled. 

“Jesus Christ.” Lisa groaned as she pressed her hand against her forehead, her bangs which had been melded together with hairspray not even moving an inch, “What even started this fight!?” 

Lisa was not only your closest friend but most times she was also your voice of reason which you knew was most times right but still you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as you twirled your straw that poked through the lid of your iced coffee, “Well it was innocent at first, I just asked him why he learned English when he was younger and it translated into him saying experience taught him best which meant going to Korea would help me with my own language studies.” 

“Why can’t you just be honest with him!? Seriously! Y/n!” She gave you her premium disappointed look as you whined, kicking your feet as you covered your hands over your face knowing she was right, but!

“That would literally crush him!” You replied feeling defeated as you slumped in your seat once more, sighing as sadness filled you, “It feels like…” You poked your tongue into your cheek as you exhaled in frustration, “No matter how hard I try, I just always end up hurting him. Jungkook would be so hurt if he knew my main reason for not wanting to see him.” 

Lisa raised her brows as she scoffed, “No he would not! If he’s so desperate to jump on your pussy he’ll come to America and not only meet you but he’ll be meeting me as well the first time. This relationship is a two way street Y/n-” 

“He has a whole team he’s managing Lisa, he’s told me he’d visit if he could schedule the time off but-” 

“All I hear is an excuse,” Lisa clacked her tongue, “Fair is fair, you’re just being cautious as anyone should be when they’re talking to someone over the internet,” She curved a brow before snorting as she sipped her drink, “Now listen, do I think he’s a kidnapper that’s gonna kill you? No. Do I think he’s a fuckboy that just really wants to smash you? Maybe, it’s your relationship. Do what you want but regardless of whether your reasoning is legit he should respect it regardless.” 

You deflated as you sighed, scrolling through his messages where he had profusely apologized several times and went on to explain that he just really wanted to be with you and never meant to dismiss your feelings on the matter. You hadn’t replied yet which made you feel even worse but truthfully, you just really wanted to talk to see him tonight on a video call and talk things over. 

“Anyways, it’s time to boss up bitch,” Lisa pulled out the three textbooks from her bag before dropping them on the table as she offered a smile, “We got finals to prep for, we’re in the two week countdown so we need to cram as much as possible.” 

Sighing you glanced down at your phone one last time before turning it off knowing the temptation to look over Jungkook’s messages would be too tempting. Putting your phone away you pulled out your notebook along with your own textbooks as you nodded, “You’re right, it’ll at least take my mind off of it…” 

You could only hope. 

You had spent the last ten minutes trying to gas yourself up, Jungkook had stopped texting around lunch time having obviously given up and giving you space as this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened and he knew if he just gave you time you’d eventually reach out to him. 

Like right now, except you felt severely embarrassed for your actions this morning and you knew you could have handled things in a better and more mature way then you had, regardless you were struggling to even send a text at the moment let alone video call him...Checking the clock on your phone you sighed, it was already 1pm in Seoul....

Jungkook if anything was probably on his computer sulking while playing video games as he usually did on his weekends off when he wasn’t talking to you. Sucking in a breath you knew you needed to talk to him now because if you didn’t you’d have to go the whole week with stale texts that never went over well and you weren’t working with much to begin with, you didn’t want to make it worse. Sighing, you sat down on your bed as you began to type.

[10:25]

‘I’m sorry I haven’t replied to any of your messages :( can you video right now?’

You chewed on your lip anxiety immediately spiking in your head as you wondered if you came across too much like a victim...Or maybe you should’ve just not mentioned the not replying to his messages and just asked if- 

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the skype call sounding with Jungkook’s name under it, grabbing your chest you collapsed onto the bed as you made yourself comfortable, shying away from the camera as you grabbed your pillow in insecurity before accepting the call. 

“I really am sorry Jagi,” You couldn’t even open your mouth before Jungkook’s worried expression showed up on your laptop, the hoodie covering his head and just as you expected his puppy like eyes were glossed and filled with sadness, “I- I didn’t realize how much stress you were under and I shouldn’t have been so careless. This is the only time during the week that I get to see you and I really don’t want to argue…” 

You curled up against your pillow as you mumbled, “I should be the one apologizing, I know how much it means to you for us to be able to see each other in person and I need to make the time for us to be able to do that it’s just…” You had meant to tell him the truth but- “I just have a lot going on right now but I didn’t mean to take that out on you, I know you just want us to be together...” 

“Oh jagiya,” Jungkook sighed, longing filled his face and his fingers twitched a little as they ran through his hair as if wishing he could just hold you close to him, “It’s okay, I’m just glad you wanted to talk. I didn’t want the whole week to drag by without being able to talk to you, you know you always make my day better…” 

And just like that your chest blossomed with warmth as you curled up, hiding the smile that began to creep on your lips as you squeezed your pillow, “Not as much as you make my day. Especially when you send those tease pictures for me right before I need to go to bed.” You would never get enough of that addictive feeling of talking to Jungkook, his smile was always infectious.

And just like that you watch, just like every other time, in amazement at the way Jungkook’s personality switches like a light, the innocent sweet smile that was once on his lips is suddenly twisted into a cocky smirk and he leans back his chair, his long hair is slightly messy but just enough to make him look truly wicked, “Oh? Is that right gongjunim? I thought you’d appreciate it?” 

Said photo in question was sent thursday night when you were prepping for bed and Jungkook had very obviously just gotten out of the shower in the mirror selfie he had sent that displayed the chiseled abdomen and broad chest and not to mention the….ahem package he was sporting beneath the thin towel that he had purposely clutched with his free hand. 

Yeah...that nearly destroyed your right hand. 

“Well I did…” You immediately coiled up, no matter how many times this happens with your boyfriend- which is nearly every weekend, you always end up getting shy despite your thighs furiously pressing together and wetness building up in your panties, “Maybe a little too much…” 

Jungkook pressed his tongue into his cheek as his smirk widened, just his stare made you press your face into the pillow as you heard his chuckle, “What? What did you do?” 

The fact that he skipped to the golden question made you whine as you kicked your feet, you could hear another laugh from him as you curled up once more, “You know…” You mumbled, feeling your face burn as you pressed it against the pillow. 

“No baby I don’t.” Jungkook pouted but his voice rasped and something about saying baby in english with that accent of his had your fingers twitching as he puffed a breath of air in cockiness as he hummed, “Why don’t you tell me hm?” 

Shifting against the bed you shook your head, “You know what I’m talking about…” 

“Do I?” Jungkook challenged as he raised a brow, his beginning to clench as he slipped into his dominant headspace, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he asked, “If you can’t use your words would you rather show me? Be a good girl and show me, yeah?” 

Your words were muffled as you replied, “I had help…” Your face felt like it was practically on fire as you rubbed your legs together as you heard him laugh, “Then be a good girl and go get it jagiya, I’ll still be here.” You gave Jungkook a good laugh as you nearly scrambled out of bed to get your bullet vibrator off it’s charger before diving back on the bed making your laptop bounce as you sat up right. 

Jungkook meanwhile had pulled off his sweatshirt and repositioned his camera to expose his lower body, the familiar sight of his plump cherry lips exposed in that forever tainted smirk as he made himself comfortable in his chair, his thighs spreading apart and the indent in his sweats showing off proudly, “Good girl kitty, now I want you to take off your clothes, all of it.” 

You wiggled in your comfy sweatshirt feeling a little shy as you began to shed your clothes, “The bra too baby,” Jungkook coaxed as he licked his lips, his cock tightening and becoming harder at the sight of your flustered, shy expression as you unhooked your bra, there was nothing more this man wanted then to suckle on your nipples that immediately hardened against the chilled air of the room. 

Jungkook’s hand found its way to his bulge as he palmed himself through his grey sweats, “Panties too baby, I know you’re shy but you need to be a good girl and take them off. And remember your words.” He added with a low growl. 

“...Yes sir.” You mumbled, feeling chilly and exposed to nothing more then the camera on your laptop and Jungkook of course before you pulled off the panties you wore, arousal sticking to the fabric that stringed before you tossed them aside, your eyes unable to stay off his hand that kept stroking his bulge. 

“Good girl,” His lips twitched into a sadistic smile, “Now spread your legs jagiya and show me what you did to that photo I sent you, every little detail baby.” You whined as you looked away from the camera, “Jagiya…” Jungkook’s voice deepened a little in warning, “Are you gonna make me get out the controller?” 

Outwardly you’d completely deny that but inwardly....The idea nearly had you frothing out the mouth, but reluctantly you did as he asked, the chilled air nipping at your exposed warm wet folds had your levels of arousal that much higher and you could hear a soft verbal moan from Jungkook as he squeezed his hand over his cock, “Shibal,” He muttered a few other words in korean that you could only half make out before he spoke once more, “You’re so fucking wet baby. Play with yourself, don’t make me wait.” 

Tenderly you slipped your hand between your thighs, flinching a little at the cold that seeped from your fingers that met in opposition to the heat radiating off your cunt, arousal met your fingertips as you dragged them up you slit before rubbing slow circles around your clit, your lips parting a little at the idea of it being his fingers doing this to you.

Jungkook let out a little scoffed laugh, licking his lips as he pulled down his sweats just enough to free his throbbing cock, a sight you’d never fully get used too and had your mouth watering at just the sight. He was much thicker then he was long but he certainly wasn’t short, the vein on the underside of his cock displayed and you could even see his tip beginning to weep as it became red, “How bad do you wish those were my fingers playing with that little clit baby? Put those fingers inside your cunt baby,lay back and use your toy to make yourself feel good for me.

Situating your laptop before you laidback, opening your legs once more as you began to transition to your subspace as you closed your eyes, imagining his fingers dragging up your inner thighs. 

Letting your eyes open you whined at the sight of lube slipping from his cock as his hand slowly pumped his shaft, his lips parted at the sight of one finger slipping inside your cunt before pulling out and adding a second finger. You could just imagine those long thick fingers filling you up while fitting up against your g-spot. 

Fumbling with your vibrator you turned it on, switching the setting to a low pattern before carefully placing it on your aching bud. You had anticipated your reaction just as you did everytime and yet every time you still jolted, your walls tightly squeezing around your fingers as a whined squeak escaped your lips. 

“Fuck princess that’s it,” Jungkook edged you on, his tongue in his cheek as his hand squeezed around his cock before he used his free hand to grab his own toy, the fleshlight that nearly always turned you into a mess, “Bet that little hole can hardly fit your own fingers let alone my big fat cock, right baby? Yeah?” 

Your thighs were twitching as pleasure was rapidly buzzing against your clit and your walls kept squeezing around your fingers as you desperately tried to reach to your g-spot in need for an orgarsm to make up for all the anxiety and stress you had been under the whole day, “Yes! Yes sir! Ah- Mmph need you! Fuck, please! Sir.” You whimpered as your hips jolted to fuck back against your fingers.

 Jungkook pushes the opening of the flashlight over his tip as he let out a soft moan, his hips fluidly began thrusting to the point your walls were so tight you could hardly move your fingers just at the idea of his cock forcing its way inside you, you just knew this mans stroke game was good and proved it every fucking time he took out that toy.

Watching his cock disappear with every thrust inside his toy as his lips parted a little wider this time, “You want this baby? You wish this was your pussy I’m fucking nice and deep?”

Your body was too excited for all of his dirty talk as you squirmed shifting the buzzing vibrator to the sweet spot of your clit as you squeaked, trying to keep yourself from being too loud as your roommate was home, “Want it! Want it so fucking bad! Please sir! Sir!”

You were embarrassingly horny and this made worked you up every single time, your hips we’re stumbled and your walls were rapidly clenching in excitement as his thick cock rocking it’s way in and out of the toy that you could just imagine was your pussy he was fucking nice and slow, making you feel his nice fat cock with every killer slow thrust.

“Oh Jagiya,” Jungkook moaned out, “Don’t tell me my kitten is already close?” He chuckled as he watched the way your body withered the way it always did when you were close, his eyes feasting on the way your pussy was stretched so delicately against your small fingers and the way your thighs clenched and your feet kicked, “Do you need to cum so soon?” 

“Please! Please! Sir! I- I don’t think I can-“ Your thighs clamped together as your lips fell open, unable to even wait for his blessing as your orgasm ripped through your body, your toes curling as little whimpers escaped you, you could hear a long moan from Jungkook as you liddedly watched his hips stumble against his flesh light, hand running through his hair while he fumbled something in Korean. 

“Baby fuuck,” Jungkook’s voice lowered as he moaned, “Cum again princess, cum for me baby I wanna hear you make those noises again for me. Keep those little fingers stuffed inside yourself.” Jungkook’s hips kept stuttering against his toy, his cock throbbing desperate as his moans became breathy at the sight of you obeying him. You were always such a good girl.

Your fingers were aching but your desire to watch him come undone was even greater as you began pushing your fingers back against your g-spot once more, feathery whines escaping you at the feeling of pain beginning to mix with pleasure at the consistent thrum of the vibrator against your clit.

“Ah! S-sir…!” You whimpered quietly as your walls suddenly clamped around your fingers once more, “I- ah! I don’t think I can…!” 

“Yes you can,” Jungkook growled his hips bucking up into his toys faster his cock throbbing and squeezing in pleasure at the sight of your arousal slipping from your soaked cunt and the sight of your tits bouncing at the way your body kept squirming, he could only imagine what it would be like fucking you tied up and left to his mercy, “And you will,” He snapped with command, “You’re gonna be a good girl and cum for me again princess. I wasn’t fucking asking.” 

Your legs immediately twitched and your breath hitched as you cried out, your back arching at the way your body listened to him so easily on command, your walls tightening around your fingers rapidly and pleasure seered into your clit as the orgasm roughly filled your body, “Ah Jungkook! Fuck, fuck, fuck…! Fuck! Ooh!” Moans escaped you louder then you intended as your hips desperately fucked into your fingers to ride the powerful orgasm you experienced.

Jungkook moaned softly as his hips bucked one last time into his toy before cum was filling it up at the idea of milking all of himself in your little warm cunt, letting his hips swivel as he milked every last drop of cum from his cock as he moaned before relaxing back in his chair.

Chuckling a little at watching your lower body scramble at your vibrator continuing to drill against your over stimulated clit as you struggled to turn it off, “Take your fingers out baby, I wanna see them.” Jungkook licked his lips as you obeyed him, pulling your fingers from your cunt to reveal the thick layer of arousal and cum on them nearly making Jungkook’s mouth water with the desire to lick every drop off your fingers, this man couldn’t even describe what he’d do to go down on you.

“Ah fuck, jagiya,” Jungkook laughed, a little flustered at the way you sat up, looking directly into the camera before putting your fingers in your mouth, licking off the salty and somewhat musky taste of your arousal which in your opinion wasn’t that great and Jungkook would never accept your opinion on the matter, “You’re gonna make me hard all over again.” He whined as he carefully pulled the toy off his cock, feeling the white substance already rolling down his softening shaft to reveal the mess he had made.

You giggled a little, feeling shy once more as you stood up with wobbling legs, “I don’t have to help with that.” You called out, grabbing your favorite sweatshirt to pull over your body. It was your favorite because...Well because Jungkook had sent it to you and because it was big on him it was massive on you. 

You absolutely adored it, coming back in view you collapsed onto your bed as you curled up, Jungkook had just finished cleaning himself up, fixing his camera for you to see the beautiful radiant smile and eyes light up that was your boyfriend. He always had that dreamy look in his eyes while looking at you everytime you finished having Skype sex and everytime it always made you shy as you grabbed your pillow and curled up.

“You’re always so fucking good baby,” He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, his smile permanently on his face as he stared in adoration at your curled up figure that was practically buried in his sweatshirt, “Mmm you were such a good girl too, your eyes were rolling to the back of your head when I told you to cum again.” 

He had a boyish laugh at the way you curled up, “Stoop! You know I was already overstimulated, you better hope my roommate didn’t hear anything…!” You covered your face in embarrassment at the realization you were a little loud.

Jungkook’s face stiffened a little at the mention of your roommate before he tried to play it off with a small laugh, “Yeah well, what’s he gonna do about it anyways? You were just being my good little girl jagiya.” You covered your face in semi embarrassment. You knew Jungkook was redirecting the conversation back to verbal aftercare because you knew he didn’t like the fact that your roommate was a guy who was not only your age but also very attractive. 

It wasn’t like Taehyung was ever interested in you, but you had mentioned to Jungkook when you first started talking that you used to have a crush on him. You felt as though some days that still lingered in Jungkook’s mind despite the fact that you didn’t even look at Taehyung twice anymore.

Especially since you and Jungkook became an item, however you also hadn’t told Jungkook that Taehyung had been...Well you weren’t sure what he was doing to be honest outside a few innuendos and winks. It mainly weirded you out as he had never paid any attention to you but regardless. This wasn’t about your roommate, this was about your amazing, handsome boyfriend who somehow managed to make you cum twice just by the sound of his voice, not everything could do that.

“You make it difficult to try and disobey.” You mumbled as a smile tugged in your lips, closing your eyes at the idea of his arms wrapped tight around you and his forehead pressed against your own, you could almost feel his warm breath against your face and his lips pressing against your forehead.

“Mmm id like to see you try,” Jungkook laughed as he leaned back his seat, letting out a content sigh as he spoke, “I’d make you wear those vibrating panties the whole day after making you overestimate yourself and I’d make sure to wake up every hour just to hold that button for three minutes straight.” 

“You’re so mean!” You whines as you fluttered your feet before crawling under your covers as you yawned, “You’re already planning a punishment when I haven’t even done anything wrong.” 

“I’m not!” Jungkook laughed as he objected, moving his hair from his face, “I’m just telling you what would’ve happened if you weren’t obedient. I mean, that’s not always a bad thing baby.” He sent a wink your way that immediately made your cheeks warm as you pressed your face against the blanket with a giggle.

“I can’t do that over a video call…! Maybe if you were here in my bed I’d be a little more defiant.” You always had a hard time trying to flirt confidently but Jungkook always ate it up every single time you threw him a crumb.

“Jagiya if you can’t be defiant over a call what makes you think you’d manage it when I’m between your legs sucking the soul out of your pussy?” Jungkook was immediately cackling at the way you shoved your face into your pillow with a whine, “Exactly baby, you can’t even look at me right now.” He cooed out.

“Well maybe I’m just a little more bold in person.” You challenged, peeping out from behind your pillow making Jungkook chuckle as he shook his head, his eyes filled with adoration as he leaned back in his seat.

“Well sweetheart I’ll just have to see for myself one day huh?” Jungkook’s smile was so beautiful, it was arguably one of your favorite features as he spoke, “You know I love you to the moon and back jagiya.”

“Well I love you love you to the stars and beyond,” You whispered back as you hugged your pillow close, closing your eyes sleepily as you smiled….One day...Hopefully you’d overcome your anxiety soon to make the one day become soon, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand being apart from the one person who would never stop making your day.

[egyptian-sun-god]

Never Have I Ever (mildly critical lens)

1. BIG THING. NHIE is not a show that was made directed at me. Yes it has similarities with my heritage as Indian but I am not American. Not born there nor raised. I am a diaspora Tamilian though, and my schools throughout most of my life have had very little Indians and even fewer Tamilians in them. Usually its just me.  So while there is overlap, Devi and I would have innately different experiences and worldviews.

2. Why is her last name Vishwakumar and her Dad’s name Mohan? Where that coming from. Correct me if I’m wrong, but most to all Tamil people use patronymic's right? Like am I right or am I tripping? Someone correct me. I checked Mindy Kaling’s bio and she took her father’s last name so I might be tripping? 

3. Okay straight off the bat, Devi annoyed the hell outta me. Like no joke...I really dislked Devi. But she’s a traumatized teenager who has no common sense and too much hormones. I’ve seen ppl like her so I’m fairly happy we have a flawed and messed up portrayal of a POC and doesn’t feed into the idea of perfection. But also Devi’s mom is suprisingly lenient to Devi’s disrespect man. like I see why but woowowowowo....she’s uncharacteristically tolerant sometimes. 

Now even though I get that Devi is supposed to be flawed and unlikeable. Because she is immensely selfish and bitchy with shitty communication skills. Devi’s friends forgive her waaay to fast. Like ladies, what are you aiming for? SAINTHOOD? Like at least let her grovel a little bit for being such a bitch. 

4. Love interest. Y’all heard me. WHY THE FUCK IS BOTH OF HER INTERESTS WHITE or at least definitely white passing. Like they did Paxton dirty man. Like was it too much? Was it too much to wish for Devi to have more Indian friends or like an Indian/POC love interest? I feel personally that it is such a weird precedent that has been set with POC centric love stories. And this definitely should be a critic that has come up before. 

You know which love stories resonated with me? Nalini and Mohan. Because it represented the possibility of like marrying someone (going off the assumption they were arranged to be married) and falling in love after marriage. A very real scenario for many many couples. Kamala’s entire shenanigan with Steve and Prasanth and having to choose between the uncertain boyfriend situation but losing family but keeping family and going with an arranged marriage. Also props to Kaling for not demonizing arranged marriages. Please please let season 2 explore Kamala’s struggle more. Hell even that one off thing with Eleanor and the tech crew boy was funny. 

5. Kamala’s whole character was many vibes. Because counting down and stressing about marriage is such a goddamn relatable feeling. I ain’t that much younger than Kamala and let me tell you the anticipation/fear is REAL. And like her talking in Ganesh puja and like weighting the options of being a social outcast or going with the arranged marriage and with the hope that like you’ll find someone cool.

6. I don’t like how Devi tries to reject her Indian culture and I really really hope they develop that next season or something and get her to find a balance. Because at the end of that season she did get a good talking to about trying to be Indian enough or too Indian and finding that balance but it doesn’t feel like she’s finding that balance and her being jealous of the other Indian girl does not bode well for me. 

ALSO THEY FUCKING MISSED OUT SO BAD. You make a series about a Tamil American girl and you don’t name drop any famous stars. Thala Thalapathy, Superstar??? VJS?? Surya? Dhanush? Nobody? Why? Like Devi doesn’t know them...makes sense. But like Kamala is from town right? She has to have carried some of that. Like that scene when she called them for a movie right? Why not name drop some famous ass classic like Baasha or Sachein or Roja? Like a cool nod to the Tamil kids out there watching this series to see parts of their culture and language included. Like even the soundtrack and songs have no Tamil songs? Like not even one for the heck of it?? WHY? IS THAT NOT SO SO MUCH MISSED REPRESENTATION? Like typical Tamil things like making a beat out of random shit, Tamil kuthu songs, Typical Tamil mega serials, food and enjoying food together. Like why wasn’t the food stated or name dropped. 

Personally, NHIE was really really really white palatable and it didn’t really get it into any roots of our culture especially for a girl struggling to find roots as in where she fits. Like you gotta show both cultures and let the audience and Devi figure out where she fits. If you show long Netflix shows like Pretty little liars, show alternatives like mega serials such as Chitti or Mudiyaathu Karuppu or Mettioli? Or if you wanna be more modern name drop Tamil webseries’s? If you wanna show English pop hits, show Tamil album songs and kuthu beats. IF YOU WANNA REPRESENT, THEN ACTUALLY REPRESENT. Don’t pull this generic ass BS on me!

5. I hope the lack of tamil culture in the series gets corrected next season somehow. I don’t have ANY ANY faith that it will. But I can be hopeful. Also I lowkey like that Devi has like a “rival” of another Indian girl. I don’t like that is is rivalry cause brown sisters gotta support each other and that’s sort of been the general motto from where I’m from. But like I get why and it would make complete sense. 

I really really hope that Aneesha is like super super Indian. Proud of her culture and brings a lot of her culture and its facets to discussions and not afraid to make her culture a focal point of herself.  It would be a really good foil to Devi and it might spark some thought into her and accepting or at least recognizing the cool shit about being Tamil. I wanna see that mainly cause I used to be lowkey ashamed for having a strong accent when I speak cause I was made fun of and I didn’t like having different lunches or listening to different music and not being part of the more Western culture. But I learnt to ignore that and became like 3000 times more proud of being Tamil and wore like traditional clothes to school, ranging from kurti tops over jeans at first and eventually wearing full on chudidaars and saris (saris to proms at least, I couldn’t wear a sari on a daily, half sari probably, sari would be hard). Bringing traditional sweets and food and distributing them to anyone who would ask and trading lunches.  Please let me see a brown kid who is proud to be brown and straight up in your face about it at times. 

(Unrelated but to Tamil/Indian ppl who had other Indian/Tamil kids in your school like was trading lunches or like sharing lunches common? Like its a pretty common Tamil thing to do and I brought that culture of taking some of everybody’s lunch and giving everybody a part of mine everywhere I went. But like was that a thing? )

[mammonsvulva]

Hi there! I just discovered your page and i loved the bachata headcannon!

On that same line, can you do a female latina headcannon? Like, more specifically, Colombian, you know, an MC that's like normally fluent in english but when mad she just burst on angry spanish screaming session with latin curses and a strong accent and also just getting really mad if deemed as Mexican by default? I'd love that! Thank youuuu (also feel free to ignored this if it's not of your fancy)

I hope you have a great day!

Of course! I really hope you like it! :)

(I tried to incorporate things some of my relatives say as Colombians please don’t hate me🥲)

The Brothers + Datables and a Latina MC with Colombian Habits

Lucifer❤️

Lucifer has always been amused by the boldness MC portrayed, that is until Mammon pissed her off

MC actually f*cking explodes, calling Mammon “culicagao” (like a bratty kid) and a bunch of profanities out of rage

Actually leaves Lucifer surprised, who could she hate so much that she’d put a curse on them?

Is actually kind of scared to speak up after she went silent, kinda just stares at her like “what the fuck do I do”

“I’ve told Mammon A THOUSAND TIMES. IM NOT F*CKING MEXICAN”

(Oooohh Mammons gonna get his ASS WHOOPED)

“MAAAAAAMMMMOOOOONNN????”

Mammon💛

Could learn a thing or two from MC, had some strong clap backs

Is counting his money when OUT OF NOWHERE MC just starts incanting a literal curse

Literally has his quaking in his boots dude, like he’s genuinely terrified

He can’t keep up with anything she’s saying and feels like his time to die has come

Doesn’t say A WORD when she calms down, jumps when she starts apologizing for reacting like that

“W-w-what happened? ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )”

“I LOST 10 GRAND IN BLACK JACK! ITS FUCKING RIGGED!”

Is genuinely more cautious for a while, kind of traumatized him

Mammon thought it’d be a great Idea to take her to meet one of his witches, MC already didn’t like her but listen to this

First thing the witch said was “Aren’t you that Mexican transfer student or whatever?”

(‘Oooh Ms. Girl you fucked up’)

Leviathan💙

Wishes he could have MCs confidence, ‘how does she respond like that 0•0’

He’s reading Manga while MC just lost on the same level for the 5th time

Accidentally shifts to his demon for he got so scared

Has to whip his tail up and grab the controller before she could slam it, genuinely terrified for his well being

Once she calms down she goes to give him a hug, to help with her frustration

*PANICS* “I-I can h-help you with that level, if y-you want..”

MC watches as he beats it with ease and heaves a sigh of relief, literally such a stupid game

Gets just as offended as MC when somebody said “I went to Mexico on vacation once, what was it like growing up there?”

Will let her handle it and he’ll be her Moral Support <3

Satan💚

Loved that MC was always ready, he was like that too being the Avatar of Wrath

Is genuinely amused when MC burst out swearing because she got a bad grade, he actually thought it was hilarious

Thinks of like a game to keep up with everything she’s shouting, makes her more upset

“What the fuck are you laughing at juemadre de la-“

“You’re Hot when you’re mad, Did you know that?”

Makes her go silent immediately, why is he like this, making people wanna act up on DIAVOLO

When they’re BOTH mad at something it’s like a f*cking BOMB RAID bro

They both just keep adding more, even when Satans speaking a Demon Dialect and MC is speaking Spanish LMAOO

When an arrogant soul decides to purposely mislabel MC as Mexican, the fool needs to count his seconds with MC and Satan both getting on his ass

Asmodeus💞

Has always liked the spunk MC had, it entertained him to watch her bicker with his brothers

Surprised, but not happy AT ALL with the fact that MC could blow up like that

Gets on MC for lashing out, “MC! THIS IS TERRIBLE FOR YOUR SKIN, DO YOU WANT WRINKLES?”

Gets MC to tell him what made her loose her cool like that

“That stupid b*tch from class posted saying “That Mexican transfer student isn’t pretty enough to be this annoying”

Almost explodes as bad as MC did

“MS. GIRL SHE SAID WHAT? Lemme hop on Devilgram and end her career real quick💖”

Devilgram post- Asmodeus 19:34: “Aw sweetie, Not everybody can be as gorgeous as MC and muah, but don’t go trying to drag her in the dirt with you. Filthy🥱”

No mercy on the haters💔

Beelzebub🧡

Like Asmo, found it entertaining to see MC bicker with his brothers every now and then

MC just couldn’t keep calm anymore when she messed up the recipe she was working on AGAIN

Beel becomes more concerned than scared, ‘Is she ok? :(‘

Gets up to hug MC, hoping it’ll help calm her down a bit

She explains that she kept ruining the dessert no matter how hard she tried

“MC, it’s ok to do it wrong, because it helps you learn how to do it right :)”

She’s tried again, except this time with Beel to help her :)

Gets upset when someone defaults MC as Mexican, knowing how much she hates it

He may be a teddy bear but man don’t f*ck with his Chef

Belphegor💜

Thought MC was amusing with the way she made sure everyone knew she wouldn’t take any BS

MC just happened to stub her toe while Belphie was sleeping, and now he’s awake, and heated

“What the f*ck happened?”

Is actually more concerned than upset, she wouldn’t lash out like that for no reason

When MC explains that a picture of her in the RAD Catalog still ended up being there even though she made it clear she was against it

“Oh, MC- you look good in every photo, I wouldn’t be upset about it”

Assures her it’s not a big deal and then invites her to come take a nap with him

Will mean mug the f*ck out of anyone who assumes MC is Mexican, because he finds extremely disrespectful (as it is)

Might commit homicide if they keep saying Mexican but I ain’t no snitch

+

Diavolo♥️

At first took MC as disrespectful, but learned it was only when she felt she was being disrespected (then by all means, go off)

Surprisingly, Diavolo speaks Spanish, but he still kind of struggles to keep up

He’s just laughing the whole time too, like MC isn’t furious

Later, MC calmly explains just some random student pissed her off again

“Who is this student you say? Do I need to have a chat with them as the Demon Lord of The Devildom? :)?”

Dia actually admires how passionate MC is about her home country, agrees that it’s disrespectful to mislabel someone

Because he can, Dia starts to learn about Colombian culture and throwing parties just for MC

Starts saying shit like “politas pa la rumba!” (I’ll buy beers for everyone¿) just to sound cool to MC

Barbatos💟

Barb doesn’t understand how someone could be so beautiful but so hostile sometimes, overall doesn’t really mind though

Is surprised that such things could conde from MC, kind of chuckles thinking about it

He figured he should try and step in to calm the situation

“Is there anything I can do to ease you, MC?”

It ended up being that Diavolo was completely ignoring her and brushing her aside when he never did that with Solomon

Asks if she’d like him to talk to Dia about it, since he may approach it better than she will

Barb will quietly correct anybody who believes her to be Mexican, just so MC won’t have to deal with their arrogance herself

Takes his free time and makes dishes from Colombia, or Colombian themed cookies or cupcakes to make MC happy :)

Simeon🤍

Is trying to teach MC better ways to respond to idiots, more Angelic ways

When MC blows up for the first time in front of him, the literal shock she sent him into omfg

*GASP* “MC?! WHY ARE YOU SAYING SUCH VILE THINGS?”

Like, HELLOOO? SHE DARES TO SAY SUCH THINGS IN AN ANGELS PRESENCE?

Helps to calm her down after showing distaste for her words

“You’re lips are to beautiful to speak such sinful things”

Will go on to give MC a long but kind lecture about why exploding like that is bad for her Aura and whatever

Will politely make it known that someone was wrong for assuming MC is Mexican, does get a bit irritated though

He now goes up to MC when she’s getting upset, to remind her to breathe and comfort her with a deep hug :)

“See? It’s ok MC~ just breathe in and out for me, ok? :)”

Solomon⚛️

Will piss MC off on purpose just to see her pop off, he LOVES it

Literally her #1 cheerleader when she blows up, adding on to what she’s upset about

“Period MC” “No way she said that! What a fugly b*tch” “Right, she’s just a hater”

Hypes her up all the time, even when she’s obviously in the wrong

Sol needs ALL the tea, pulls up like “who we talking shit about?”

Will get on someone’s ass just because, now think about when someone mislabels MC😳💥

Gives MC a sense of pride hearing him say “Cagué” when he messes up a potion, he obviously picked that up from her

Luke⛅️

Gets kinda (really) scared when MC becomes a little aggressive

Actually bursts out crying because he was scared MC was mas at him

MC traumatized this kid so bad, he ran to Simeon like he was getting chased be some demons

“M-m-mom is really m-mad and *sobs* I’m s-scared *sobs more*”

MC IMMEDIATELY feels super bad because she scared away his soul

Simeon, having talked to her about it already, mouthed “Apologize now.” In a very not polite manner, kinda scaring MC too🚫🧢

Has MC apologizing PROFUSELY, trying to explain it wasn’t Luke’s fault

Once he calms down, they go to bake cookies like usual, except this time he’s sniffing the whole time :( 💔

I really hope this fit what you asked for :( </3

[escapewithbts]

“Do you know BTS?” - Yoongi

——————————————————

“I have an iced cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and 2 Splenda!” You called out, placing the drink on the counter.

It was a busy morning at the local coffee shop you worked at downtown, all the business men and women looking to get their usual morning caffeine fix. You were short staffed, of course, so you were doing way more than you were supposed to; making drinks, taking orders, bringing food to the people who sat at the tables. You were running around frantically trying to keep up, and apparently not succeeding.

“Umm excuse me?” An annoyed looking woman in a black pantsuit approached the pick up counter, drumming her long manicured nails on it’s marble surface, “this was supposed to be a hot cappuccino, NOT iced.”

You furrowed your brows and looked at the label stuck to the cup which clearly read “iced”. In fact, you were the one who took her order, and specifically remember the word iced coming out of her mouth.

But you knew better than to argue, so instead you grabbed the cup and said,

“I’m sorry, m’am, let me remake it hot for you.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“How long will it take?? I really don’t have time to wait around again.”

You shook your head and tried your best to smile, not very well succeeding.

“Just a couple minutes, I’m making it now.”

She let out a loud sigh and crossed her arms. You could feel her staring daggers into your back as you started the espresso machine.

“Hey, (y/n),” your coworker came up behind you with a tray of iced coffees in her hand, “these are for table 4, they’ve been waiting for a while, do you think you could run them over? I have got to get this man’s quiche in the oven.”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off the drink you were remaking in front of you.

“Yeah, sure, but can you please finish this woman’s cap first? She’ll probably prefer you making it over me anyway.”

She nodded as she handed you the tray of drinks and took over your spot at the coffee machines. Then you walked out from behind the counter and onto the floor, navigating through the people waiting to order and the people waiting for their drinks.

Suddenly, without warning, someone bumped into you from behind. Hard. You let out a yelp and stumbled forward, the coffees slipping off the tray and splashing all over a man who had been standing in front of you. He jumped a little, startled from the sudden wet and cold sensation on his back. His black t shirt was soaked, clinging to the skin underneath. His arms raised from his sides as he turned around slowly. A few people were staring, but most were too preoccupied with themselves to notice what happened.

Upon the man turning around, you noticed he had wireless headphones in, a black baseball cap on his head, and a face mask over his nose and mouth. You could barely see his eyes as he raised his head up to look at you and removed one of the earbuds from his ear.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry sir let me-“ you started.

“What the fuck?” He interrupted, glaring at you from under the rim of his cap, “Are you serious?”

He fiddled with his shirt, pulling it around forward to see the damage behind and muttered something to himself in what sounded like another language. Korean maybe?

Your face turned beet red and you frantically tried to figure out what to do.

“I-I’m so sorry, can I get you some napkins, um or-or a cloth, um maybe a towel I-“

“No. Just stop.” He interrupted again.

You shut your mouth, feeling horrible at your inability to rectifying the situation.

“Fuck. You should look where you’re going,” he snapped, his voice thick with a foreign accent.

He didn’t have to be so rude.

“I said I was sorry, okay?? It was an accident.”

The man rolled his dark brown eyes and mumbled a quick “whatever” before turning and storming out of the shop.

You sighed and bent down to pick up the now empty glasses off the floor before retreating to the back to get towels to wipe up the mess.

This was so not your day.

Finally, after 10 more long hours, 6pm came. Thank god it was closing time. You were exhausted and couldn’t wait to close up shop and go home. You didn’t mind volunteering to work a double shift as you appreciated the pay, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t take a lot out of you.

The setting sun shone through the large glass windows at the front of the shop creating a beautiful orange glow. You loved this time of day. You had to finish closing alone but you really didn’t mind. It felt calming and quiet and warm, making the cleaning process almost therapeutic.

As you were setting the chairs up on top of the tables to start sweeping, you heard the bell on the front door jingle, signaling it had been opened. You had turned the chalkboard sign outside to read ‘CLOSED’ right at 6, so you were confused as to who it could be.

“Sorry, we are actually closed now,” you said, looking up.

Right away you recognized the same guy you had spilled the iced coffees on earlier during rush hour. He wore the same black hat, same pants and shoes, but this time he bore no face mask and had changed into a white t shirt. Your cheeks immediately turned warm. What did he want? You mentally cursed yourself for not locking the door.

“I know,” he said quietly, walking towards you, “I wanted to be back earlier...”

You swallowed as he got closer, your heart pounding in your ears.

You tried to sound confident but was only able to squeak out,

“What do you want?”

He stopped a few feet from you and removed his hat to reveal soft looking jet black hair, his bangs falling over his forehead and almost covering his eyes. He ran a hand through it and you couldn’t help but notice his soft facial features and pale white skin. Silver hoop earrings hung from both his ears, a collection of thin bracelets wrapped around his thin wrists. He bit his lip hesitantly and looked at the ground before speaking.

“I came back... here to say I am sorry.” He spoke slowly, like he didn’t know English very well. Or rather he did, but was not confident in his abilities.

You let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh.”

He scratched the back of his head.

“I, um, was not nice. I am a little stressed this morning, but I should not have been rude to you,” he still didn’t look at you, his shyness evident, “I know it was accident, so I am sorry for how angry I was.”

He took a deep breath, almost like he was relieved to get that off his chest.

“It’s okay,” you responded with a small smile, beginning to take notice of how handsome he was, especially in this light, but also how adorable his apology was, “I, too, was having a stressful morning. I shouldn’t have snapped back at you.”

He nodded, gazing off to the side.

“No, it is okay. It was all me.”

He smiled slightly and finally looked at you. You felt butterflies in your stomach at the eye contact. You were suddenly flustered.

“Do you, um, want something now maybe? Since you didn’t get anything this morning? It’s on me.”

You walked back behind the counter, tying your apron in the process.

“Oh no, no you don’t have to do that,” he protested, “I am fine.”

“Please,” you insisted, “it’s the least I can do. What do you like?”

He thought for a moment.

“Umm, can you make a iced americano?”

You nodded confidently.

“Of course. One iced americano coming right up.”

You felt him watching you as you mixed the espresso shots with cold water before pouring in ice to fill the cup to the brim. You set it on the counter in front of him.

“Here you go.”

He nodded and took the drink in his hand.

“Thank you,” he paused, “Um, also... My name is Yoongi.”

You smiled.

“I’m (y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“You too.”

He took a small sip of the coffee and his eyes got wide.

“Wow. This is the best iced americano I have had ever. Number one iced americano.”

You blushed and looked down.

“Well thank you... but shouldn’t I be the one complimenting you? After all, I’m the one who spilled coffee all over you this morning.”

He let out a chuckle, his mouth wider this time revealing perfect teeth and a gummy smile. He really was adorable.

“Maybe.”

There was a pause as you two just stood there awkwardly.

“Do you...” Yoongi finally spoke, fiddling with the straw in his drink, “Do you know BTS?”

You cocked your head and thought for a moment, wondering why the sudden random question.

“Yes, I think I have heard of them. They are a K-pop boyband, right?”

He nodded gently.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I don’t know much about them, and I haven’t heard any of their music, but I know so many people adore them. Why do you ask?”

He hesitated, shuffling a little and rubbing the back of his head with his free hand.

“That’s me,” he stated, “I am BTS. My group name is Suga.”

Your eyes got wide. Whoa. A famous artist had come to your coffee shop! You suddenly wished you knew more about them.

“Oh wow! That’s really cool! I’m sorry I don’t know you or your music... But, um, congratulations on all your successes here in the US and around the world. I know you guys are quite well known for breaking that barrier.”

Yoongi chuckled and looked down timidly. Now aware of how well-known and successful he was, his obvious bashfulness really surprised you.

“Thank you. It is an honor, really.”

You smiled at him admiring his humbleness.

“I am here in New York for two more weeks,” he continued, “Ummm maybe... I could come back here and we could drink coffee together?”

He looked up at you again, a rosy colored blush forming across his cheeks.

Your heart sped up. Was he asking you on a date? You suddenly felt giddy and flustered.

“Oh, um, yes. Sure, yes. I would really like that.”

“But maybe next time,” he said with a grin, “I drink the coffee, not wear it. Okay?”

Your face turned red of embarrassment again and you covered it with your hand.

“Well I can’t make any promises,” you laughed, “but I will try my best.”

*

Masterlist

[gotnofucks]

Loving Dodger

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Your journey of overcoming your fear of dogs to loving Dodger.

Words: 3.6k

Warning: mention of smut, language. Loads of fluff

A/N: I obviously don’t know Chris Evans, this is just a story.

MASTERLIST

+++++

Everyone was packing up and you rushed to get things in order. Your coffee had gone cold hours ago, and some poor intern would be responsible for throwing it away from wherever you had left it. Working in the film industry could be rough, and this was just backstage. You went through the set, automatically putting things in order as you moved and waved goodbye to others. Stuffing the last of your things in your overstuffed bag, you left to find a taxi. You were glad you weren’t working tomorrow morning, for you planned to have a long hot shower and an undisturbed sleep after a long time.

It was late at night and no taxis came your way. You hated taking an Uber this late, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You had only just taken out your phone when a car stopped in front of you. The driver’s side door opened, and a smiling Chris Evans greeted you.

“Can I give you a ride milady?” He asked and you snorted.

“You have the worst English accent. If you do that in London, they’ll smell the imposter in you” You said. “And it’s cool, I’m calling an uber.”

Chris frowned, leaning against the door with arms spread, his few sizes short, too tight shirt stretching over his broad frame. You felt like he needed to be arrested for the cardiac arrests he may cause.

“At this time, and even when a handsome, chivalrous man is offering a safe ride? You wound me sweetheart.” He grabbed his left boob, faking a pained expression and you sighed.

“God, you’re awful Chris. You sure it’s okay, a little out of your way isn’t it?”

“Y/n, there is not one place in the world I wouldn’t go with you”

You let your hair form a curtain to hide your blush, clearing your throat awkwardly and stepping in his car. His car smelled like his cologne, the heady scent sticking to your clammy skin. You went for the radio, soft country music running in the background.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” Chris asked.

“I live a boring life man. I’m probably gonna clean my shit and stock my kitchen with as much instant food as I can.”

“Well, if you want, we can go somewhere. Make your boring weekend interesting.” Chris suggested, glancing at you as he maneuvered around the traffic. You fidgeted, playing with your fingers as you avoided his eyes. Saying no to him was getting difficult every time. You wished the radio was turned up louder so this conversation could be avoided.

“Oh, you know me. I like to lay in, be a lazy girl.” You tried to say nonchalantly, and Chris’s hands clenched around the wheel. You stared out the window, watching the city breeze past as things got awkward inside. You didn’t speak until he pulled up in front of your home, and you reached for the door before the car even stopped, a farewell on your tongue when you were pulled back by the seatbelt.

You blushed, hands frantically trying to undo the clasp and Chris’s hands covered yours, releasing you. You breathed deeply as he was leaning into you, face just a few inches away. You could count his lashes this close, see the exact shape of that mole on his cheek and feel his breath on you. You pulled back, quickly opening the door and almost stepping out before you were pulled back again, this time by Chris’s hand grabbing your upper arm. He tugged you back into your seat and came close enough to touch your nose with his.

“You know you can’t keep blowing me off,” He muttered. His hand tucked your hair behind your ear, blue eyes intently looking in yours. “I can’t take your no because I know you don’t mean it. Why do you keep running away?”

You gulped uneasily, wiggling out of his grip and getting out of the car. He was still looking at you, waiting for an answer. You shook your head slightly, feet kicking the ground at your feet.

“Thank you for the ride Chris. Drive safe.”

The door swung shut behind you and you walked away without another look, hiding away inside your home and trying to calm your beating heart.

+++++

You remembered disabling your alarm last night, so what the hell was that awful noise. Burrowing your head in your pillow, you tried to go back to sleep until the pounding continued. You growled, ready to rip out a new one to whoever was stupid enough to disturb your sleep. Uncaring of your attire, the t-shirt barely reaching midthigh over your panties you marched to your door, a scowl on your face.

You ripped open your door, already mid-triad before noticing who it was.

“Look, you need to shut the hell up. I work 14 hours a day, barely eat and sleep and you trying to break my door down is not –”

Chris smiled at you, amusement glittering in his eyes which raked over your bare legs. Your mouth parted for an embarrassingly long amount of time before you remembered you bed hair, morning breath (more like mourning breath) and the ratty t-shirt with holes. You pulled down on the hem, aware that you weren’t wearing a bra and it was too late to hide.

“What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour?” You asked Chris and he held up his hands to show he had food.

“Ungodly? Its 10 am miss, and your loyal subject is here to feed you.”

He moved past you into your house without invite, putting down the paper bag which had grease stains on it. Despite your shock and anger, your stomach grumbled, and you shut the door behind you. You rolled your eyes at his cheek, but that stuff looked too tempting to say no to.

“Since you’ve decided to intrude on my morning, make yourself useful and put on some coffee. I’m gonna change” You said and walked towards your bedroom.

“Like the way you look!” Chris shouted from behind you and you flipped him off without looking, ignoring his chuckle.

Why the hell was he here? After the way you guys had left things last night, you would have thought he would be too pissed to talk to you. You sighed as you pulled on a bra and something other than a 10-year-old t-shirt. You found him setting the table, laying down breakfast as the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. He smiled when he saw you had pulled your hair into a messy bun and winked at you.

“Here, larger portion for you.” He said handing you a plate of your favorite food. You took it, feeling like a guest in your own home as he served and poured you a mug of coffee, made perfectly as you like it. You both ate in silence for a while, the sound of cutlery the only thing to be heard. Finally, you pinned him with a stare, pushing away your plate.

“Chris, what are you doing here? Seriously.”

He chewed the morsel in his mouth before leaning his hands on the table and clasping his hands. It felt like an interview and you wished you had something better on, like an armor, to deal with whatever he was going to say.

“Well, if you want an honest answer here, I’d say I am here because I wanted to see you. I didn’t want you having some instant meal for the 10th time this week, so I got you some breakfast.”

You looked away from him, chewing on your lip. You wished he wouldn’t be so sweet. If he were a sleazy bastard, saying no to him would be so easy. Yet, here he was getting you food and being all domestic, making your life more difficult.

“Look, I appreciate this but I – Chris, we can’t happen. You need to stop this.”

It seemed like he was contemplating you, trying to guess what went on in that head of yours. He reached across to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers and stroked.

“I can’t stop. I tried, trust me I did. I can’t. I see you on the set and I want to whisk you away in the vanity away from prying eyes. I see you anywhere at all, with any other man I want to punch his face. Y/n don’t tell me I am imagining things. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want me too, don’t you?”

The chair made a screeching noise as you snatched your hand away from his and got up, pacing the room. You were shaking your head, trying to think of a way to make him understand.

“Chris, we won’t work, you and me.”

“Why the fuck not? How can you even know if you won’t give us a chance? And I am the one who’s supposed to have fucking commitment issues.”

You wrung your hands, sitting in front of him again. He looked angry and frustrated, not knowing how much you wanted to say yes. But you knew in your heart of hearts that a very basic thing will never let you be.

“I won’t give it a chance because we’re different. We like different things, and well, sometimes they can be too much to compromise.”

“Like what, huh?”

You looked down in your lap, playing with the lint that stuck to your leggings. It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but you knew it would hold a lot of importance to this relationship. Taking a sharp breath, you told him the truth.

“I don’t like dogs. In fact, they terrify me.”

Chris lurched back as if it was the last thing he expected to come from you. He probably expected some tale of family drama or relationship trauma, but your reasons were simpler. You had cynophobia, the fear of dogs. You couldn’t be in the same room with them without getting shit scared. Chris blinked at you, like it was the dumbest thing you could have said.

“Excuse me? You refuse to go out with me because you don’t like dogs?”

You gave him a critical look, raising a brow.

“Have you seen your social media accounts? You love Dodger probably more than you love any human being. You’re a self-proclaimed ‘huge dog guy’. And me…I can’t be in the same room with one. We won’t work out Chris, and I would rather save myself the heartbreak.”

This was clearly not something Chris was prepared for. He looked baffled, not knowing what to say. You wished it were a small thing, but it wasn’t. Everyone who knew Chris could tell how much he loved dogs. His Instagram page was basically a Dodger fan page. He had the name tattooed on his body. You could never work out simply because Chris would always be choosing between you and his doggo, and you would be too busy being scared of him to enjoy your time with Chris.

He released a deep breath, straightening his shoulders.

“We’ll make it happen. A lot of people fear things, and they get over it. It can work out. When you meet Dodger, you’ll forget you’d ever been scared of a dog. He’s a good boy, trust me.”

“Chris” You said shaking your head, “You don’t understand. I like dogs but only from afar. They terrify the living daylights out of me. I just – why don’t you understand? This is already so embarrassing”

He got up and sat next to you, his hand on your shoulder. “Look, just give me one chance. I know we can be great, okay? One chance is all I am asking. If it gets too much, we end it. I promise, it will be like nothing ever happened.”

You didn’t want to believe him. You shouldn’t have, but he was the man you’d been crushing on for nearly a year now. He was smart and kind and funny, he worked for the good causes and god he was such a treat to look at. You should have said no, had your coffee and left it at that. But there was only so many times you can say no to Chris Evans, especially when he’s pursuing you like the proverbial hound of hell.

“One chance Chris.”

+++++

This was a bad idea and you were regretting it already. You were practically hiding behind Chris, bunching his shirt under both hands as your head peeked over his large body. You were not ready to meet Dodger, at least not without a bomb suit.

“Hey, relax, he’s a right love. I’ve been showing him your pictures on my phone and he loves you already.” Chris tried to placate you and you replied with a pathetic whimper.

The door had barely opened before the golden brown doggo ran towards you and you squeaked. He bounded on Chris and you, Chris laughing and rubbing him behind the ear while you backed away. Dodger kept trying to come towards you and Chris had to hold him back by the collar while offering you a hand.

“Come on Y/n, he doesn’t bite. He’s a cutie.” Chris called but you shook your head, your knees vibrating. You edged away, taking deep gulps of breath as fear overtook you. It was pathetic really how scared you were since Dodger wasn’t even a huge dog, but it still took every last bit of your willpower to not just run away.

“Chris I can’t. Please.” You begged and he must have heard the fear in your voice. He pulled Dodger inside the house, the barks getting fainter as they moved in and you stayed frozen in your track. He came out after a couple minutes and immediately took your shoulders, rubbing softly.

“Hey, hey look at me. He’s inside now, okay?”

You nodded and buried your head in his chest, feeling more embarrassed than ever. Chris hugged you, shushing you gently.

“I am so sorry Chris, I just can’t. I told you this won’t work” You said, and Chris pulled away to look in your eyes. His blue eyes were determined as they stared in yours and you blinked up at him with watery eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung this up on you like this. We’ll start small, okay?” He urged and you bit your lip, uncertain. Chris rubbed his nose to yours, pressing a kiss on your lips and both your cheeks. “Please Y/n, just give me more time. We’ll work it out.”

You wanted it to work out too. The dates you had gone on had been nothing short of amazing. When you were with Chris you laughed like never before, the conversation so unrestrained. You didn’t worry about hiding your flaws, feeling so comfortable in his company. And then there was the sex. It was so good. In fact, it was spectacular.

“I don’t know how we’ll make it work.” You admitted softly and Chris smiled at you, cupping your face in his huge hands.

“We’ll do it together baby. Don’t give up on us just yet please.” You pressed your forehead to his and breathed in his scent, letting it wash over you. Nodding your affirmation, you let him lead you inside his house, Dodger locked inside the bedroom.

“I feel terrible for locking him in.” You said and you did. Just because dogs scare you doesn’t mean you hate them. You just feared going near them. You watched those cute puppy videos on YouTube to help relax yourself, only you didn’t want any dogs around you.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s with his stuffed lion.”

You cuddled on the couch, watching some 90s movie and you wished with everything that this would somehow work out.

+++++

It took you a while to decide if this was heaven or hell. You were awing and yelping simultaneously, and Chris laughed from behind you, his hands wrapped around your waist. Nuzzling his nose in your neck, he bit your ear softly uncaring of the people around you.

“Oh my god” You must have said this a dozen times already, but you were simply in awe. When Chris said you’ll start small you didn’t think he meant literally. In front of you were some of the cutest, softest, smallest puppies and you finally decided this was heaven.

“I figured we’ll begin from the beginning. Go up slowly, get you used to being around canines.” He bit you again as he said that and you giggled. Turning your head, you captured his lips in an elated kiss, touched that he was going to go through this with you.

“This is amazing.” You said and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. He led you to the corner where a small black puppy with spots on his toes was wagging his tail at you. You awed, not afraid of him in the least.

“You wanna tell me about your phobia a little?” Chris asked as you cradled the pup in the crook of your elbow, the little darling loving your finger running over his small belly.

“It’s kinda silly but when I was four, I was chased by my neighbor’s dog. I ran like hell and it almost bit me before they got it back in control. I’ve feared them ever since.”

Chris hummed, kissing the pup in his own hands and giving you a soft smile.

“This helps?”

“This helps.” You agreed.

Chris and you must have petted a dozen puppies, holding them in your hands, cooing to them and kissing their small noses. You clicked pictures and fed them from your hands, a cacophony of kissy noises and good boys flowing from you both.

“I’m gonna have to hide these pics or Dodger is gonna get jealous.” Chris said and you snorted, snuggling into his side. It was a beautiful day at the shelter, and you were surprised at how fun it was. Tired as you were, you were also acutely aware of Chris’s hand creeping up your thigh in the car. You looked out the window, suppressing your smile.

“So, we made some progress today” He said, and you hummed. “And you had a lot of fun” You hummed again.

Chris pulled you to him roughly by your collar, his tongue poking out to just lick at your bottom lip.

“I think I deserve a reward…” He trailed off and you finally let a smile spread on your lips.

“I think you do Mr. Evans” You agreed and pressed your lips over his, hoping the driver will overlook the noises in the back.

+++++

Baby steps worked, and over the course of the next few weeks you got more comfortable around dogs. You spent a lot of time with pups of all breeds, slowly moving on to the bigger dogs. It wasn’t all easy, few visits ended in tears and hopelessness, but Chris stayed by your side. He let you set the pace, accompanying you every time and praising you for every obstacle you crossed. He didn’t mind spending most of the time at your place and waved off your apologies about Dodger.

“We’re doing this for him too, so he can get to know you better. It’s okay with me.” He assured you after a passionate round of love making. You traced Dodger’s name on his bare chest, finger roving over the other scattered tattoos. He loved it when you traced them with your tongue and bit his nipples.

“I think I’d like to try another visit with him.” You finally admitted, peeking up at him from under your lashes. Chris grinned, pulling you closer.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I think I’m ready Chris. I want to meet the good boy who’s sharing your heart with me.”

Rolling over you, Chris pressed kisses over your collar bones and chest, hands squeezing your curves. Your lips mashed together in a sloppy kiss and you felt him smile against you.

“There is no one else I’d rather give my heart to other than you and him.”

+++++

This time when the door opened you were not hiding behind Chris. You held a soft chew toy in your hand, a gift and an apology. Dodger ran towards Chris, tail wagging aggressively as he licked and nipped at every exposed bit of skin he could find. Chris giggled as he rubbed and scratched his baby, and you were very proud of not making any distressed sound or running away. When Dodger finally turned to you, you tentatively came towards him with the toy.

“Hello Dodger, you sweet sweet boy.” You greeted. You’d been with dogs almost as big as him now and felt little apprehension touching his soft coat. He whined under your touch, leaning into you and rubbing against your legs. Chris joined you, his hand finding yours in Dodger’s fur.

“Look buddy, mummy is ready to meet you. You like her, eh?”

Dodger barked in agreement, rolling over for belly rubs while you stared at Chris coyly.

“Mummy eh?” You teased and Chris blushed, kissing you softly.

“Well, only if you’ll have Dodger’s dad.” He said.

You playfully sat down on the floor, letting the cutie climb on your lap and scratching behind his ears that made him purr in satisfaction.

“What do you say Dodge, should I take him?” You asked and he wagged his tail, rolling around in your lap. You gazed lovingly at Chris, softly touching his bearded face.

“Well, only because Dodger says so.”

+++++

Taglist:

@shooting-star-love @what-is-your-wish @stanmysoul @littlegasps @bluemusickid @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel

[okay-j-hannah]

That’s My Wife

Harry Potter : Fic

Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 3049

Warnings: SEXY TALK! Charlie is just all over you and your quidditch uniform 😂 Also I know I keep using different gifs for Charlie fics... I just look up ‘hot ginger man’ and pick one I like 🥰

Request: “Hey could I have a story where you are Charlie Weasleys wife and a professional quidditch player? In goblet of fire when they go to the world cup instead of Ireland vs Krum it's your team versus Krum and Charlie is so proud to have Weasley on your uniform and is showing you off to everyone and idk I really just think of Charlie as a very proud guy but humble. Thanks so much!” - Anon

A/N: There’s nothing quite like having your husband be your biggest supporter, especially with the Quidditch World Cup fast approaching

Shifting beneath the covers, (Y/N) sighed as her brain began to wake up. There were a number of thumps happening outside their bedroom and she groaned.

“Charlie?”

Thankfully, a hand came sneakily around her waist, pulling her to him, “What’s the point of apparating if we don’t even get to sleep in?”

“They’re excited,” (Y/N) replied in a quiet voice, keeping her eyes closed as she turned towards her husband, “And people are a bit careless when they’re tired.”

Footsteps could be heard going down the creaky stairs and (Y/N) peered behind Charlie to see that the moon was still basking their window. It had to have been nearly daybreak for the others to be up and about.

“I’ll have to get ready anyway,” she mumbled, resting back into Charlie’s embrace, “The team wants to do warmups and standard procedure before the majority of the crowds…”

Charlie suddenly held her tighter, silencing her with a grin, “Later, sweetheart – I won’t be able to see you all day. I want to hold you for a little while before you fly off.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escape her with him cradling her against his chest. Though the World Cup was hours away, she knew her captain wouldn’t let her out of his sight until the game started. With the narrow win England made to be entered into the cup, there was immense pressure to deliver a swift and skillful victory for the team.

Being the rising star of “Quidditch Weekly,” there was a lot on (Y/N)’s shoulders to carry the team. It was that thought that began to swell within her when a sudden shout came from downstairs.

“George! What is that in your pocket?”

Charlie laughed low in his throat, his grisly morning voice doing it justice, “Looks like mum found those joke shop toffees.”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t you lie to me!”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, allowing Charlie’s natural scents relax her; worn leather, old newspaper, rain-soaked grass. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do without him giving her pep talks between penalty shots and time outs.

More than anything she wished he could be on the grounds with the referees instead of up in the stands.

With the anxiety filling her up as it usually did before a big game, she reached for his hand wrapped around her. Lacing their fingers together, she could feel him lean into her neck and plant a kiss behind her ear.

“You’re going to be incredible, sweetheart.”

She sighed into a smile, closing her eyes once more and allowing a few more moments of peace.

“Accio! Accio! Accio!” Came from downstairs, and she laughed out loud that time.

~~~

The sun crept higher and higher as the team lay on the pitch, doing stretches. Their captain Edric Vosper was pacing along the team benches.

“England hasn’t been a part of the Quidditch World Cup since 1981,” he intertwined his fingers in front of him, “And with us scraping that win against Transylvania last month… there’s too much at stake.”

“We know, Vosper,” came the voices of some of (Y/N)’s best friends – the beaters of the team, Dawn and Indira.

“We’ve had this same speech at every practice since that win,” (Y/N) added, smirking and straightening her arm braces, “I’m not sure there’s much else you can say to prepare us.” Her fellow chasers Avery and Keaton snickered behind their hands.

Vosper seemed at a loss of a comeback, finally sitting on one of the benches, “You’re right, of course. I just had a talk with Ludo Bagman and have basically every coin in my account betted for England being the winning team.”

“Why would you do that?” Dawn cried, slumping onto the grassy ground, “I’m worried enough about the game without knowing you’ll be broke if we lose.”

“And will probably have to crash at my place for the rest of the year,” Avery rolled his eyes.

Vosper put his face in his hands and took a deep breath, making the team all refrain from smiling sarcastically. (Y/N) stood and folded her arms, leaning forward slightly to speak.

“I say we take a break before the match starts – go enjoy some time with our families until the whistle blows.”

Keaton flexed his fingers, “Yeah, if I have to practice another quaffle pass I pretty sure my fingertips will snap.”

The team all laughed, evidently trying to make it as lighthearted as possible with the amount of pressure all nestled on their shoulders. (Y/N) secretly believed that a pep talk from all their close friends and family would motivate and improve the teams morale.

But she also knew that if she voiced that much of her opinion, then the players would just tease her about becoming the next great captain for the team. And she was too good of friends with Edric to make him doubt the authority of his position.

“Hey, guys, we’ve been practicing every day for weeks,” Indira stated, pulling a knee to her chest for a stretch. “Maybe enjoying our last meal with our families would relieve some stress.”

“Why are you saying it like we’ve all got death sentences? Our last meal?” Avery laughed, leaning over to push her away playfully.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Way to improve the mood, Hawksworth.”

The rest of the team laughed again, waiting for Vosper to lift his head from his hands. When he did he focused his attention to the opposing team across the quidditch pitch. The brutal Bulgarian team was conducting a number of routines with quaffle passes and snitch spotting.

They donned scarlet robes with black and gold lettering, which reminded (Y/N) of her Gryffindor house back at Hogwarts. It made her frown to see them arrogantly flashing those colors as they sped on their similarly tinted Firebolts.

Peering down at her own uniform, she relished in the bright white and complementary cherry red accents. The proud emblem of golden dragons blazoned the front and brought a fiery desire to beat Bulgaria with every bit of will power she had.

“I think we are over exhausting ourselves,” Vosper concluded, resting his elbows on his knees. “How about this – you all are free to do whatever you please until the match, as long as you deliver the Rowntree Counter.” He stared pointedly at (Y/N), saying, “If we can execute that as perfectly as you did with Transylvania, we’ll have this game in the bag.”

With slight hesitation, she gulped and nodded. She knew there were scouts in the crowd, recruiters that were looking for talent. If she could make a spotlight of their team, they could go far in quidditch history.

It was this thought that dwelled with her as she left the pitch and made her way through the crowds to find the tent grounds the Weasley’s had rented.

She quickly found herself distracted by numerous fans; now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, she could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. She made her way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around.

Many of the campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; a tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami.

“Excuse me, miss,” came a timid voice nearby, “Are you (Y/N) Weasley?”

She turned her shoulder and saw a young girl and boy standing on their tip toes and wringing their hands excitedly.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”

“The chaser for England’s National team?” the boy added on, somewhat disregarding her previous response.

(Y/N) peered down at her uniform and shrugged her shoulders, “I’m pretty sure that’s what my robes say.”

There was a squeal behind her, and then another and another. Whispers, then shouts, began appearing all around her as exclamations said:

“Is that…?”

“Mum! It’s the England chaser!”

“She was on the cover of Quidditch Weekly yesterday.”

“Do you think I could get a signature?”

“Wait… (Y/N) Weasley?”

“I don’t have a quill… would she mind using my body paint?”

And it was twenty minutes before she was able to extract herself from the growing crowd. She had signed robes, arms, books, tents, and English flags with everything from paint to lipstick. There was even a little girl that bought a miniature figurine of (Y/N) that padded along her palm, even laughing the same full body laugh that (Y/N) usually did, which she signed the back of.

She had to apologize to everyone as she pushed through, saying she’d like to get to her family before the day was through. It didn’t stop the stares, gasps, and waves, but she was grateful for not being followed as closely anymore.

A short way farther on, she saw two little witches, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents to claim a breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn’t work.

As she neared the other side of the fields, she noticed the colors changing drastically from black and scarlet to white and cherry. This new patch of tents were all covered with thick clusters of dragon themed décor; blue, red, and white flags flew all around the campers. Dragon kites, dragon statues, dragon emblems, dragon puppets, and even dragon hide was covering most other surfaces.

It really showed the loyalty, as well as the increase of more fans trying to get her attention. One began waving a moving poster of herself crossing her arms and smiling broadly. But just beyond she noticed the exact family she was looking for.

“Charlie!”

One of the redheads sitting around the morning fire stood and whipped around to see who was calling for him. When he spotted his beloved, he called out, urging her forward.

The nearer she got, she noticed that it wasn’t just the Weasley’s, Harry, and Hermione – Ludo Bagman and Mr. Barty Crouch were there too.

“I thought you were going to be on the pitch all day!” Charlie cried, reaching her and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until after the game.”

She giggled happily as he lifted her enough that she was on her toes, “We convinced Vosper that we could use a break to gather our senses.” She nuzzled into his shoulder as they continued to hold each other close – that calming smell of rainfall and old, weathered book pages whelmed her again.

Charlie moved a hand to the side of her face where he could direct her attention to his eyes, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

She smiled, her eyes suspicious, “Even in this sweaty updo?”

“What can I say? I can’t resist a woman in uniform.” He gave her a seductive gaze and bit his lip, leaning his forehead against hers.

She moved her hands up his torso and around his neck, sighing deep in her chest, “Not until I knock Bulgaria on their ass.”

Charlie closed his eyes and breathed deeply, “You just got a whole lot sexier.” And he practically growled as he dipped for a kiss, a hungry kiss. The intensity took (Y/N) slightly off guard, accidentally pulling a moan out of her.

“Okay, woah, woah!” came the boisterous voices of Fred and George, “Lock it up, this isn’t your honeymoon.”

They could hear Ginny laughing with Bill, and Percy was muttering things like, “Right in front of Mr. Crouch,” under his breath.

“Now, Charlie,” Mr. Weasley stated in a nervously loud tone, “We’ve got guests.”

(Y/N) had to be the one to pull away, finding her breath was taken away by the moment. Charlie grinned and waved a hand over his shoulder.

“Paparazzi,” she muttered, “We’re surrounded by witnesses.”

“It would be ridiculous to hide my feelings for you, (Y/N). Why shouldn’t the public know we have a perfectly wonderful marriage.” He held her by her shoulders, “I’m proud to have you by my side, so what if the Daily Prophet knows we kiss… guess what? We’re married!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Still I’d like to keep a few things… hello!” Behind Charlie’s shoulder she could see the entire Weasley family, and guests, watching them closely.

Charlie twirled around and put an arm around (Y/N), “Mr. Crouch, Ludo – may I introduce my wife, (Y/N) Weasley. THE best chaser that England has known these last few years.”

Ludo Bagman, a jolly man with rosy cheeks and a boyish charm, stood immediately and came to shake hands, “An introduction long overdue I’m sure you feel as well. You know I’ve got a pretty penny on your head to get England the win tonight.”

“Us too,” Fred yelled over the many heads, “So don’t fall off your broom.”

“Oh, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve seen (Y/N) play on the pitch,” Charlie stated, leaning towards the group, “She’s like a snitch herself, whipping through the air.”

“Yes,” agreed Ludo, “The biggest hope England has had in over a decade.”

Charlie beamed, moving his loving gaze to his wife. He simply stood there admiring the praise and talent, silently wondering how it was possible she had chosen him to be her husband.

“Thank you, Mr. Bagman,” (Y/N) replied, “Though you should look at England as the team it is – I’m just one person; it takes all of us to win the cup.”

Charlie grinned even wider if it was possible. Admiration wasn’t enough to describe how in awe he was of her. It was like she was in total denial that she was plainly the one carrying the national team. Though it was incredibly endearing and only made him more in love with the fact that she was with him.

“Oh, please, don’t neglect your talents,” Ludo exclaimed, “We all know you were the one that got the qualification from the Transylvania win!”

“Even with that illegal shot by the bludger,” Ron interjected, sneaking the rest of Hermione’s breakfast sausages, “Those scheming, biased referees.”

Bill clapped his hands together, “This is exactly the problem, if we can’t find the right people to observe the field, then what’s the point of having good players? They’ll be disregarded completely with a biased referee!”

And the family continued the conversation of the prospects of the upcoming game. Percy and Mr. Weasley tried to continue remarks with Mr. Crouch before he left and shortly followed by Bagman.

And all Charlie could do was stare at his wife and wonder… wonder how he got so lucky.

~~~

She could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Dawn and Avery couldn’t stop grinning.

The roaring voice of Ludo Bagman could be heard magically magnified across the sea of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. A huge blackboard opposite them showed BULGARIA: 0, ENGLAND: 0.

After a presentation of entrancing Veela and a few soaring dragon fireworks, Ludo began to announce the Bulgarian quidditch team members; next came England.

“Presenting – Vosper, Frisby, Choudry, Withey, Flitney, Hawksworth, and Weasley!”

Seven gleaming robed players came whizzing out of the stands on white golden Firebolts. The Weasley family cheered and shook their top box voraciously.  

“That’s her, that’s her!” yelled Charlie, waving his English flag and pushing into Bill and Ron. His brother followed her with his Omnioculars.

“Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it’s Weasley! Hawksworth! Flitney! Dimitrov! Back to Weasley! Hawksworth! Levski! Flitney!”

The speed of the players was incredible – the chasers were throwing the quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Charlie reached over to fight Ron’s Omnioculars off him but failed as he heard the name Weasley again.

The chasers had fallen into their Rowntree Counter, their signature move. They flew into a straight dive as red, white, and blue colors came streaming out of the back of their brooms – signifying the flag of the United Kingdom.

They knocked two of the opposing Bulgarian players teetering on their brooms and distracted the beaters. Flitney passed the quaffle to Hawksworth, who kicked it around before passing it back to Weasley.

(Y/N) did a magnificent overhead kick into the hoop on the far left.

“WEASLEY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to England!”

Charlie jumped and waved his arms, screaming himself hoarse, “THAT’S MY WIFE! WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”

Bill reached over and stuffed his UK flag over Charlie’s face to shut him up, and Ginny laughed, giving him her white and red rosette.

(Y/N) did a lap of honor around the field and threw a kiss towards the top box where Charlie waved his hands toward her, “I love you, baby!”

The England chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another’s minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette now on Charlie’s chest kept squeaking their names: “Flitney – Weasley – Hawksworth!” And within ten minutes, England had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the white-clad supporters.

Charlie watched as (Y/N) performed miraculous moves toward the goal posts. The continuous overhead kicks, the usage of the butt-end of her broom like a beater bat, and the intense throw of her arm was mesmerizing.

Charlie yelled and screamed until his face turned red, shouting his praise for his wife. The other members in the top box had to accept the fact that Charlie wasn’t going to shut up about his incredible player on the field.

It was just a continuous strain of, “THAT’S MY WIFE!” with a splendid look of pride and admiration on his cheery face.

“WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”

~~~

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[ageofevermore]

falling with grace | i

Summary → lilah’s a newly single mom, tom is her charming english co-star 

Words → 1.6k

Warnings → mentions of divorce, hints to anxiety and anxious behaviors, fluff 

Notes → this has been in my drafts since early 2019. i stumbled across it, so i fixed it up for a cute tom slowburn !! big big big thank you to @hollands-taste​ + @theamazingtomholland​ for hyping me up ahead of time, and for @killingbxys​ listening to me rant for hours on end !! 

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The sun is unruly in it’s entry, wild in the background. Blonde wisps of hair blow into her face routinely and a little hand comes up to rub sleep from her eyes. The sky is a canvas of wild pastels, the morning just barely upon New York.

Lilah smiles gently as she rubs a delicate pattern into her daughter's warm skin, hoping to keep the toddler asleep for at least another hour or so. Her eyes catch sight of a crew member off in the distance. They’re preparing for a busy few weeks, though things are never anything but organized on warner brothers sound stages as they produce marvel magic.

Lilah breathed out a gentle sigh of relief when she felt her daughter's weight drop, and the telltale steady breaths dance across her neck. She shifted her bag up higher onto her shoulder, escaping the early morning sunrise into her trailer. As always, Lilah leaves the door open, anticipating the arrival of her co-star. The sun brightened her trailer as it rose fully, the sky a brilliant bright blue that teasingly reminded her of what is not yet the past. 

"Hey." Zendaya greets in a whisper, "You've got Gray today?"

The toddler is sprawled out in a pack-in-play, wisps of blonde hair unruly with sleep. Zendaya frowns, watching closely as the façade Lilah built crumbles. The older blonde buries her head in her hands, heaving a heavy and heartbroken sign.  

"William’s plane got delayed. He doesn't know when he'll be up to get her." Lilah ranted, lifting her head only to glance over at her sleeping toddler. This entire situation wasn’t fair to her. 

The stress of a divorce, motherhood, and a movie had been weighing Lilah down for months, and the perfect life she constructed for herself and her daughter seemed to be falling apart. Even then, Lilah tried to make the best of her less-than-ideal situation. 

"I'm always here if you need me, Li," Zendaya reminded with a small smile of encouragement, grabbing onto Lilah’s hands and giving them both a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to do this alone."

Lilah returned the smile, letting silence speak for her. She was never good with dependency and communication, but with Zendaya as her support system, she didn’t have to be. The two actresses went over their sides, wordlessly supporting one another.  

"Good Morning.” Tom peeked his head into the trailer, a warm smile on his face. Lilah couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

Lilah couldn’t help but notice that the English actor was dressed in grey sweatpants, white strings hanging untied, and a white tank top that perfectly showcased his defined biceps. A blush traveled up Lilah’s neck, and she forced her eyes away from Tom before he could notice that she was staring. 

"Hey. How's Tessa?" Zendaya asked, looking up from her sides to greet Tom. He took a seat on the couch opposite the two girls, a luminescent grin brightening his features as he caught sight of the princess sporting toddler sprawled out in the pack-n-play. 

Tom’s throat went dry while he racked his memory for who Tessa was. He’d been lost in a thought, one that involved himself and Lilah hours away from New York. He scolded himself for running away with the thought, pulling his gaze from Grace and instead refocusing on Zendaya with a boyish blush he hopes she won’t notice.

"She’s healing, keeps running into the walls though." He let out a small, nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck. Lilah and Zendaya both quirk an eyebrow at him, but before they can ask, a head pops into the trailer and calls both women to makeup.

Lilah bites her lip, watching her daughter’s back rise and fall with the gentle motion of sleep. “Do you want me to stay with her?” Tom asks softly, picking up on the uncertainty in Lilah’s posture. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Tom. I’ll just take her with me.” Lilah advances towards the pack-n-play somewhat possessively, distress in her eyes as she looks startled by Tom's offer. 

Tom smiles at the young mother, absolutely amazed by her strength, yet wishing she would let him in. “Don’t worry about it, Lies.” 

“Are you sure?” She falters, eyes falling upon Grace with guilt. She feels bad leaving her daughter in somebody else’s care, especially now, while she’s in the middle of a divorce. “I don’t want you to feel like you half to--” 

“I don’t.” Tom shakes his head, a soft promise in the words he’s spoken. “Let me help you, yeah?” 

Lilah, though reluctantly, nods her head in agreement. 

— ☆ —

Lilah smiled softly at Zendaya, finding the taller girl already set up in the hair and makeup trailer. Her mind was still heavy on Tom and Grace, but she tried to refocus her energy on the day of work ahead of her. 

“You know, Tom is really good with her.” Zendaya mimed, looking over at Lilah with a gentle smile as to not seem like she was intending to overstepping. Nobody really knew where the boundaries were with Lilah, especially now. “I’m pretty sure they had a tea party last week.” 

Lilah grinned. Her daughter was fascinated with the little british mannerisms Tom and Harry carried, and both brothers were more than willing to play-up their accents. It was no great surprise that they had taken it a step further and had a tea party with her toddler. Lilah's heart swelled at the thought, her cheeks turning crimson. Worries of William had fallen behind her for the time being, and a gentle happiness returned to her heart. 

Zendaya smiled, seeing the soft switch in Lilah. They’d been friends for years, even prior to their entry in the MCU, but things with William had really taken a toll on Lilah; even before she had filed for divorce. Zendaya was glad to see that happiness hadn’t completely abandoned her. 

"It's lively in here today." Jake smiled when he came in, his entrance just barely heard over Lilah and Zendaya. 

For the first time in days, Lilah smiled fully and authentically; dimples carving into her cheeks that had begun to ache from laughing so hard. She felt tetherless, for the first time in weeks like absolutely nothing was holding her down.

The makeup artists finished up on her shortly after Jake came in. She smiled thickly at both of her co-stars, standing up from the makeup chair with a gentle groan, wincing at the way her thighs had stuck to the seat. 

“Alright. See you later.” She waved, laughing softly when Jake insisted on kissing her head before she left to find Tom. 

— ☆ —

When Lilah walked into her trailer, she smiled seeing Tom asleep on the couch. His shoes had been kicked off, and it looked like he had tried to throw a blanket over himself before he fell asleep. She couldn’t blame him, it was only slightly past eight in the morning.  

She had picked up her costume on the way back to her trailer, and without making too much noise, she slipped past Tom and Grace to change. On her way to the bathroom, she fixed the blanket over Tom’s naked shoulders, grinning at the way he subconsciously curled into the soft cotton. 

Acting was an escape for Lilah. She’d started when she was only young, through musicals and local commercial auditions, and somehow, she’d gotten her chance. 

"Oh, hey." Tom yawns, sitting up on the couch, dropping the blanket into his lap. Lilah smiled amusedly at him, offering a shy smile and a wave. 

She sits down opposite Tom, picking up the sides that had been half-heartedly highlighted the previous night. “Thanks for watching her.” She diverts her attention to the lines she knows three times over, avoiding Tom’s heavy stare on her. “It’s just, she was meant to be with William, and things came up for him. Everything was so last minute, and I couldn’t find anyone--”

“It’s no problem, Li. If you need someone for tomorrow, I’m free.” Tom disregarded Lilah’s babbling, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. He hated when she got like this; so inwardly shy and ashamed of her life.

 He wished she had at least a small understanding of how admirable and strong she truly is. She doesn’t see herself the way he sees her, though, and it tears him apart inside. 

This was Lilah. His sweet best friend that was losing herself in a divorce. She’s really just a kid, but she’s got her own child to worry about before herself, and Tom worries. He wonders when the last time somebody looked out for her was. Tom wanted to help her in any way that he could, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. He knew what this could look like. Like, he was trying to make a move while she was at her lowest, but that’s not the reality of his intentions at all. 

"That would be really helpful." Lilah shyly admits, tempted to throw her arms around Tom and let herself melt into his chest, but she barely restrains herself, settling for squeezing at his hand that still rests on her thigh. "Are you sure that's how you want to spend your day off? What about Harry?"

Lilah hates burdening others with Grace, especially her friends. She’s suffered enough scrutiny from the media, not even to begin on her own amplified concerns and anxieties towards parenting.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure. She's an angel, Li." Tom smiled, nodding towards Grace who is still sound asleep in the pack-n-play. He searches Lilah’s eyes, finding gentle flicks of yellow twisted into green. 

Lilah’s eyes are his new favorite color.

"Thank you. For everything." Lilah reaches forward, hugging Tom and relishing in the way his arms wrap tightly around her middle. Tom doesn’t make any objections to Lilah’s affection, wishing he could hold her like this every day. 

He doesn’t know what he feels for Lilah, but he knows she belongs in his arms, and he never wants to let her go. 

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[couchpotatoaniki]

One Year ❣︎ Two: Plotting and Planning

Chapter Summary: You finally arrive at Jeju Island, but there’s trouble in paradise between you and Dominic.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, cheating Word count: 2.7k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter One For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

You wanted to punch him square in the face.

Dominic was pushing your buttons beyond what you could handle, and you had no idea what had gotten into him.  Never this bad when it came to his attention. Never did he make you feel this annoyed.

Jeju was a nice place--just as beautiful as you had imagined--but the flight was fairly long so none of you went sight seeing the day you landed. Skipped off to the hotel room for some much needed rest, you most of all.

Though you had a weird sense, chills running up your spine occasionally and funny feelings at the back of your head, you tried to shove it aside. Work was not meant to make it’s way while you were all on your holiday.

Not to mention, your boyfriend was talking once again to his colleagues and friends, not paying mind to you as you hauled the rest of the luggage around the large airport and hotel.

You were tired. You felt not normal. He was being a dick.

So it all had started off on the wrong foot. Still time left to change it around, right?

Then Dominic decided it would be great to take up most of the hotel bed--probably because it was so comfy, whereas he only had half of the bed back at home.

Eventually, you were too tired to put up with this behaviour so you got up and walked to Seonghwa’s and Yeosang’s room.

“The fuck, why are you here?” Yeosang mumbled, half-asleep himself.

Caught the rapid pitter-patters of water running in the background, which must’ve been Seonghwa. “How long’s he been in the shower?” You asked since he generally takes quite a long time.

“Just got in,” he answered, moving aside as you pushed through the doorway with a lazy glare resting on your face.

“Good. Stealin’ his bed,” was all you said before flopping onto the nearest double bed--still as comfortable as the king sized you were supposed to share--and knocking out right there on the spot.

Yeosang ruffled his silvery-grey hair, sighing. “His bed was the other one...”

The next day was a little more manageable.

The sleep definitely helped your patience level, though Seonghwa was a little annoyed that he had to share the night with Yeosang.

Granted, when you explained everything in the morning over some food from the breakfast buffet, he understood.

You were like a little sister to him. Sure, he took you under his wing a little less than five years ago, taught you his trade, polished you up to be the best of the best, he still grew fond of you.

An older brother you never had, and acting as such, he was highly sceptical when you brought a boy to the dinner table. Dominic, you had introduced.

Never liked him since. Sucked it up only for you, but his patience too was tested often by comments that were made and outlandish behaviour that was presented. No, Seonghwa didn’t like him one bit.

“Well,” he began, taking a bite of a golden, buttered croissant, “if you start feeling uncomfortable again, just pop over to our room and I’ll kick Yeosang out.”

You chuckled at the thought. “He’ll rip him to shreds.”

“Who? Yeosang or Dom?” Threw a pointed look in his direction, as if to ask him if he actually did just say that. “Okay, okay,” Seonghwa laughed as he almost spat out his orange juice, “I knew you meant Yeosang.”

“Happy birthday, dipshit!” Mingi’s voice boomed from behind, as the rest began to join the two of you. His long arms wrapped around your shoulders as he squeezed you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Happy birthday to you too, douchebag,” you squeaked out. The other boys had settled down, wishing you both a happy birthday--Dominic giving you a little kiss too.

Tried to hold back the smirk fighting its way onto your lips as you saw Seonghwa openly grimacing in your peripheral. “Where were you last night, babe?”

You never particularly liked it, that nickname. ‘Babe’...

“You’re asking that now?” Playfully teasing, though there was a slight hint of venom. None of which he picked up on. “I was with Seonghwa and Yeosang.”

“Really?” Dominic’s brow lifted, the judgement of you spending a night in two other men’s room clearly written in his expression.

“Yes, really,” you replied, less playful since he should have known by now that all of you were strictly friends. Neither passion nor romance was held for either the black-haired clean-freak and the grumpy introvert.

Has never been since you were all like family.

“Okay then,” he sighed, sitting beside you with his plate of a heavy breakfast.

The boys stayed quiet throughout the exchange, noticing everything going on but not saying a word. Knew that you could handle it better on your own.

San, on the other hand, was fuming. Although he was not close enough to hear a word any of you said--not that it would matter since he couldn’t understand it anyway--the boy could see the feelings of annoyance brew in your mind.

Hongjoong had his hand on his friend’s shoulder, preventing him from walking up and doing something he would regret. “Look, you don’t know what’s being said, so just give it a rest and enjoy your toast.”

“Joong, I can’t enjoy my toast, especially if he’s said something that makes her upset. I’ll floor the fucker, I swear--”

“San,” the blur-haired boy warned in a low tone, “eat your toast.”

One of his strengths would be that San knew when to back off. Sure, it came to a much bigger challenge when you were involved, apparently, but he still had listened to his second-in-command. “Fine. I’ll eat it, but I won’t like it.”

Hongjoong had not said another word to him, still pissed off about what his boss had pulled last night. Flying over had drained energy out of him, no matter how many times he did it, so all he wanted to do was to go to the villa, greet Jongho and Wooyoung, and then go to sleep.

That was it.

But no. San decided he had to chase you to this hotel. This hotel which was less luxurious than the villa and the food was sub-par at best. Not to mention he kept pacing about the room that was supposed to be opposite yours and your boyfriend’s, worried how you left the room and went into a different one.

Hongjoong had to stop him from bugging the rooms or even go pounding the door so hard it knocked down.

Seeing his boss and friend like this had him beyond concerned, since this was the first time it’s ever gotten to this degree.

In fact, he was so concerned, he had to update the two other boys about it--without San’s knowledge.

Wooyoung had told him to bring San to the villa as soon as possible--by tomorrow night, no matter what--but the man in question appeared to have other plans.

Throughout the day, San became more calculated in his movements (particularly when it seemed that you were on alert of some strange presence by the side glances you gave in their general direction). “We're going back to the villa tomorrow night.”

To hear that was a bit of a shock, especially when he had planned for the same thing. “What are you gonna do?”

“Sweep her off her feet, of course,” San smirked, devious little cogs in his head turning.

Ruffling his hair as he looked over at you and your friends--sat down in the tent lounge for your celebratory dinner--Hongjoong shuddered slightly at the ominous tone.

Clinking of a fork against glass, Dominic grabbed the attention of everyone, including the bystanders around him. Clearing his throat, he pulled out a piece of of paper with words scribbled on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, surprisingly in Korean rather than the language you all communicated in--though it wasn’t perfect, he was still trying. San was glad, now able to understand what was being said.

“Today is a special day, because it is the birthday of two very special people. One of which is my lovely girlfriend. So I would like to embarrass her by preparing this speech, to let everyone know this wonderful woman is mine.”

The mafia boss didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.

“I’m so glad you were born, because life wouldn’t have been as fun without you, and you’re certainly very special in not only my heart, but the rest of the boys as well.”

It wasn’t only San who was unhappy about this speech. This wasn’t just your birthday, it was Mingi’s as well, yet he was written off. So, before Dominic could conclude his speech, you stood up, interjecting him.

“Thank you, for that nice speech. But I also want to congratulate my childhood friend, for it’s his birthday today too.” You lifted your glass to cheer the giant. “If it weren’t for you, God knows where I would be, if I would even be alive. You’ve saved my ass more times than I can count and for that, I’ll forever be eternally grateful.”

Hearing you speak such good Korean had--for some bizarre reason--made San’s heart skip a beat of two. Even as your accent shone, the pronunciation was close to flawless.

Yet Dominic was not feeling so proud. Yes, it was Mingi’s birthday too, but that speech was for you. Interrupting him was almost as if you were putting Mingi before him. Before your boyfriend.

As the chocolate cake topped with sparklers was brought out by the staff and people around you started to sing ‘happy birthday’ in Korean (your friends being the loudest), you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were being watched again. But what was worse, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Dominic was going to do something dumb tonight.

“Excuse me,” you said as you stood up in the middle of dinner, when everything went back to normal.

“And where are you going, little missy?” Yunho asked as he moved his long legs to let you get past.

“Bathroom,” was all you said as you went by, needing to freshen up after feeling so... odd. Confined under the eyes of people you didn’t know.

The night had brought itself a particularly cold wind, rushing past your black chiffon dress. “Crap,” you cursed, “should’ve brought a thicker coat.”

Each turn you made, you became increasingly confused as to where you were. This place was like a damn maze. “Should’ve probably asked for directions too.”

“Are you lost, babygirl?” a deep voice asked you in English, cocky tone evident in the way the words rolled off his tongue. You turned to see the man who had just dared to call you that, ready to thump him in the face with a nearby plant pot, but when you saw his face, a sense of familiarity washed over you.

This was the guy. He's eyes were following you since you came off the plane--you could feel it in your bones.

“No thanks, you replied back in English, “I’m perfectly fine.”

And you turned around, not capturing the devilish smirk growing across San’s face as he watched you powerfully walk off in some random direction, not knowing if it was towards the bathroom.

But he didn’t need to know that, did he?

“Where’s Dom?” Mingi pondered as he looked around, realising it was oddly peaceful in the area.

“Not a clue,” you shrugged, “he’s been gone all night. Disappeared after dinner.”

While Yeosang, Yunho, and Seonghwa went swimming in the hotel pool, hearing their yells of ‘Marco!’ and ‘Polo!’, you and your childhood friend opted for sunbathing on colourful lounge chairs.

“Since when the fuck do you not have a clue? Plus, we all saw how that dickhead was eyefucking that random hoe at the dinner.”

“I really don’t wanna think about it. After all, it’s our birthday and I don’t wanna ruin the mood by thinking of the things he’s probably doing.”

Propping himself on his elbows, he took off his sunglasses to look at you. “Bastard’s cheating on you and you’re not gonna do anything?”

“Oh no, I’m definitely going to bring pain upon his ass like never before, but right now is not the time. Besides, it’s not as if we ever loved each other. And I finally got a good night’s sleep.” You placed your hand over his in a reassuring way, but it did nothing much.

Your response had Mingi biting his bottom lip, worried. “Hearing you talk like that scares me sometimes, ya know?”

“After everything I went through, you still think I’m going to be who I was?” You opened your eyes, peering over at him with eyes so cold that there was only one situation he would see them. “Do you still fucking think with all the shit that the five of us do, I’d still be a person who believes in mercy or love?”

Sighing, he lay back down with his sunglasses covering his eyes once more. “You’re right, it’s dampening the mood. What are you planning to do between now and dinner? Any particular place you wanna visit?”

Contemplating, you hummed as you thought of what to do next. “Maybe visit the stone park? Looked beautiful enough in the pictures,” you sighed, “What do you think? Your birthday too, ya know?”

The tall man shot a boyish grin your way. “Sounds great--”

“Hey!” The two of you turned your head to look at Dominic, who had trudged towards you in flip-flops. When he bent down to peck your cheek, you made no move whatsoever, internally cringing at the feel of his dirtied lips against your skin.

“And where were you?” you inquired, clearly not pleased with this. He hadn’t even bothered to hide the lingering scent of fruity perfume of the random woman he spent the night with.

Though there was something very much off about him since this isn’t something he would do, you will never excuse his disloyal behaviour.

“Oh, I went to Hallim Park. You seemed busy with the rest of the boys so I decided to leave you in peace.”

You took your glasses off, pretending to be pissed off about him going to a place he didn’t actually visit when it was actually about the secret he was trying to hide from you. “Are you shitting me right now? You promised we’d go there together.”

“I know, but I just needed to clear my head for a bit.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, no longer looking you in the eye.

“For the entire night?”

“Yes, for the entire night,” he snapped, instantly irking you even more because how fucking dare he?

Sighing, you got out of the lounge chair you were in, licking you lips to calm you down just a fraction before you stab him in the eye. “You know what?”

Each step you took towards him, he took backwards until he was right at the edge of the pool.

You brought you lips right next to his ear, the faint scent of pineapple lingering on your tongue, spotting the hickey hidden under his neck. You whispered, “fuck you,” before pushing him with ease into the pool to create a massive splash.

With steam coming out of your ears, you stormed away back into the hotel as Mingi lay there, laughing.

“That’s my girl,” San chuckled as he watched the scene unfold. He could tell from the feeling of the argument that you were unhappy about your boyfriend not being home that night.

In fact, when the mafia boss first noticed the way Dominic couldn’t peel his eyes away from one of the other women in the lounge last night, he decided to keep tabs on his movements--and thank god he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have found the great evidence that could pull you two apart and thrust you into his arms.

Hongjoong however, was actually somewhat terrified. “That man was twice the size of her.”

“I know. Feisty little lady.”

The blue-haired man looked at him with so much disgust, watching how he was so enamoured by you and a little turned on. No matter how open San was about what he liked in ‘bedroom matters’ both verbally and (unfortunately) physically, he still couldn’t help how grossed out he was.

“Jesus, keep it in your pants,” he grunted.

“Chin up, Joong,” San sighed, strangely gleeful, “we won’t have to stalk around much longer.”

“No?”

“No,” he smiled, “because she’s back with us to the villa. Tonight.”

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby​ , @sparklychangbin​ ,

[barkkletshunt]

Those Worth Fighting For Part six

Hey everyone! Sorry this took forever to get out, work and school have been hectic. This chapter was a little rushed because of it since I’ve only been able to write it before work each mornings, but I hope you’ll like it nonetheless. 

Taglist:

@ladybug-182 @fruit-snacc-ace @miraculous-simmer7 @lavenderjunes  @use-flamethrower 

Part one             Part two

Part three           Part four

Part five             Part six (you’re here)

Part seven         Part eight 

Things were out of control. The pipes throughout Paris were alive and there weren’t enough superheroes to keep people safe, and Ladybug had no idea what to do. She had called everyone to tell them that the weak spot of the beast was at the museum, but that didn’t stop the destruction from around Paris from happening. 

There was chaos all around her, and it made it nearly impossible to get to the actual museum itself. If it hadn’t been for that Alley Cat intervening she wasn’t sure if she would have found her way there at all. The situation had her on high alert and she couldn’t help but be reminded of the day she lost the miraculous’ and that fear had gripped her heart. It was almost enough to make her cry. 

That wasn’t going to happen again though, and she knew it. She had thought up more backup and emergency plans just for the box than she had any time before then. The box was safe inside three other boxes in her own basement. She had designed specialty locks with Max to ensure it won’t be unlocked by fall damage or a personal assistant of a heiress. She knew it was safe. The damage had been done and she had learned from it, and now could only hope that she could make up for it. She wouldn’t fall down that rabbit hole of self doubt again.

Ladybug dodged the metal pipes that tried to attack her, and with a quick group call on her yoyo she was able to make sure everyone was on the same page on where to go. Much to her surprise two unfamiliar voices responded along with the heroes she knew would be out. 

“Miss. Bug, if you have a moment?” Alley Cat's voice came clear over her yoyo in a personal call, just the two of them. 

“What is it?” She snapped with more harshness than she had meant. She was irritated at the circumstance, and only a little at the stray cat that called. 

“I found two new miraculous holders, and they’re going to join us.” She didn’t have time for this. She was already overwhelmed and Cat adding more responsibility didn’t help.

“You just so happen to find two miraculous holders right as everything goes to Hell? You sure you didn’t just hand off two to people instead of telling me you had them?” 

“Miss. Bug, I assure you that I have no interest in keeping any miraculous away from you aside from my own. I only got to speak with the one for a moment, but they claimed to have found a second miraculous on their own and wanted to give it to you. They want to join your team.” He tried his best to calm her, trying to sooth her with his voice, but it didn’t work.

It wasn’t like she trusted him to begin with, and even with his sweet words earlier that made her heart ache, she knew not to trust anyone willy nilly. 

If only Felix was the one to find the cat miraculous, Ladybug thought. Felix thought ahead and worked with her as a team, unlike the man in black leather who seemed to know where all her buttons were to push.

“Not everyone wants to take over Paris, Miss. Bug.” Alley cat said over their walkie talkie function. “Some just want to protect it.”

She didn’t have much time to dwell on what he was insinuating with the museum coming up close. She could deal with him and the new miraculous holders later and pray that they were also on her side instead of Queen Fishers. Judging by how they were on her friends list on her communicator, they hadn’t turned their Kwami’s dark. She was just going to have to trust that for now, even if she couldn’t trust the new heroes themselves.

Most of the heroes were already there by the time Ladybug arrived. Instead of a snake head like she assumed would be what they were fighting, it turned out to be the building itself that was taken over by the amok. Pipes both old and new stretched from the building to attach her friends, and with the way they all defended each other made her proud. They had all come so far from being awkward strangers to friends, in and out of the suits. At least, all but three of the people there were friends. 

There was a woman dressed in all white with gold stripes lining her suit cutting down the pipes that were attacking their small group, her cat ears flattened against her head in frustration. The tiger reminded her too much of Chat Blanc for Ladybug to feel at ease, but this time eyes like molten gold burned under the stark white mask. Eyes that looked at the sentimonster with disgust, as if each attack toward the two heros behind her was a personal insult to her. 

Ladybug dropped down to greet the outsider heroes. “You must be the two the cat brought in. How’d he find you?”

The other hero in the group was, without any doubt in her mind, the dog holder. There were floppy brown ears that faded to black at the tips placed delicately on their head, hidden among a mess of brown hair. Their suit looked similar to the markings of a hound dog, but with red belts hanging on their hips. They were the first one to greet the senior hero with a soft timid wave, their other hand holding their specialty weapon. A crossbow. Even she was impressed by how straightforward that weapon was. 

“That guy?” The tiger hero gave a humourless laugh. “He wishes he could claim to be the one to discover my talents as a hero.”

“It is less that he found me, and more like I found him.” The dog hero stated, jumping in tune with Ladybug to dodge another metal attack. “I wasn’t going to jump in, but Barkk told me you guys might need help so I joined in and found Alley Cat. Better late than never to join the hero party, eh?”

“If it wasn’t for Roaar I wouldn’t have joined in either.” The tiger hero agreed. “I’m Tigress, by the way.”

“I’m Canis.” 

“We have a lot to discuss once this battle is over with, but for now, welcome to the team.” 

After everyone had made their brief introductions they all worked together on taking down the beast before them. Tigress, ScapeGoat, HoneyBee, Carapace, and GinnyPig all focused on defence while the other five focused on getting to the heart of the problem. With the problem solvers all focused on the same goal it took only minutes to get inside and destroy the item infused with the amok, a pipe that was almost as old as Paris itself.

Ryuko destroyed the door to get them inside, Canis was able to sniff out the item among the endless pipes inside, Mattamorphis protected them with his cane against oncoming attacks, and just as they found the item Alley Chat cataclysmed it and Ladybug purified the feather. 

Everything went smoothly as soon as they were all together and soon they were all standing around in the fixed building talking, while Ladybug processed what was happening. 

Canis stood with Mattamorphis, ScapeGoat, HoneyBee, and GinnyPig talking excitedly with the other heroes, and on the other side of her there was Tigress talking about the benefits of tai chi with Ryuko and Carapace. Within one fight everyone was getting along and she didn’t know whether she should invite them to join the team or to ask them to hand over their miraculous’. 

“You’re a they/them? Me too!” She could hear ScapeGoat excitedly talking before being interrupted by Ladybugs least favourite man. 

“Oi, Canis, don’t you have something to give the Lady here?” Alley Cat yelled, his English accent coming out clearer than ever. 

“Bloody brit,” the dog hero mumbled under their breath. Ladybug wanted to laugh. Canis wasn’t from France either if their accent was anything to go by, and Tigress had a similar accent to the other cat on their team. Ladybug only hoped that once Alya returned from America where she was filming a documentary about the Sparrow that she wouldn’t have the accent to go along with it, or the French miraculous holders would almost be outnumbered. 

“I found this the other day while shopping for jewelry for my-,” Canis cut themselves off, immediately scratching their neck in embarrassment. “Well I was out shopping and I found this.”

The hero outstretched their hand to produce a miraculous Ladybug hadn’t seen in a long time. The rooster. 

“I was kind of afraid of what kind of name that hero would use.” Canis said, smiling to themselves at their own joke. “Heros need to be family friendly after all.” 

Ladybug stared at the jewel in her hand. They hadn’t hesitated to give up a miraculous, they just wanted to do the right thing. “Thank you. The Guardian of the box also thanks you, now more than ever we need to crack down and retrieve the missing miraculous’.”

“Well I am certainly glad that you are all getting along, but there is a very wonderful woman waiting for me and I’d hate to keep my date waiting.” Alley Cat stretched his arms above his head, trying to be as dramatic as possible.

“Oh my God I left my girlfriend in a public bathroom in a city we don’t even live in.” Canis gasped, slapping their hands over their face. “She’s going to kill me!”

“At least your partner didn’t shove you in a public bathroom in order to protect you,” Tigress laughed. 

“Ey, I got to go too, Ladybug. I have some friends waiting for me. Got some important business to attend to.” Carapace joined in, and soon everyone was agreeing that they had to leave. 

“Canis, Tigress.” Ladybug used her best team leader voice to get the two’s attention. She couldn’t leave things as they were. “I appreciate your help today but the miraculous’ need to go back to the Guardian.”

The heroes ears flattened.

“Ladybug,” Canis looked at the heroine with large blue eyes, tears starting to form. “Barkk gave me a kwagatama. I’d do anything to be able to keep them in my life. She means the world to me and I promise I won’t do anything reckless.”

“And I’m on your side, I swear.” Tigress brushed her near white bangs out of her face. “I’m not going to use the miraculous for anything nefarious. Roarr means too much to me and I wouldn’t do anything that could get her taken away.”

Ladybug remembered when Tikki gave her a Kwagatama. It had been her birthday and she recalled how much those little jewels meant to be gifted one by their Kwami. If Barkk was that serious about Canis, did she even have a choice? What about Tigress?

“We will all be having a meeting in two days' time, at ten o’clock, at the top of the Eiffel Tower.” Ladybug announced. “Understood?”

“Us too?” The new heroes asked.

“Especially you two, now go. Don’t leave your partners waiting.” Ladybug pinched the bridge of her nose as the group of heroes all ran off except for one. 

“I honestly thought you were going to take away their miraculous in front of everyone.” Alley Cat said, leaning forward to put his face in front of her own. “Does that mean you’ll stop asking for mine now?”

“Would you listen even if I did ask for it?”

“Not as long as I’m in France, Miss. Bug.” Alley Cat laughed, taking a step back just as Ladybug tried to snatch his hand for the ring. It was a half ditch effort she didn’t put enough energy into in order to really get it back, but the black cat didn’t seem to take offence. 

“When are you leaving Paris?” 

“Depends,” he muttered. “If my date goes as well as I hope, maybe I’ll never leave.”

“You like this girl that much?” Ladybug raised a brow. “Even though I saw you flirting with someone earlier?”

“It was love at first sight with my beloved, but I didn’t stop seeing after that, y’know.” The cat ran his fingers through his hair, wistfully looking off in the distance as if remembering Marinette fondly. “If I ever have a vote on who gets a miraculous, I’d vote for her. She ran to protect me from that sentimonster without any thought of her own safety. She has the makings of a hero, Miss. Bug.”

“Good thing you aren’t getting a vote.” She needed him to stop before her face turned as red as her suit. “There is more to being a hero than sacrificing yourself.”

The man hummed to himself, that annoying smirk never leaving his face. “I’d say you need to keep a better watch on that girl, she is definitely more brilliant than you are giving her credit for. I’d bet one of my nine lives on it.” 

[13thbaronzemo]

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES: PART 3

Baron Helmut Zemo/F!Reader

Rated E (Explicit)

You are the Sokovian custodian of Castle Zemo, which now belongs to the dissolved nation’s neighbors, and the baron himself has ordered you to come on vacation with him in Ibiza.

Disclaimer: This is the continuation of a fanfic written before FatWS: Ep4 aired and set up after his separation from the protagonists and while on the run from the law.

'Castle Zemo has been here since before you arrived and it will still be here when you return,' Ms. Helena assured you. Unlike yourself, the castle didn't go missing for five years. After five years of mourning, you had been the first person she witnessed return from the ether. As far as she was concerned, you were the only ghost to ever haunt those halls. She saw, through your empty eyes, how impermanent life is. They were the same eyes she saw the first time you stepped foot into the barony after losing your whole world along with your hometown of Novi Grad.

'You can't waste your youth between these old walls,' she sighed. You realized, taking a look at your back at your life, that she was right. You've been displaced in time, both mourning and being mourned, and chose to become one with history instead of living in the present. 'Now, go! Get some fresh air, dance, get some sun, fall in love, get your heart broken! Live!' Ms. Helena, ready to return from retirement just so you could take a vacation, sent you home to pack your bags. 'Just remember to send me a postcard.'

You'd almost forgotten all about it, excited and exhausted as you were after the flight, but a rack full of them reminded you of your promise. Ibiza Airport offered tourists a taste of the island right after they stepped off the plane, so there were gift shops filled with mementos of times you had yet to live. You spent your own money in one of them. You were saving up the euros he slipped under your door and that you hadn't already use to pay for the car, train, and plane that got you here in the first place.

Not feeling ready to step outside into the world and the setting Mediterranean sun just yet, you took a seat in a little coffee shop that overlooked the bus stop and wrote to Mrs. Helena.

After you finished your drink, paid for it, and tipped the waitress, you took another peek at the envelope and the absurd amount of money still left inside. He gave you more banknotes than information about his whereabouts. You understood why he couldn't, being a wanted man and all, but you wished you knew as much about him as he seemed to know about you. All you could be sure of was that he wanted you here, in Ibiza, where he would be for the next 10 days. And while you had dreamed about him greeting for you here at Arrivals, with a flower bouquet and a sun-kissed face, as you sleept on the plane, you knew better than to hope. After all, it was the possibility of getting lost among all the tourists visiting the island that gave you the nerve to travel here. But, if you were to be honest with yourself, the smaller possibility of being accosted by him for the third time was what made you take time off from work.

As you boarded the bus that would take you to your cheap - well, cheap for the likes of a baron - hotel, you took one last lingering look at the Arrivals entrance.

The sun was sinking into the sea when you got off the bus, so you stood there and stared. You’ve never seen the sea and it seemed like a lifetime since you’ve felt the sun on your skin. The sea breeze must’ve frozen you in place because a family of five knocked you over and walked all over you. The father apologized for childrens' crimes in a language you recognized as Italian. You reassured him that you were fine in a mix of English and Spanish, the two languages you’ve been speaking to the airport staff and vendors since you landed. After shaking off the embarrassment and dusting off your jean shorts, you started moving again, dragging the small and swiveling trolley behind you. You had packed every piece of summer clothing you owned and there was still room left. That’s where you put the magnets and Mrs. Helena’s postcard.

Inside the hotel lobby, you could get stomped on if you were to stop and stare at another shiny thing again. It was crowded, but that is exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? To go  unnoticed? When the Italian father waved at you, hoarding his children into the elevator, you knew that you had already made an impression.

“How may I help-”

“Here’s my ID” you interrupted the receptionist. “I made a reservation via phone in that name just yesterday.”

You knew you were being rude, but you needed to get out of those clothes you’ve been sweating in since you left home. The last thing you wanted was to waste time spelling out your name.

“Of course,” she smiled. It was the same smile you’d put on during visiting hours. It was gone the moment she took a gander at your ID. “Excuse me.” She grabbed the phone off the desk and turned her back to you. Now, that was rude. Your Catalan wasn’t as good as your Spanish, but you did overhear the words ‘girl’ and ‘here’. “I'm sorry, Miss. There seems to be a problem with your reservation, but don’t worry, we'll sort it out soon.” Then, handing you back the ID card, she turned towards the sitting area and invited you to take a seat.

You swallowed a groan and put on your customer service smile before thanking her. After all, whatever mix-up may have occurred, it couldn’t have been her fault. Hell, it might’ve been your fault. It was closing in on a week since you had a good night’s sleep. On the bright side, you had some time to stare at everything shiny while you waited. You’ve never been to a place that glowed as brightly as Ibiza. Everything from the sun, to the sea at dawn, to the light fixtures in the hotel lobby, everything that glittered was gold.

When you looked back at the receptionist’s desk, you saw her looking back, but she wasn’t the only one. A man, no older than yourself, followed her line of sight and found you. From his black suit and hat and his white gloves and shirt, you could see that he was a chauffeur. What you couldn’t see was what he handed over to the receptionist. Stepping towards you, a smile spread across his face. As for yourself, you shrunk back into your seat.

“Good evening, Miss,” he spoke, his English spiced by a Spanish accent. “I’ve been sent to collect your luggage.”

“By whom?” You asked as if you haven’t already pieced the disparate pieces of the puzzle together.

“By his lordship,” he whispered before grabbing your bags. “He is waiting for you in the car. Follow me, please.”

Looking back at the receptionist one last time, you pulled the purse off his arm and slid it onto your shoulder. “I can carry this myself, thank you.”

“Apologies, Miss,” he bowed his head and followed you out the front door.

“Which car?” You asked once the both of you were outside.

“Follow me,” he whispered and walked ahead of you. When he walked out of the parking lot, you wondered if you should’ve believed a total stranger in the first place, but then he said: “The limousine.”

Sure enough, on the other side of the street, there was a black car and its shadow: a limousine.

“Just a moment, Miss,” he rolled your trolley suitcase to the trunk.

You slowly approached the side of it, the blackened windows preventing your eye from penetrating inside. Before you even reached the passenger door, it popped open. Taking a step back, you forced your spooked heart to settle. When the chauffeur finally made it back beside you, you were too startled to say anything about the seemingly faulty door.

“Forgive me, milord,” he bowed, backing away from the now fully opened door that was obscuring who he was talking to. “I shouldn’t have kept the young miss waiting. Please,” he waved you closer to the car.

As you approached it apprehensively, you heard a voice you had come to terms with never hearing again: “Good evening, my dear,” he removed a pair of purple sunglasses as he beckoned you inside with the same dark and deep eyes you were ready to miss for the rest of your life.

The interior was almost as bright as the lobby you left, white like marble and illuminated by a golden glow. One side had an entire cream couch just for the two of you while the other had a bar filled with crystal glassware and bottles bearing labels you don’t recognize. Yet it was him that you were most blinded by Baron Helmut Zemo. He wore a jacket that seemed the summer version of his fur coat and the button-up underneath was the same royal purple as his forsaken mask. As you took his hand and a seat next to him, you saw that the sun had managed to kiss his face, if only a little. Then, while you were lost in his eyes, he brought you back by bringing the back of your hand to his lips:

“How was your flight?”

“How did you-”

“How did I know you came here via plane? I didn’t, but it is the most popular way,” he smirked. “I did, however, know that you have a room here. Well, had.”

“I didn’t even get to…” you started, as he stroked your knuckles with his thumb, little circles to calm you down. “And the receptionist, she…”

“You’ll forgive her for not spoiling the surprise, won’t you?” Then, seemingly out of the salty Mediterranean air, he brought before you a bouquet of red roses. “Welcome to Ibiza.”

The drive to his villa was spent sipping the champagne he popped in his fingers and spilled all over his hand, giggles bubbling out of you as he offered you a crystal flute. With your heavy head on his shoulder and his arm around yours, you listened to his voice rather than his words. He talked about the sun that had just been swallowed by the sea, about how it gave life to everything on the island.

"Ibiza also has a nightlife, as I'm sure you've heard," he spoke into your scalp while his nose was in your hair. "I could tell you all about it, but I'd you live it for yourself. Tonight."

You were content floating in the foam inside your flute, getting drunk on his cologne and falling asleep to the soothing sound of his voice. "Is this a dream? Am I dreaming right now?"

"No, my dear," he rose from his seat when the ride was over. "And I have to wake you up now. We've arrived."

The night had already taken over the island by the time you got out of the limousine, but the horizon was as bright as ever. Stars, ships, and city lights which way you turned your head. And, when he led you inside, your eyes hurt from the brilliance of the interior. Everything was light and soft, nothing like the dark and chilly castle. There was life within these walls, potted plants, and music in the air.

"The bedrooms are on the second floor." He offered you his arm to take as he lifted your trolley in the other. "You can freshen up while I prepare something for you to eat. Are you hungry?"

"No, I had something to eat on the flight."

"A light snack then," he decided.

There were two bedrooms and two bathrooms on the second floor. He made it clear that you can choose to sleep in your bed instead of insisting on sharing one with him. You walked into the room that had his smell lingering in the air and, under his hungry eyes, into his trap. But you didn't mind being his prey. You even expected him to bite down on the fading teeth marks he left under your right ear. But he backed away while handing you your luggage.

After a shower that soothed your very soul, it was time for a change of clothes. You only had one dress that you hoped was fancy enough for a baron. It wasn't made out of any expensive material, but it did compliment your curves. As you walked down the stairs in your heels, you hoped you wouldn't embarrass yourself and fall like you did the last time.

As if summoned by the sound of your clicking shoes, he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "A vision," he bellowed, eyes wide and arms spread wider. "You are a vision, my dear."

"I bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here," you blushed.

"No vision as lovely has ever stepped foot in this villa, I assure you," he offered you his arm to take again as he guided you to the kitchen.

"Or is that what you say to them?" You jabbed his side, hoping the joke would land. "Thank you for flattering me, but can you be brutally honest and tell me if this dress fits the occasion or not?"

"While it's a perfect fit, it is far too elegant for a nightclub," he sat you down on a stool before the bouquet of roses he'd placed in a glass vase and served you a china cup of cherry blossom tea. "If you'd like, we can go shopping for something more appropriate tomorrow. My treat."

He didn't let you protest, or dig up the envelope of banknotes from your purse. Instead, he insisted on keeping your mouth busy by feeding you himself because you two had a long night ahead.'

Between cheeses and grapes, he treated you to Turkish delights. The pleasure he took in watching you eat from his hand emboldened you enough to wipe the white powder off of the tip of his fingers using your tongue. The hunger in his eyes only grew when he slowly slipped one of them between your lips and you sucked it in. If it were up to you, the two of you'd be rushing upstairs into your shared bedroom and not come out until the sun does. However, when his phone started vibrating on the tabletop, both of you jumped.

"The chauffeur is here," he cleared his voice as he checked his phone. "Come, my dear." The baron had to clean your mess and his, the powder and your lipstick, with a tissue, before he could help you off the stool.

Before your mind could catch up with you, before you could ask why he sent the chauffeur away when he knew the two of you would be needing him tonight, you were already in the driveway admiring a purple convertible. It was a jewel on the road, the city lights and the night sky reflecting off of its polish finish, and you got to 'feel the sea breeze,' as the baron had ordered you to.

"Let your hair down and enjoy the wind whipping through it," he whispered. "The night is ours."

The night had barely begun to take over, yet you already felt like you conquered it. When you arrived in the island's paradise, the nightclub known as Eden, you knew that you made it to the top of the world. The guard let you pass as soon as they spotted you on the baron's arm and a second one guided you to the much less crowded and far more quiet VIP area. The speakers hummed through the walls that were drenched in blue and red lights and the dance floor was covered with bodies coming together in communion. It was a nightly ritual you can't remember the last time you participated in, but you recall it never attending one of this magnitude.

"Luciano," the baron called out over the beat.

"Baron," a man, dressed in black that seemed to blend into the shadows stood up from the table the bodyguard had led you to. "You're looking as alive as you sounded on the phone," he coughed in Spanish, putting out his cigarette to shake the baron's hand. "I can't say the same for myself." He was tall, taller than your Lord, and the darkness the strobe lights couldn't illuminate added his shadow to the height.

He chose to ignore your Spanish greeting as if you were just another in a long line of girls that had been brought before him. But that didn't stop the baron from introducing you as an 'hermosa visión'. The compliment made you smile just as wide the second time. And, after you were invited to sit across from this Luciano, he made a remark that you barely registered, distracted as you were by the sound of your Lord ordering drinks in Catalan.

"You're Sokovian like my Heidi, yes?"

You shook your head and said in Spanish: "Excuse me?"

"Heidi!"

A woman, sitting by herself on a black velvet stool, twisted her torso before turning off her phone. You were surprised to have missed her because, as soon as she stood up, she stood out with her dress as white as her skin and as bright as her blond hair.

"Good evening," the baron bowed his head slightly as she stepped closer to the couch.

"Heidi, this is the baron I told you about," Luciano gestured grandly towards your side of the couch.

"Baron Helmut Zemo?" She blinked, stars in her eyes the color of the strobe lights. "We thought you were dead or locked up or-" she stuttered in Sokovian as she sat down and leaned over the glass table.

"What is my silly girl saying, Baron? I could never learn the language."

"Papi," she spun around to face him. "You didn't tell me it was Baron Zemo we were hosting tonight."

"I wanted to surprise you, baby," he tucked her long blond hair behind her ear. "I know how much you've missed speaking in your mother tongue. Look, he even brought you a play mate."

When you were pointed out, you pushed your hair out of your face and waved. When he saw your stilted movements and your strained smile, the baron brought your shaking hand to his lips. He knew you had been placed in an awkward position, but he calmed you with a few circles drawn with his thumb on the back of your hand. He then made the introduction himself, releasing your hand so that you can shake Heidi's. Her smile was sincere, so yours grew at the sight of it.

"Why don't you girls go onto the dance floor?" Luciano leaned back. "The baron and I have business to discuss."

"Come on," Heidi dragged you up by the hand that was still in hers. "Business bores me."

"What was that, baby?"

"I said you're boring, Papi," she answered a laughing Luciano in Spanish.

As for yourself, you looked back at the baron who reassured you by squeezing your other hand: "I'll be right here, my dear. Now, go! Have fun! That's an order!"

You tried obeying his order, you did, but it took Heidi dragging you to the bar and buying the two of you drinks to relax your muscles and settle your nerves. She was brazen, sure. But she was also sweet. The smile that stretched her face also lit it up. She was another shiny thing you were drawn to on this island and she just so happened to be Sokovian. Three drinks in, she was already teaching you Catalan and a couple of her signature dance moves. You talked about Castle Zemo and the tourists who had thought you all the other languages. Soon enough you were grinding against each in the flurry of giggles. The music was just as addicting as the alcohol and it made you even more uninhibited. When she asked about the baron's performance in the bedroom, you answered so fast, your head started spinning. The best you've ever had. You asked about her relationship with Luciano and she wasn't ashamed to admit to her sugar baby status.

"Ladies, mind if I cut in?"

As if he could hear his name being whispered across the crowded dance floor and over the thrumming beat, the baron appeared beside you.

“Milord,” you blinked up at him, a sobering sight for drunk eyes.

“Hello, milord,” she wrapped her arms around you, not ready to let him have you back just yet. “Do you dance as well as you fuck?”

“Heidi,” you gasped, but soon you dissolved into giggles. You even wrapped your arms around her middle. “Stop it!”

“I’m afraid I’m not nearly as good of a dancer,” he smirked, seemingly unshaken by her slurred words. “Heidi, Luciano has asked to see you in what I believed he called his private booth. He tried calling you, but-”

“He wants to play,” she whispered in your ear. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” Then she kissed you on each cheek, each of them as sloppy and glossy. “Milord,” she attempted to make a curtsy but would’ve fallen over if you hadn’t caught her and sent her on her way.

In a sea of sweaty party people, you could only see him. The alcohol made everything glow brighter, including your baron. Like a moth who doesn’t know any better, you knocked your chest against his in an attempt to get closer.

“Are you having fun, my dear?” He steadied you with his hands, sliding them down your spine and stopping at the small of your back.

“Yes,” you smoothed his shoulder pads with your palms, enjoying the sensation of the fabric against your fingers. “But I thought you brought me here to dance.”

“For where I was standing, I could see the two of you were dancing,” he chuckled. “Were my eyes deceiving me?”

“You’re the one I wanted to dance with,” you slurred, emboldened by the liquor flowing freely through your veins. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you dragged him down and dipped your tongue into the shell of his ear. “Heidi’s pretty and all, but she’s not you.”

“My Lady,” he hissed, holding you so close he might’ve crushed you if he applied force. “What do you think you’re doing?”

With the beat of the music under your feet and his rumbling chest against your breasts, you swayed to the music in your heart. Your breaths were in each other’s ears, your lips against the shell of his and his under your lobe, in the same spot he left his stamp the last time the two of you were entangled.

“My Lord, what are you doing? You’ve barely touched me,” you gasped, grinding against him when you felt his teeth tease your sensitive skin. “You’ve barely spent time with me,” you moaned, moving your hands up and down his arms and feeling his muscles flex beneath your fingertips. “Why bring me here at all?”

“You needed this,” he grunted, his groin growing between your bodies. “You’ve been living among dead things for too long. You needed to be among the living again.” After licking the wound his teeth reopened, his mouth moved from underneath your ear to murmur: “And you needed me.” The hands slid down the small of your back to cup your ass cheeks and press your pelvis up against his. “You need me right now, don’t you?”

“I do,” you sighed, sinking your nails into his shoulders for stability. “I need you.” He had shoved his knee between your legs and your body compiled: you were now rubbing your bare cunt against his clothed thigh. If he hadn’t figured out that you left the villa pantyless yet, he knew now. “You ruined me for every other man.”

His hands smoothed your dress again, but this time they climbed up your spine. When they arrived at the back of your head, one got tangled in your hair while the other went right through. Yanking your head back, he exposed your throat to his teeth and your eyes to his hunger. The baron was starving.

While nobody else around you could hear it over the music, he must’ve tasted your moans under the teeth he was dragging up your throat. When his mouth made it to your chin, he chuckled: “What a spoiled little girl you are! Haven’t I given you enough? What is it that you want now? Me? Right here, right now?” Nipping the thin skin under your chin, he continued. “You could wrap those legs around me and I could slip my cock right into your sopping cunt. Yes, I know you’re not wearing any panties.” Releasing his grip on your air, he cupped your cheeks to keep your eyes on him instead. “Or do you want to be fucked in a bathroom stall like the dirty little girl you are?”

“Please,” you begged him, but you couldn’t even begin to articulate. Your body, hot and loose because of the liquor, was more coherent. Your thighs tightened around his own and your spine arched like a bow. “Oh, please.”

The baron bunched up your skirt in between your bodies with one hand while the other wound up around your throat, still tender from his teeth. “Please who?” He pressed you for an answer as he pressed his thumb against your slick and swollen clitoris.

“Please, m-milord,” you whined. “The bathroom. Take me to the bathroom.”

The walk to the men’s bathroom was a blur, but you didn’t need your eyes to find your destination. The baron’s hand was secure on your side, guiding you through the gaggle of dancers and hiding you from prying eyes. The bathroom was more light with more blue than red and the stall was more spacious than what you were used to. You initially imagined you must be out in the open, my when he turned the handle, it made a clicking noise, the sound of secrecy.

When he turned towards you, his eyes were wild in the blue neon lights and his hands were claws as he cornered you to capture your tender thighs. “You dirty girl,” he chuckled, as dark as his blown-out eyes. Then, as he lifted your feet off the tile floor and drove you up the wall of the stall, he snarled: “You couldn’t wait until we were back at the villa, could you? You had to have my cock right here, right now, didn’t you?”

You tried to get a hold of the tile wall, but failed and sunk your nails into his scalp instead. “Milord,” you called to him as you were climbing to the ceiling without your consent. “Milord, I’m gonna fall.”

Your Lord sat you atop of his shoulders, one thigh on each side of his face. “I won’t allow it,” he growled before his head disappeared under your skirt. “I’ve waited long enough for you to come to me, and I’m not letting you go now.”

He was right: you weren’t falling, you were flying. The swirling of his tongue around your cunt’s engorged numb was making your head spin and his five o'clock shadow scratching your inner thighs were stimulating every sinus. And you were sure that every ear inside the men’s bathroom could hear, but you didn’t stop yourself from screaming out for him.

When he slowed down his assault on your cunt, it was only to speak to it. “I missed this. I missed the sweet noises you make. I missed my sweet girl,” he licked up your labia, taking his time to taste it. “And I missed my sweet pussy.”

“Oh, God,” you called to the ceiling and the skies.

“No, not God,” he spat between your folds before sliding a finger between them. “I’m no God. No god is making you feel this way.” He pushed the protruding digit deeper before pulling it out again. “It’s a man.” Then, he pushed and pulled at a punishing pace, his mouth circling your clitoris again. “It’s me. Now, come on my tongue. Come on, come on my tongue like the dirty girl that you are.”

Baron Zemo had given out an order and you, his loyal servant, obeyed. Squeezing your thighs down on the sides of his head, you rode his face to the finish. You pulled at his hair and pushed his head down all at the same time. Everything was too much, but never enough. It was a sobering experience that made the alcohol in your veins dissipate. Still, as he slid you down the wall of the stall, you were drunk on the dopamine released by your orgasm.

“Just as obedient as I remember you to be. And twice as sweet,” he licked his lips as he whipped your face with his thumbs tenderly. His face shone with your juices, his chin being especially shiny. “Would you like a taste?”

You nodded, not feeling prepared to practice speaking just yet. He held up your head with a hand at the back of your throat while he brought the finger that burrowed inside you up to your bottom lip. You tasted the tip at first under his spreading smirk, but as soon as you took him in, he parted his lips and started panting. And his breathing got louder the more of him you sucked inside. When you took all of him, the entire finger up to the knuckle, and began bobbing your head, he gritted his teeth and groaned.

“Do you still want my cock, dirty girl?”

Pulling back from his finger with a pop, you bit your bottom lip. “Yes, milord.”

“Would you bow before me to get to it?”

“Yes, milord,” you smiled stupidly, drunk on the dopamine.

By the time he took himself out of his trousers, you were on your knees saying your pleas. You missed the taste of him as much as he claimed to miss your cunt. You stuck out your tongue and tasted his precum that was already pouring out. When the tip met with your mouth, you locked your lips around it and moaned. This caused him to call to the ceiling:

He grunted, grabbing you by the hair and yanking you off of him. “I want to paint those pretty little lips myself.”

You moaned aloud at that, eyes glazed over and mind muddled him. His touch, taste, and smell were taking over you again and all you could do was beg him for more, more, more. “Please, please, please,” you breathed as he slid his hand up and down his shaft and snarled, his teeth bared. “Please, please, please.”

He growled and the grip in your hair tightened. “That’s a good girl,” he managed to get out before spilling in your open mouth. “That’s my good girl.”

Once the steam started, he couldn’t stop himself. If you could’ve, you wouldn’t have stopped him either. The tangy taste of him transported you back to the first time he pushed you down into this position. He had a mask on then, but now his face was wearing his emotions. He was in pain, the pleasurable kind. His eyebrows were knitted together and his hair was falling on his forehead. While you were the one serving him, the one swallowing his come and cleaning his cock with your tongue, you felt powerful. And, as he called you his baroness and said you never looked more beautiful than you did in that moment, you knew that you would never feel this powerful again.

“Occupied,” he slammed the door in another man’s nose.

A voice swore in English from the other side. “What, man? The whole damn bathroom?”

Yes, the whole bathroom. Baron Zemo was standing at the entrance to the men’s bathroom to keep out men as you freshened up. You were starting to sober up, splashing water across your face to whip away your runny make-up.

“You remain a vision, my dear,” he held out his arm when you were done.

“Now I'm sure that’s what you say to all the girls,” you said, too satiated and exhausted to even think about the implications of your statement.

“There’s nothing more beautiful in this world than a woman in the afterglow,” he whispered, a wide smirk shadowing his lips before he swung the door open. “It’s all yours, my friend.”

“I almost pissed myself, man! Not cool!”

You smothered your laughter into his shoulder while he walked you back to the VIP lounge. “You think they noticed how long we’ve been gone?” You squeezed his arm with both hands. Your flushed and bare face must’ve been enough to give away the game anyway, so you didn’t know why you bothered to hide from Heidi.

“They’ve been gone for just as long,” he winked. “He called her into his booth, remember?”

The reunion with your Sokovian sister revealed that she at some point also had to remove her make-up. She invited you to sit next to her and immediately asked about the intimate details. You amused her but refused to drink any more alcohol. You asked for water instead.

While the two of you were swooning over the sex you just had, the men in question had yet to sit down. They had their backs turned to you and their glasses full. However, they never got to finish their drinks.

“Baby, it’s time to say goodbye to your new friend.” He didn’t even look at you as he said all this, focusing his narrow gaze on the other man instead. “The baron was just leaving.”

Heidi’s pitch was higher when she spoke Spanish, so she almost squeaked out: “Papi, make him stay.”

“I’m afraid it’s getting late,” the baron began apologizing. “It’s been a long day and we’re still suffering from jet lag.” He looked at you. That was your cue.

“Yes,” you yawned. “I’m sorry, Heidi. You know how far away Sokovia used to be, right?”

“Well, if you have to go, then you have to promise you’ll be back tomorrow. Papi, make him promise to bring her back tomorrow.”

Her Papi took one look at his baby’s pleading eyes, then another at the baron’s poker face, then sighed. “Very well. Baron, we’ll finish our talk tomorrow night.”

While Luciano looked more than eager to escort you out himself, he had to wait for Heidi to hug you tightly as she typed her number into your phone. She only let you go after kissing you good night.

“I didn’t even have to lie,” you yawed as he draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. “I so, so sleepy.”

“Which one wore you out, the flight or I?”

“Both,” you tucked your head under his chin.

Either the sea breeze had turned into a chill, or your tired body was cooling down. Whichever one it was, the chauffeur covered the convertible at the baron’s demand. It was either his warm chest that put you to sleep or the purring engine. Whichever one it was, you woke up to Baron Zemo caring you up the stairs like a groom would his bride.

“Hush now, my dear,” he shushed you. “Get some sleep. We have a full day ahead of us.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Malaise. Yan Fugo x Reader [Implied x Giorno]

word count: 6.3k warnings: implied sexual relations, angst later on notes: i wouldn’t say there’s super heavy yandereness going on here, but given the context i figured yandere would play out a bit differently. it’s more like slight yandere if anything ...

i.

Interacting with someone so close to your own age shouldn’t be this miserable. Bucciarati is far easier to converse with, it’s not even a close competition. He’s a pleasant conversationalist, humoring your ideas and offering valuable input. If you had it your way, you’d only be speaking to him and not… this bratty teenager who turned his nose up whenever you were around. As if your mere existence is the highest insult to his own. You’ll never forget how he looked from you to Bucciarati with a quirked eyebrow when you were introduced, the awkward encounter forever burned into your mind. 

You blow a strand of hair out of your face, nose scrunching up at the current dilemma. Bucciarati had asked, more like softly nudged you, to get along better with Fugo. You’ve been trying, ever since he introduced you two that fateful day. In the back of your head, you wonder if the same task was assigned to Fugo in private. Though seeing as he’s remaining nose deep into his book, sitting as far as humanly possible from you on this couch, you doubt it. The phrase “avoid like the plague”, doesn’t even scratch the surface of Fugo’s attitude towards you. He’d sooner embrace the Bubonic Plague than you, should prior encounters be recalled.

“Was there something you needed?” 

Speak of the devil. He must’ve seen fit to grace your presence with his most sacred articulation, filling the tense air with some much-needed conversation. The words aren’t malicious on a surface level, seemingly a reasonable inquiry considering you’ve been staring at him for a solid ten minutes. It’s how his voice is strained, knuckles whitening as he grips the book tighter, which gives him away. Fugo’s too easy to read at times, the same can’t be said when it comes to dealing with him. This might be the most difficult task Bucciarati ever assigned to you. 

“Need isn’t the word I’d use,” you decide to ignore the not-so-subtle irritation on his features, pushing your strained luck as far as it can go. Linguistics aside, you put your cards on the table. “But, I was hoping to get to know you better.” 

With the ball now on his side of the court, all you can do is wait, for whatever rebuttal Fugo decides to dish out. When Bucciarati isn’t around, Fugo’s preference is to act like you’re no more than a fly on the wall. Buzzing around his head and making it impossible to focus on anything that he does in his rare downtime. Honestly, he can’t comprehend why Bucciarati felt so desperate as to pluck you from whatever hole he found you in. You don’t even hold a candle to his own intellect, taking a naive, happy-go-lucky approach to life. Sure you’re a Stand user, and while it’s not a useless Stand, Fugo couldn’t picture you making the choices necessary in a fight to stay alive. The fact you haven’t been reduced to a bloodstain on the pavement is the only thing he finds impressive about you so far.

His eyebrow twitches at your pesky insistence, face settling into a grimace. “Am I right in assuming that if I don’t humor this pitiful attempt, you’ll continue to stare at me and disrupt my otherwise peaceful evening?” 

You place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition, before nodding your head. “It looks like you’ve got a better understanding of things than I expected.” 

Fugo lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. So be it. He’ll wait until you fall asleep to finish his book, mentally noting the page number and setting it by his side. The act of surrender takes you off guard. You were fully anticipating a snarky one-liner, or for him to disregard you in some other way. Instead, he looks at you with disinterest, arms crossed over his weird swiss cheese shirt. You learned never to mention your inner critiques of his fashion sense, as it once earned a plate of parmesan being narrowly dodged at Libecco. Scary stuff.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” Fugo winces at this like he heard nails on a chalkboard, “What do you like to do? Y’know, hobbies and stuff.” 

It’s as good a start as any. Finding out a person’s interests unravels the essence of who they are, what they believe is worth their time and effort. Fugo gives your question an unexpected amount of thought, probably sensing you’ll call him out for a lackluster answer. Which you would, of course. For all his stubbornness, he’s gotten good at reading you. Maybe you should try shaking things up a bit to rattle him, keep him on the edge of his seat… 

“Honestly, you couldn’t pick something more original…? I don’t know. I read, and I can appreciate a good movie.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment, considering his words. A very safe, Fugo-like answer. It didn’t take a seasoned detective to assume Fugo liked to read, but the movie detail is a new bit of information that you will take full advantage of. He strikes you as the type to be snobby about his tastes in movies. Most likely only watching them if they’re popular with critics and saying the general population has no appreciation for the fine arts, too busy consuming braindead action flicks instead of true cinema. Not that you have any intention of voicing this conclusion to him, seeing as you’re trying to worm your way into a friendship.

Fugo snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back into unfortunate reality. Maybe that statement earlier this morning about you zoning out too much holds some merit. Before he can berate you as he’s taken an apparent liking to, you speak up. “That’s good and all, but I need specifics.” 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“With pleasure,” you lean forward, waving your hands enthusiastically to emphasize your point. You get the sense that Fugo regrets asking for clarification, but neither of you are willing to back down now. “How about this. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which would you pick?” 

“Is this some kind of job interview?” Fugo murmurs to himself, massaging his temples. You shrug your shoulders and offer a bright smile, and he knows sarcasm isn’t gonna cut it. “It’d need to be something interesting… maybe The Silence of the Lambs.” 

He somewhat defied your expectations, not listing some obscure black and white flick filmed on a Blackberry. Maybe you jumped the gun on your initial assessment of Fugo Pannacotta, and he isn’t as grandiloquent after all. This confrontation is going better than you ever anticipated, and you almost feel guilty for selling him too short.

That is, until he sees fit to present an unnecessary addition to his previous statement. “Was that bit of English too much for you?” 

So much for that. Once an asshole, always as an asshole. Shakespeare may have said something similar, but your reimagining is far more of a pinnacle in literary achievement. You deflate back into the couch, huffing at his indignant comment. Well, might as well burst his bubble now. It may be the only bubble Fugo has that you’re capable of the aforementioned bursting, so you’re going to savor every second of it. The entire reason you’ve never mentioned this facet of yourself is that you never viewed it as imperative. Bucciarati knew, you knew, that’s all that mattered. Until Fugo decided to dig under your skin and rub salt on the wound in one fell swoop. Figures he’d do that.

“Fugo.” 

“[First].”

“You know English is my first language, right?” Your voice is more of a deadpan than anything, tilting your head to the side as if it is the most logical conclusion. The hypothetical cogs in Fugo’s head begin turning. There was that time you stumbled over a Naples exclusive dish, sfogliatella, Bucciarati kindly offering the proper pronunciation after you stumbled on it. Or how you have the slightest of accents, sometimes referencing pop culture that goes beyond him. He always wondered why muttering “cazzimma” to you only earned a light reprimanding from Bucciarati, and never offended you as more common insults would. He just thought you were some type of misfortune idiot. Whoops. 

Not willing to throw in the towel yet, Fugo takes a posture of defense. This is a hill he’s willing to die on, you have to be playing some kind of cheap trick. “I don’t buy it.” 

“Should I start reciting the entire Star-Spangled Banner by heart, or talk about how much I love fast food and baseball? Did you think my Stand would be a bald eagle that shot out apple pie? If that’s the case, you’re fresh outta luck. I’m living in Naples for a reason.” you respond in fluent English, flexing your hypothetical muscles. Fugo recalls his English classes from years prior to roughly translate some of your words, scowling at the realization you’ve proven him wrong. By god do you wish you had your phone with you to snap a picture, print it out, frame it in every room of this apartment, make it your lock screen, and send it to Bucciarati. 

You’ll settle for drinking in the moment instead, Fugo muttering curses underneath his breath. Much to your surprise, from this moment forward, Fugo earned just an ounce of respect for you. Not that it says a lot, seeing as the cup of [First] respect was drier than the Sahara desert until recent times. 

It’s still a step in the right direction.

ii.

Neither of you says a word.

Coming down from your individual highs, you feel how your hair sticks to the sides of your perspiring face. Your bare chest heaving with every labored breath, Fugo in a similar state of disarray next to you. Now that it’s all said and done, you’re unable to look at him out of embarrassment. Instead, you seek solace in staring at your ceiling, thoughts scrambling to rationalize the previous events. 

It all started innocent enough. The two of you had been growing closer, becoming more comfortable in each other's presence. Even Narancia, who could be notoriously poor at picking up on subtleties, could sense your connection and even pointed it out. Until Fugo told him to knock it off (in far more vulgar language), saving you the shame of saying it yourself. You felt content with the state of things with Fugo, after months of getting him to come out of his shell with you. His words were still pointed, but not full of ill will. Even when three more additions were brought to your little group, Fugo remained the person you prefer the most. It might be wishful thinking, but you think he feels the same towards you. 

Tonight had been like all the ones that came before. The two of you sitting on the couch, talking about pointless endeavors. Mista and Narancia were out at the time, leaving you all on your lonesome. For such a sizable couch, you didn’t realize how close Fugo was sitting next to you. Your thighs practically touching, occasionally brushing over one another. To combat the summer heat and mediocre air conditioning in your apartment, you were wearing short shorts and a tank top. Seeing as everyone else could walk around shirtless at their discretion, no one ever made a point to call you out on the less than modest choice. Even if they felt the itching, you’d shut them up without a second thought.

Fugo found himself focusing less on the words coming out of your mouth, and more on your glossy lips. He could smell your strawberry chapstick, the choice so tempting he found it offensive. Mixed with the chocolate gelato that you stole from Mista’s “hidden” stash, Fugo was bewitched on a level that shouldn’t be possible. Your skin, slightly glistening from the summer heat, eyes full of passion as you explained why you hated pretentious movies. At a certain point, you must’ve noticed how Fugo stopped responding to your impassioned rant. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you, to feel every inch of your body.

So he did. 

It was far from suave, an amateurish clashing of teeth and tongue. You let out a surprised noise at the unexpected events but melted into it. While the kiss didn’t go as smoothly as he pictured in his head, you seemed to savor every second of it. He still remembers how eagerly you responded to his every desperate touch, how you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him even closer. The scent of your floral perfume and the sweet noises that left your lips almost made him drool, prompting him to go even further. Fugo’s brain almost shut down when you lowly whispered into his ear to come to your room, bodies soon falling onto your bed in a heated embrace. 

You feel sore, but it’s not so bad. 

Fugo’s the first to speak up after some painstaking thought, breaking the silence that’s resonated ever since he climbed off of you. “Are you… are you okay?” 

It’s so unlike him to be this unsure, not knowing what to do or say. His heart still pounds in his chest, cheeks flushed and lips bruised. Suppressed emotions came crashing down over him like a tidal wave, drowning him before he could make sense of it all. You didn’t push him away or seem offended by his advances as he’d feared you’d be. Instead, you accepted all of him. Allowing him to carry out his pent-up yearning for you, in a state of bliss by how you called his name out. 

Shameful as it may be, Fugo had envisioned this scenario in his head numerous times. He’d always hated himself for it, thinking he’s no better than a common pervert for the way he thought of you. All the ways he pictured you, in all the lascivious situations, only to see you bright and early for breakfast the next day. When you smiled and told him good morning, all he could do is look away in disgrace. Not that you ever knew about this, or that you ever needed to find out. 

You let out a carefree, light giggle at his serious inquiry. Fugo’s eyebrows scrunch together into a scowl at your sudden laughter, finally working up the courage to look at you again. Any frustration melts away like winter snow in the spring at how breathtaking you look, your skin iridescent and eyes softening. They aren’t softening just for anyone, it’s for him and him alone. Does he deserve to be the one you look at with all this adoration? And should he even bother with the self-deprecating thoughts, when losing himself with you is so much better?

“S-sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, the skin underneath your eyes tightening from the wide smile. “I never took you for the sappy, pillow talk type.” 

Fugo’s nostrils flare, huffing without any malice at your teasing. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s doing, improvising as he goes. Everything that happened, every shared touched you shared, felt so surreal. Cheesy as it may sound, it was like a dream come true. What is there to say after a passionate encounter like that? He’s still rushing to get his bearings, hating the sensation of being this out of control. How you make his stomach erupt into a swarm of butterflies with every action, from the simple fluttering of your eyelashes to the cute way your nose scrunches up when you’re concentrating on a task. Fugo knows what this could be, in the back of his head. A quiet, hard to push down voice tells him what he’s been dreading to hear. That he’s a fool, deep in the throes of love. 

It takes a few minutes for you to calm yourself down. Fugo’s observant, much to your chagrin, having picked up on your nervous tick of laughing when you’re unsure of what to do. It’d make sense, seeing how you just slept with your teammate who frequently called you an idiot a few months ago. You prop yourself up, bedsheets covering your bare chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He looks away, despising how your revealed skin makes his face flush a bright red. Even without looking at you, he can picture the knowing smile on your angelic face at his embarrassment. It’s the same smile you have when Narancia tells a particularly funny joke, when Mista goes on a silly tangent about his latest concerns, when Bucciarati says you’ve done a good job, or when Abbacchio chooses to sit down next to you when everyone else is being too annoying. Most importantly, it’s how you always look at Fugo, even when he didn’t think he deserved it. 

You poke his cheek, murmuring his name. Fugo’s violet hues flicker back to you at the unprecedented action, perplexed countenance betraying his inner thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. That the occupation you two are involved in is too dangerous to sustain a relationship, and that death is a possibility every day. It’s too late for him to nip these feelings in the bud -- that opportunity passed long ago, as he let it -- but he can’t allow it go past the point it already has.

Fugo lets out an inaudible gasp when you make yourself comfortable against his bare chest. Here he is, being torn on the inside between desire and duty, and you’re snuggling up without a care in the world. It’s the stark contrast that separates you, the same one that has him so hopelessly enamored. You have no intentions on making this easy for him, do you? He knows the answer when he sees your eyelids closing, threatening to fall asleep. 

All is comfortably quiet until he hears your muffled voice speak up. “You didn’t push me away.” 

“Huh?” 

Fugo’s own response isn't the schooled, thought-out string of words you’ve come to expect. It’s a kneejerk reaction to a confusing observation, that he’s having trouble rationalizing in his head. While never the most forthcoming with his emotions, he was essentially ravishing you like a man possessed a few minutes prior. You can’t be that dense, can you? Scratch that, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Even if not many got to see that side of you, there are still insecurities that weigh heavily on your heart. In the same way he struggles with self-worth, you fight a similar battle. The thought tugs on his heart, lips set into a deep frown. Everyone’s got something to deal with.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fugo responds in a harsher tone than he intended. When he feels you tense against his chest, he curses himself, intentionally softening his next set of words. “But, uh, do you really want me to stay? The others might be back soon.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment at his concerns, promptly waving them off. It’s not like Narancia and Mista are capable of sneaking into your shared residence, it’s ridiculously loud when they come home. “Just a few more minutes.” 

He expected an answer like that and still has trouble relaxing. Truth be told, Fugo would prefer to lay here with you forever. To see what you look like when you sleep, to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest in sync with his own, to kiss your forehead and whisper goodnight. In an ideal world, that’s how it would be. Reality is a lot less forgiving, and there’s too much on the line. Being this close to someone else is vulnerable, painfully so. To hurt and be hurt, the opportunity now having the room to manifest. He knows all this, and he still can’t bring himself to mention the full force of his anxieties. Would you hate him? Think he was using you and then ditching you? 

Fugo decides to be selfish, more so than usual. While there’s no way to push down all of these emotions, looking at you puts him at ease. His fingers ghost over an area on your neck he learned was sensitive, almost smiling when you lean into the touch. The way he feels with you is addicting. From your quick wit that matches his own, never being afraid to challenge his positions, it’s like he found his match. While he’s always found you begrudgingly cute, even when he was colder to you, it’s evolved into something greater. More serious and heartfelt. It’s horrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” you ask what’s been troubling you, hearing how Fugo’s heartbeat ramps up in speed. It’s a rational conclusion, seeing how comfortable you two are with one another. You don’t know if what you feel is love, not just yet, but you want to give whatever this is a shot. Fugo’s hesitation says all you need to know, though you wish it isn’t like this. 

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” Fugo answers honestly, the words so quiet you struggle to pick them up. It’d be a lie to say you’re not disappointed, though you don’t want to push him into anything he’s not ready for. Fugo has his own emotions to work through, and the last thing you need to do is jump into a relationship and ruin everything. So you lift yourself up, looking him deep in the eyes, Fugo blinking at the abrupt movement. 

“Then I’ll wait.” 

He doesn’t notice how close to crying he’s been this entire time. The world through his view goes blurry, a lump forming in the back of his throat. Fugo takes deep breaths to steady himself, and instead of berating him, you wipe away his tears with the pad of your thumb. Whispering reassurances into his ear, combing through his tousled hair with your fingers. Fugo wipes at his eyes furiously, cursing himself for breaking down in front of you of all people. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude when you decide not to comment on it further, to save him the embarrassment. Your words echo within his head like a holy mantra, a promise that he’ll hold onto. 

If there were ever a reality where you looked down at him with disdainful eyes, he’d hate himself. 

iii.

Wandering aimlessly isn’t the worst part.

No, that’d be letting himself off too easy. It’s not the sleepless nights, tossing and turning while his stomach churns, or even the tear-stained pillowcases. When walking around Naples, all he can do is submerge himself to the shadows. There’s shame in the act of hiding, and it’s all he’s come to know. Seeing the light of day feels too good for someone like him, someone who had been abandoned by everyone he cared about and was too cowardly to prevent it. It’s a suitable punishment to wallow in his own self-pity and loneliness, cursing his entire existence for the mistakes that haunt him every day. 

It’s always a mistake to come to this café. This is your favorite café, and on days like this, all he can do is watch from afar. There are times he stares at the spot you frequent for hours, waiting to see if you decide to stop by that day or not. In a way, it’s almost better when you don’t. He doesn’t get a taste of what he’s missing out on, a forbidden fruit that he’s too ashamed to reach for. Most of the time you come here alone, with your favorite pastry and coffee, scrolling on your phone or laptop before leaving. He’s seen you meet with Mista a few times, even Trish once, but it’s mostly Giorno who accompanies you. 

Today you’re on your lonesome, speaking to someone over the phone and then hanging it up with a smile. Fugo can’t help but wonder, who is it that makes you smile like that? As he sits from afar, drowning in his anguish, it’s what plagues him the most. That used to be the smile he saw on a daily basis, the one that made him fall head over heels in love. Now he’s too afraid to approach you, in fear of what you may say, or do. Even what you wouldn’t do would hurt. Would you look at him in pity, or curse him for his cowardly actions? Condemn him for not joining you on that boat, or ignore him all together?

Is it possible… that you’ve simply forgotten all about him? It has been almost two years since the worst day of his life. While he’s caught up in the past, you’ve moved into a brighter future. He doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Surely you deserve any happiness you can get after all the suffering you went through, but the thought of you being happy without him stings. It digs talons into Fugo’s heart, ripping it out of his chest. One of these days, he tells himself, he’ll work up the strength to speak to you. Even if it’s but a moment. 

Though some part of him knows he’ll never be able to face you. Not anymore.

v.

It’s early in the afternoon. Chatter from other patrons reverberates off the tastefully decorated walls, in a restaurant that Fugo’s been to numerous times. This particular visit is different than the ones years ago. Instead of the bustling atmosphere he’d grown used to, there are only two people at the table. Where laughter and lighthearted conversations before work used to occur, there’s nothing but silence save for some polite discussion. Fugo’s throat feels persistently dry, no matter how much water he gulps down. 

Giorno sits across from him, legs folded and nursing a glass of iced tea the waiter brought seconds prior. Maintaining eye contact with the revered Don of Passione is no simple task. It’s a daunting experience, regardless of Giorno’s insistence on no formalities being necessary when interacting with one another. Fugo holds immense respect for him, otherwise, he wouldn’t be willingly sitting here right now. Still, his mouth is set in a straight line, leg bouncing underneath the table. Respect isn’t enough to snuff out the uncomfortable memories that appear up in this room, suffocating him from the inside out. 

“Is there a reason I’m here?” The words come out more forcefully than he intended, Fugo’s eyes darting around his familiar surroundings, looking for something he won’t find. Someone he won’t find. He’s grateful to Giorno for his benevolence, as speaking this way to someone who’s technically his boss isn’t advisable. Someone as sharp as Fugo knows this better than most, but he also knows Giorno. While not understanding him entirely, his actions make logical sense in the grand scheme of things. 

Being in Giorno’s position means being busy. Every second of the day has to be taken advantage of, whether it be discussing with other mafioso about recent happenings or plans, making multiple phone calls, and plenty of other headache-inducing tasks. So it doesn’t make much sense to Fugo why Giorno called him this morning, asking to meet him in person for lunch. While the two aren’t on bad terms, he doesn’t feel deserving of the specially allotted time. And in his gut, he feels there’s a hidden justification for the meeting that he’s yet to uncover. A few unpleasant theories come to mind, but they only serve to unnerve Fugo further, so he stuffs them down. 

“I wasn’t sure of the best way to deal with Purple Haze. Your Stand… you’re already aware of the potential consequences it could’ve posed, so I won’t rehash it more than necessary,” Giorno begins to offer his insight into the matter, finally revealing the true reason Fugo was called out here today. “There were a variety of methods that could’ve been used, with varying degrees of success, but I took a gamble. Ultimately, she didn’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Fugo feels his heart drop, jaw slackening despite his best efforts. “Who… who do you mean?” 

At this, Giorno quirks an eyebrow up. As if to wordlessly say, you know who. 

“It might not be my place to delve into your past,” Giorno continues with a serious air, contrasted by his closed-mouth smile. Fugo never knows for certain what Giorno’s plotting behind that smile, and a part of him wants to remain oblivious. “But for you to overcome it, and in turn gain total control over Purple Haze, it must be addressed.”

He can guess where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. Giorno gives him a moment to consider the words, briefly glancing at his buzzing phone and then returning his attention back to Fugo. It’s a subtle change in body language, how Giorno’s shoulders stiffen just slightly as if he’s anticipating something. Fugo loosens the tie around his neck, the pair returning to tense silence. While the Don made valiant attempts in loosening him up, it only served to make Fugo more suspicious. All of his fears are confirmed when he overhears two voices from the room over, one of them sending his heart racing.

That’s… that you and Mista speaking to one another. He knows your voice better than he knows any other sound on the planet, even if it’s been years since he’s heard it up this close. Fugo still dreams of you, the way you used to stumble over certain Neapolitan lingo, or how wonderful it sounded when you graced his ears with a laugh. Now, he’s unsure of what to feel when hearing the muffled conversation between you and Mista. The sound grows closer, and with it, his dread. After rejoining Passione at Giorno’s behest, Fugo knew this reunion couldn’t be avoided. Nothing could prepare him for it. 

There’s a telltale gasp when you turn the corner, spotting the back of someone you haven’t seen since you were a teenager. Someone who you used to hold in high esteem, who practically fell off the face of the earth after betraying the old boss. While Mista had hastily given you the details on the car ride over, it still felt too surreal, like a cruel joke. There’s a lot that weighs down on your heart, like stones wrapped around your ankles, dragging you into the depths. The details Giorno gave you about Fugo’s whereabouts were purposefully vague, most likely in consideration of your past feelings. 

“Fugo…?” 

You’re by his side before he can even process it, bending down and wrapping his stiff shoulders into a warm embrace. He doesn’t reciprocate it or stop you, his thoughts not capable of rationalizing what’s going on. Fugo can’t bring himself to look up at your countenance, in fear of what he’ll see staring back at him. That you’re even hugging him means you must pity him, viewing him as a scared little boy who was too weak to do what was necessary. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to him, and why he can’t return your affections. While it’s no longer his place to desire anything from you, not after all his shortcomings, he silently prays. That there may be some part of you that still cares for him, in the same way he has loved you from afar. 

“I’m so glad you’ve come back.” you sniffle, emotions swirling and enveloping you. You lift your hand, using your finger to swipe away forming tears. That’s when Fugo sees it. It doesn’t hit him at first as one would expect. No, it’s a prickling sensation that starts from his chest and spreads throughout his body like a virus. His body feels ice cold, like a corpse clinging onto shreds of life, consumed from the inside out by sorrow. Nausea comes in waves, tempting him to flee from this heart-wrenching scene and never look back. Your hand falls back to your side, and Fugo’s eyes follow it with precision, unable to look away.

There’s a rose gold band on your ring finger. 

Of course. Looking at you here, it makes sense why this would happen. Your body has filled out, beauty like that of an angel. The ability to draw people in and befriend them like a glowing aura has always been your strong suit, it was warm enough to thaw the ice around Fugo’s heart. It’d be a fool’s prayer to beg God to keep you for himself, and still, he had tried. Now that leaves the burning question, who? Who was the person that erased himself from your mind, taking the place that was carved out specifically for him? He looks at your beaming face, searching for answers he won’t find outright. 

Your perfume is the same as it was before. Light and floral, but mixed with a hint of something new. Of someone new. It sickens him, the scent dizzying as it taunts him. Where has he smelled this before? It’s on the tip of his tongue, fizzling out before coming into fruition. The words you speak next are drowned out by Fugo’s throbbing head, too absorbed with dark thoughts to process them. He needs to know. He has to know. Fugo looks over your shoulder to Mista in search of answers, the gunslinger holding an uncharacteristically grim expression. They hold eye contact, Fugo staring at him with potent intensity. 

Give me a hint. Anything, please.

Not everyone gives Mista the credit he deserves for being observant. Fugo must’ve looked like he’d seen a ghost, Mista swallowing at the pale complexion and vacant eyes. Believing that his intentions weren’t clear enough, Fugo almost looks away. Before he gets the opportunity, Mista offers a slight inclination of the head. Fugo closes his eyes, all his strength going into holding himself together. Picking up the shards of glass that maintain his emotions, hands growing bloody in the process. It’s a subtle movement, though there’s no denying in what direction it went, as much as Fugo wished otherwise.

Towards Giorno. 

You move towards your seat, realizing Fugo must be going through a lot of emotions of his own. The last thing you need to do is suffocate him when it’s clear he’s processing the unfolding events. “I don’t know the last time you came here, but they recently added more desserts. I’m partial to the zeppole… it’s so light and fluffy.” 

Mista walks over, taking a seat next to the befuddled Fugo, and speaking up to ease the uncomfortable silence that resonates in the room. “I’m starving, haven’t had anything to eat all day. Let’s get the waiter over here.”

While he flags down a passing employee, Fugo’s eyes follow your form. The table is different than how it used to be. Abbacchio would be sipping on wine, no matter the time of day. Bucciarati wouldn’t always be sitting down for long, seeing as he had lots of work to do, but he always made time for a good meal. Narancia loved conversing with you, seeing as you had lots of knowledge of the English music he was so partial to. You always sat next to Fugo, who’d lightly reprimand Narancia for being more passionate about rap than his studies, or telling Mista to knock it off with the unappetizing conversations he loved to start. 

Now, you take the chair next to Giorno, who had pulled it out in kind when you walked over.

You said you’d wait for him, and Fugo fooled himself into believing that statement would last a lifetime. He always had regrets about not joining his team on the boat that day, too many to count. A new one has sprouted up like a weed, strangling his heart. If he had joined you, would it have been him you’d have married? Would it be him that you’d look at with that dazzling expression instead, the one that he had grown used to seeing? Now that he knows the full extent of the truth, Fugo wonders how he could have ever been so blind. Even Giorno -- who often smiled just for show -- had unmistakably lightened up as soon as you entered the room. 

This… This is Fugo’s despair.

The rest of lunch goes as smoothly as it can. He forces himself to speak when spoken to, Mista kindly filling the room with conversation to prevent any awkwardness. This can’t end fast enough. He needs to get out of here, to excuse him before he does something truly stupid. A serpent whispers temptations of evil into his ear, and he doesn’t want to tune them out. Not anymore. Now isn’t the time to pull any idiotic stunts, so he remains still as a statue. When all is said and done, Fugo can’t get up from the table to dismiss himself any faster. He pays the necessary respects to his Don, swiftly offering his goodbyes. With his back turned, he hears your voice call out to him in the darkness.

“I’ll see you later, right?” you ask in between bites of your dessert, the words meaning more for him than you. He doesn’t know. He’s not certain of anything anymore, even after making up his mind on returning to Passione. The situation has taken a turn for the worst, in a way he couldn’t stomach any longer. So for now, he’ll offer up an unconvincing response, not capable of looking back at you. 

At the reminder of all his failures.

“... Of course.” 

[coffee--writes]

Cherry

Pairing: Lily Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k 

Warnings: Angsty but nothing more

Requested: No. It is a song fic for Cherry by Harry Styles. I would also like to say the music notes headers are to show the instrumental portions of the song which I believe add to the fic. 

Summary: In which, you struggle to move on from you and Lily’s past relationship. 

♪-♪-♪-♪-♪-♪

The cool air bit at your neck under the willow tree that day. 

Leaves fell majestically by your side as you faced the cold, a scarf around your shoulders, mittens covering your palms and boots on your feet. 

But although your body was protected from the bitter chill of November, nothing could save you from the frigid emptiness inside your mind. 

It seemed Lily Evans had made a large indentation in your life. 

For worse or for better. 

Don’t you call him “baby” 

We’re not talking lately

Don’t you call him what you used to call me

James Potter. 

Oh, how you had hated him. 

You remembered his pestering presence. Each and every Hogsmeade trip you and Lily had spent together was always greeted with glasses and a smirk you had grown to hate but Lily would grow to love. 

At first you had been angry. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that James Potter fancied Lily Evans. He didn’t try to hide it, in fact he was proud to be rejected by her. But months later, when Lily had moved on, you realized you couldn’t blame him. No one had known of those secret moments shared between you and Lily Evans. No one knew of the stolen kisses in hidden corridors, the late night rendezvous in the kitchen or the hands that were intertwined under the table. James Potter hadn’t known that those days he spent pestering were more than just an outing with a friend. 

You couldn’t stay mad at him. 

It wouldn’t have been fair. 

But you were angry and that had been the problem. You couldn’t be mad at James for his ignorance. There were days you desperately wished you could be mad at Lily Evans. She had always insisted on keeping your relationship a secret. Few people knew of the love shared between the two of you. Only Lily’s trusted friends. She had insisted yours would tell someone in the end. 

Begrudgingly, you had agreed to her words. Most of your relationship was spent in secret or in the confidence of Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas, who you soon grow to love dearly. You knew now that Lily hadn’t been fair. But yet, you couldn’t find the power to be angry with her. 

So you stayed angry at yourself. 

A month had gone by since you had ended things and the few glimpses you saw of Lily she was linked hand in hand with James. You watched as he pressed kisses to her cheeks in front of the world, tucking her cherry red hair behind her ear. They always sat tucked away in the corner, surrounded by ever growing flowers. No matter how far away from them you were you could always hear her whispers to him. That magical word that used to belong to you and only you. 

“Baby” she would say, her lips forming the vowels perfectly. 

And each time the word was said James Potter would smile and you would only look away, your mind lingering back to those moments when she had called you hers. 

I… I confess

I can tell that you are at your best

I’m selfish so I’m hating it 

Walking down the sun lit halls had become bittersweet. 

For there she was, walking side by side with James Potter, a large smile on her face. You hadn’t seen that smile in a long time. In the beginning it had always been there. Her smile was beautiful, a perfect compliment to that cherry red hair that you loved so deeply.  You had loved that you were the person who got to see it the most. 

But now James saw it every hour of every day as you had once before. Maybe he thought about it each night as he went to sleep as you had done and continued to do each night. Lily’s smile had left you a long time ago and now it seemed to have returned. 

And although her smile produced a warm feeling in the pit of your chest, your mind wallowed in a bitter cold due to the fact that she was smiling without you. Her figure disappeared from view and that selfish pit turned into a bitter hatred towards yourself. 

You were happy for Lily. 

At least you were trying to be. 

I notice that

There’s a piece of you in how I dress

Take it as a compliment 

Lily had buried herself deeper than you had thought. 

It became clear to you when you had shuffled through your collection of clothes. Your typical outfit consisted of frayed jeans and a cardigan; a basic look. Today you were going to Hogsmeade and although you were going with a friend you decided to get dressed up for the occasion. 

That was when you had noticed the floral pattern that had once littered your floor. 

Lily had loved sundresses. You remembered shopping hours looking for the perfect one. “It has to match my hair and eyes.” she would say. Each time you would roll your eyes but in reality she had always looked gorgeous in every one she tried on. She had soon pestered you into buying one. 

“Come on, Y/N/N. You’ll look amazing in the flower one.” 

So you had tried it on and the pattern had grown on you. It didn’t help that her face always lit up when you wore it. Now she was gone and you could only stare at the blue flower petals that blossomed on the contrasting white of the fabric. Time was ticking and you wouldn’t let thoughts of her spoil your day. 

You slipped on the dress quickly. 

You couldn’t deny she had amazing taste. 

Don’t you call him “baby” 

We’re not talking lately 

Don’t you call him what you used to call me 

Her actions hurt. 

Ignoring you, that was. 

Very few people questioned the drifting friendship between you two. Before you would walk together, side by side, hips bumping each other softly. Now, you walked opposite ends of the corridor, those emerald green eyes never meeting yours. 

In a way it was a blessing. The lack of words between you and her. You knew deep down that if you had to look into those eyes again or watch the freckles on her face dance that your chilled exterior would soon fall apart. You’d remember those nights spent in the greenhouses watching as the magical lunar flowers budded in the streaks of moonlight. You’d recall the music you once danced to in your home over the summer as the sun set in the English countryside. 

Emerald green eyes and cherry red hair would lead you to remember every kiss and every study date. Days spent in grassy fields on sunny days or stormy nights cuddled by the fire. You were even reminded of the smallest things like the exchanging of books, a tap to the nose and long conversations that were lost in the void of the night. Memories would flood your mind and you would soon drown in their depth. 

For once, you were thankful to be ignored. 

♪-♪-♪-♪-♪-♪

Lily had been your only friend. 

That was a slight exaggeration but it felt that way. You talked to other people and they were kind. But none of them had the connection you and Lily had once shared. Without her by your side it was as if you were travelling with only half a heart. Half a soul. Lily had acted as your compass and without her you lost all sense of direction. 

So you watched her from the window. 

There she was, laughing loudly alongside Potter and his friends. Their feet left prints on the shore of the lake. They splashed at her, an act that a younger Lily would have scolded them for. But she looked so happy, a smile shining bright for her beloved Potter. Your hand rested on your chin and a sad smile made its way to your face. 

Their laughs echoed in the blank slate of your mind. 

I... I just miss 

I just miss your accent and your friends 

Did you know I still talk to them? 

Today was one of the rare moments you felt completely at peace. 

Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas walked at your sides, small smiles on their lips. You hadn’t seen them in a while as they had always been closer to Lily and you knew they preferred her company. But even after you and Lily had fallen off they had acted as your friends. 

After walking down the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade you finally asked the question that hung at the tip of your tongue. “How is she?” 

All their eyes averted to the ground. Marlene was the first one to speak up, nervously playing with the ends of her blonde hair, “Good.” she said simply, “She seems to be doing good.” 

Her words were confirmed by a nod from Mary and a sigh from Dorcas. You nodded in return, pushing your hands into your pockets, “Is she happy?” 

Marlene smiled sadly, “Yeah.” she replied, “Very.” 

“Good.” was the only answer you supplied. 

You could feel the peaceful day you had envisioned falling apart. Mentions of Lily sent your mind into a spiraling void of emotion in which you had hoped to avoid but instead you had wrestled the tiger head on. Unfortunately, the tiger had won. 

And now she was coming back to gloat. 

“Marls!”

You froze as did the three other girls. Her voice rang in your ears. You hadn’t heard it in a long time. At least not this clear. You could hear the sweet tone of her voice that no one else in the world seemed to hold. Each syllable, as melodious as a birds song. Mary’s eyes fell on you, watching as you shrunk away from the scene. 

Her voice was the last sound you heard as you walked away from the pain she embodied so deeply. 

Does he take you walking ‘round his parents’ gallery? 

Compared to James Potter you didn’t have much to offer. 

The Potters were a well-known family. Rich but humble. Pure but not prejudice. They were the picture perfect wizarding family with their abundance of talent and Quidditch skills being passed to their son; a bright boy with a knack for causing trouble. 

You weren’t anything special. A single mother who worked around the clock to keep you supported. An absent father who had left when you were a child. Your life wasn’t tragic but it was far from perfect. You could never offer Lily the world in her hands. Each gift came with a price; an extra hour of work for your mother, a summer job for you to work. 

Lily had always understood and she hadn’t asked for more than you could offer. She had appreciated the small things you would give her with a smile and a kiss. It was one of your favorite things about her. She had the unique ability to understand and be content whilst you felt pent up with your lack of wealth and inability to supply her with wonders. 

Surprisingly, whenever you passed her in the halls and saw the necklace Potter had bought her around her neck, you felt happy. Although anger always lingered in your heart, you were glad someone was able to give her what she deserved. 

It wasn’t you and you were slowly learning to accept that. 

Don’t you call him “baby”

We’re not talking lately

Don’t you call him what you used to call me 

Your final year at Hogwarts passed by in a blur. You watched Lily Evans slowly fall in love with the boy who had always wanted her. She smiled all the time now, her eyes never wandered towards yours and as much as it pained you that they didn’t, you hoped she had found peace. 

Don’t you call him “baby” 

We’re not talking lately 

Don’t you call him what you used to call me 

As for you, peace seemed to be out of question. 

Peace was watching her be happy with someone who wasn’t you. It was watching her relationship from afar and catching moments where the two of you had gone wrong but James had gotten it right. Even without her by your side, Lily Evans played a major role in your life. Your eyes always wandered into her life where you weren’t wanted anymore. 

You watched her take James to the end of year ball. His friends became her friends and she quickly took after them slightly. She owned a leather jacket and often studied with Remus in her spare time. She baked with Peter and you desperately wished that somewhere… somehow, you fit into the equation. 

But you didn’t. 

♪-♪-♪-♪-♪-♪

So you watched her graduate top of the year, cherry red hair blazing as she smiled. 

You read of her joining the Order of the Phoenix, Dorcas expressing her worries in the letters she sent. 

You stared emptily at the letter from Dorcas, sending news of James and Lily’s wedding. 

Nothing could move you off the floorboards of your flat. 

♪-♪-♪-♪-♪-♪

The morning of August 11th was foggy but in the hills of Scotland they were shining on a bride with cherry red hair and her groom. 

You hadn’t been invited to Lily’s wedding and for that you were grateful. You knew that today was the day. Dorcas and you had kept up correspondence and she knew you well enough to know that you were curious of Lily’s affairs. 

That morning you found yourself sitting in front of a box of memories. What stuck out to you was a tape. No label was on it but a small heart. Curiosity tickled your mind and after a minute you stuck the tape into the cassette player. 

First came the static. 

Then her voice. 

“Is it on?” you said, your voice coming through muffled on the speaker, “Yeah.” 

Her voice was muffled as well, but you knew it by heart. Her melodious laugh followed and just from that you could picture her hair, the color of cherries and her eyes sparkling like emeralds. “Well, Y/N… are you going to say something.” 

You froze, concentrating deeply to hear through the static, “I guess I’ll say… I love you Lily Evans!” 

She laughed and it was the realest thing you had heard in months, “You’re so cheesy, Y/N/N.” 

“Well, one day we’ll listen to this and you won’t be saying that.” you reply with a chuckle. 

“Alright. Alright. I guess we’ll say goodbye for now.” she said, her words burning in your mind. 

“Goodbye!” 

“Goodbye!” 

The static returned once more and the weight of the world seemed to fall on your shoulders.

 You finally let out a long-awaited sob.

♪-♪-♪-♪-♪-♪ 

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[stab-the-son-of-a]

Whumpers Only

I wish I could explain how this got away from me but I have no words. Not quite a caretaker, so, sorry anon, but here you go.

CW: Brief drug and alcohol mention

The itemized call history that crossed Detective Vance’s desk is deceptively extensive and several pages thick, despite being only for a few months’ span of time. Forensics still have their hands all over the cell phone itself, and the detective has a few choice words they could say about the forensic team’s work ethic, but they’re not in the practice of layering their insults in honey. Their bread and butter is to to dig and root around for information, like some sort of truffle pig, and their tongue is regularly knotted. The detective finds themself quite defective when it comes to spinning the same pleasant, nuanced banter, certainly not enough to keep up with the man down in forensics with the sugar sweet smile.

So, itemized call list it is. It took the detective an obscene amount of time to cross reference the numbers against every possible database and to confirm the pattern to the suspect's behaviors and narrow down which numbers are legitimate. Most of all, which of these numbers matches the spurious rumor of a hotline.

A ‘whump’ hotline. There are many, many similar mentions in certain circles and apparently coded messages sent through various forms of advertising, and yet, this is the closest Jesse has come to interacting with that sphere. They’re not sure, but they think that might be why they still can’t bring themself to finish dialing.

The information has always been there, readily accessed in the same sort of way drugs and alcohol are accessible - a thinly veiled barrier, a little social based pressure to avoid or partake depending on the circles. For years, Jesse has been a teetotaler and avoided whump content in any respect, and kept that influence from their life.

It’s odd to abandon that part of their life, that internal badge of never having indulged.

It’s for a case, however, so they finally stop their waffling and dial.

Not long after, on the second ring, someone picks up. “Hello and thank you for calling 1-877-WHMP-NOW, the whump specialist hotline.” The person on the other end, an operator of some sort, offers a friendly greeting.

Off balanced by just how cordial the other person sounds, Jesse hesitates a moment to collect themself. They just have to pretend to want to be a whumper. That couldn't be too hard. “Um…” they mumble, then clear their throat. “Um, hi, I... want to learn to whump. My name is-”

“Oh. Excuse me, I’ll have to place you on hold while a representative finishes with another client.”

The cheery hold music is far more underwhelming than anything else and Jesse frowns at the phone, as if it’s the device’s fault, before sighing and settling on their couch, one leg tossed over the arm while they wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Eventually they start mirroring the words of the automated voice recording, interjecting with their own commentary in the brief pauses between statements.

“All our lines are busy at the moment.”

“And here at Whump Corp or whatever these moments last a lifetime,” Jesse snorts as they try yet again to find another position on the couch. Their curly hair serves little by way of cushioning from the carpet as they sit upside down. The phone sits a few inches away from their head, speakerphone enabled, and Jesse crosses their hands over their stomach and their ankles behind the back of the couch.

Undeterred, because of course, the message continues, “Please remain patient. Your time is very important to us. We will be with you momentarily.”

“Momentarily means for a short period,” Jesse corrects under their breath. It’s a small pet peeve, something that normally wouldn’t have drawn their attention either, but as they hear the same spiel for the dozenth time, it’s like getting the last final small pebble thrown in their face- just enough to burst the dam. "Not in a short period of time."

“We are currently experiencing greater than usual call volume. Continue to hold the line, and you will be connected as soon as possible.”

“How many people can there even be calling at 11am on a Tuesday?” Gravity draws Jesse’s blood into their head until the pressure and dizziness build uncomfortably. They roll off the couch and root around in their mini fridge for a drink. At this volume, they can hear the same three bar hold music repeat yet again, despite the distance. Cracking the seal on their iced tea, Jesse settles cross legged beside the cellphone. “Don’t whump on company time, guys, jeez.”

“Just a moment please, the next available team member will be there for you shortly.”

Letting out a drawn out groan, Jesse lies back and stares up at the ceiling. It’s been hours. “Starting to think I’m waiting for the next available team member to be born.”

Click. Jesse bolts upright, fumbling with the phone and nearly yeeting it across the room in their haste.

“All of our employees are currently busy assisting other clients,” the new voice announces. The faint static and electric tone warns Jesse that they’ve simply stumbled into another robot. “Your call and phone number has just been noted and a representative will call you back as soon as possible. We thank you for your understanding.”

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense. Jesse runs a hand through their curls, only to freeze as the line goes dead. “What?! No! I did not just sit through hours of happy fun time hold music just to get hung up on by a robot!”

Except that’s exactly what just happened.

They stare down at their screen in acute betrayal. What now? Try again? Their number is now in a whump call center database of some sort.

-

Half an hour after the call disconnected, Jesse still hasn’t moved from their position. Their mind is a blur as they try to figure out what it is they really ended up doing- if they would have to explain themself and the call to anyone- their family, friends, service provider, work. They don’t even know if anyone will know, let alone if they will care.

The house is absolutely silent, the muted television still playing in the background as they’d forgotten to turn it off or to return the volume.

Silent until the phone rings. Shock and no small amount of recklessness has Jesse answering the unknown number.

“Hello, and thank you for holding!” It’s the operator from before- Jesse recognizes the faint impediment or accent that sharpens the glottal sound of their h’s.

“I wouldn’t call that holding,” Jesse grumbles.

Either not hearing them, or not addressing their commentary, the operator continues, “At this time, I'd like to let you know that this call may be recorded for quality assurance and training purposes. Please answer the following survey questions.”

“I’ve been on hold for hours and you want me to perform a survey? About what? I haven’t even gotten helped!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, friend. Were you highly satisfied with your service experience?”

Bewildered, Jesse cries, “No!”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you receive the result you needed from your service interaction?”

“What interaction?!” Are they in the Twilight Zone? Are they still speaking English? Did they have a stroke and now they’re mumbling incoherently? What sort of madness was this, an elaborate prank?

“Thank you for your response. Did you receive friendly service?”

“I didn’t get any service! Rude would have been preferable!”

“Your feedback has been noted.”

Jesse groans again and scrubs their face.

“Was our service timely and convenient?”

“Not on your life!”

“Thank you for your responses. Now, would you recommend our service to others?”

They can feel their head pulsing and pounding, a twitch behind their temple and their eyebrow jumping, but as soon as they hang up, their blood pressure begins to lower with a rush of relief.

Their iced tea now room temperature and bitter, Jesse takes a few more sips and leans against the couch, resting their neck against the cushion. “What a disaster,” they sigh.

After a few seconds of blissful silence, their phone goes off again. Swiping the decline button with a vicious smirk, they return to enjoying what more of their day they can.

Said enjoyment ends with another call, and another.

“Fine! Hello?”

“I’m sorry, it seems we were disconnected. Please finish providing your feedback so we can improve our services.”

“My feedback is that this was an exercise is madness! You kept me on hold for over two hours, but you’ve repeatedly called me for a stupid survey when before you couldn’t give me the time of day!”

“I’ve very sorry you were not satisfied with the level of response and attentiveness. You are welcome to try calling again tomorrow-”

“Absolutely no-”

“As I was saying, Mx. Vance, you may call the hotline again tomorrow during regular business hours. Thank you for completing the survey and for calling 1-877-WHMP-NOW. Have a whumpderful day!”

“A pun?” Jesse tosses their phone to the couch and storms off to the bathroom to wash the rage and boiling heat from their face. “All that for a stupid pun?!”

-

Over at the call center, Gladys and Fran sit huddled around the phone, Gladys actually sitting on the desk and perched precariously on the edge. The speaker button still flashes from the abrupt disconnection.

“Did you hear them?” Gladys roars with laughter, holding her aching ribs. It took everything in her willpower and then some to keep quiet, both while listening to the detective while they were on hold, but especially while Fran spoke with them. Now free, she lets loose, uncaring of who else hears her. “Oh God, oh man, I’m gonna bust a rib. Babe, you’re the best.”

“I’m actually proud of that pun. Like, really proud.” Fran takes out their pen and quickly scribbles that one down.

“Uhhh, Fran, I’m pretty sure Craig in finance already-”

They raise up one finger imperiously and continue to write. “Let me have my moment, Glady-girl. Just this once.”

Smiling, she rolls her eyes and slides off the desk. “Since you gave me the best lunch break surprise ever, want to head down to the cafe?”

Fran takes a final quick look at their work space, how messy and disorganized it is now that it’s no longer Gladys’s chair, considers the amount of time left in their shift and how long this high of a well played prank might last, and wheels back from their desk. “Lead the way!”

“Oh, no, you’re my hero,” she insists, dramatically bowing to allow them to go ahead of her. The angle is perfect for a quick peck on the cheek before they make their way down the corridors.