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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 3 years

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if I can never give you peace — zero || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count (chapter): 5.8k

Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers, heavy on angst, slow burn, eventual smut

Warnings & Tags (chapter): Descriptions of Violence, Tension, Dehumanization and general poor treatment of hybrids

A/N: So I have two modes and those are tooth-rotting fluff and angst feast. This is... not fluff. I hope you’ll enjoy this first installment and introduction to the series, and I will see you soon for the next one!

Your eyes follow Jungkook’s every step as he walks through the crowd and enters the cage that serves as a ring. He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re watching. You’re always watching. You’re standing in your usual corner, from where you make sure everything goes smoothly. Two tall, muscular men stand on either side of you. They look like they’re your bodyguards, but really, they’re here to handle him if he tries to do something. To everyone in the room but the two of you, this looks like every other fight night since the very first time he came to the Circle.

You’re too far for him to smell you, especially over the crowd of excited, sweaty men, but if he did, he’s sure he would pick up on the bitter scent of anxiety, would hear your heart beating a little too fast. He’d say you’re lucky the guards aren’t hybrids, but he knows that’s not the case. You never count on luck. Everybody knows that. That’s what makes you so good at your job. That’s what might just save his life.

He glances at you, finds your eyes glued on him, and gives you a smirk, which reveals his abnormally pointy teeth for a rabbit hybrid. It’s been over a year since they’ve been sharpened for him, to make him look more threatening. You’re used to them, but he still sees you swallow. For the first time he wonders, vaguely, if you had any say in that. You’re the one he meets with nowadays, but you’re not his owner, after all.

Your eyes leave him to look at his opponent. The man’s taller and has broad shoulders, he seems to have some training based on his on-guard position, and he’s older than him. You couldn’t find many informations on him, but based on his attributes, he’s probably some kind of dog hybrid.

You both know he doesn’t stand a chance.

“On my left,” the announcer roars, “some fresh meat! I give you… Jin!”

There are enthusiastic shouts, and the man shoots nervous glances around him at the crowd all around him. It’s clear that he isn’t used to that type of setting, and you feel an unexpected wave a guilt in your chest. He’s going to get destroyed tonight, you’re sure of it. You’re the one who suggested that Jungkook should fight a newbie, for the show. You don’t regret your decision, but you don’t feel good about it either.

“And on my right! The man who needs no introduction, who has won thirty! Two! Fights in a row, I give you… Jungkook!”

The crowd goes hysterical, and the hybrid facing him winces again. If he thought he had chance before that, it’s clear that he doesn’t anymore. You wonder if he’d heard about Jungkook, if his owners had prepared him well enough, if whoever owned him was betting against him. You wonder if he’d just been told he would be fighting a rabbit hybrid and assumed he would be fine.

Jungkook’s long ears are flat against his head, carefully tucked under a headband, and without those, he doesn’t look like a rabbit hybrid, too tall and broad-shouldered. Then again, he had never really been your typical rabbit hybrid.

Truth was, you had been relieved when you had been assigned to working for the daughter of Mr. Xanders. Your whole life, you had known you would end up here. Your dad had worked for the Family since before your birth, and though it was clear your mom disapproved, she had never held any illusion that you would escape it. If anything, you were the sacrifice, a way of making sure your siblings wouldn’t be forced to work for the most powerful crime family in town. That was, if you did good enough.

Getting assigned to the girl who was nicknamed “the Princess” was both a blessing and a curse. It meant you got to stay away from most of the illegal stuff, as the girl was notoriously sheltered from all of that by her father. However, it also meant that you had to basically babysit the spoiled seventeen years old, despite her being only a few years younger than you. You had dressed as professionally and sternly as you could, adorning yourself in a dark woman’s suit, but she hadn’t seemed impressed.

That was how you found yourself here, at an auction for rare hybrids. You thought the whole thing was grim — oh, how naive you had to be back then, to think this was bad — but you had obeyed orders without batting an eye. You had to do this right, and this was a pretty easy job, after all.

You gritted your teeth silently as various hybrids were brought on stage, exhibited and bought, one by one. The status of hybrids was a complicated subject in the country, always had been, but you had grown up in a poor area, where a lot of hybrids lived freely, and the idea of owning what you knew to be a person made you sick to your stomach. At least the Princess hadn’t said a word the whole time you’d been there, and you had hopes that you would leave without — God — buying someone.

Naive. So damn naive.

“I want this one,” the girl had announced decidedly, pointing at the stage with a movement of her chin.

Shit.

You looked at the stage. There, the auctioneer was highly praising the hybrid who had last been brought on stage. A surprisingly tall and muscular rabbit hybrid, with fluffy black hair and long ears falling on either side of his head. He was shaking slightly, sending terrified looks around him, and your heart tightened in your chest.

Naive and soft.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Do your job. Get him for me.”

Numbers flashed in your mind, the exact amount of money you were allowed to spend clear as day. It made you feel a little better, for a second. This was what you were good with; numbers, facts, informations. If you thought of the hybrid as just that — a number, an element to compose with — you should be able to do what you were supposed to do. Do your damn job, and ensure your little brother never ever had to work here, because they wouldn’t be as kind to him.

You took a deep breath, and, after a few people had already considerably raised the price, you made your bid.

Jungkook walks to the center of the ring, arms raised high. He’s good at giving a show, good at most things, actually. He looks good here, confident, knowing exactly what he’s worth, and he’s nothing like what he was that first day. There is absolutely no fear on his face as he fists the air and people shout for him. Instead, he seems to be positively thriving on the attention he’s getting.

He’s a favorite here, because he always gives people what they came for. He makes the fight last, makes it theatrical, with twists and impressive moves. It’s been a while since he’s struggled in a fight, really struggled, which has made it easier. You recognize you’ve played your part in that. You have your word to say when picking his opponents, and you don’t want him to— well, to die, or to be too badly injured.

You know it’s not much. You know no matter what you tell yourself, that’s not protecting him. You know you should have acted a lot earlier.

But you didn’t.

They gave you Jungkook as soon as the payment was confirmed, which didn’t take long. People were fidgeting in the room, careful not to stare too long at the Princess. They knew who she was, of course. The bodyguards and your ghostly presence, one step behind her, did not do anything to soothe their nerves. No one actually knew you back then. You hadn’t earned your reputation of efficiency, no one had called you a cold-hearted bitch yet, though that would pretty much become your identifier, but you were still somewhat unnerving, with your stillness and your all black attire.

Which was why you never tried to add color to it.

The Princess seemed to be in her element, not bothered by the silence and people’s obvious fear of her, even for a second. Instead, she was watching her acquisition. The hybrid — Jungkook, you remembered, because you’d heard his name after winning the auction — was staring at the floor, stealing glances at her every once in a while, before quickly looking away again. He was clearly shy, and terrified, and it looked like the Princess liked that.

When they handed the leash to her, she was quick to clip it on his collar, and you held back your disgust. Your mind went to Mark, a kind golden retriever hybrid you had grown up with, and the idea of him being collared like that almost made you retch.

But, of course, none of that could be seen on your face. You had been told that you had the perfect poker face, unreadable at all times. In moments like this, it was a true blessing.

“Hello, Jungkook, I’m Anna, and I’m your new owner. I’m going to take good care of you.”

Then Jungkook looked up at her, briefly, and an adorable smile curved his lips.

You knew then that this could only end in pain and heartbreak.

Once Jungkook is done, he turns to face Jin. The other hybrid looks like he wants to run away, but even if he tried it, he’d be pushed right back in. So he does the smart thing, and prepares himself for the fight, lifting his hands to protect himself. Jungkook does the same thing. There is a brief moment of silence, everyone bracing themselves for what is to come. Despite his earlier display, Jungkook is deathly calm now, every muscle in his body ready for action.

The second the bell rings, Jungkook is moving, so fast he’s almost blurry, and you have to avert your eyes when his fist connects with the other hybrid’s chest.

This all feels like it could have been avoided.

A relationship quickly developed between the shy bunny and the Princess. You didn’t say anything about it; that wasn’t what you were here for. A baby-sitter, sure, but not a chaperone. Anyway, it seemed like Mr. Xanders wasn’t too worried about that, and his daughter was free to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t get pregnant. You supposed a hybrid was the perfect choice for that, with how rare it was for them to have children with a human. It could happen, of course, but it was highly unlikely without medical assistance.

Still, you weren’t sure you liked the relationship all that much. It just felt like Anna had so much power over him. He was a couple of years older than her, since selling hybrids under eighteen was technically illegal, but it was clear from the very beginning that he had been sheltered and didn’t have much experience in— well, in any areas. A sickening feeling told you that had probably been done on purpose by the people who had raised him. You were well aware of what rabbit hybrids were usually bought for.

You watched, silently, as they got close, as Anna’s hands started to easily find Jungkook’s, as Jungkook started to rest his head on her shoulder, to scent her, as he fell in love with her. Today, maybe you would have been annoyed at the sight, annoyed by his innocence, but back then, it only made you sad.

You were also there to see Anna grow bored of him. It didn’t even take her that long, no more than a couple of months.

When she insisted on going to another hybrid auction, and asked you to bid on someone else, you knew that it was over.

“Get him to fight,” Mr. Xanders told you dismissively at a meeting you had with him. “I want the money he cost me back.”

“He’s a rabbit hybrid,” you had said, frowning. “He’s not exactly the fighting type.”

“I didn’t tell you to make him win,” he scoffed. “I don’t care if you have to bet against him. Get my money back. After that, I don’t care what you do with him.”

You didn’t realize then that that was a ‘promotion’, and that this meant you would start working in illegal settings. All you knew was the painful weight in your chest at the idea of sending Jungkook to his death. You had kept away from him, not trying to create any bonds with him, but he smiled politely and kindly when he saw you.

God, he was in love with Anna. You were sure he had noticed her losing interest in him, but you also believed he held out hope. This could— This would probably be crushing for him.

So you took the matter into your own hands. You didn’t just sign him up for an upcoming fight, but you also found him a trainer, the best you could.

“Does Anna want me to learn how to fight?” he had asked you, big brown eyes looking at you, when you had told him about the training. “So I can be her bodyguard?”

“My orders don’t come from Anna,” you’d answered, trying to stay as distant as possible.

“But will she— Do you think she’ll like me again, if I learn to fight?”

No. You thought Anna had gotten everything she wanted from him.

“I don’t know,” you had answered. You couldn’t. You couldn’t do it.

The first fight had been brutal. Devastating, in fact. Jungkook had been training, and you’d been told he was good at what he was doing, but, as a newbie, he’d been sent against an expert fighter — “for the show”, you’d heard, the exact same thing you would use as well, years later —, and you were later told he was lucky he’d made it out alive.

You stayed next to him in the hospital room. As a hybrid, he healed quickly, but he still looked terrible, body marred with black and blue, lip busted, and black eyes. When he woke up, he looked around the room, every movement he made clearly painful, and you knew, at his expression, that there was only one thing he thought about in that moment.

Anna wasn’t there.

You would never forget the look he gave you then. The way he set his jaw, the way something hardened in his eyes.

“Get out,” he had said, and you were pretty sure he had meant for it to sound aggressive, but he wasn’t good at it yet, so it was more pleading.

You had gotten up, made a move to— to pat his shoulder, to do something, but you had refrained and your hand had fallen down to your side.

“I’m sorry,” you had said, and you had left him alone in there, with his broken hopes and heart.

That night was the first and last time you considered leaving your job.

But there was no quitting, where you worked.

In the ring, of course, Jungkook is good. He leaves an opening for the guy to place a few punches, ones that can’t hurt him too much. The crowd is delirious, bets are being placed. There’s a rumor that Jungkook was injured at the last fight so tonight could be the night where he loses his title, couldn’t it? The first round is coming to an end, and he doesn’t seem to have done much so, surely, he’s not going to be able to end that guy by the third, like he usually does — and if he does, hey, at least they’ll have had one hell of a show.

The three rounds thing is something you asked him to do after an organizer told you people needed that to feel they had gotten their money’s worth. You had told Jungkook, and he’d growled an answer, but he had never won in less than that since. For all his obvious hatred of you, the organization, and everything that surrounded him, he didn’t actively oppose you most of the time. He had tried to run away, twice, but when those attempts had failed, he had seemed to realize that it was just easier to go with the flow.

When the second round starts, though, he goes wild. His bare feet are light on the floor, his fists quick and precise. He doesn’t leave anything to luck either. Every punch lands exactly where he wants it to, when he wants it to. He dodges his opponent’s attacks easily, and he sees in his eyes the moment when the man realizes that he’s not winning this. He sees confidence turn into surprise, then into fear, and it only makes him want blood.

His right hook hits the man in the jaw with all the power he can put into it, and this time you don’t wince. You’ve gotten used to the violence now — it always takes you a while — and you’re mostly impressed at how good Jungkook is.

But that’s exactly why you’re in this situation, isn’t it?

“We should put him down,” Mr. Xanders said, with the exact same dismissive tone he had used years ago to tell you to make Jungkook fight, and you looked at him in disbelief. Surely, surely, he didn’t mean—

“I really disapprove of that solution, dad,” Anna said, shaking her head, and you realized he did.

You had been surprised by Anna’s presence, when you had walked into the office. You hadn’t worked for her in a long time, having graduated to far worse things. You had served your purpose, you supposed, made yourself practically indispensable when it came to the organizing of the Family’s business, as you knew the workings of the Family in and out, both legal and… less legal aspects. No one had ever said anything about your siblings joining.

“He attacked someone,” her father simply shrugged.

“If I may, Mr. X, it was after a fight and the man was being really aggressive after he lost the money he’d bet against—”

“I don’t care,” he said, waving his hand like you were just an annoying fly. “He attacked a human. We can’t have our hybrids doing that, otherwise it will just be chaos. You’re smart enough to know that.”

You swallowed. Something inside you was screaming. You had long shut down any form of moral compass, but it seemed like Jungkook always awoke the last remnants of it. You were pretty sure he despised you now, and you didn’t blame him for it. But, just like what you’d thought when Anna had bought him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this just wasn’t right.

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s a horrible thing you’re doing, dad,” Anna insisted. “I thought you’d try to at least reason with him, (Y/N).”

That wasn’t your job. You knew when your opinion was asked on those things, and now was not one of those times. You also knew that you hated that she called you by your first name, like the two of you were friends, and you didn’t say anything about that either.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mr. Xanders said warmly, like he had just refused to buy her an expensive toy, and not condemned a man to death. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Anna sighed and rolled her eyes, and you assumed she’d probably stay mad at him for a while. But not too long.

Your heart was beating so loud in your chest you barely heard Mr. Xanders dismissing you, and you were relieved to be left alone when you walked out. There was only one thing you wanted to be thinking about now.

How were you going to save Jungkook’s life?

Jin hits the floor and doesn’t get up. It’s not an actual knock-out, because he’s still moving around, but Jungkook doubts he’ll even try to get back on his feet. The guy seems to be smart, he probably realizes that that would be suicide. Another minute with him on the ring? Nah. That would be a really, really stupid thing to do. Jungkook’s knuckles are bleeding — he doesn’t think they’ve been intact once in the four years he’s been fighting — and he’s pretty much unstoppable, right now.

He lets the referee grab his arm and lift it in the air as the crowd screams. They’re particularly loud tonight, because he won in two rounds. It’s not really a surprise when they force the entrance of the cage, flooding it, and Jungkook looks for you, almost instinctively. When he finds you, your eyes are on your phone. You look like you couldn’t care less about what’s happening around you, and he knows you do genuinely dislike the fights. You’ve never made it a secret. You’ve never taken care of the other hybrids owned by the family who participate, either. He doesn’t know if he’s your burden, or if you’re the one who chooses to still do that. Before, he wouldn’t have doubted it. Now… He’s not so sure.

Your eyes flicker up to his for a second, and you nod, imperceptibly. Your heart is probably beating as loud as his right now, though for different reasons.

Jungkook examines you, takes in how out of place you are in that environment, immaculately dressed, small glasses on your nose, hair pulled back, and lets himself be amused by it, one last time.

And then he’s gone.

You only visited Jungkook when there was about to be a fight, and it was clear he really didn’t like it when you showed up. You always seemed to be interrupting him, whether it was a training session or a work-out. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him do something other than those two things. You didn’t know if he had anything else.

You brought some food from a restaurant he liked, as you usually did, and got some things for the guards who would be around. That wasn’t as usual, but you had done it before, so hopefully it wouldn’t make anyone suspicious and it would allow you to have some privacy with Jungkook.

He sat down opposite from you, immediately diving into the food you’d brought, and you watched silently. His shoulders were tense, never completely down but, though he would hate to admit it, he was more relaxed around you than around anyone else. It said a lot about his life, about how desperate he was for any form of companionship, that the way you told him about his opponents almost made him feel like you cared about him. It said a lot that your presence comforted him, and it was pretty pathetic, if you asked him.

“So, who am I fighting?” he asked while eating. He never bothered with his manners when he was around you.

“A newbie,” you said. “Some fighting training from what I’ve gathered, but he shouldn’t be an issue.”

He growled. The sound was unnatural for a rabbit hybrid, but he had mastered it over the years. It was a good way of intimidating people.

“Really? I thought I told you I wanted a challenge.”

You didn’t reply immediately, and that made him look up at you. When he did, you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, hesitant. That was completely out of character. Then, you made up your mind, and your expression turned back to the unreadable one he was so familiar with.

“Keep eating, and don��t raise your voice” you ordered.

He lifted an eyebrow. Normally, he would have done something like folding his arms and waited for more, in a defiant attitude, but this was you. You would never do something like that just to assert your power over him. He hated your guts, but that was one thing he could say about you.

“Mr. X is going to have you killed because you attacked that man at your last fight.”

There. Direct, to the point, not a useless word — though you couldn’t bring yourself to use the words “put you down”. Jungkook froze for a half a second, than resumed his eating, albeit slower than before.

“It was all good as long as long as I brought him money, but he doesn’t want any trouble for it, huh?”

His voice was bitter and low, barely more than a rumble. You were confident no one was paying attention to you, since the guards ate in another part of the house and no one cared about what you were saying. They could see you through the picture window, but they couldn’t read lips. Still, you lowered your voice as well.

“Win your next fight in two rounds,” you said, instead of answering him.

He shot you a dirty glance.

“Do you really think that’s what I—”

“That should get the crowd to lose their mind,” you continued. You had gone through all the possibilities in your mind, over and over again. This was the one that was the safest for you and your family, while giving Jungkook a reasonable chance of survival. “When that happens, you’ll use the hysteria to leave through your opponent’s entrance.”

This got his attention, and he stopped trying to interrupt you, finally focusing on your words.

“I can probably get you somewhere between five and ten minutes before everyone finds out you’re missing.”

He scoffed.

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I also won’t look too hard for you,” you added, because you would obviously be in charge of that as well. “So as long as you don’t do a terrible job hiding, we probably won’t find you. Stay away from hotels, and don’t get noticed.”

Jungkook stayed silent for a while. He didn’t look at you, jaw set, and you were pretty sure he was weighing the pros and cons of your plan.

“I don’t know if there’ll be another chance,” you told him truthfully. “They want you gone after the fight.”

The silence went on a little longer, before Jungkook spoke again.

“Anna’s said yes to that?”

You didn’t miss the way his voice faltered on her name. You didn’t think he had spoken to her in years, but he still had a soft spot for her, and being reminded of it always made you sad. You had accepted, a long time ago, that life wasn’t fair, but that was particularly true when it came to him. None of what had happened to him was fair. The shy boy with the wide eyes you’d helped buy at the auction deserved better. You didn’t, probably deserved every single bad thing that had happened to you, but for him, you wished you had done something — anything — differently. So you wouldn’t be faced with a jaded, cynical version of that boy right now.

“She opposed it, but her father is still going through with it.”

“So she didn’t oppose it much.”

You didn’t answer that. It was true, and you both knew it.

You glanced at your watch. Your time here was almost over, and you had a lot of responsibilities.

“Will you do it?”

Jungkook glanced at you, eyes wary.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You could just do that so you could have me killed and say I tried to escape.”

You shook your head, almost amused by the possibility.

“I would gain nothing from doing that, and if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t go about it that way. Will you do it?”

This time, he nodded. He didn’t trust you, but he thought you were telling the truth on this. So following your plan would be just as well.

“Good. I’ll see you for the fight.”

This would have been a good moment to wish him good luck, probably, but you didn’t do luck, so you didn’t say anything. You gave him a quick nod, gathered your things, and then you were out.

You didn’t think to say goodbye.

“We’ll get him when the crowd’s dispersed,” one of the bodyguards says, and you hum noncommittally in response, eyes on your phone.

Moron.

If these two were the ones you usually work with, they would know that your usual protocol is to go get Jungkook as soon as the referee’s lifted his hand up. That way, you can get him out as quickly as possible and you don’t have to worry about him getting mobbed. But you’ve changed your team the day Mr. Xanders asked you to ‘put Jungkook down’, so they have no idea. It’s been a week since then, which shouldn’t make it too suspicious. Hopefully.

When the crowd does move enough to see what’s going on in the cage — three minutes — one of the two men says, voice worried, “Hey, can you see him?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes scan the room. You’re relieved to see that Jungkook’s nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” you ask urgently, and the men seem to shrink under your glare, exchanging worried glances. You roll your eyes and sigh. This may be your plan, but they’re still acting incompetent. Which is good for you, sure, but the perfectionist in you is annoyed.

“You two should pray he’s in the changing room,” you spit out as you march towards it. It takes some struggle, because the crowd isn’t exactly calming down, but it’s not too long.

Of course, Jungkook isn’t in the changing room. It was a bad idea to go look there anyway — usually you would probably have already informed everyone that he had disappeared — but these two don’t seem to realize that.

“Go search the fighting room,” you order, “make sure you haven’t missed anything. Then check the surroundings. I’ll stay there. Let me know if you find something.”

They practically run out, and you allow yourself to sit down. This isn’t even dangerous yet. If Jungkook’s done that part correctly, he should already be too far for them to find him. As far as you’re concerned, you’ve bought him — you check your watch — seven minutes. But even if you don’t doubt him, you still feel terror at the idea they could catch him. You don’t know what would happen then. You don’t want to think about it.

The seconds tick by. It’s been almost exactly ten minutes when your phone rings.

“Hello, Miss—”

“Do you have him?” you bark.

There’s a silence.

“I want an answer!” you snap.

“No. I’m sorry. We’ve lost him.”

You hang up immediately and start to dial another number to let people know Jungkook’s missing.

But, before you actually call, you let out a brief sigh of relief.

This just might work.

You get home late the following night. When you do, you’re absolutely exhausted. You’ve had a terrible day, unable to sleep a wink, and you got thoroughly chewed out over Jungkook going missing. You think Mr. X was suspicious of you, because you basically don’t fuck up, ever, but then Anna started to wax poetics about how “Jungkook was a soul who wanted to live”, and you don’t think he bought it, but it at least got his mind off of you.

You doubt he’d get you killed over that, it just isn’t worth it and you’re pretty valuable, but it would be much better if he didn’t think about it too much.

You’ve organized the searches, pretty sloppily in your own opinion. Of course, it’s possible that they could find him, but if Jungkoook does his part, everything should be okay.

You remove your shoes with a groan when you walk in. You usually never regret wearing heels, thankful for the centimeters they help you gain, but tonight you definitely do. Keeping them on for two days was not how they had been intended to be used.

Once they’re off your feet, you painfully walk to your kitchen. All you want to do is to make yourself a cup of tea before going to bed, but you stop yourself before grabbing your kettle.

Something feels— off. You’re probably the only person who could notice it, because you’re so obsessive with everything that’s in your home, but you just can’t miss it. It’s not much, just some items that aren’t where they should be, or that were moved a little to the side.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you hesitantly grab a knife from your kitchen drawer. You don’t think that would do anything, if someone was in your apartment right now, because you can’t fight and, considering the people you work for, you’re pretty sure if someone wanted to kill you they would, but it makes you feel better.

You make your way through the living-room slowly, heart hammering in your chest. You check the bathroom, first. No one’s in there, but it’s clear that whoever was there used it as well. He didn’t put your toothpaste back where it belonged.

That only leaves your room. You walk in, carefully, to find it empty. Your bed’s done, though not exactly how you do it, and that confuses you. At least until your eyes find the necklace that’s on your bedside table.

It’s the identifying tag Jungkook wore around his neck for fights. You reach out for it, in disbelief, and that only confirms what you thought.

A laugh bubbles in your throat, and you just can’t hold it in. It escapes your lips, breaking the silence that always reigns in your apartment.

Here. He was here, in the eye of the storm, while everyone was looking for him. You have no idea where he is now, but this makes you feel like he’ll be fine. Clearly, he is a smart man and he has resources.

You fall to the ground, lean against your bed, holding the tag in your hand. You give yourself a second. That’s more than you usually get. It’s a second to close your eyes and feel grateful and happy about what happened, a second to think that perhaps not everything is dark and terrible in the world.

A second, because Jungkook made it out.

And then, you open your eyes, and you come back to your reality, which is that you’ll be working for the family tomorrow, and the day after that, and probably for the rest of your life. There’s no out for you. No hope.

But at least Jungkook should be fine. You’ll never know about it, because if he is, then you’ll never hear about him again.

If you ever do, it will only mean bad news.

Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed this first chapter and feel free to let me know if you would like to be tagged for future ones!

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hybrid jungkook #candywrites

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jeonsjiddies · 3 years

Text

Show Me | pjm (m)

Summary - Jimin shows you how good he can make you feel.

Word Count - 2146

Pairing - Jimin x reader

Genre - smut

Warnings - penetrative sex, exhibitionism, voyerism, dirty talk, dom jimin

a/n - another re-write from a previous fandom. :)

“This project will be worth 30% of your grade.“

A normal Wednesday morning in your government class just got a little more interesting.

“I assigned you partners,“ the professor continued as a collective groan echoed through the classroom.

“Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook and Tae high fived.

“Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi.”

“Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon.”

Hoseok whooped quietly, grinning at Namjoon

“Y/N and Park Jimin.” She said and you froze, glancing over at the notorious bad boy who raised an eyebrow at you, as one corner of his mouth tilted up.

You couldn’t focus on the rest of the names that she read off because you were too busy panicking. How did you end up paired with Jimin? Was the teacher trying to kill you? You had nothing against the blonde haired risk-taker, quite the opposite. You had a huge crush on Jimin. From his long soft, pushed back locks, to his shimmering brown eyes, to his freakishly large thighs and strong frame. He was terrifyingly attractive, sex on legs, and you were nervous as hell to work with him.

“Please get together with your partners and discuss your strategies for this assignment.”

Jimin smiled that devilish smile, beckoning you over with one finger. You gathered your books and stood, walking on wobbly legs towards the sinfully gorgeous boy.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you tried to sound normal.

“Don’t be scared, princess. I don’t bite - hard,” he grinned, sensing your uneasiness.

He leaned far into your personal space as he said it and you noticed the tangy scent of his cologne as you sucked in a breath. He even smelled like heaven.

“I’m- I’m not,” you said quietly.

“You seem pretty nervous to me. Listen, just because I’ve got a reputation doesn’t mean I’m some lawless thug who-“

“No! I don’t think that!” you interjected, “I don’t have anything against you or your reputation.”

“Then why are you acting like you could jump up and flee out the nearest exit if I move too fast?” he accused.

“Social anxiety.”

“Oh,” he said, The guilt apparent on his features.

“Yeah. So which amendment did you want to start with?” you asked, getting focused and trying not to sniff him; he smelled so good.

20 minutes later, you’d both picked out which amendments you’d be showcasing as having a lasting impact on the country, and which ones seemed out of date. The bell rang and you stood up to leave when Jimin placed a hand on your arm, his fingers on your bare skin burned in a delightful way.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I… I'm just so tired of being looked down on for where I come from,” he explained.

“I could never look down on you, Jimin. You’re too tall,” you joked, earning a rare Jimin genuine smile, “ should we exchange numbers so we can work on the project?“

“Oh don’t worry y/n, I’ll find you,” He grinned deviously.

You flushed, watching him saunter down the hallway.

You organized records in alphabetical order a few nights later at your afterschool job. You didn’t hear the doorbell chime, so you nearly peed your pants when a soft, sultry voice whispered in your ear.

“Told you I’d find you.”

You whirled around, coming face to face with Jimin. He was dangerously close to you, if you just used your tiptoes, you could kiss him. Your heart beat like a hummingbirds in your chest.

“Hi,” you breathed out in a whisper.

“Hi,” he whispered back, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips.

His tongue danced across his own lips, and he started to lean in. The doorbell chimed, breaking the spell you’d both been under and he stepped back quickly.

“So um, maybe tomorrow after school, you could come over and work on the government project?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sounds good. Can I ride with you though? I’m saving up for a car,” you looked down.

“Sure, meet me by the front door after your last lecturel.”

You watched him walk out the door, letting out the breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding.

You anxiously bounced your leg up and down during the last class of the day. You have been on edge all day. You were going to Jimin’s place. Would his roommates be home? Did he have roommates? Would you two be alone? So many of your naughty dreams had taken place in this seemingly imaginary place and this place was about to be real. You knew nothing sexual was actually going to happen, but you were still so nervous. The bell rang and you jumped out of your skin. It was time. You gathered your things, and walked to the front door, where Jimin was waiting for you. Hoseok and Jin were by his side, all of them laughing.

“Hey y/n,” Jimin smiled.

“Hey Y/N,” Jin and Hoseok said at the same time, both of them shouting “jinx!”

You giggled and waved hello. Jimin threw an arm around your shoulders and walked with you to his bike. All eyes were on you, questions swimming through the halls of your university. People whispered to their friends and stared and ashamed.

“Everyone’s looking at us,” you whispered .

“Good,” he winked and helped you onto the bike.

You pressed your body close to his, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He sped out of the parking lot, leaving the spectators in the dust. You buried your head into his back, trying not to watch the lines on the road flash by. When he pulled up to the apartment complex, you didn’t let go for a moment.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just give me a second. I’m a little woozy.”

He got off the bike and looked at you for a moment, then picked you up and carried you inside.

“Put me down!” you shriek-laughed.

“Didn’t want you to stumble since you were ‘woozy’,” he shrugged, plopping you into the couch.

You hated to admit it, but being held in his lean, strong arms make you feel alive, like adrenaline have been shot straight into your heart. You already missed the warm, safe feeling. You sighed.

“So… hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you smiled and he sat next to you on the couch, far too close but not nearly close enough.

As you typed out which amendments were outdated, you were hyper aware of Jimins’ every movement. It was driving you crazy, being so close to him. You both chatted about random topics, as you worked. About halfway through, you stood up to stretch and take a break, as did Jimin. You took a step towards the kitchen for some water, tripping over your backpack, but Jimin’s strong arms darted out to catch you. Your hands on his chest, his arms around you, that’s where it really began. You were being electrocuted by his touch. You both stayed like that, lost in each other’s eyes.

Jimin moved in slow motion, lips barely grazing yours in feather soft brushes. Gentle, sweet. You were floating on air. Then, the wild fire broke out, Jimin’s lips crashing down on yours with so much need and desire, you could barely keep up. He shoved you against a wall, hands roaming everywhere on your body, lighting you ablaze. You moaned into his mouth, able to stop it. His hands on your body sent you into another level of lust, another level of craving him. He bit down harshly on your neck creating a gasp from you. He blew cold air on it, licking the sore red spot. The stinging turned to tingling, sending shivers down your spine.

“Everyone’s going to see these tomorrow know that you’re mine,” he pulled your hips closer roughly.

“I’ve been watching you, princess. I’ve seen you in those pretty little skirts, completely unaware of all the boys watching you. Unaware of what you’re doing. Teasing. I’ve wanted this from the day I laid eyes on you. So many nights alone I would think of your pretty plump lips wrapped around my cock,” he groaned.

His words had you soaking.

“Why did you wait?”

“Didn’t think you’d want someone like me,” he shrugged.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve touched myself to the thought of you, Jimin? How many times I’ve moaned your name, wishing your hands were the ones touching me? You’re so sexy, so brave. I’ve wanted you inside me for so long,” you whispered hotly

“You got off thinking about me?”

You bit your lip, nodding.

“Show me,” he grinned mischievously.

You bravely took his hand and had him guide you to his room. You crawled onto his bed as he stood, watching you. Your eyes locked on his, you began undressing. Slowly, you removed everything you were wearing, your hands going to your breasts. You kneaded them, rolling your nipple between your forefinger and thumb.

“Mmm...” you closed your eyes, lolling your head back, “Fuck, Jimin.”

Your hands slowly traveled down your body, until they landed by your aching heat. Your fingers danced along your slit, then you pushed one inside yourself, arching your back and groaning as you circled it around your clit. Jimin’s breath hitched as he watched you pleasure yourself for him. You added another finger, pumping it in and out slowly, squirming on Jimin’s bed. You’d done this a thousand times, but with Jimin’s face watching your every move, it was so much more thrilling, it was erotic. You began moving your fingers faster, his name falling from your lips as you got closer, your orgasm crashing over you.

“Mmm… oh gosh, Jimin,” you moaned loudly, eyes connected with his, and you could hear his heavy breathing.

You lay there, naked body on full display for Jimin. His eyes had darkened, his deep brown now resembling black.

“Shit princess, that was so fucking sexy,“ he groaned, stepping towards the bed, “but I can make you feel even better.”

“Show me,” you purred.

Jimin sprang into action, flinging his shirt off and unbuckling his jeans faster than you’d ever seen anyone move. Down to his boxers, he crawled on top of you, kissing you rough and deep and so good. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. His boxer-covered erection ground against your dripping core and you groaned.

“You like that baby? Like how my big fat cock feels against that tight little pussy?” He moaned in your ear.

“Yes, fuck,” you whimpered, “Jimin, I need you.”

Jimin grabbed a condom from inside his night stand and slipped it on quickly, aligning himself with your entrance. He slowly pushed in, and oh gosh it stung. He was so big. He lay still for a moment, watching your face for a sign you were ready to move. When you nodded, he slowly pulled out of you, then gently thrust back in. The stinging turned to this amazing, warm, delicious feeling and Jimin started moving faster, whispering dirty things in your ear, telling you how good you felt around him.

“So beautiful, you take it so good baby,” he encouraged you, but you couldn’t answer. You were a moaning mess underneath him.

Jimin hit every good spot, and knew exactly what he was doing as he pounded into you, and you’d never felt such bliss in your life. The fire deep inside of you was one that you weren’t sure could be quenched. He filled you up so completely, bringing you absolute ecstasy. Jimin was made to fuck, and he was amazing at it. You writhed underneath him, unable to keep still from the insane amounts of pleasure coursing through you. You knew you were close, and so did Jimin, his hand reaching down to draw figure 8’s on your clit. When your orgasm came, it was like the entire world was shaking. You screamed out his name, back aching into his body, feeling like your soul was leaving yours. You were flying. You felt high. Jimin filled the condom seconds later, panting as his body collapsed on top of yours. He rolled next to you and gathered you in his arms.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Agreed,” you nodded, snuggling into his embrace.

He smirked, and kissed your cheek. You blushed and hid your face in his neck, making him laugh.

“How can you be shy after all that?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled into his skin.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly.

“Hmmm?”

“I want you, all the time. I don’t want to have to let you go after this, will you be mine?” he asked, and when you were quiet ( simply because you were in shock) he added “I promise I’ll treat you right, like you deserve.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, smiling at him as you nodded, telling him you would be his.

“Show me.”

#bts #bts smut #jimin #jimin smut #park jimin #park jimin smut #jimin x you #jimin x reader #park jimim x you #park jimin x reader #bts jimin #bts park jimin #park jimin x you #collegestudent!jimin #collegestudent!reader

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 3 years

Text

The Night of the First Mistake

Sequel to

Synopsis: pre X-orcist, almost a year after Nightmare's death, Dream is still not on top of his grief and causes him to resort to desperate measures.

Tw mentions of death/dead loved ones.

X-orcist au belongs to me and @zu-is-here

Dreams, Demons and Desires is by me.

Enjoy

Almost a year had past since he'd last seen Nightmare. The skeleton couldn't say he had mourned him, but the news of his death had been unfortunate to say the least. Who could have seen someone like Nightmare dying in such a preventable way? Not him, that's for sure.

He was a friend... Or at least a friendly acquaintance, clearly he'd not been quite close enough to Night's inner circle to be invited to the funeral. He'd never even met Night's brother. Despite that, the news of his parting had deeply saddened him and every so often, he thought of him with a sigh.

A good customer and a good person.

This evening, Nightmare played at his thoughts again, probably drudged up by the anniversary of the accident approaching, he hadn’t meant to make note of the day, but he had. a few weeks would be the anniversary of the day he heard the news.

He thought back to a year ago, a few weeks before his death. The words he’d said about his brother and the increasing frustration about his sinful thoughts. Killer didn't judge him for such feelings, he was no stranger to sin.

Other then that, there was nothing at all strange about this night.

Tonight, just like any night, he was in his shop and the counter. It was a cold October and pretty soon he'd be closing up.

It was dark and chilly in his shop and had a strangely pungent smell, which hit the moment you walked in. A mix of crushed herbs and spices, old books and stale coffee.

An old set of scales sat on the counter top in front of him, as did a till, several glass jars and containers and a large collection of dirty coffee mugs.

Behind him there was a large book case full of many strange books. Ones with faded titles, ones with thick leather bindings, some with large strains spreading across the covers or pieces missing. If you asked him, he'd liked to have said that he'd read all of them... But there were a few he hadn't. He wasn't much of a reader outside of this collection.

As he nursed yet another cup of coffee from the café next door, he tapped his slender skeleton fingers on the counter top. He was bored.

With a glance at the clock, he decided today that he could close up early. It was his shop after all, he made the rules. A small collection of trinkets and charms hung around his neck and clinked together against his old coat, as he got to his feet.

Just as he prepared to take today's earnings from the till to count it, he heard the door and a jingle of the shop bell, indicating someone had entered.

He set an empty eye socket in their direction as they froze, looking nervous.

The person was new, but also something about them was strangely familiar. After scanning them for a moment, his face twisted into a sly smile upon realising who the new comer could be. He turned his face to them fully, staring his pitch eyes right through them. They tensed, which amused him slightly.

"well hello Little Light.... How may I help you"

Dream seemed taken back slightly by the pet name. It wasn't something he was used to. His hands fused with the fastening on his coat.

"uhh Hello.....I’m..... Uh.."

The shop keep chuckled again. Such nervous behaviour wasn't something he saw often from his customers. Looks like it was going to be an interesting night and to think, he was going to close up.

"nervous Lil light?"

Dream once again tensed and shuddered slightly.

"Please.... Don't call me that" he stammered slightly before taking a breath "My name is Dream"

The shop keepers grin got even wider and it made a chill run up Dream's spine. There was something extremely unnerving about this skeleton. Maybe it was the emptiness of his eyes or the strange carvings around them, but Dream was sure that it was more then that.

The atmosphere of the shop was very unsettling and kind of cramped in Dream’s opinion. There were many trinkets, stones, crystals and small animal bones stacked neatly on the shelves. It was this, along with bags of salt and bundles of sage and garlic, that reassured him he was in the right place for what he needed.

"Dream huh?.... Thought so" he said in a low tone "I'm so glad to finally meet you"

The nervous shifting of his hands continued, as Dream once again tensed even further. He was acting friendly, but it still felt ever so slightly...off.

"h-how do you know me?"

"I knew your brother and I'd recognise that pendant I sold him anywhere" he said, with his eyes looking at Dream's chest.

Dreams fingers quickly shot to the star charm hanging from his neck, and gripped it tight. Looks like this was the right place.

"Not to mention there's your golden eyes" he continued, shifting his gaze straight into Dream's eye sockets. It was strange how Dream knew where he was looking, even without eye lights.

"he often talked about them......He was right when he said they were very beautiful if I do say so myself~"

Dreams face blushed slightly, but he felt a familiar twist in this chest at the mention of Nightmare and a sinking feeling when he was reminded how Night felt about him. His brother had often complimented his eyes.....

He'd just never really understood it was more then brotherly affection. At least until now.

"I.... Uh" Dream said before clearing his throat "You're Killer.... Aren't you?"

Flexing his fingers, Killer nodded. The grin didn't leave his face.

"looks like my reputation proceeds me"

Dream let go of his necklace and a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought it might be you.... Based off something he wrote in his diary".

Before Night's accident, Dream had never even considered reading his diary. That was just a basic code of conduct. However, after his death, it became something Dream had often thought about. The diary, and everything else Nightmare owned, now belonged to him. For that reason he'd taken the book out of Nightmare's room.

However, he'd just kept it on his bedside table for almost a year before he finally had the courage to read it.

It had mostly been a fond look over some old memories, some good and some bad. But there were also passages about his feelings for Dream, sometimes written confessions addressed him. Every word was full of truth, longing and pain. Dream had felt it all.

Those had been hard to read, but he'd not skipped a single page and read them each through several times.

Nearer the end of the book, Nightmare had started talking about his interest in the supernatural. Dream remembered his twin getting fascinated in that and spending long evenings talking with him about it over tea and biscuits.

One thing Dream hadn't known about, where his trips to the next town over, where he wrote about finding this shop and the shop keep. This had been where the interest started. It was this that had lead Dream to come here.

"right..." Killer said, downing what was left in his coffee mug and setting in on the counter top.

"well.... What can I help you with?"

Yeah.. Nightmare had written that Killer was always one to cut to the point. Dream knew that what he was going to ask sounded insane and he wasn't even fully sure if Killer was the right person to ask. But at this point he was desperate, he just needed to know. With his grip returning to his brothers pendent, he remembered who he was doing this for.

He took a deep breath.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?"

Killer didn't react visibly to that. But he drew out a long silence. After a little Dream was sure he saw his jaw clench. The silence was completely deafening, broken only by the sound of Killer's fingers tapping the counter top. Dream figured that he was probably struggling to think what to say. After what felt like a life time, he spoke.

"I specialise in charms and equipment for preventative measures to stop spirits inhabiting homes....I do not....." he paused

"I don't try and bring the dead to the living realms".

Dreams face fell. He really shouldn't have been so disappointed, it was a crazy ask. But with the way Killer spoke and what he sold in the shop, he'd felt so close to what he wanted. But maybe it really was just impossible.

He felt tears threatening to spill, he just couldn't take all this guilt anymore. All he wanted to do was tell his brother he was sorry. That night. That kiss. That dam horribly wonderful kiss...and that car.

"however...." Killer continued.

Dream felt hope flush through at those words and stood up slightly straighter. Killer turned his back to dream and started looking over the bookshelves behind the counter.

He didn't say a word, as Dream curiously watched him. He ran his thumb across the spines of several of the oldest and most dusty looking of them, eventually plucking out a large leather bound book with silver straps.

He walked back over, blowing dust off it as he did, and set it down on the counter with a light thud. The cover was extremely dusty and the leather was cracked and split in several places, yet the title still read fairly clearly and Dreams felt his heart skipped a beat.

The Practice of a Necromancer. Vol one of three. Summoning, Controlling and Banishing.

"I've not read this one fully, but it's been in my collection for years.... I suppose this would be the right place to look"

With that, he slowly opened the book and very carefully started to turn its pages. The paper was completely yellowed and clearly very fragile. There were no photographs, only hand done drawings of various items and also what looked like people, but with strange and uncanny faces. There were also other frightening images that Dream was trying not to look at.

Killer eventually stopped and ran his finger across a page.

"ah ha" he said "to summon a spirit into the living world"

He read over the text for a moment, as Dream watched impatiently. Killer knitted his non-existent eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

"this stuff sounds overly complicated to me..... so I guess I'm not sure really"

But Dream didn't really seem to be playing much attention to Killer's words now. He was so desperately trying to read the text upside-down. Reading was something that Dream always struggled with anyway, so reading upside down would be near impossible. He reached forward to try and pull the book to him.

But he jumped back in surprise as Killer slapped his hand across the book, sending some dust into the air.

"now now now not so hasty Lil Light" he said returning back to a sweet tone, as he said the a pet name that made Dream's toes curl.

In his haste Dream had forgotten that this was a shop, not a library, so of course he wouldn't just hand it over.

The smaller skeleton knew that the book was probably pricey so it's not like Killer would just let him have it. It was clearly very old and Dream worried that he wouldn't have enough for it, but if he had to pay all the money he had to buy it. He would.

Reaching inside of his pocket, Dream pulled out a bundle of paper money and placed it on the counter and next to the book. Killer looked at it for a moment, before he took it and counted how much money was in the bundle. He ran his fingers across the notes, looking as if he was very tempted and contemplating his next move.

But then, much to Dream's disappointment, he put it back down on the counter.

"I don't want your money dream... That's not what I meant"

An unhappy wine left Dream's mouth, as Killer proceeded to hand his money back to him. Just as he was about to ask why, Killer cut him off.

"it's not for sale"

"but what if I just borro-

"or for rent or loan"

Dreams soul twisted. This felt so Incredibly unfair. He wasn't ever one to really get angry or feel hatred for people. But why had Killer gotten this book down if he didn't intend to sell it? Was he just trying to mess with him?

It was that moment that he wasn't sure he really liked Killer all that much.

He sighed.

"h-how come? Can I do anything to change your mind?"

Killer sadly shook his head.

"Dream....... I like to read the stuff for research purposes not for a practical use"

Dream opened his mouth to object, but killer silenced him.

"and I don't care what you say... but I don't think you're just interested in the topic"

Dream tried very hard not to show disappointment on his face, but of course Killer picked up on it. It upset him that his intentions were so easy to guess. Then again he'd opened with 'can you bring people back from the dead'.

He really should have asked in a different way. Feeling like an idiot, he tried to say that he wasn't intending to use the book in practice. But Killer once again shook his head.

He stood up slightly and gave Dream a sympathetic look, or a sympathetic as he could make it through his cold eyes.

"look....I know you miss him and that's ok I've lost people myself to" he said in a uncharacteristically gentle tone, which sounded fake.

Dream looked at his feet.

"but the dead need to be left dead. Trying to bring them back never ends well, Nightmare wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to help him"

Dreams eyes stayed fixed on the floor, not wanting to look at killer any longer. He didn't want him to see him cry. He didn't want to look like a baby. Just as he was going to try arguing again, behind him he heard the shop door open and the bell ring

He looked back at Killer seeing he'd straightened up.

"K-killer...." came a soft but slightly panicked voice.

Curiously, Dream looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. It was another skeleton stood by the door.

In all his life, Dream had never seen someone look to tired. They seem to be slightly younger then Dreams age but it was hard to tell how much. Their appearance was clearly young, but the huge bags under their eyes aged their face several years. The most notable thing about them was that their eye lights where small, indicating that they were on edge.

They were wearing a oversized cream knitted sweater and had a maroon scarf decorated with a paw print pattern tide around their neck. They fiddled with it as their eyes a looked at Killer and then to Dream.

From where he was, Dream could also see them wearing several of the necklaces and charms that Killer a sold, as well as a few layers of bandages around their arms.

Killer hastily exited from behind the counter and approached them.

"Hey Cappuccino......." he said, trying again to sound soft.

Ccino wasted no time in burying his head to Killers chest and wrapping his arms around him.

In response, Killer stumbled slightly and looked momentarily taken back and very uncomfortable. After a moment he sigh, before gently placing an hand on his back.

"hey.....it's ok ya wimp... I'm guessing they're back right?"

Ccino simply nodded, Killer sighed.

"Dream can you show yourself out? I've got to take care of this, we're closing anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't help you better"

As Killer attempted to comfort the shaking skeleton, Dream turned his attention back to the book in front of him. It was just within his reach, the page was tantalising.

It was so clear, a set instructions of the exact thing he'd need to do to reach his goal.

Killer's warning played in his mind.

But he knew what he was doing right? It was his brother, what did Killer really know about what Nightmare would have wanted. He didn't know how.... Close... They were. At least he thought he knew.

It was a split second choice.

As Killer continued to try and comfort his companion, he saw Dream hastily exit the shop without saying another word. He stared at the door.

It didn't feel right.

He narrowed his eyes and stepped back from Ccino slightly.

"hang on"

He walked back to the counter and was relieved to see that the book was still there, however a moment later he noticed something else that make him freeze and curse under his breath.

"what's wrong?" Ccino asked, walking up next to him.

Killer didn't answer and instead picked up his book and looked at it closely to confirm what he saw. When he saw he was right, he near growled.

"Killer?" Ccino asked not seeing the problem.

"look....."Killer said quietly.

He ran his finger down the spine where the pages joined together. Once you looked closely you could see the remnants of torn paper sticking out.

"he took the page"

references coming soon.

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renegadewangs · 3 years

Text

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 9

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

How the turnabouts have turned! It's time for Twisted Karma and His Last Bow!

Episode 2-4: Twisted Karma and His Last Bow

With Van Zieks's tragic backstory (…) exposed, it's time to head on into waters we've charted before, waaay back in the very first Ace Attorney game: The Prosecutor becomes the Defendant. It all starts off with some shenanigans which appear to have very little to do with Van Zieks (the arrival of Mikotoba and Jigoku, the Red-headed League, a missing prison warder, etc.).. Ryu does still run into Van Zieks very briefly in Stronghart's office, with Susato noting that there appears to be an awful lot of tension in the air. I expect Van Zieks is questioning that decision to leave Genshin Asogi's son in his care, but even so, he's very civil towards Stronghart. Susato also notes that Van Zieks gives Ryu a cold stare as he leaves, with Ryu wondering what he's done to earn that. This may also be a result of him being besties with Kazuma, since Van Zieks had already buried the hatchet towards Ryu for the most part. When Ryu asks about the decision to leave Kazuma in Van Zieks's care, Stronghart explains it was to best keep an eye on this 'mysterious amnesiac with no identifying papers'. Well OK then. Stronghart also explains he made Kazuma wear a mask because he didn't want to “burden Van Zieks with tiresome explanations about why he had an Eastern appearance.” … I would assume the very simple explanation is that it's because he's of Eastern descent, Stronghart. Regardless, the Lord Chief Justice has high hopes for Kazuma's future and isn't at all bothered by the fact that the guy has gone missing for a little bit.

Things take a turn later when Gina Lestrade comes barging into 221B with some pretty shocking news. Inspector Gregson was murdered. Yes, THAT Inspector Gregson. The suspect has already been arrested:

It's true that to the average civilian like Gina, Van Zieks's name is pretty much synonymous to the Reaper (of the Old Bailey). Even so, to have her outright calling him by that title adds a sort of emotional distance that's really striking. Gina explains they caught him at the scene and there were several witnesses, but Ryu thinks to himself that there's no way Van Zieks would have taken Gregson's life. So naturally, we owe it to our good pal Gregson (who actually was just coming around and being nicer to Ryu) to find the truth. Time to go have a talk with Van Zieks in prison!

… Okay that's funny. Don't worry, Barok, one day we'll all look back on this and laugh. Anyway, Van Zieks says he's in the last place on earth he'd want to be, with the last person on earth he'd want to see. And this line can easily be misinterpreted as Van Zieks saying he hates Ryu more than anyone else in the world, but what he's actually saying is that Ryu is the last person he wishes would see him in this troublesome situation. Ryu says he couldn't very well not come, but Van Zieks tells him to go home since it has nothing to do with him. Susato interjects, pointing out that Gregson has helped them out on numerous occasions and so, they're indebted to him. She pleads for Van Zieks's help with the investigation and he's silent for a moment, only to say: “There's really nothing I can tell you.” Which I suppose means he doesn't think he has anything helpful to say. Ryu asks about what Van Zieks was reading when they came in and assumes it to be a case report. Van Zieks says the Yard wouldn't share case details with a suspect (keep that one in mind) and explains it's a letter from Albert. Dear Professor Harebrayne has arrived in Germany safely! Ryu notes that Van Zieks usually never minces his words, but they seem to have less bite than usual now. No wonder, really, since he's in prison for the murder of an old friend. Van Zieks asks how much they already know about the case, so the two of them go through the facts and Van Zieks says they're well-informed. He's got nothing to add, because... Well.

Oh, this is going to be another one of those cases, huh. Susato asks what Van Zieks was doing at the crime scene in the first place, but Van Zieks points out he doesn't need to answer that, as they aren't representing him. When asked who is representing him in court, he says it'd be anyone other than Ryu. That said, he doesn't actually have any representation because of his reputation as the Reaper. Sixteen people he's prosecuted have mysteriously died and now that he's actually been apprehended for a murder, that whole Reaper ordeal is sure to be thoroughly examined.

BOY, have we got news for you! When it's pointed out that Van Zieks didn't actually have anything to do with those mysterious deaths (right???), he replies that no one wants to know the true identity of that killer more than he does, but it seems things may come to a head before he can uncover the truth. Van Zieks basically tells Ryu to leave, but being the kind-hearted gentleman that he is, Ryu offers to advocate for him in court. Van Zieks asks whether Ryu trusts him, which is a pretty fair question to ask. He's built up so many racist scumbag points and has such a bad reputation in town, it would be weird for Ryu to trust him unconditionally. Luckily, Ryu has been paying attention just as much as I have; he's heard Van Zieks speak in court and seen the way he treats people (uhh, English citizens, anyway), so he doesn't believe this 'Reaper' has it in him to take a life. Unfortunately, Ryu also has to acknowledge that feelings can't be used as evidence in court. Van Zieks considers the offer gracious, but...

“Not the police, not the judiciary... And not you Nipponese.”

One more scumbag point for putting “you Nipponese” in its own category for no reason. Either way, this man has built up such high defensive walls, you could see them from three galaxies away. Trusting no one is a pretty drastic way of living. Ryu thinks to himself that there's a chasm between the two of them that's 'just too wide and too deep'.

As a sidenote, presenting the attorney armband doesn't lead to any interesting conversation this time, but we can also present the Red-headed League advertisement! Van Zieks surmises that if it were a Black-headed League, Ryu would join without delay, which Ryu then confirms. Van Zieks says that sadly, his hair is neither black nor red. He goes into a most curious identity crisis of sorts, where he looks quite anguished as he wonders which coloured league he should join instead. There have been several debates over his hair color, actually, from lavender to purple to grey. Regardless, Susato points out that “people are troubled by the most unexpected problems at times.” It is unexpected, since Van Zieks needs neither the money nor the company that he would get from joining any such league. It's just the principle of the matter, I suppose.

Over by the crime scene in Fresno Street, Gina gets a little razzled when she suspects Ryu is thinking of defending “that Reaper bloke”. Susato points out that if “Lord van Zieks” really is responsible for the crime, he'll be judged fairly in court. This gets Gina to calm down again, because she really wants to know the truth of what happened and much like Van Zieks, she must know that getting the truth is what Ryu does best. A bit of conversation later, Gina points out one more interesting thing; Gregson apparently held a lot of respect for 'the Reaper'. “I take my hat off to that fella,” were his exact words, apparently. Ryu is skeptical, as am I, because I've seen the way Gregson talks about Van Zieks behind his back.

Gina explains that's exactly why he respected Van Zieks. That's... a little weird and ambiguous. So either he respected Van Zieks's ability to stand tall despite all the public scorn, or he respected the fear he struck into people's hearts. There's one more option; Gina keeps talking about the Reaper instead of Van Zieks, so it's possible that Gregson was talking about the actual Reaper. This seems unlikely, though, since he didn't seem to enjoy being part of the Reaper organization.

And now that we know Van Zieks is the defendant, one might be wondering: Who is the prosecutor? Who is the antagonistic force who will try to stop Ryu from uncovering the truth? Well, we find him over in Stronghart's office. Apparently he took an express train back to London from wherever it was he's been these past few days.

YOOOOUUUU!!! Though before we can address his presence properly, we need to discuss the new case. Stronghart wastes no time asking Ryu and Susato whether they've heard “the sickening news about the Reaper's latest devilry.” Which stands out, to say the least, since Stronghart has always been a strong supporter of Van Zieks up until this point. When Susato points out that surely he doesn't believe it, Stronghart says he believes only in facts, which all point to the unavoidable accusal of Lord van Zieks. Someone sure had a quick turnaround when it comes to his number one prosecutor, geez... Stronghart points out the irony that there's no salvation for anyone prosecuted by the Reaper of the Bailey, and now the Reaper himself must stand in the dock. Just as Van Zieks had already alluded to, Stronghart now claims the public will want answers about those mysterious deaths. Ryu and Susato both point out that which had been rubbed into our faces several times already; Van Zieks denies any involvement, and also there have been several investigations into whether he had anything to do with it. Stronghart kind of brushes this off, though. Turns out, Van Zieks is being traded in for a newer model number one prosecutor: Kazuma Asogi! Which seems weird at first glance, since Kazuma is a defense attorney, but Stronghart considers that a bonus:

“A devastation combination, wouldn't you agree?”

I do agree. Granted, it seems Van Zieks had already figured out the defense's strategies too, he just never actively used them to his own advantage. It also turns out that Kazuma personally requested the prosecutor position for this trial. Susato thinks it's pretty unprecedented to grant a newcomer exchange student such a request, but Stronghart offers some petty excuse about how this way, it won't look like the judiciary are closing ranks. Kazuma, who assumes his friend will take on the defense, says he'll see how Ryu's skills have been honed after practicing law in England for so many months. (Uhh. Actually, bestie, it was only about two months of being a defense attorney and six months of disbarment.) Ryu notes that Kazuma is being hostile towards him and wonders why. On a final note, when asking Stronghart about the gun found at the crime scene, we're told that it's issued to all members of law enforcement, including prosecutors. Van Zieks claims to have lost his. That's a troubling claim indeed, because it's difficult to prove or disprove. GOSH, if only fingerprints were allowed in court.

As Ryu and Susato turn to leave, Kazuma stops them. He once again states he wants Ryu to witness this trial as the defense counsel, to “see how it ends”. Since Kazuma has a very distinct vision for how he wants it to end, I guess this means he intends to confront Ryu with Van Zieks's guilt and have his bestie see that a man like him is unworthy of his trust. Either that, or he expects Ryu to use this trial to find the truth of what really happened with the Professor ten years ago, just as he used Albert's trial to dig into that incident. Still though, this reads as pretty scummy to me, because it means he wants Ryu to lose a trial and lose some of his belief in his clients. In the trial itself, it seems to me that Kazuma desperately believes Van Zieks to be a horrible person deserving of the guilty verdict. Therefore, he in no way can hold hope that Ryu will prove him wrong (unlike what went down in case 2-3 with Albert). Anyway, Ryu says that Van Zieks would never put his fate in his hands.

“... It's not easy to see behind the facade sometimes.”

Case 2-3 already told us this, but it's nice to have it confirmed by someone who was closer to Van Zieks. Because remember, Kazuma spent three months by Van Zieks's side (and even fighting by his side), so of course he would know more about his personality than we do. Kazuma hands over a photograph of Barok when he was younger and

GOOD LORD, HE CAN SMILE. Or he could when he was younger, anyway. Kazuma states the picture was displayed in Gregson's office. What he's 'trying to say' is that if Ryu really thinks he can trust “the Reaper” (distancing choice of words again), he might find that some straight talking will change his view. I got the impression we've been straight talking Van Zieks ever since we first met him, but okay. Let's take the picture and back to the gaol we go! Van Zieks is once again reading from some paper and Ryu points out that either he's an incredibly slow reader or it's an incredibly long letter, but either way, Ryu might even be able to read English faster than him. Naturally, this was said loud enough for Van Zieks to overhear.

Scumbag point for hypocrisy, but also a scumbag point for “Nipponese”. When Ryu asks whether it's still Albert's letter he's reading, Van Zieks says he had the case report brought to him in secret. So wait, the Yard does share case details with its suspect? Hilarious. Once again, Van Zieks insists the situation has nothing to do with Ryu, up until the prosecutor's name is revealed to him. And so, the masked cardboard cutout student has become the master! Ryu notes that all the color drained from Van Zieks's face, which is pretty impressive when there's barely any color there to begin with. Ryu has the opportunity now to thrust the photograph into his face, so let's do that. He's immediately alarmed, since he assumed it to be lost and would never have expected Gregson to have it. When Ryu says that Gregson had a deep respect for him, he dismisses that as nonsense, only to correct himself. “There was a time things were like that.”

Van Zieks thanks Ryu for that nice glimpse into the past, and Ryu thinks to himself that there was a glimmer in Van Zieks's eyes- a brief twinkle. He considers that “an insight into the true nature of this man known to all as the stone-cold Reaper of the Bailey”, with “the true nature” being highlighted as orange. So this right here is undeniable; this is what the narrative is illustrating to us now. The true nature of Barok van Zieks is that of someone who was hopeful and jovial; kind-hearted, as Albert knew him. What we see now, that harsh exterior full of harsh words, is not his nature at all.

Van Zieks is more willing to talk now. He once again speaks of Klint, rehashing the same story we've heard several times already. Van Zieks claims there's not a single day where he doesn't curse the name Asogi. He considers it a cruel twist of fate that the man's son intends to crucify him in 'some kangaroo court'. Clearly, he doesn't think highly of the upcoming trial if he refers to it as a kangaroo court, but that's likely because he knows he isn't the real killer. When Ryu points out that he still doesn't understand why Stronghart apprenticed Kazuma to Van Zieks, the explanation is that “it's what he does”. Van Zieks believes that Stronghart knew Kazuma's true identity from the outset, but still provides no real explanation as to why Stronghart 'did what he did' and even assigned Kazuma as the prosecutor this time. Van Zieks goes on to contemplate the name Asogi some more and calls it 'the epitome of his bane'.

I've talked before about how utterly flawed it is that Van Zieks attributes Genshin's crime to his race and/or cultural upbringing and proceeds to tar every single Japanese person with the same brush. There's no need to go into this again; we all know it's wrong. Turns out, even Van Zieks knows it's wrong, but we'll get back to that momentarily. First, Van Zieks needs to talk about Klint even more. (good lord...) He explains that Klint van Zieks was hunting down a mass murderer and “assigned to the investigation as his partner was a certain visiting student dispatched by the Yard.” This was Genshin, of course, and I believe this is the first time it's said that he too was looking into the Professor case. So Van Zieks already mentioned in the previous case that the Japanese students had left a deep impact on him, and also that he once toasted friendship with a Japanese person, but now we have this:

“But none of us saw the true nature of the man.”

True nature is once again in orange here, but this time as a red herring. Van Zieks believes that the Professor murders were Genshin's true nature, when it isn't quite true at all. Regardless, since Van Zieks was still in university at the time the exchange students were in the country, I don't think he would've had that much contact with Genshin. I expect he encountered the man on rare occasion while Klint associated most with him. Every meeting was enough to foster this respect and friendship, though, so it's clear that young Van Zieks was easily influenced and had a very open mind towards a foreign exchange student. But then, that's what makes the next portion of the story all the more damaging.

“My esteemed brother... The people I believed in... And any semblance of right prevailing over wrong!”

As Van Zieks also already alluded to in the previous case, he found himself in a very dark place. That isn't surprising. Every positive thing Van Zieks knew in his life, from his family to his closest friends, was ripped away from him in extremely close succession. What must've been the final nail in the coffin was Genshin outright admitting to his crimes. It erased all doubt that perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding or a frame job. Going over everything Van Zieks has said so far, it seems he didn't just blame Genshin for the tremendous loss he suffered; he blamed himself. He must believe that his trust in Genshin blinded him to this supposed 'true nature', just as it must've also blinded Klint, and that the whole tragedy could've been prevented if only he'd been more cautious. So now, in present day, he no longer trusts anyone. He outright says so.

Van Zieks goes on to talk about how he was the one who prosecuted the Professor. Since he'd only just graduated, such a thing usually wouldn't be allowed, but he “beleaguered the ascribed prosecutor until he consented.” This person was Mael Stronghart, who back then was apparently still no more than a prosecutor. A highly accomplished one, but a prosecutor nonetheless. Since Klint was the Director of Prosecutions (or Chief Prosecutor???) at the time, that means he actually ranked above Stronghart. Interesting. Regardless, since Stronghart agreed to let Van Zieks lead the prosecution and instead only acted as an advisor, Van Zieks now feels indebted to him. That certainly explains why he's usually so good about following Stronghart's orders and not asking questions.

“And, of all things, as a lawyer.”

Ahhh, this is the part where Ryu enters the chronology. Our protagonist points out that he's felt Van Zieks's animosity since the first time he faced him in the courtroom; his obvious deep loathing of Japanese people. And here comes perhaps one of the most important, yet most overlooked lines Van Zieks will ever utter in these games:

“But for so many years, that hatred had festered inside me, I could no longer control it.”

So here, Van Zieks admits to two things. First of all, he admits that he was wrong to hold such deep loathing and by extension, to give that loathing a voice. He's a man of logic, after all. To cling to something which he refers to as illogical is about as wrong as one could get. Not only that, he admits that this was an unstoppable force he should have controlled, but was too weak to do so. The hatred overpowered him and did away with common sense. He behaved stupidly and irrationally because for ten years, hatred and negativity was all he knew. But what's even more striking here is Ryu's answer, which is also often overlooked:

Ryu, bless his heart, doesn't blame Van Zieks for succumbing to this weakness. Bear in mind, he's the victim here. Van Zieks wouldn't have encountered many other Japanese people in those ten years, if at all. This means the first person he lashed out against was Ryu. Naturally, Ryu can't speak for Susato or Soseki, who received their own verbal assaults and might have different opinions on the matter. Ryu is just one man, but in our narrative, he's the main protagonist and the main target of these outbursts. Is it misleading and perhaps even problematic in the grand scheme of things to have the protagonist sympathize with such motivation? Well, that depends on many different factors. There's no easy answer for this because it's a nuanced, cultural sort of thing. Personally, I was a bit bothered by it, but not to the point that it ruined the experience for me.

Van Zieks admits that just as the Japanese were the bane of his life, Kazuma Asogi must believe Van Zieks to be the bane of his. He is, after all, the Reaper who sent his father to the gallows. Van Zieks thinks that Kazuma intends to take revenge in court and... Really, this is true.

There's a quick bit of conversation about Gregson now. Turns out, the only reason the Professor was caught at all was because Gregson forced an autopsy on Klint despite it being considered the highest taboo at the time. Van Zieks says that as a result of Gregson's powerful conviction, he could avenge his brother's death. He looks quite torn, a bit pained. He must believe he owes Gregson something for this. The conversation then moves on to Van Zieks's revolver, which he claims to have misplaced an undetermined amount of time ago. “I must have stowed it somewhere, I suppose. Or left it somewhere, perhaps.” Van Zieks clearly doesn't think highly of firearms as a weapon, since he's constantly carrying a sword around instead. Susato points out that Ryu has a talent for misplacing things in common with Van Zieks, which leads to one more scumbag outburst.

… Dude. Come on. You just admitted it was illogical. You came so far! Scumbag point for you. Still, as the conversation rounds to a close, Van Zieks utters the words “Mister... Naruhodo”, much to Ryu's surprise. This is the first time he's actually said Ryu's name! Van Zieks once again reiterates that he's lost all confidence in England's judiciary system. He doesn't trust the police, the judiciary or lawyers. Even so, there's still one thing he's willing to believe in.

“That which you see in the eyes of another across the courtroom: a simple determination to know the truth. From the very first time we clashed in the Bailey almost a year ago now... I couldn't deny it, even though I dearly wished I could. 'Here is a loathsome Japanese... who has absolute integrity as a lawyer.' There are only two other men I've known with that same look in their eyes: my brother, Klint. … And Genshin Asogi.”

This is interesting. So at first when he saw that look in Ryu's eyes, he must've been reminded of Genshin. And again, this is why he directed such hatred towards Ryu; he saw someone who wasn't alive anymore. But now he recalls that Klint also had that same gaze, and so he wants to believe that Ryu is not similar to a deceitful murderer, he's instead similar to his beloved brother. (Boy is he going to have to reevaluate how he judges people when he finds out that his beloved brother was the deceitful murderer.) Van Zieks says that when he saw the photograph, he was reminded of a time when he could laugh, free of the shackles of mistrust which plague him now. This is very relevant since Van Zieks indeed can't laugh anymore. We never see him do it. He can't even smile.

“But at times the mire into which I've sunk makes it almost impossible to breathe.”

Someone please get this man to a professional therapist. If he means that in a more literal sense and he does occasionally feel like he can't breathe, that's telltale signs of panic attacks. It could just be, of course, that he's being overdramatic and the “impossible to breathe” bit is just fanciful wordplay to go with the mire analogy. Still though, considering he's also mentioned being in a dark place and that he's willing to die so long as it serves a useful purpose, and that he drinks his wine to stave off tedium... He's clearly depressed. But then, he seems to know it. He acknowledges that the way he is now is not the way things should be, and that he needs to fight to overcome it. And so:

“... In tomorrow's trial... Will you advocate for me?”

Boom. Swallowed his pride and turned to Ryu for help because he knows it's what's best for him. He no longer trusts anyone, but he's willing to trust Ryu because once he starts opening up again and has that trust repaid, then perhaps things can gradually go back to the way things were when he was younger. Mind, he still hasn't apologized for his actions, but that doesn't change that Ryu at least is willing to extend a hand to Van Zieks. It's a little sad that Susato doesn't properly form her own opinion on this and instead just goes along with whatever Ryu says. I would've liked to know just how she feels about Van Zieks's attitude and whether or not he deserves to be helped. She doesn't object to it, at least, and since Susato usually always speaks her mind, I can only assume she genuinely agrees with Ryu's sentiments.

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, it's remarked there's a 'menacing tension' in the air and Ryu surmises out loud it's the result of the menacing appearance of the defendant. Well-deserved, that remark. Touché. Van Zieks asks him for a little more courtesy in a polite enough manner, but considering the lack of courtesy he's shown Ryu over the past 8 months, that's hypocritical. He informs Ryu that this is a closed trial without a jury, which bums me out because it means no more Summation Examination. I would've liked to see Asogi react to that. (S)Holmes comes in and has the weirdest little banter with Van Zieks that I honestly can't... really decipher. There's several things about it that really strike me as being off:

- “And I you. I see London's celebrated great detective is as active as ever.”

- “Oh, you exaggerate, my dear fellow. Compared to my paltry engagements with a few trivial cases... The Reaper's overbearing presence is a far greater deterrent to the black roots of crime in our capital. And whilst I may not agree with your methods... There is at least one point on which I would readily commend you.”

- “What an honour. And that would be...?”

- “Your eye for a good lawyer, sir. […] Behind this lawyer there is a very great mind. My own.”

Alright, so... First of all, we know (S)Holmes is super arrogant and would never refer to his past cases as “trivial” in all sincerity. Plus, it's established that he's very weird with compliments, such as referring to Gregson as “the best of those blunderers of the Yard”, so complimenting Van Zieks directly on the effect he has on crime feels off. Aside from that, (S)Holmes addresses Van Zieks as the Reaper and continues to talk about 'his methods', when it's already been established (S)Holmes doesn't believe Van Zieks has anything to do with the Reaper killings. Taking all that into account, I can only really assume that the first half of this above conversation is (S)Holmes being weirdly passive aggressive towards Van Zieks, with Van Zieks being passive aggressive in turn. It really, truly feels as if there was some sort of backstory between these two that they had to scrap at the last second. Regardless, the exchange ends with (S)Holmes warning Van Zieks that this will be “quite a trial”.

Gina Lestrade shows up with Yujin Mikotoba (….. when did they meet???), saying they intend to watch the trial, and I am very impressed with how (S)Holmes manages to disappear from the scene and not say a word when his old partner arrives. Anyway, Gina looks Ryu square in the eye and asks him why he agreed to take Van Zieks on. Everyone's saying it was him who killed Gregson. Considering everyone was saying it was her who killed Pop Windibank six months ago, you'd think she might want to tone down her attitude, but she's clearly in mourning and lashing out. See? People who are hurting can say insensitive things. Ryu insists he doesn't believe it to be true, but Gina demands to know that if it wasn't him, then who?

“An' if it turns out it was 'im wot killed the boss... Then God 'elp 'im!”

It's interesting to remember that during The Unspeakable Story, Gina wasn't afraid of Van Zieks for his Reaper reputation. She didn't believe in the curse and didn't think she would end up like the other defendants. Now, she absolutely no longer gives a damn whether Van Zieks is the mysterious Reaper or not. She only thinks he might be a murderer who took away her mentor and that's what has her judge him so fiercely. Van Zieks remarks on her fiery eyes and tells her that the culprit does indeed deserve every inch of her loathing. “At least that may be some solace to the deceased.” So here, in a roundabout way, it rather looks as if Van Zieks is sympathizing with Gina's anger. At the very least, he's condoning it, just not towards himself.

Entering the courtroom, it becomes clear very fast just how serious this trial will become. Just as was alluded to before, the judge confirms that the 'Reaper of the Old Bailey' has been undermining Her Majesty's justice system and therefore, the people will demand answers on this matter. Ryu thinks to himself the trial will be a lot more far-reaching than just Gregson's murder. Sure enough, Kazuma is at the prosecutor's bench and ready to get that vengeance Van Zieks referred to in jail. Shockingly, the first witness he summons is actually Van Zieks himself. The judge is surprised, but Kazuma explains that as a prosecutor, Van Zieks believes in the oath of office he's taken; he'll be compelled to tell the truth. Because contrary to what happened in Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro, Van Zieks is against perjury! (I WILL NEVER GET OVER WHAT HAPPENED WITH SHAMSPEARE!) Sure enough, he takes the stand and Kazuma says the court would like to hear him explain some things away.

He really is just brutally honest, isn't he? Both in his courtroom methods and in how he shows his emotions. He doesn't sugarcoat, he doesn't beat around the bush, he definitely doesn't lie... At most, he may withhold some information. Unfortunately, his testimony is mostly useless. The judge remarks that he didn't want to imagine this day would come, but ever since Van Zieks became known as the Reaper, he's been dreading it. The judge, our neutral ground, seems to be convinced that Van Zieks may have actually done the deed. That's not good. Kazuma acts all smug, saying that Van Zieks indeed hasn't explained anything away and that his testimony barely qualifies as an excuse. Van Zieks notes that his 'mute apprentice' has a way with words. Meanwhile, Ryu thinks to himself that Kazuma isn't behaving like himself, which is a sentiment they'll keep repeating throughout the case. … I gotta be honest here, I didn't notice all that much of a difference between this Kazuma and the one from the very first case of the game. I mean, come on, he sliced a man's hair off and cursed his descendants just for insulting Ryu. He's slightly more arrogant here, maybe, but since he was only the assistant there and is a leading counsel here, it makes sense for him to be more proactive and confident in his methods. Then again, I'm not a Kazuma expert; maybe there's something I'm missing.

In his testimony, Van Zieks revealed that he was investigating Gregson, but when pressed on it he won't admit the exact reason for it. He only says he'd identified a distinct possibility Gregson was involved in a case he was investigating. When asked how he even knew where Gregson would be, he openly admits to having stolen into his office and consulted his diary. (“Dear Diary, today I dropped my fish 'n chips on the way to Fresno Street-”) When told that illegally entering Gregson's office would warrant serious consequences, Van Zieks says he was aware of that risk.

The rest of the testimony is pressed without further hitches, though what did strike me as interesting is that at one point, Ryu suggests the gunshot might've originated from outside the room, but Van Zieks immediately says it's out of the question. He shoots the possibility down with evidence only he could have experienced (the bang sounded inside the room and he could smell gunpowder), and in doing so, only implicates himself further. Detrimentally honest, this one. Not only that, but he picked the gun up.

NO KIDDING that was carelessness. Is he related to Miles Edgeworth after all? Kazuma talks about how three street peddlers overheard the bang and burst through the door with some force. Van Zieks states they almost gave him a heart attack in the process (omg) and Ryu thinks to himself: “(But you're supposed to be the Reaper...)” C'mon Ryu, haven't you seen enough of this man by now to know he gets jarred easily?

When the testimony rounds to a close, things get interesting. Kazuma uses his defense attorney skills, as promised. He uses evidence from the Court Record to point out contradictions in Van Zieks's testimony, thereby 'proving he's lying'. Hey, what happened to Van Zieks believing in the oath of office and being compelled to tell the truth? Did Kazuma call Van Zieks to the stand just to expose him as a liar? He wins the judge over quite easily by illustrating these contradictions and casting doubt on Van Zieks's integrity. Tragic, because as Van Zieks says:

Van Zieks steps down from the stand and disappears for the remainder of the trial day. He doesn't even show up during intermission in the defendant's lobby. Characters do still talk about him, though!

I mean... He ain't lyin'. At one point, Kazuma utters the words “the defence is fated to lose. And the prosecution to win,” which once again confirms that Kazuma basically asked Ryu to take part in an 'unwinnable' trial. Which, y'know, is technically fine. Losing a trial isn't the end of the world, especially when the defendant (in Kazuma's eyes) is actually guilty. Still though, personally asking Ryu to take on Van Zieks just so he can watch the man be exposed as a killer is kind of... Kazuma, sir, are you also unable to control your hatred and having it lash out in illogical ways? Is that a parallel with Van Zieks I spy?

The rest of the trial isn't directly related to Van Zieks. It's just a whole bunch of roundabout arguing with street peddlers, red-headed scammers and the revelation that one of those peddlers is actually Daley Vigil, the missing former prison warder. Despite knowing of the dangers, Kazuma asks Ryu to help him forcefully break some of the man's black psyche-locks (c'mon, we all know that's what's impeding his memories) and they send the man to the hospital as a result. Welp. Unveiling the truth is becoming increasingly dangerous in this game and that's really upping the stakes for us.

Into the next investigation day we go! Ryu surmises that it's clear now “Van Zieks definitely didn't do it.” Even so, there are some unanswered questions about the man. What was he even doing at the crime scene and what's with that investigation into Gregson he didn't want to talk about in court? Heading on over to the Chief Justice's office, we overhear him pressuring Kazuma into 'continuing the trial as instructed'. Once he takes note of Ryu and the others, he tells them that he wanted Van Zieks's trial concluded that day and blames 'Asogi's unwelcome inquiries' for it taking longer than necessary. Stronghart's becoming increasingly ominous, here... I don't know for certain why he doesn't just go the extra mile to have Van Zieks proven innocent so he can keep using his Reaper tool to intimidate the masses. I suppose it's because with Gregson dead, he's lost his most important strategist in the killings and the tool of the Reaper's curse can't be used as easily anymore. Assassins probably come a dime a dozen, so Shinn can be replaced, but Gregson... Not so much. Ryu asks Stronghart whether Kazuma truly believes Van Zieks to be the Reaper, but Stronghart says he wouldn't know. He once again talks about the history of the Reaper with its very long run of coincidental deaths and tells us nothing new or interesting.

To prison we go, to visit Van Zieks himself! He's reading a book now, but we're never told what it is. He tries to ignore the visitors, but just as always, eventually comes up to the bars to talk.

YOU FREAKIN- I CAN'T- WHY- How many more times must we teach you this lesson, old man?!!! Thankfully, even Ryu is fed up at this point.

Finally. He spoke up. I've seen a lot of people criticize the fact that Ryu never properly confronts Van Zieks with the damage he's been doing, and on the one hand I would agree. Calling people out on their bullshit is a very useful step in having them notice their mistakes. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that is also a very Western view. It's very easy for us to think that Ryu should stand up for himself and call Van Zieks a prejudiced little tosser who needs to think before he speaks, but that simply isn't part of his character. There may be several reasons to explain why he doesn't confront Van Zieks more firmly, but I'd like to focus on just two. The first is that Ryu is an exchange student who came to England as a 'guest' and is facing not just one racist. Not even five or ten. Everywhere he goes, he's surrounded by people just like Van Zieks. We've seen it in the judge, we've seen it in the jurors, we've seen it in Gregson and in witnesses... Ryu is a minority in a very literal sense, since there's only one other Japanese person (two if we count Soseki) we know of in this entire city. There's a very natural, very understandable defense mechanism which may kick in when surrounded by potentially dangerous individuals, and that is to withdraw; to be as quiet as possible and to attract as little trouble as possible, since 'they outnumber you'. Bonus points for the extreme difference in social standing between Ryu and Van Zieks.

There's one other thing which adds to the above. Ryu was written to be your everyday Japanese person, and their view on confrontation is quite different from our own. I remembered this from a job interview I once had with a Japanese company and looked into it again to refresh my memory: Japanese people are non-confrontational. It's very important for them to maintain a sort of harmony during conversation and therefore, they'll rarely utter negative sentiments, such as criticism, in a way that will cause embarrassment to the person they're addressing. Instead, they employ something often referred to as indirect communication. “The pattern of Japanese indirect communication uses far less words to convey intent in a more subtle manner. Indirect communication uses expression, posture, and tone of voice of the speaker to draw meaning from the actual conversation.” This is very deeply ingrained into the Japanese culture and, if the sources I reviewed are correct, it goes all the way back to the feudal days. Mind, this attitude isn't even limited to Japan. I've been told there's several other countries who adopt that very same attitude and if you cause someone else to lose face, it can have some very severe repercussions for you. Kazuma is a bit more outspoken than Ryu, for example when they face Jezail, but this makes sense also, since Asogi was written to be more progressive. It seems to me that Ryu has been using indirect communication quite often already and, since Van Zieks is woefully unequipped to read this type of communication, Ryu has now finally resorted to something more direct. It's still not a sharp call-out, but rather, the above line reads to me as something in-between direct and indirect communication. And it works.

HELL FROZE OVER! We've done it, lads! Or, as Iris puts it:

So even the rest of the cast is acknowledging this is a big deal and we've made tremendous progress. Could someone else have confronted Van Zieks in a more direct, more Western way before this point? Sure. But would he have listened? The judge has already snarked at him several times during trials and it's always been brushed off as nothing. The only person he might've listened to would've been Albert, but what is the narrative significance of having a side character confront Van Zieks? There isn't one. This was a very impactful moment where Ryu himself resorted to a more Western tactic to get his point across and Van Zieks, in turn, finally uttered an apology. So now we get to have an earnest conversation with the man at last. Van Zieks says he was impressed; not by Ryu but by Kazuma. On first glance, this seems like a mean thing to say, but... Van Zieks is already intimately familiar with Ryu's performance in the courtroom. Why would he still be impressed by that? Kazuma, however, he's never seen in action before. Van Zieks thinks it's all rather “sardonic”.

It's called a cruel irony, Barok. A common tool in storytelling. He himself considers it “retribution for having played the part of the Reaper all these years”. So once again it's discussed how the Reaper minimizes the amount of crime in the capital and since that's a goal Van Zieks is committed to, he never said anything to disprove the rumors. Ryu insists that someone else is profiting off Van Zieks's silence on the matter and is basically using him as a scapegoat. As it turns out, Van Zieks wasn't quite as passive about the matter as he's led us to believe.

Hm. Alright, so he thinks it's good the Reaper's curse is reducing crime in London, but clearly he wants the Reaper organization brought to justice. In a way, he's profiting off these 'accidental deaths' since the fear that comes from them aligns with his goal of crime reduction, but he doesn't actively condone the Reaper murders and wants them halted. Since there's so much accurate information about the accused used in the killings, Van Zieks surmised a while ago that someone from Scotland Yard must've been involved in the killings. It's taken him “many years” to identify the central figure in the organization: Tobias Gregson. Naturally, everyone is shocked. We knew Gregson! And sure, he wasn't exactly a kind person, but he certainly didn't appear to be a killer. He was very rough around the edges, but from what we'd been led to believe, he had a good heart. … A decent heart. Mediocre, one might say. Ryu asks whether the reason Van Zieks was investigating Gregson was to expose him as the Reaper, but Van Zieks repeats the notion that the Reaper is not a single person. He doesn't have a doubt, though, that Gregson was a key member of the organization who did all of the planning. Believe it or not, Gregson was the brains behind the killings; the tactician who investigated and plotted, then left the dirty work to an assassin by the name of Asa Shinn. (LOCALIZATION WHY)

So now that we have this information, we can come to a very interesting conclusion. Both Gregson and Shinn are dead now, so by Van Zieks's reasoning, the Reaper is dead. You'd think this is good, but it does in fact make it very difficult to find the truth. Rather, Van Zieks believes that the truth died with Gregson (he hinted as much twice already) and while the seasoned Ace Attorney player knows it won't be impossible to expose a dead person as a killer, it'd be a hectic ordeal. The seasoned Great Ace Attorney player will know the Reaper hierarchy extends just a bit higher and the two who died are only pawns, but... Y'know. Approaching this from a first-time-player point of view, you'll know things will get troublesome.

There's another topic of conversation where Van Zieks once again addresses how sharp Kazuma is in court. He didn't miss a thing.

OUCH. So when Ryu first arrived, Van Zieks saw Genshin whenever he looked at him, not only due to his roots but due to 'the look in his eyes when searching for the truth'. Now, he sees Genshin in Kazuma, which surely makes a lot more sense. Van Zieks goes on to say that it's true some of the aristocracy from 10 years ago were problematic and abusing their power. “In a way, Asogi was carving out a canker from society that we British couldn't deal with ourselves.” So here, he sounds almost complimentary of the Professor's actions- specifically Asogi's actions. As if it would've all been well and good, were it not for the Professor's final victim. “But that's precisely why it makes no sense. Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man. He wasn't corrupt.”

Remember way back in The Unspeakable Story when I surmised that Van Zieks boiled Genshin's actions down to his race in order to avoid the belief that there might've been a reason his brother was killed? We see it here again. Van Zieks is in doubt. He may say vocally that “it makes no sense”, but that line in itself is already telling. The fact that he acknowledges it and draws it into question implies to us that he's skeptical of the story. Deep down, he knows something is amiss. He knows there's some sort of explanation he's missing, but if he were to dig too deeply into it, he'd have to acknowledge that perhaps his brother was corrupt. And this still isn't all of it. There's one more thing Van Zieks has to discuss before we can round this conversation to a close. Ten years ago, shortly after Klint died, Genshin saved his life.

There's that phrasing again. “True nature”. It's not in orange this time, but it's there all the same. Van Zieks is convinced that Genshin is the one who had a hidden true nature. In this story, we learn that 'the scum of London' had already targeted him several times even before he became known as the Reaper, simply because of who he was and who his brother was. JEESH. Harsh. So on the night in question, a couple of thugs also tried to kill him (allegedly) but Genshin stepped in to protect him. Genshin became lightly wounded as a result. This is the part where I would have expected them to explain Van Zieks's scars, but he never mentions being wounded himself, so we can't be sure this is when it happened. Curious. This was the perfect opportunity and they let it slide. So anyway, two days after that incident, Genshin was arrested.

Some more telling lines here. Van Zieks thinks he'd never recount the story to anyone; not because there's no need to tell it. It's because it must be difficult to talk about. On its own, that might be a farfetched conclusion I wouldn't make, but Ryu confirms it with his follow-up line: “Thank you... for confiding in me.” We can take this line to mean exactly what it says; Van Zieks confided something painful. He let down some more walls. Growth!

So with all this out of the way, there's a whole load more investigation to do before this case is over. Most of it has to do with Genshin's will, a mysterious trunk belonging to Gregson, the missing time of death on the autopsy report... Nothing too relevant to Van Zieks's character. However, if we go into the prosecutor's office and examine things while Kazuma is there, we do get some fun tidbits about how Van Zieks wouldn't trust anyone else to touch his things and would rearrange it all himself whenever needed. From the sound of it, Van Zieks is very meticulous and a loner, which aligns with what we know about him. Some more conversation later, we reach the topic of the Reaper with Kazuma. He agrees that Gregson was definitely involved in the Reaper organization, but there's one thing that's more important. “Who's been giving orders to the Inspector?” In my eyes, it's a bit of a stretch to assume with certainty anyone was giving orders; Gregson might've just taken up the vigilante justice by himself and found some way to pay Shinn enough money to get in on it. Kazuma insists, though, that Van Zieks is 'the real Reaper'. We as the audience already know that's nonsense, we know Kazuma is wrong. Or perhaps we might think that if somehow Van Zieks pulled the wool over our eyes and Kazuma is correct, that'd be one heck of a wild twist. Kazuma gives no real reason why he believes this, he only goes on to say that ten years ago, it was Van Zieks who 'decided his father must be a mass murderer'. Shockingly, Susato is the one to jump in here and outright say to Kazuma that he's wrong; that Van Zieks only saw that 'justice was done as the law dictates' and he wasn't to blame for Genshin's execution. Kazuma insists that people condemn people and the law is just a tool they use for it. So I suppose that's exactly what he's doing right now. He's condemning Van Zieks, just as Van Zieks once condemned Genshin. We're cycling! And my main question now is this: If Stronghart had been the prosecutor in the Professor's trial instead, would Kazuma be just as vengeful towards him? Because remember, it's people who condemn people. This implies that anyone who had taken on the job of prosecutor at that time is the one who 'decided that Genshin must've been a murderer' and would need to take responsibility in Kazuma's eyes. Kazuma's beef isn't with Van Zieks personally, it's with the prosecutor who used that tool of the law and also evidence.

HAHAHAAA! HAH! If you align this screenshot next to the “Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man” line, you get a wonderful parallel. These two prosecutors are both dead wrong about their beloved family, and they're about to find out in the worst way possible.

One murder mystery spread out over two episodes? You bet! Stay tuned for the last case, The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #I can't believe I managed to cram it all into one post #phew #but this was a big one

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Drawings on Ice (Part One) | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anonymous: I’d love for you to write a Charlie hockey fic. I’ve been hearing that heard a great hockey player so I need that in my life

A/N: this is going to be a two-parter! Hope this is what you imagined!

Summary: You moved from the US to Canada, starting over at a new college. Your newest (and only) friend begs you to join her at her boyfriend’s hockey practice where you see Charlie for the first time. With his beautiful eyes and perfect smile and perfect facial structure, you become obsessed with drawing him. It’s been a habit of yours to draw anyone you saw with interesting bone structure. Though your friend warns you about the jock bad boy, you can’t help but be intrigued by him...

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: I hope I made this as gender neutral as possible! Let me know if there’s anything I need to change to make it even more inclusive for non-binary/gender fluid people.

Words: 3,648

Warnings: Some curse words (bitch, fuckboy)

You’ve never been a fan of any type of sports. Your siblings used to play basketball and you had to go to their games, though you were always busy sketching in your sketchbook to really notice or learn anything about it. Then, you suddenly had to move for your mother’s job. To Canada, of all places. Canada, the land of maple syrup, brutally cold winters… and hockey. The only good thing about moving thus far, was meeting Andrea. Andrea is a preppy, happy-go-lucky kind of girl, and was the first one to talk to you on your first day at your new college. Always dressed in pink or purple, make-up done flawlessly and always so kind, you think she’s being fake. Normally, people like that scared you. Kids like that in your American High School were always the popular ones that bullied the antisocial nerds, which included you at that point. That’s why you’d avoided talking to anyone on your first day. Only Andrea was persistent. You could not for the life of you shake her off.

So, instead of trying any longer, you embraced it and became friends with her fast. Thanks to her, you found your way through the buildings and all the classes. She even gave you tips on some of the professors you had.

To be fair, Andrea did help you out a lot, so when she asked you to come along to her new boyfriend’s hockey practice, you had no other choice but go. You’d packed your sketchbook though, just in case you got bored. “So, which one is yours?” you ask Andrea when you sit down in the bleachers with her. “Number eight!” she says, pointing to one of the players skating in circles. He catches his girlfriend pointing at him and gives her a wave, which makes Andrea giggle. The boy with the number 10 plastered on his back, turns upon seeing his buddy wave to the bleachers. You catch his eyes and feel a shiver run down your spine. Even from afar, you can tell those are the most beautiful and enchanting eyes you ever did see. “Who’s number 10?” you ask Andrea without taking your eyes off the boy. Without even noticing, you start to trace his features on your leg with your finger, a habit you developed over the years. His chiseled cheekbones, his fine nose, the wrinkles by his mouth as he smiles up at her. “Charlie. Sam’s best friend,” Andrea explains while you try your hardest not to stare at the cute hockey player while you’re tracing him. “Wouldn’t get too close though, I heard he has a reputation of being a heartbreaker.” Of course. All cute boys have to be absolute disappointments. Despite Andrea’s warning, you couldn’t help but think about Charlie every minute of the day. It was the smile and the eyes that haunted you through every lecture and every study-session with Andrea in the library. You traced his features on your empty papers on automatic pilot, not even realizing you were doing it until you were actually drawing him with a ballpoint pen. “Honey, no!” Andrea says sternly. The two of you are at the library, studying for midterms when the drawing on your notes starts to take shape. The shape of a certain hockey player. “I can’t help it, Andi! He’s in my mind and I just -- my brain just tells me to draw things and he’s been the only thing on my mind lately, I… I don’t know why or what it is, but I’m kind of drawn to him?” The girl in front of you shakes her head disappointedly. “Look at him!” she whisper-shouts, nodding her head to somewhere behind you. You slowly turn your head to find Charlie with one leg up on a chair, leaning his elbow on it as he’s flirting with a girl. “That’s number five this week… And it’s Tuesday.” You can’t help but stare at him though. His profile is impeccable. Before you know it, you’re back to tracing his features on your leg. “Y/N!” Andrea shouts in a hushed tone, capturing your attention again, ruining your entire mental picture of Charlie. “You ought to stop that, sweetie. I don’t want you getting hurt.” “Oh, I don’t get hurt, Andi,” you reply with a smirk, turning to face her again, “Being the antisocial kid in high school has its perks.” Andrea’s eyes widen at something behind you. “Time to prove it then,” she mutters. You quickly hide your drawing underneath your textbook and pretend to continue studying as Charlie approaches your table. “Hello, ladies,” he greets with a charming smile. Though on the inside you’re just about melting, your tough exterior doesn’t give it away. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He reaches a hand out to you. “I’m Charlie.” You glance up from your textbook, let your eyes dart from his hand to his face and turn back to your textbook. “Okay…” he mutters, feeling a little defeated by his first rejection. “We’re studying, Charlie. Can we help you with anything?” He glances over at you for a split second as he thinks about it.

“Uhm, yeah. Are you guys coming to the game this weekend?” His flirty demeanor changes all of a sudden to someone less confident. You look up at him, wanting to break your antisocial facade because it never brought you anywhere in High School and won’t bring you anywhere now. “I might. If I don’t have anything better to do, that is.” You decide to run with the sassy-bitch inside you. Charlie actually looks disappointed with this answer. “Okay…” he turns back to Andrea, “You’ll come, right?” She nods her head. “Can you convince her?” You chuckle at his desperate attempt, which earns you a glare from him. “She can make up her own mind, Charlie,” Andrea replies, raising her hands in defense. Gruntled and disappointed, Charlie turns around and leaves the two of you alone. “Girl!” Andrea squeals once he’s out of earshot, and holds up her hand for a high five, which you giddily give. “Told you I could do it,” you shrug with an amused smile on your face. “That was very impressive. Did you see his face when you didn’t even introduce yourself? He was so disappointed his charms didn’t work on you!” she giggles loudly. The librarian shushes her, and she holds up her hands in defense before lapsing into quieter giggles with you. You can’t help but feel bad though. Charlie actually seemed incredibly upset by your lack of interest. It makes you wonder if he actually says who people say he is. On Saturday, you go to the hockey game anyway. There’s nothing else you can do, and besides, it gives you a chance to draw a little more of Charlie in action on the ice. The surprised smile on Charlie’s face is to die for. It makes you feel like you’re the only girl he sees, like he’s not the guy people say he is. You say hello to Andrea and some of her friends you’ve met before, and sit down on the bench, immediately getting your sketchpad and pencil out. You start on Charlie, but halfway through, Andrea asks you to draw Sam too. Deciding it would probably be less suspicious if you drew the entire team, you start on Sam. By halftime, you have about every team member on your page sketched out. None of them quite as detailed as Charlie, but you’ll get to that at some point. “We’re going to say hello to the boys, you coming?” Andrea asks you when you’re shading your drawings. You glance up at Andrea, then glance down at the rink where you find Charlie already looking at you. He cocks his head, beckoning you to come over. For a second then, you’re forgetting all about your antisocial facade and feel yourself heat up. You cough the feeling away and get up after stuffing your sketchpad back into your bag, following Andrea down the steps. “You came,” he states when you reach him on the side of the rink. “Are you always this attentive?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm flavoring your voice. His chuckle fills your ears like a beautiful melody. Why does he do this to you? There honestly are so many boys that could be so much better for you, but instead, you’re crushing on the campus bad boy. “Are you always this hostile?” You’re dumbfounded at his comeback. No one ever called you hostile. Antisocial, sure. A bitch, multiple times. But never hostile. “You weren’t paying a lot of attention to the game though?” he says, changing the subject upon noticing your reaction. “Well, neither have you if you noticed me not paying attention,” you shoot back, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Touché,” he chuckles. “But seriously, what were you doing?” You open your mouth to say something, but are stuck on what to tell him. Do you lie to him? Or say the truth? “I--I’m an arts student, and I draw pretty much everything I see, so…” His eyes widen at your response, as does his smile. You’re not entirely sure if telling the truth was a good idea. He might just run off, like everyone in High School used to do when you told them you drew them, no matter how good it was. Everyone always thought it was creepy, so you tended to keep all your art to yourself. “Can I see?” he asks just as the ref blows his whistle, signalling the start of the next half. He gives me an apologetic look, thinking of a good compensation. “Stay after the game?” You know you shouldn’t. You know Andrea is probably right and he’s the biggest womanizer walking this earth, but looking into his gorgeous hazel eyes and witnessing his lips curl up into the most beautiful smile, you can’t help but nod your head. His teeth bite down his lip as he skates away, keeping his eyes on you.

“What was that about?” Andrea asks you when you take your seats again. You let out a deep, confused, yet content sigh. “I have no clue…” For a while, you watch the game -- mostly Charlie -- and witness him making a goal. You, along with all the other supporters of the team, get up from your seats, cheering loudly. Charlie looks up at you, a wide smile plastered on his face as he points to you. Your heart skips a beat, not expecting him to do something like that at all. “Someone has a crush on you…” Andrea whispers in your ear, a teasing smile on her face. “No, he doesn’t! That wasn’t for me…” you try to reassure yourself, but fail miserably. That was for you, and you know it all too well. Another thing you know, is that this probably shouldn’t be quite as heart-melting as it is. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself…” Andrea mutters before turning back to the game. This is not what you thought would happen in your first month of moving to Canada and starting anew at another college. Not at all.

The game is coming to an end now, and you’re still watching. Yes, you read that correctly. You’re still watching the game. A sports game. You! You never thought you would even last ten minutes watching, but somehow, Charlie made it all the more interesting. After every goal he’s scored, he pointed up at you, making you blush like crazy. You have absolutely no idea what’s happening or why he’s doing what he’s doing. All you know is that you like it. You like the way he makes you feel like a normal person for once in your life. Like you’re important. Like you matter. For once, it doesn’t feel like you’re the weirdo art kid that sits on the sidelines, drawing everything and everyone they see. “We’re going to go for some drinks with the team, want to come?” Andrea asks when the game is over and the players all head to the dressing rooms and the crowd files out of the bleachers. “Oh, uhm… I think I might stay a little while longer, you know? Work on my sketches,” you try your hardest not to smile like an absolute crazy person. Andrea raises her eyebrows at you, giving you a knowing look. She can just about see right through you. “Just be careful, okay?” she takes you in for a quick hug goodbye and then leaves with her friends. You sit down again and take your sketchpad out of your bag to kill some time while waiting for Charlie. He probably has to shower and change out of his gear and talk to his buddies before coming out to find you. For a while, you just sit and stare at the drawing of all these boys. They’re scattered all over the paper, but only one really captures you, and that’s Charlie. He’s the boy in the center of the page. Somehow, you really managed to bring out his very best features. His sparkling eyes, his chiseled jawline, his sharp cheekbones. On that page in front of you is Charlie. Though the others somewhat look about right, Charlie really takes the crown in this picture. It’s almost like you’ve studied him so well, that you drew him this perfectly. Which is only half true. All it took was one look and you had him down. All of his features, all of his details. You had it all down from one single look at him. You’ve started adding some more shadows to his face, the world around you vanishing as those eyes stare right back at you. You’re so enthralled, you don’t even notice the real life Charlie walking up to you until his voice reaches your ears. “Hey, sorry if I made you wait long.” Your head snaps up and your eyes widen, almost looking like a deer caught in headlights. He places his bag on the bench in front of you before sitting down next to you. A scent of minty freshness and invigorating citrus meets your nostrils. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it,” you tell him with a smile, carefully closing your sketchpad and sticking your pencil between the rings at the top. “That was a very good game,” you compliment him, nodding towards the rink to emphasize. “I think… Not really a sports person.” He chuckles at this, glancing down at the floor bashfully. “I guess I found my lucky charm.” The second he looks up at you again and those words tumble out of his mouth, you can feel your stomach do flips. To cover the way it actually makes you feel, you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly. “How many people have you said that too, hm?” you ask with raised eyebrows. His smile falters at this, making you realize that it might not be something he likes to hear. The same way you don’t like hearing you’re a creep or a stalker for drawing pictures of people. “I don’t know what people have said about me to you, but I really am not what they peg me for.” His voice is soft, and for the first time since meeting him, he sounds fragile. “You sleep with two different people in one week, and they have you pinned down as the campus’ man-whore.” You give him a sympathetic smile, even though he’s not even looking at you. “I’m not actually this guy that sleeps around, you know? Sure, I flirt with a lot of people, but if your reputation precedes you, well…” he trails off at the end, and then finally looks up at you. “I know how you feel…” you start carefully, which captures his undivided attention. “There was this girl in high school and she had the most beautiful features, you know? Sharp jawline, the deepest dimples in her cheeks when she smiled… I couldn’t help but keep drawing her. She just took so well on paper, and when I showed her, she called me a stalker and a creep. From then on out, I became the stalker creep from Valley High.” You roll your eyes at the memory of Kiara and everyone else at that school. “So, I have a reputation that precedes me too…” “It’s nice to know I’m not alone,” Charlie says with a light-hearted chuckle. “Could I… Could I look at your work?” he carefully asks, pointing at the pad in your lap. You wrapped your fingers around the leatherbound sketchbook, debating it. “Promise you won’t run when you see what’s in here?” You offer it to him, and he grabs it, but you’re holding it so tightly, he can’t take it. He raises an eyebrow at you. “What? It’s not like you drew me or anything, did you?” he jokes, to which you just press your lips together in a thin line. His expression softens in realization. “Oh…” You stare at him for a moment, both of you holding onto the pad. “I promise I won’t run, okay?” You slowly let go of the pad. He places it on his lap and starts flipping through pages. The first few drawings are random kids from campus, either studying in the library or reading a book underneath the big maple tree. Then follow Andrea’s drawings. She suggested being your model, she said you could ask her any time you wanted. After that, Charlie’s sketches follow. The first few are of him during practice with his helmet on. On the next page, are the ones you drew in the library. Some profile, some portrait. He then flicks to the one of all the players, and shuts it after finding empty pages after that. It’s silent for a moment, like he’s taking it all in. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shown you that,” you quickly say and reach for your book, but Charlie has a steady grip on it. He finally looks up at you, a shocked expression on his face. “No. No, it’s just… I wish I knew the name of the artist that captured me so realistically on paper.” You swallow a lump in your throat as his hazel eyes bore deep down into your soul. “Uhm… Y/N,” you introduce yourself shyly. “I just have a habit of drawing people with really nice facial structure, I guess…” you add with a nervous chuckle, staring down at your fingers as they play around with the bracelets around your wrists. “Huh…” You look up at that, wondering if it’s a weirded-out ‘huh’ or something else. “What?” It comes out in an unwanted whisper. “No one’s ever given me a compliment about my facial structure,” he smiles down at you. It’s the most overwhelming feeling of warmth radiating through your body from that one smile. “It’s true though! If you check that last page of the whole team, the others don’t really have that sharp a jaw or chiseled cheekbones like you,” you state, pointing at the sketchpad. He opens it on that page and watches it for a couple seconds. “This makes me feel like the prettiest boy on the team.” He closes it again and hands it over to you, looking straight into your eyes again. You swear you’re going to faint one time if he keeps on doing that. “You are the prettiest boy on the team, Charlie,” you joke, grinning teasingly whilst clutching the sketchpad against your chest. Charlie chuckles at this, and you swear you can detect a slight blush on his cheeks as he looks down at his feet again. “You want to get out of here?” he then asks, “We could go to the coffee shop across the street to warm up? Get that little nose of yours back to its normal color.” He softly boops your nose, which is no doubtedly red from the cold from the ice rink. You giggle nervously, and then nod your head in agreement. The two of you get up from your seats and grab your bags. Before you even realize it, Charlie has grabbed your freezing hand in his warmer one, and guides you down the bleachers all the way to the café across the street. The warmth engulfs you like a welcome hug as the two of you take a seat in a booth by the window. “What’s your go-to coffee order?” he asks, perusing the menu even though he knows what he wants. You scan the booklet, looking for the one thing you always get. “A cappuccino with whipped cream,” you reply, pointing at the order on the menu. “Ooh, good choice!” he agrees excitedly, “Would choosing a hot chocolate make me less cool?” You chuckle, “Well, it’s a hot chocolate, it’s bound to make you less cool.” He laughs at your joke, throwing his head back. You can’t help but laugh along, mostly at how adorable he is in a fit of laughter. “Good one, Y/N,” he says. You give your orders to the waitress, and lapse into a conversation about everything and anything. He asks you about your college major, and you ask him all about hockey. The way his eyes light up when he’s talking about the sport he loves, or anything he loves, is endearing. You can’t believe Andrea made you stay away from him for so long. Charlie really isn’t the bad boy jock she had him pegged for. If anything, he’s the opposite. He’s kind and considerate, and incredibly ambitious and passionate about everything he loves. You just want to know everything about him and spend as much time with him as possible. Without even realizing it, you’re tracing his features again on your leg, preparing for yet another drawing of him. Preparing for more adventures with him.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @siennanoelle01

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shysneeze · 3 years

Text

good enough (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

Good Enough

Draco Malfoy x fem!Slytherin!Reader

*based loosley on the song ‘line without a hook’ by ricky montgomery*

Request: can I ask for Draco x reader where the reader is sassy, but also kind Slytherin (like one of the kind Slytherin)?? And Draco has a huge crush on her? Super fluffy? ~ @lennylangdraws

Warnings: low self-esteem, angst, smidge of house stereotyping, i don’t know the meaning of fluff im so sorry

Authors note: you asked for fluff and I have no excuses for how this turned out except this song has been stuck in my head for weeks now. I hope you like it anyway despite the angst... i tried to make it fluffy make up at the end?

Also, I’m not saying this is a prequel to vulnerable love, but it kinda fits... pretty sure it makes vulnerable love hurt more though.)

Draco wasn’t sure it was possible to want back what he’s never had.

He never knew being stuck in the awkward phase of being an ‘almost couple’ is something he could miss, that he’d ever long to feel the heat that would creep up his cheeks when their eyes met, to feel the nauseating butterflies flap in his stomach when she smiled at him or the jolt of nervous energy that would rip through him whenever their fingers accidentally grazed each other’s under tables or in corridors.

Yet now that those little things are beyond his grasp, he’s desperate for them again, desperate for her. It might be easier to miss her if she were gone, rather than just sitting at the other end of the Slytherin table, or across the room during classes, it would be easier not to see her, the constant reminder of what he’s allowed him self to ruin.

They weren’t supposed to get along, every conflicting personality trait dooming them to a life as enemies. Everyone knows her, the ‘nice’ Slytherin. It’s a title given to her by her classmates, the too-cocky Gryffindors who can’t see past Slytherin’s bad reputation as bullies and snobs, a bad-reputation fuelled by Draco Malfoy himself.

No one could have expected them to end up the way they did, dates in Hogsmeade or hushed conversations by the common room fire in the early hours of the morning and afternoons spent by the lake. No one could have expected them to get along so well.

Draco knows that everyone has expected this though, for them to fall apart before they’ve even had the chance to begin. It’s what they’ve expected of him all along after all, to break her heart.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t got the right to be looking for her like this, seeking her out desperately to get her back, once again deluded into believing he ever had her in the first place. He’s the one who called it off in a moment of certainty that it was the right thing to do, a selfless act. And so it’s wrong for him to be here right now, back in their secret spot.

She’s exactly where he assumed she would be, curled beneath the tree she was always affectionately calling theirs. His entire body tenses painfully at the sight of her, face hidden in her palms and body shaking, not from the cold, but from the trembling of barely silenced sobs.

He wonders if it’s his racing heart that she can hear that alerts her to his presence and has her looking up from her hands, teary eyes meeting his in surprise. Then, she pulls her brows into a well-justified scowl and a lump forms in Draco’s throat that he can’t seem to swallow.

“What are you doing here?”

An incredibly valid question for which Draco can only provide selfish answers. It seems silly to tell her that he’s hear to win her back, and futile given her growing anger. Yet he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t, miserable without her.

“I miss you.” He gulps honestly. “Truthfully, I’ve been a mess without you.”

“Merlin, Draco.” She gasps out a laugh of disbelief. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you started ignoring me. Frankly, that isn’t really my issue.”

“I know.” He sighs apologetically. “I know, I didn’t mean-“

“Just get it over with, Draco.” She rolls her eyes. “Say your piece and leave me alone.”

He nods, taking hesitant steps forward towards her, the frost coated grass crunching under foot. She avoids his eyes as he takes a seat beside her, staring determinedly at her lap and making a conscious attempt to hide the quickly accumulating tears.

“Aren’t you cold?”

She lets out a loud exasperated sigh and refuses him an answer. He agrees with the sentiment of it, regretted the stupidity of it the minute it left his lips. Still, he leans forward to pull the Slytherin scarf from his neck and twists himself to allow him to wrap it loosely around hers, fussing with it until he’s reassured that she’ll be warmer for it.

“You looked cold.”

“Tis’ the season.” She mumbles sarcastically.

Her sarcasm is another thing he’s missed from her, and it draws a momentary smile to his face. Then, the moment is over, and his eyes have fixed on the tear stains painting her cheeks, proof of his own fatal mistake.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

She scoffs.

“Two weeks overdue.”

“I know.” He agrees sheepishly. “I know, (Y/N).”

“Then why are you only here now?” She questions. “Why did you do it in the first place? You can’t just act like you have feelings for someone then disappear and ignore them for weeks!”

Her voice wobbles and cracks at the end, much to her own dismay, and each breath she takes is jagged in the way one’s always is when trying to conceal tears. He watches her press the balls of her palm to her eyes in frustration, letting out a small whimper that has every inch of him aching with remorse.

Part of him, a self-preserving part, tells him to lie. It’s a side of himself he’s grown to hate recently, the side that pushed him into this mess in the first place, and so he knows better than to bargain with it again. So, with a deep breath, he chooses to tell the truth, he chooses to be vulnerable.

“I’m not good enough.”

Although exhaled in a whisper the revelation is startlingly loud. Perhaps its due to the serene quiet always felt on crisp cold days like today, where the sun hangs low in the sky and the lake lies unimaginably still, or perhaps it’s the raw honestly in the statement that makes it seem so alarmingly bold.

She blinks at him, lips parting in surprise and brows furrowing in confusion or concern, Draco isn’t sure. He can hear his pulse in his ears, a slight trembling in his hands that he knows has nothing to do with the chilly breeze. He’s done something profound, terrifying even, and opened that vulnerably part of himself to someone, with no control over what happens to it next.

“What?” She manages.

“Everyone knows it, (Y/N).” He explains nervously. “I’m a terrible match for you.”

“Who the hell is everyone” She frowns. “Since when did they matter?”

There is a certain protective edge to her voice that he doesn’t deserve, but it replays itself in his head over and over, clinging to it for hope. It takes him a moment to let it go again, to push it down and answer.

“They’re right.” He sighs. “You’re too good a person for me, I’m too Slytherin.”

The concern instantly leaves her eyes, she sits forward with an urgent look of disbelief and another of her signature scoffs. She’s giving him an inspective look, trying to figure out if he’s serious, or if he’s suddenly picked up a new, strange sense of humour.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He isn’t quite sure what to say and his silence fuels another disbelieving shake of her head.

“I am a Slytherin, Draco.” She exclaims. “No matter what those big-headed Gryffindors are always saying, I was sorted into Slytherin and I’m proud of it- you’re supposed to be proud too, not agreeing with those stupid stereotypes.”

“It’s different.” He exhales in frustration. “I am those stupid stereotypes!”

Draco Malfoy has never been considered modest.

Self-confidence isn’t a trait earned in the Malfoy family clan, but rather inherited between generations, a birth right bestowed upon them the minute they are old enough to understand. It’s a confidence Draco has always been comfortably protected by, unwaveringly sure of his own self-importance gifted to him by his ancestors

Yet something about the infamously kind (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has him constantly falling apart at the seams with the need to be good enough for her. He’s never met anyone like her, no one so capable of making him question the unwarranted self-importance he was raised on as a Malfoy.

Even now, wrapped unceremoniously in his scarf, late falling orange leaves lying in her hair and her cheeks stained with tears, he’s never felt so undeserving of a person in his life. She’s a lady, and he’s just a boy, he’s heartbreakingly inadequate.

“I just want to be someone you can be proud to call yours.”

With his eyes solemnly fixed on his lap, anywhere other than her reaction, he jumps slightly at her cold fingertips on his hand, prying them from the tightly curled fists he has no recollection of clenching and slipping her fingers into his.

“Draco, look at me.” She pleads softly. “Please.”

He does so slowly with her encouraging squeeze of his hand, she’s smiling at him, sympathetic, but unpatronizing.

“I am proud.” She states softly, but confidently. “I don’t want some perfect golden boy, I want you, Draco.”

Three words he never knew he needed from her, ‘I want you’, and they fill a space in his chest that was gaping for reassurance. She’s amazed him again as she always does, she has a talent for making him speechless than no one else has ever mastered.

“You’re so harsh on yourself you haven’t even realised how much you’ve grown, Draco.” She informs. “You’re not the bully you used to be, you’re not the carbon copy of your father anymore, and I’m sorry that no one has allowed you to move on from your past to see your present.”

She smiles sheepishly at his dumfounded expression and gives him the moment he needs to collect his thoughts and process it all. Then, slowly, he’s shaking his head in surprise, letting out a soft sigh.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” She jokes. “I think I straightened that misconception out already.”

“No but- you’re just so…”

The heat burning his cheeks is worse than ever before, he feels almost overwhelmed by it all, her compliments, her smile, that genuine look in her eyes that convinces him she’s unwaveringly sure of every word she’s said.

“Thank you.” He blurts finally. “Especially after I- well I ruined it all.”

“Yeah, I won’t lie, you really fucked up.” She admits. “But you’ve made an honest recovery…”

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.” He exhales gratefully. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I was going to tell you to piss off after the ‘are you cold’ bit to be honest.” She chuckles. “Stayed because you gave me your scarf- which I’m stealing by the way.”

“Take it.” He urges, a smile finding his lips for what he’s sure is the first time in two weeks, since his misguided decision to end their almost-relationship. “Take whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”

She lets out a shaky breath and gulps. She purposely drops her gaze momentarily to his lips before retuning them to his eyes again, a gesture that has his eyes widening and the tips of his ears turning scarlet. Slipping her fingers from between his, she tentatively cups one of his cheeks, fingertips grazing the red colour blossoming on his pale skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I-“ He chokes. “Yes.”

She smiles nervously, reassuring him that he’s not the only one flustered. Then, curling her free hand around the lapel of his jacket, she pulls him closer with eyes shut. Their lips are cold when they meet, and slightly chapped by the cool air, but neither care. Draco places a hand on her waist, pulling her somehow closer as their lips begin to move hesitantly together. She lets out a soft content sigh, sending a breath of warm air into the kiss and causing him to positively melt inside. She’s done it again, completely incapacitated him with such a simple thing as a kiss.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He exhales.

She lets out a giddy laugh as she pulls back, forehead still pressed to his and eyes still shut.

“There are worst ways to go than my lips.”

He knows, he’s very quickly decided that’s the only way he ever wants to go. She presses her lips to his again for a split second before pulling back completely, he aches for the feeling again, greedy for it now that he’s felt it once.

“Next time, talk to me.” She pleads. “If you ever feel like you’re not good enough, I’ll be there to convince you otherwise, but don’t just disappear.”

“I won’t.” He assures. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know that, Draco.” She smiles sadly. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me.”

“I do.”

The hard part, that initial step, is over. He’s leapt into the unknown, flung himself into the terrifying depths of vulnerability, and there is no going back, but he never wants to, he never wants to leave her again.

“Also if I ever hear you speaking shit about our house again I swear to-“

She’s cut off by his lips once again on hers, startled only for a minute before she’s grinning, grateful to see his confidence returning. She can feel his own grin on her lips and the vibrations of a light laugh before he’s pulling back again.

“Consider me warned.”

“Good.” She exhales. “Or I’ll be confiscating your tie next.”

(Authors note: its not my favourite but if i rewrote it one my time i was flinging my laptop out my window... its not particularly proofread.)

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco malfoy fan fic #draco imagine #draco malfoy angst

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Amnesiac!nhs last part / on AO3

warning for sad ending :)

It was Nie Huaisang himself who requested to return to Qinghe, and him also who begged Lan Xichen to come with him. He didn’t want to abandon his sect any further, he’d explained, but he also wasn’t sure how to deal with everything that awaited him in the Unclean Realm. By his own admission, the four months he’d spent there hiding his amnesia had been taxing, and he preferred to have some help as he returned there, at least until he learned the ropes.

Lan Xichen was more than happy to go with him.

It had been a little over two weeks since Nie Huaisang had confided his suspicion that he’d caused his amnesia on purpose, and since then the two of them had only become closer. Nothing they’d done had quite crossed the boundaries of friendship yet, but Lan Xichen did not doubt that they were headed toward something new. Nie Huaisang was quite flirty these days, teasing and playful the way he used to be as a youth but with added meaning to his words that never failed to make Lan Xichen smile. As for Lan Xichen himself, he allowed himself casual touches, brushing their hands together in private, or helping the other man braid his hair in the intricate style the Nie sect preferred.

It would have been easy to kiss Nie Huaisang, and Lan Xichen knew it would have been welcome too, but there was no hurry. A slow seduction was not without charm, and it would only make it all the sweeter when they did finally come together. Which they would, Lan Xichen had no doubt. Neither did his close family.

Lan Wangji had been unhappy at first, but eventually made his peace with it once he’d grown certain that Nie Huaisang wasn’t planning some new scheme. Wei Wuxian kept teasing Lan Xichen for not going for it already, but that was only because he had no patience whatsoever. As for Lan Qiren…

Lan Qiren saw this inevitable romance building before him, and quite plainly told his nephew that he did not like it.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned Lan Xichen one day. “I would advise against starting anything with him until the condition that would reawaken his memories has been discovered. Because if he returns to who he really is…”

“This is who he is, uncle. Who he would be without everything that happened.”

“But it did happen,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “Whether we like it or not. And while I have no doubt that Nie Huaisang is currently quite besotted with you, he would feel quite differently if he had his memory of the last ten years. If you were to accidentally lift that curse… I think we both know how willing to forgive Nie Huaisang can be.”

It was true, and it was right, and Lan Xichen did not want to hear that, not when for the first time in years, he felt like he had a chance of happiness at last. So when that very same evening Nie Huaisang made his request to return to Qinghe, Lan Xichen promptly agreed.

It would be easier to let things unfold away from Lan Qiren’s judgment.

Not that there was no judgment to be found in the Unclean Realm. The Nie sect was, to put it mildly, not particularly enthusiastic to have their sect leader back. It quickly became apparent that they’d done quite well for themselves without him, and indeed even when he’d been among them they’d mostly only involved him in sect business if they were forced to. That at least explained how they might have failed to notice that Nie Huaisang had cursed to amnesia, Lan Xichen thought, though it also meant that it would be difficult for him to retake control of his sect.

During their entire first day in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang acted as if that realisation did not bother him in the least. He pretended not to see the dark looks it got him when he announced that he intended to be a better and more present sect leader, that he hoped they would forgive him past mistakes, that he intended to restore their reputation that had been so damaged by his lack of skill. He smiled as various high ranking disciples openly told him that they didn’t think he had what it took to rule them, that they’d rather he stepped down and returned to Gusu, and he eagerly swore he had changed.

Then, as soon as Lan Xichen and him retired after dinner, as soon as they were alone in the sect leader’s private quarters, Nie Huaisang broke into tears. Lan Xichen, who had expected something like that, quickly pulled him into his arms, and allowed Nie Huaisang to sob in his embrace.

“They’ll come around,” Lan Xichen whispered as he rubbed Nie Huaisang’s back to comfort him. “It will take the time it will take, but I know you’re going to work hard to change their mind, and I know it will work.”

“But they hate me,” Nie Huaisang sobbed. “They really hate me! I’ve never been as well liked as da-ge, but for them to hate me like this… it scares me.”

Lan Xichen shivered, thinking of what might happen to a too unpopular sect leader, especially one who had many enemies who would be easy to blame. Without thinking, he pressed a quick kiss on the crown of Nie Huaisang’s head, who gasped softly and clung more tightly to him.

“We’re going to try this,” Lan Xichen said. “You asked to come here, and it seemed important to you to try this, so we will. But if it doesn’t work, if your disciples really remain hostile to you… I hope you know I would be more than happy to have you at my side in the Cloud Recesses.”

“But for how long would you let me stay?”

“As long as you wish,” Lan Xichen promised. “The rest of our lives, if you want. I know I would.”

Nie Huaisang grinned amidst his tears, quickly nodding before rising on his toes to press their lips together.

It was everything Lan Xichen would have imagined. Nie Huaisang’s lips were soft and warm, and easily parted to deepen the kiss. He still startled when Lan Xichen’s tongue touched his, the sensation too new perhaps. Lan Xichen pulled him closer, running one hand in Nie Huaisang’s hair. He’d have wanted them to be closer still, body against body, skin against skin, nothing standing between them. Soon, perhaps…

Or not so soon, because Nie Huaisang was tensing more and more, turning as stiff as a piece of wood in Lan Xichen’s arms and eventually pushing him away with such force that Lan Xichen stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“Of course you had to ruin this,” Nie Huaisang hissed, forcefully wiping his mouth with his sleeve, his tongue even.

Lan Xichen stared silently, shocked by this sudden change of mood. Gone was the sweet and charming Nie Huaisang he’d learned to love over those past few weeks, replaced by a cold man with burning eyes.

“An impossible condition,” Lan Xichen whispered. “I was…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you never crossed my mind,” Nie Huaisang cut him with a smirk. “I only made a true love’s kiss the condition. I thought surely nobody would be stupid enough for that. Apparently I overestimated your tastes, and your desperation. I suppose it must have been quite nice, getting a chance to pretend you didn’t help in my brother’s murder.”

Lan Xichen took a step back, pressing one hand to his mouth.

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. In a moment he would wake up and go meet his dear Nie Huaisang for breakfast, and they would laugh together about that horrible dream he’d had.

“It wasn’t like that. A-Sang, it wasn’t about… I love you,” Lan Xichen pleaded, earning a scoff and an unimpressed look.

“You love a version of me that was never real,” Nie Huaisang claimed as he went to pick up a fan from a chest of drawers. “Isn’t it just like you to prefer pretty little lies to the truth?”

“I didn’t lie to you about anything. I’m not lying about the way I feel, I really…”

Nie Huaisang sharply opened his fan.

“You didn’t say anything about how san-ge killed da-ge, did you?” He asked with a cruel smile. “And you didn’t say who taught san-ge that blasted song either. Who forced da-ge to continue welcoming the presence of a viper at his side. Too busy seducing me, I suppose?”

Too busy respecting Nie Huaisang’s lack of curiosity on the matter, Lan Xichen wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He had offered to explain what had happened. So had Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang had told them both that if it really mattered to them he’d listen, but he would rather not know. They had both respected that.

Lan Xichen hadn’t really wanted to tell him, anyway. Perhaps he really had guessed that Nie Huaisang would not forgive him for his role in Nie Mingjue’s death. Or perhaps he too had wanted to forget, and did Nie Huaisang have any right to judge him for that after what he’d done?

“Leave,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “You are not welcome in my home.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving like this. Huaisang, give me a chance to…”

“Leave, or I’ll make you. Those useless disciples of mine would at least obey that order, trust me. Or did you think it was only my return that made them furious?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Don’t be mistaken. They despise you more than they do me. Quite the accomplishment, when you think of it. But of course I only ruined our reputation, while you helped murder the man who incarnated everything our sect believed in.”

“Huaisang, please…”

“Leave. Now,” Nie Huaisang ordered, his eyes throwing daggers behind his elegant fan.

Lan Xichen left.

A million thoughts clashed in his mind as he ran through the gate of the Unclean Realm, as flew toward the Cloud Recesses. Guilt and regret and anger, such anger as he hadn’t felt in years, most of it directed at the man Nie Huaisang had become. If he had trusted Lan Xichen after the death of Nie Mingjue, if he’d come to him then too instead of handling things alone, if they could have worked together…

If Nie Huaisang hadn’t been so selfish and decided he was allowed to forget what he’d done but others couldn’t.

If Nie Huaisang hadn't had such a twisted vision of himself.

If Nie Huaisang had chosen a truly impossible condition to lift his curse, so that Lan Xichen could have kept him, so they could have been happy.

They had been happy.

Lan Xichen had been happy.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

#nhs amnesia #xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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7soulstars · 3 years

Note

hey there. I don't know if you are taking requests rn so if you don't just ignore this one. I was hoping if you could do various avengers x reader .. reader has the ability to manupilate emotions , she can take away emotional pain, negativity and sadness from anyone and replace them with relief, positivity and peace, by simply hugging the person! every avenger turns to her after a mission for cuddles and comfort, you can take it from there if you like! thank you💞

Hey darling ! Thank you so much for requesting! I really really love this request it’s really so adorable oof- I made it into a fic and I hope you like it! Anyways, lets get straight into into it !!

Euphoria

Pairing: Avengers x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: Little like really little angst, Hydra, Overwhelming fluff, Half the Avengers act like literal babies around Y/N . I HAVE ALL THE AVENGERS SAFE AND ALIVE IN THIS AND AVENGER LOKI !! Ooc characters??

Summary: Sometimes even the empath needs empathy but she refuses to say it

............

Euphoria ; the experience of excitement and intense feelings of well-being and happiness.

A silent motion walks down the streets, a silent motion called The Empathic Soul that was involved with them, The Avengers. While the rest protected, she distracted, like a guardian of the common folk who had never seen her. They wouldn’t know, but they praised, thanked and loved. Every time there was pain, there was war, there was casualties, she was there and they just knew it. They looked around but couldn’t guess. The sudden wave of calmness replacing their sorrow and panic distracting their attention from her, their silent protector.

That was what the world had named Y/N, The Empathic Soul as she watched the title flash on the TV screen at Stark towers as she sat beside Vision who was failing to crochet no matter how hard he tried. Y/N wouldn’t consider herself a hero, she didn’t fight bad guys although she was very capable of doing that, she didn’t go and almost get herself killed for the sake of getting rid of ‘pests’.

But she was an Avenger ? Yes. She was, but she didn’t consider herself a hero.

She was behind the scenes, away from common eyes just there to clean up the mess and to take the worry of the mess out of everyone’s head. The Avengers had a polarising reputation. Although it got better after they won against Thanos there were still those who disliked them. But there was not a single civilian who would speak out the title of the Empathic Soul in despise. Y/N would like to keep it that way she had told Fury. She didn’t really have the best life growing up, the strain had given her the powers and she wouldn’t dare use it for anything other than the good of the people. She knew protecting someone came with a cost. Her powers can be used for things unimaginable, wrong things and that’s why she needed to stay anonymous.

Though not all praises about Y/N may be true, one thing was for sure. She was a gem, one of the most selfless person anyone had ever met. With or without knowing about her powers. She couldn’t stand seeing someone sad and that is what made her the sole person every single Avenger was ready to get along with each other for.

Y/N had been a part of the team for 3 years now and she had made all the trauma dissipate and had even managed to make the most unapproachable team mmates open up. She had made sure Stark Towers was always warm and fuzzy no matter how cold the world seemed.

The meanest of all things Y/N has done is manipulate the emotions of people like Zemo to make them confess and feel the pain of the people they caused pain to reflect and repent whenever Agent Everett called her in for.

The robotic voice of Vision snapped her out of her zone as she looked at him as he pointed at the elevator. As Y/N turned to look she felt an overwhelming level of tension.

Oh. It’s one of those days.....

The door opened to a familiar multitude of spandex and metal clad people filling into the living room all making an aggressive beeline at the empathic.

“I CALL DIBS ON Y/N !”,yelled some simultaneously as they glared at each other and argued. Some went straight to the bar pouring themselves a drink and another very specific non alcoholic one along with it. Some stood frozen, colour drained off their face, to be more specific, Wanda,Peter,Bucky and Bruce. Peter walking straight into Y/N’s arms as she held them open as soon as she saw them. Wanda and Bruce following as Vision looms and floats behind them.

“That bad huh ?”, Y/N asked as she tried managing to drag the four towards the couch and plopped down with them. Bruce parted away from her and Wanda followed suit a pleasant smile slapping onto their face.

“18 casualties ”, she heard the blonde star spangled man as he wrapped an arm around her waist moving to hug her by the side as Natasha’s arms wraps around Y/N neck from behind the couch, her head plopped on top of Y/N’s for a few before she whispered a thank you and left to go find Bruce. “And 5 completely decapitated buildings you always forget the buildings Steve ! Now move I need a hug from our gal !”, Sam complained as he agressively made motions for Steve to move away from Y/N as he nearly tackles her. “Careful Sammy, it seems like Peter’s fallen asleep”, the empath notifies as she carefully rests the Spiderboy’s head on the couch from herself as Tony lays a blanket on his body.

“Kid was really hard on himself today, he froze mid battle and was thrown right onto a car, the injury was not that bad but it sure was something. He kept asking if he could call you the whole way back”, Tony said as Y/N stroked Peter’s hair as she got up. “Made you a drink as I poured myself one”, he said offering the glass to her which she took and set back down on the table and then proceeded to take Tony’s glass away from him before he could even sip on it. “This is your third glass and I can sense your annoyance, come here ”, Y/N scolded him as he opened his arms for a hug. “My suit broke down halfway through the fight”,complained Tony into Y/N’s hug as she patted his back, concentrating on pushing the positivity strain in the man.

“I need to be back at the sanctum.... Y/N ?”, came a voice making Tony groan why is it that every time I hug her that you need a hug? The sanctum can wait ! Isn’t Wong there?” “Tony...”, warned Y/N earning a eyeroll from the billionare as he made her promise him hugs later as he sauntered away. Y/N let out a soft laugh before taking Stephens hands into hers and a gentle smile . Stephen placed his hand on her cheek as a smile plastered on his face. “You should have come with us......they-......I and the rest of them needed you.....”,he mumbled making sure no one heard. “I’m sorry, I would have joined but I had to get some Hydra agents to spill some secrets.....”,she reasoned. “If I did not have to return I would have loved to talk to you more about how I feel.....although you will feel it before me and-” “I come visit tomorrow”, she stated simply earning a sigh of relief from the other as he stepped into the portal still hesitating to leave your hand.

There were three left Y/N knew. And she knew where they would be. She walked down the hall that leads up to all their rooms, a door opened and before she could react she was lifted into a bone crushing hug who’s only culprit could be the golden retriever god. “Thor! I was looking for you! How are you feeling!” “Pretty usual Lady Y/N ! I suppose you are visiting my brother ! I couldn’t join today’s mission, I was visiting Asgard ! Anyways I shall let you be !”, and with that he went back into his room. He wanted stay but he knew so needed her more than him he decided he could bother her later.

“They were children ! Can Midgardians stoop this low, they were experimenting on children !”, Y/N could hear as she got closer to the door at the end of the corridor. She opened the door slowly and softly, right after knocking it once.

She saw a flash of black and and overwhelming sense of anger and sorrow before she was tackled by two bodies that made sure her head didn’t hit the floor.

“Hey calm down wow what the hell Loki? Buck? What went THAT wrong?” , Y/N asked the two who had gotten quite close to each other with help of her involvement throughout the years. They realized their similarity and now shared quite of lot of things with each other that they could never tell others. Well, other than Y/N. Y/N slowly replaced their emotions as they let out an appreciative grunt. Before sitting back up. “The people taken hostage by Hydra were children. They were beaten badly, hell some were flinching even when we tried getting them out. I may have done some questionable things in my life but I would never think of doing anything to children. This why this planet needs to be ruled !”,spat Loki in frustration as Y/N rubbed his back soothingly. They were silent for a while before Bucky spoke up. “Those kids were being trained, like Nat. Easier to manipulate, easier to make into soldiers like me.” Y/N sighed, her face dropping as she tried not to hiss in pain. “You saved them though right ? I will probably be called to rehabilitate them. I promise I’ll make them feel better”, she tried to assure them. “ It is not about that darling, I just wonder how many children might be there in Midgard that are being forced into things like this out of their will.”

Y/N never said anything after that but what happened was bothering her and was clear as water. But every time they would try asking her she would quickly change their mood to a Euphoric state and distract them. It felt as if matters were getting worst and Y/N looked sicker and sicker. The team had no choice but to ask Fury.

“ I suppose she has not informed you about her mutation.”

“ What about it ?”

“Well it is not as easy as she makes it seem. You see, every time she replaces an emotion, she feels them. The malice, the pain and everything stays inside her and will stay that way until it is not given to other people. Y/N grew up in an abusive home. Empathy was never shown to her and it got worse by the time she was 15. She first started experiencing immense pain and one day it became intolerable. The pain, without her will got transferred to everyone in that house. No normal human could handle it the way she could and they eventually died because of it. She blames herself and that is why she is not allowed to go on missions with you because we fear that might happen again.”

Everyone was bit shocked by the story they were bombarded with. The felt guilt. All this time it was her who was comforting them and never once had they asked her about how she felt. In fact, if Y/N had not interfered with certain things they might have regretted their actions or may have committed unforgivable acts.

She was their hero. And sometimes the hero needs to be saved to.

Y/N was startled to say the least when her bedroom door burst open and several bodies jumped on her making her feel a sudden high and the pain in her head trying to leave She closed her eyes and tried as hard as possible t not let go of it.

“Y/N I swear to god let it all out ! Were a lot of people we can handle it ! Be a little less harsh on yourself !”, nagged Wanda leaving the empath speechless over the fact that they found out her secret. After more perstering she let go. “Jesus Christ !/Oh my god!/How do you live with this!”, yelled different people simultaneously as they felt what Y/N has been holding to herself for all these years. “Lady Y/N I take back what I said about being the strongest it seems like you are the strongest one to be able to do this and take care of all of us with a smile”, Thor declared.

“You know we love you right miss Y/N ?”,Peter questioned.

Y/N couldn’t say anything if she did she would cry. Her heart swelled even more and for the first time in her life she felt like she truly belonged. The soft tune of Euphoria by Jungkook played in the background the lyrics etching the end of this story.

“Take my hand now, you are the cause of my Euphoria”

--The End--

....... I have never written such an intricate fic on this app. I do not know if it is good or not anymore because I am in too much feels. I really really hope you like this *crosses fingers in anticipation*.This was really fun to write! I did delete the draft like 7 times though because I wasn’t confident about it😅.. I really hope you like this🥺🥺.....Please like and reblog my posts if you like them! Feedback is highly appreciated and please do not plagarize my work. I really work my ass of on them! Thank you so much for supporting me darlings !❤🥰

~Love, Hri

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gamergirl929 · 3 years

Text

Don’t Hate The Playa, Hate The Game (Julie Johnston x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Can I get a julie x R Julie is kinda like a fuckboi and all that and shows off her muscles all lot and the R just doesn’t know how to act and just kisses her after she scores in a game

Your mouth was dry, INCERDIBLY dry, but it had NOTHING to do with the fact that Julie ‘fuckboy’ Johnston had stripped her shirt off, the woman dumping water down the front of her body in an attempt to cool down.

She notices your eyes on her and smirks, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she puts on a little show, purposely flexing to show off not only her ab muscles, but arm muscles as well.

“Jesus take the wheel.” Emily mumbles as she slaps your back, making you jump.

“You seem a little distracted there.” Kelley snorts, giving you a nudge and you growl.

“I’m not.”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Julie stretches her arms high above her head, her ab muscles flexing.

“Sureeeeeeee.” Emily smirks as you basically run away, cheeks blood red, a certain pair of blue orbs on your back as you rush off.

***

“Something on your mind baby?” Julie asks, wrapping her arms around you from behind as the two of you stand in the locker room after practice.

You stiffen, your eyes wide as your entire body flushes.

“Uh, n-no...” You stammer, the woman chuckling breathily in your ear.

“You’ve never been a good liar Y/N.” She purrs, watching as your throat bobs, the blonde smirking.

“You seem a little... Distracted lately.” Julie whispers, her lips, purposely, brushing your ear lobe.

“I-I, uhhh...” You swallow hard as the woman buries her face in your neck, the feel of her smiling against your neck making you light headed.

It’s then that you realize she’s indeed, STILL shirtless, her nearly bare, sweat covered body against your back.

Thankfully, she pulls back when someone clears their throat, that someone being Christen Press, the woman’s eyes narrowed as she sends Julie a glare.

Julie sends her a wink, the forward rolling her eyes as she uses her thumb to draw a line across her throat, the blonde’s tongue trapped between her teeth as she turns away.

Tobin joins Christen, patting her on the back, Kelley and Alex joining the duo.

“If she hurts Y/N...” Christen starts, Kelley nodding.

“We’ll kill her?”

Tobin snorts.

“Well not kill her... We need her.”

“Maim her?” Kelley adds, the remaining three pondering on it before nodding.

“Maim her.”

***

It’s during movie night when Julie pulls you into her lap, the woman’s arms wrapping tightly around you.

“Ummm...”

Julie smirks.

“Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t sit on the floor.” She purrs in your ear and you swallow hard, feeling the woman’s ab muscles twitch against your back.

“I ummm...”

Julie giggles.

“It’s true, everyone knows it.” She whispers, nuzzling into your neck. "I’m the only one who gets to tell you that though.”

The two of you go silent after that, though, considering Julie has currently buried her face in your neck.

Words are hard to formulate after that.

Your eyes widen at the feel of her lips on your neck.

Your breath hitches and Julie smirks.

“Sorry about that.” She whispers, the feel of her smirk making your cheeks flush, the woman was in no way apologetic at all.

Julie’s hold is gentle, though her muscles are prominent, your cheeks flushing when you realize the woman is flexing slightly, grinning when your arms erupt with goosebumps.

“Cold?” She asks, leaning back, pulling you with her, the woman’s warmth inviting, relaxing.

Julie’s thumb runs back and forth across your goosebump covered arm.

You feel your eyes begin to flutter, eye lids growing heavier and heavier as you lean back into her embrace, heavier and heavier.

Julie’s chin rests on your shoulder the woman turning her head to whisper in your ear.

“Sleep, I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.” She whispers, kissing your temple.

If you’d been a bit more awake, you would’ve been able to properly freak out over the fact that Julie had just kissed you, but you weren’t, you were exhausted and soon, you were fast asleep in Julie Johnston’s embrace.

The blonde smirks cockily, though she can’t deny the fact that her heart skips a beat as you snuggle closer.

Yes, she’d had a reputation, but you, you were different.

“You know if you hurt her, I’ll literally murder you and make it look like an accident.” Christen whispers in her ear, the blonde’s brows arching before she inevitably nods.

“Didn’t expect anything less.”

Christen huffs loudly.

“I’m serious JJ.”

Julie nods, taking a deep breath as she hides her face in your neck.

“I know.”

Christen’s eyes narrow.

The forward could only hope that Julie had gotten the message.

***

After falling asleep in Julie’s arms weeks ago, you couldn’t get enough, you wanted to be back in her arms, wanted to be held to Julie’s muscular chest, her brawny arms wrapped around you.

“Hey.”

You jump at the sound of Julie’s voice, the woman grinning.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to scare you...” She giggles, your cheeks flushing at the sound.

Your eyes widen when Julie suddenly slips her sweat covered shirt over her head, using it to wipe her forehead.

Practice had been tough, as per usual, but with the heat, it was even more so.

You’re unable to keep your eyes off of her bare torso, something the woman is quick to notice.

“Appreciating the view?” She asks, purposely flexing and your eyes widen, cheeks flushing from more than the heat.

Julie decides to keep her shirt off when she goes back onto the field, the woman showing off after she slips a goal passed Alyssa Naeher, the blonde flexing, a grin plastered on her face.

She goes the extra mile, doing a number of push ups before she makes her way back towards the sidelines.

“Impressed?” She asks with a cocky smirk and you giggle.

“VERY impressed.”

***

Julie glances at you with an arched brow and a devilish smirk, your cheeks red when you realize who you’d be rooming with at the hotel you’d just arrived at.

“Think you can handle me for the night?” Julie purrs as she makes her way towards you, her fingertips brushing your forearm.

“I-I-I t-think so.” You stutter, the woman’s brows wiggling teasingly.

“You sure?” She husks and you swallow hard, nodding.

“Ye-Yeah, t-totally.”

***

The second Julie Johnston walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of booty shorts and a sports bra, you knew you could in NO WAY handle her.

“What?” Julie asks, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, her hair done up in a towel to dry.

“Oh, n-nothing.”

Julie hums.

“Sureeeee.”

Soon, she’s retreating back into the bathroom, coming back moments later, no longer wearing a towel on her head, damp blonde locks cascading down her chest.

Julie, instead of getting in her bed, flops down into yours, the woman turning to you with a grin.

“You know...” She scoots closer, your eyes widening. “I sleep better when I’m in bed with someone...” She says suggestively and you chuckle nervously.

“Is that okay?” Julie asks, pulling the bed’s covers back, the woman’s blue orbs on you as she awaits an answer, though you simply look on dumbly.

Julie frowns, about to slip out of the bed, but you stop her, grabbing her wrist.

“No, y-y-y-you can stay.”

Julie hums, slipping beneath the covers, though the woman doesn’t cover her upper body, leaving her muscular abdomen on full display.

You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it, eyes wide and focused on her abs, the woman’s chest rising and falling.

“You look a little distracted.” She smirks, your eyes widening as you glance away, cheeks blood red.

“Uh...” You glance away, out of the corner of your eye, catching Julie running her fingers down the line between her abdominal muscles.

“Uhhh, I’m-I...” You point over your shoulder to the bathroom, nodding.

“S-Shower.”

You leap out of bed, Julie’s brows knitted on confusion as she watches you go.

“Didn’t you already take a-

Julie’s cut off by the bathroom door slamming shut, the blonde shaking her head.

“Too cute.”

***

The second Julie Johnston knocks the ball into goal, with a PERFECT header, she bypasses each and every one of her teammates and runs straight for you.

Julie leaps into your arms, the woman’s arms wrapping tightly around your neck as yours wrap around her middle.

Much to your surprise, as she pulls back, she kisses your forehead, throwing her hands in the air as the remainder of the team joins the two of you.

You’re only pulled out of your trance when Kelley pats your back.

“Head out of the clouds, we still need you.” The defender ruffles your hair and you grumble, your bottom lip jutting out.

“My head isn’t in the clouds...” You mumble, catching Julie’s gaze on you, your eyes again glazing over.

Kelley shakes her head.

“Sureeeeeeee it isn’t.”

***

Julie sprints to the sidelines after knocking in yet another header, the woman throwing her arms around you, lifting you in the air with one arm while flexing with the other, the woman kissing your cheek.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing bright red as the blonde puts you down, cupping your cheeks and resting her forehead briefly against yours before she takes her place back on field.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines Tobin’s rests her elbow on your shoulder.

“Does she know?” She asks, your brows knitted in confusion as you turn to Tobin.

“That you like her.” She says nonchalantly and you scoff.

“Wh-What? I do not...”

It’s then you realize that every single one of your teammates on the bench are staring at you, eyes narrowed.

“Bullshitttttttttt.” Ashlyn snorts, earning a smack on the arm from Ali, the woman rolling her eyes.

“What Ashlyn MEANS...” Ali sends her wife a glare. “Is that you should talk to her...”

You shake your head rapidly.

“No, she’s so, her and I’m so...” You motion to yourself with a frown. “Me.”

Before you realize what’s happening, a number of hands are swatting you in the back, arms, leg, anywhere their owners can reach.

“Hey!”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that again Y/N, you’re amazing.” Megan ruffles your hair and your cheeks flush.

In that moment, Julie glances at the sidelines, grinning when she sees your eyes on her, the woman sending you a wink.

You throw your head back with a groan.

“I can’t do it.” You frown, Tobin letting out a lengthy sigh as she glance to where Julie is on field, the blonde looking your way worriedly.

Tobin glances at Megan, Ashlyn and Ali, the three women smiling.

Maybe YOU wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her at all.

Maybe Julie would tell you herself how she felt about you.

***

Julie smiled softly from her place at the dinner table, watching as you laughed at something Emily had just said, tears in your eyes as your arms wrapped around your middle.

Tobin and Christen share a glance from their place across the table, the two forwards leaning closer to one another.

“Are those heart eyes?” Tobin whispers, Christen’s eyes narrowing as she glares across the table at Julie.

“Those are definitely heart eyes.” Alex whispers, the woman leaning towards Tobin and Christen.

Kelley, pops up from under the table, nearly scaring the three women to death.

“Those are definitely heart eyes.”

Julie can’t help but giggle when you let out a snort laugh, that giggle immediately drawing your attention, your eyes locking with Julie’s blue orbs.

The blonde grins, a grin that you can’t help but return, the four women across the table from the two of you grinning.

“Yep.” Kelley nods.

“Definitely heart eyes.” Alex nods in agreement.

Christen hums, still wary of Julie’s motive, though when the woman turns to talk to Alyssa, and your eyes remain on her profile, Christen smiles.

Yes, she was protective over you, you were a Utah Royal after all, one she’d taken under her wing when you’d first joined the NWSL.

Now though, now it looked like it was time for her to let you go, and for you to spread your own wings.

“Thinks it’s time for us to let her spread her wings?” Tobin asks, Christen turning to her with wide eyes, wondering how it was that she read her mind.

Kelley’s eyes narrow, she and Christen sharing a quick glance before Christen shakes her head, she and Kelley speaking at roughly the same time.

“Nope.”

***

It’s later that night when you flop face down in your bed, Julie shaking her head as she makes her way into the room.

“Tired?” She asks, and you nod, yawning loudly.

“Very.”

Julie giggles fingertips brushing your back as she moves towards her own bed.

“I mean you played pretty hard today; you were giving the-

Julie stops mid-sentence when she turns around, seeing you’re fast asleep. She shakes her head, tip toing to the bed, the woman giving you a nudge.

“Noooooooo.” You whine, growling when Julie pokes you in the side.

“You need to change, sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable.”

You growl grumpily, ruffling through your suitcase and, without any modesty, shed your clothes in front of Julie.

The usually cocky blonde’s cheeks flush blood red as she turns away, giving you some privacy.

She only turns around when she hears you flop back onto the bed, the woman giggling when she sees you’re, yet again, fast asleep.

Julie shakes her head, making her way towards the bed, pulling the covers over you with a smile. She ducks down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight Y/N.” She whispers, smiling when you smile in your sleep.

“Night JJ.”

It’s not long after that, that Julie is slipping in the bed beside you, the woman unable to stay away from you, shuffling closer and closer until her chest rests against your back.

You hum in your sleep shuffling impossibly closer as Julie’s arms slip around you, the woman holding you close.

You hum in your sleep, the blonde nuzzling into the nape of your neck, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you J.” You mumble in your sleep, Julie’s blue orbs flashing open, the woman blinking rapidly as she stares at the back of your head.

Again, her eyes flutter shut, the woman burying her face in your hair.

“Love you too Y/N.”

***

The game had been absolutely brutal, so much so that the USWNT was currently down by 3 at the end of the first half.

You were covered in sweat, your legs were aching, as well as your stomach.

You were nauseous beyond belief, and if you felt this way, you had to think Alyssa Naeher felt even worse.

The team is somber as they make their way into the locker room, Alyssa’s head down as she mumbles to herself under her breath.

Julie places a hand on your and Alyssa’s back, the woman attempting to calm the two of you down, though you know Alyssa needs it now more than you do.

The locker room is rather strained than usual, everyone incredibly silent, or whispering amongst themselves, Netherlands had been particularly harder than usual, most likely due to the fact that the USWNT had beaten them last time they’d met up, and THAT was at the 2019 World Cup.

Julie sits beside you and Alyssa, the two of you unable to pick your heads up.

Alyssa had been unable to stop a number of shots on goal, whereas you weren’t doing particularly well in your role as a defender.

“Hey.” Julie whispers, leaning towards you, her chin resting on your shoulder as she stares at your profile. “It’s alright.”

You shake your head.

“If I were doing better, they wouldn’t get any shots on goal.” You frown as you fidget.

Julie sighs, leaning towards you, her forehead resting against the side of your head.

“You’re doing the best you can, Netherlands is on their a-game, you just need to find your groove.” She whispers, surprising you when she presses a kiss to your cheek, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing.

“What if I can’t find it?” You ask, turning to Julie, your eyes widening when you realize there’s only an inch or two separating your lips.

“You can, I believe in you Y/N.” She grins, winking before she turns to Alyssa.

You watch her with a growing smile, your heart skipping a beat as you cover the spot she’d just kissed with your hand.

You nod.

“She believes in me.”

Julie glances at you, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle at the look on your face.

Hopefully her little pep talk had given you what you needed to find your groove in the second half.

Vlatko makes his way into the locker room, and starts talking strategy, but in all reality, all you can see in this moment is Julie Johnston.

***

The second half was just as tough as the first, but the USWNT had come back with renewed vigor, taking it to the Netherlands.

By the 80th minute, the score was tied, 3-3, 2 of the three goals courtesy of Christen Press, with one being from Carli Lloyd.

Right now though, right now you were closing in on goal, sprinting downfield, a familiar pair of blue orbs on you, blue orbs belonging to Julie Johnston, Julie Johnston who had a black and white ball at her feet.

The second she’s able, she fires the ball downfield, the ball ending up on the ground, RIGHT at your feet.

The crowd cheers as you run in on goal, waiting for the right moment to fire your shot.

Unfortunately, you are unable to fire your shot, unable because just as you enter the box, you’re taken down, and taken down HARD.

You hit the ground with a cry, grasping at your ankle as you curl up on the field.

You’re joined by your teammate's moments later, the first teammate to get to you being, of course, Julie Johnston.

She pulls your head into her lap, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face as the medical team rushes your way.

Not one of them asks Julie to move, considering the woman is currently glaring in their direction in a way that says, if they ask her to move, she’ll literally kill them.

“Is it your ankle?” One of the members of the medical team asks and you nod.

“I’m fine.” You clear your throat, sitting up with a grimace.

“Y/N...” Julie starts, but one look in your eyes and she knows, there’s no way you’re going off that field.

“I want it.” You grimace as Julie helps you to your feet, the rest of your teammates jogging over.

“Want what?” Kelley asks with a furrowed brow and you growl.

“The PK.”

***

No one argues the fact that you want the PK, in fact, you’re given everyone’s blessing.

Yes, the game was on the line, but you knew, as did everyone else, that no one other than you was taking the PK.

Julie jogs up to you moments before you take the PK, the blonde whispering in your ear.

“Remember, I believe in you.” She whispers, her hot breath on your ear making you shiver slightly.

You turn to her with a smile, eyes darting from her lips, to her blue orbs and back.

The woman winks, the ref’s whistle blowing making her roll her eyes.

“You’ve got this.” She says before jogging back to her place in line.

It’s then your situation comes into stark relief, your eyes focusing on Netherland’s goalie, the woman jumping up and down in goal.

You swallow hard, your eyes dropping to the ball at your feet.

You HAD to score, you had to sink this goal into the back of the net, you absolutely HAD to.

Just as the thought leaves your mind the whistle blows.

You stand stock still, eyeing the goalie’s stance, remembering how she’d blocked each shot on goal before this moment.

You know you’re nearly out of time, but just as you’re reaching the final seconds, you move.

Everyone watches with batted breath, the women behind you racing towards you just as the ball leaves your foot.

You watch, wide eyed as the ball you’d fired zooms in the opposite direction that Veenendaal had jumped, a smirk stretching across your face as the ball hits the back of the net.

You throw your hands in the air, the crowd cheering as you’re swarmed by your teammates, pulled into a group hug, a number of them ruffling your hair, your hair a complete and utter mess after they’re done.

The last person to make it to you is the one and only Julie Johnston, the blonde beaming as she throws her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“You did it.” She whispers in your ear, the woman kissing your cheek. “I knew you could do it.”

It’s in this moment that you do something you’d been wanting to do for a while, albeit in a completely inappropriate setting, but seeing as the whistle had blown signaling the end of the game, it wasn’t during play.

In the heat of the moment you lose all control, cupping the blonde’s cheeks and pulling her into a surprise kiss.

The world around you goes still as she kisses back, the woman’s hands on your waist as she pulls you close, neither of you caring that you’re under the crowd, the team, and the world’s watchful eyes.

You abruptly part, your eyes as wide as saucers and cheeks flushed.

“J-Julie I’m-

You’re cut off by the woman’s lips, the blonde’s lips tender against yours, a complete contrast to her cocky behavior.

The two of you again part, though remain close as you rest your foreheads together.

“That wasn’t how I expected that to happen...” You confess, the blonde giggling.

“So, you thought about what it would be like when we kissed?” She teases, grinning when your cheeks flush red.

“I-I mean...” You stammer, Julie giggling as she leans back in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Don’t worry, I’ve thought of it too.”

“Well?” You whisper, the blonde brows knitted in confusion.

“Was it what you expected?” You ask, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

Julie grins, her tongue trapped between her teeth.

“Better than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”

#uswnt x reader #julie johnstin x reader #julie johnston imagine #julie ertz x reader

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bubblesgoboink · 3 years

Text

everybody loves you

paring: movie-star!ransom x actress!fem-reader

word count: 1.5k+

summary: she doesn't like that anyone would die to feel his touch because she wants to be his gold rush.

WARNINGS: drinking, fluff-ish

The sound of champagne flutes clinking paired with indiscernible conversations and laughter floated around the room while she mingled. While discussions with castmates, crew workers, writers, and reputable directors flowed, her feet were getting achier, and a mild tension headache was building from her temples. Taking a deep breath, she excused herself from an animated conversation about the latest Hollywood affair and its politics alongside the movie release starring the couple. On a good day, she would have entertained the conversation while politely attempting to steer it in a different direction, but today wasn't one of those days, the champagne was too sweet, borderline frat party punch, and the air was too stuffy. Placing her fourth empty glass on a server's tray, she slinked out of the room to the nearest balcony.

Cool night air caressed her bare shoulders and combed through her loose hair as her eyes swept the yellow-hued illuminated city. In the serene moment, she felt the adrenaline of many months of shooting seep out of her and trickle back into the party, where it belonged. This wasn't her scene; it wasn't anyone's scene. Despite the excitement radiating from every person's hand that she shook in that room, she felt the exhaustion of the castmates from early shoots, the crew workers from setting up and cleaning up after hours every day, the writers from putting their hearts in their hand and their pens to paper, and the directors who made sure every word of the script was done justice on the big screen.

A flurry of camera shutter sounds and eager photographers shouting brought her out of her trance. She peered over the edge of the balcony and observed the scene unfolding at the entrance. One look at the sleek black BMW, and she knew who the chauffeur would reveal when he opened the door. Glancing back at the party, she sighed knowing the level of schmoozing in the joint was going to increase once the man in the car stepped in rapidly. Stubbornly she refused to step back in and be a part of the atmosphere that would exponentially boost his ego. The chatter swelled from below the balcony, and against her better judgment, she glanced over.

Even at over an hour late, photographers looked at Hugh Ransom Drysdale like he was the answer to all their editorial wishes. Fitted in a deep maroon Dolce and Gabbana tux with material that looked like mohair and leather dress shoes embossed with the double Gucci G's on the sides, he faced the left, favoring the right side of his face and aimed a smirk at the largest camera of the bunch.

Taking a few steps down the red carpet, he ran a hand through his perfectly quaffed hair, leaving a single strand to linger over his temple while the rest fell right back into place. How he managed to look sleek and expensive while maintaining a grounded "I just woke up like this" vibe was beyond her, but she would never say that to his Adonis-like face.

A chorus of, "Thank you, Ransom", rang across the rope line as he reached the end of the carpet. With a quick eyebrow flicker and a cocky half-grin, he acknowledged the crowd and headed inside. She scoffed and ran a hand through her hair, huffing irritably as the front strands fell awkwardly into her face and not elegantly like Ransom's. A drink sounded good right about now, but if she went in, she'd have to face the music that was Ransom's siren song, ignoring the possible repercussions she made her decision.

Slipping back into the room, she walked the perimeter of the room, hoping to avoid getting sucked into a conversation on her way to the open bar.

"Can I get a to-go cup full of the Pinot Noir?" The bartender raised his eyebrows in mild concern at the strange order but moved to grab the wine and a paper cup.

"Would you like ice in this?" He snarkily quipped as if to imply that someone who was unsophisticated enough to order wine in a to-go cup wouldn't know that ice diluted the full-bodied notes of the wine.

"Is that the Belle Glos Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley because in that case, I would-"

"No, she won't have ice in that. Pour it into a glass for me, will you? And you, what are you doing ordering red wine in a to-go cup like some kind of broke alcoholic college student?" Ransom smiled smugly at her like he just saved her from a career-ending scandal. She glared up at him, accidentally making direct eye contact with his stupidly pretty ocean eyes. She let her eyes trace his clean-shaven jaw down to his disgustingly broad shoulders. How the hell could someone look so broad in a blazer? He chuckled knowingly as she "discreetly" checked him out.

"Are you done yet?" She wanted so badly to wipe that smug look off his face. Ransom Drysdale not looking smug was nearly impossible. She remembers the time he took one too many steps back and fell into the pool, shirt, jeans, shoes, and all, and didn't look the least bit embarrassed, whereas she fled the scene out of second-hand embarrassment.

Looking him dead in the eye, "Put the wine back in the cup, with ice, please." Narrowing her eyes, she shoved a finger against his chest, "My wine, my choice." She could tell from the way his jaw clenched he was getting irritated with her bit.

"Darling, you don't know-"

"Ah, there you are, Ransom. Have I introduced you to my wife Mrs. Edwards?" The older lady grasped Ransom's hand that he'd robotically stuck out as he's been conditioned to greet people at such large gatherings with both of her hands and tugged him towards her, placing obnoxiously loud air kisses on either side of his face.

From her angle perched on the barstool, she could spy the grimace on Ransom’s face as the lady gushed in a thick British accent about his latest film and how captivated she was by the chemistry he had with his costar.

“You didn’t tell me your wife was so charming. I might have to steal her after this”, Ransom stage-whispered to the director. Mrs. Edwards let out a raucous laugh and placed her hand on Ransom’s bicep while he joined in her laughter with deep chuckles of his own.

“Ransom was an absolute pleasure to work with on this film and so was his costar-” As if on cue, there was an audible sound of someone chewing ice behind them. The director and his wife turned around at the sound to find, said costar sheepishly grinning at them while holding a styrofoam cup in her hand. She placed the cup on the bar, stood up, and straightened her dress to appear somewhat professional and held out a hand to Mrs. Edwards.

But before she could introduce herself, Mrs. Edwards cut in, “Is that wine in a take-out cup? That reminds me of my college days, such good times. Especially because I met this one.” Mrs. Edwards giggled and gently bumped her husband’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely adorable, sweetie.” She politely smiled at the director’s wife and started a conversation with her about behind the scenes on set and all the little quirks her husband had while he was directing. While Mrs. Edwards was speaking about a trip she’d taken to Australia with her husband where he nearly lost a limb near the dingo enclosure, she felt a warm hand placed on the small of her back. She side-eyed Ransom only to find that he had been inconspicuously tugging her into his side during the conversation, she was practically standing with her back pressed against his chest.

Mr. Edwards checked his watch before wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “We should go now. We only planned on dropping by for a couple minutes but then I saw my boy Ransom and just had to stop by and say hi. Also, we have a dinner in a week to discuss the possibility of a sequel.”

“Oh look at them. They’re practically cuddling.” Mrs. Edwards pointed out to her husband.

“I simply can’t help not being close to her. It’s like muscle memory from our days on set.” Ransom smoothly responded as he ran his hand up and down her back in soothing motions. Mrs. Edwards smiled knowingly and reached over to interlace her fingers with her husbands. Another round of air kisses and the Edwards left the premise.

She turned on Ransom as soon as they left, furious. “I’m not a prop for you to earn some brownie points with.”

He poked her chest lightly with his index finger and leaned down, brushing her nose with his. “It’s good press for the movie, sweetheart. Don’t get ahead of yourself. See you at the dinner.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, finger softly caressing the side of her cheek. Her eyes reflexively fluttered shut as she leaned into his exuding warmth.

The air suddenly turned cold and when she opened her eyes, he was already being whisked off to another conversation leaving her with nothing but a styrofoam cup in one hand and the dizzying scent of his woodsy cologne dancing around her.

a/n: this is probably gonna be a three part series bc that's how i planned it but since when do i adhere to my plans. hope you enjoyed! :)

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale au #ransom drysdale #knives out #chris evans #ransom drysdale oneshot #movie star!ransom #bubblyborky babbles

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natsukitakama · 3 years

Text

Being in relationship with the weeping monk would include :

Author note : alright I know I promised to write about Merlin and the green knight and I will. I just couldn’t stop thinking about this . Also it’s been like three months since my last writing I hope I won’t disappoint you. I expect to work on my request as soon as possible ♡ Love u guys

I'll definetly write a Merlin and Green knights’ part

i do not own the gif credit to the owner

Warning : some mention of smut but nothing too serious / mention of trauma / Spoiler

A lot of patience, I cannot imagine how much trauma this man went through. Apparently he is the only survivor (or at least Ash are barely here anymore) from his species and believe during his whole life that he was damned, he should be ashamed about his true being. In addition he grew up into a fanatical church, so it might be difficult to get to know him especially if you are a fey

Unlike his « father » he doesn’t hate fey but believe they need to expel their darkness such as him and that’s why he is working hard for the church so he could earn his freedom and soul. But then he realized they were barely followed their own rule, monk aren’t supposed to kill children but his father does.

He felt betrayed and had no longer a place and a purpose to follow. I’m pretty sure he’ll follow squirrel since he does seem to like him. It will take time for him to trust you enough to even talk with you and it won’t help if you’re fey cause he won’t understand why you’re trying to be nice to him especially because of the killing he’s done for the church

If you want to get close to him just take your time, the man can be harsh and he’ll be on the defensive since his background with the church. It will take time but he will be nicer with you eventually

He tends to go nicer if you’re caring with him, always asking him how he is doing, if he is feeling well, proposing yourself to patch him or anything. He is a touch-starved adult man, and I believe he doesn’t have much love in his life neither from the church nor from his family (or barely since he was raised by Father)

When he will finally feel confortable enough around you, he’ll talk a lot about you from specific things such as what are you working on, how’s your training doing, to banality : anything to make you talk honestly. He just loves your voice it just calm him down everytime. He loves your voice, he really loves it.

He loves your smile too and would be jealous anytime he saw you smiling to anyone who isn’t him

Cause here’s the thing, he is a monk, he shouldn’t be materialist or anything but he can’t help : if there is something to know about Lancelot is that he does not share. Not even you.

Even if you’re not in relationship, he believes no one has the right to be next to you, he is working hard to earn that right so he’ll threaten ( sending death glare) anyone who’ll be too comfortable around you. I’m not joking about it this is man is possessive fight me on this.

At this point you would ask me, how does he fall in love with us ? Easy one : One night after a huge fight he was sitting near of a camp fire, everyone was already asleep too sore to bother extinguish the flames, everyone but you and him. As you were walking into your bed for the night you catch him staring at the fire, he looked focused and lost at the same time as if he were asking himself « what the hell i’m doing here ». You were wondering if he didn’t have a second thought, after all he joined you and squirrel not that long ago he might be still into the church’s philosophy. So you walked into his direction, determined to know what’s going on Lancelot’s mind. When you sat close to him he barely moves as if he was expecting you to do something like this.

At first you said nothing not knowing what to say to hurt him. But seeing him focused, looking as lost as a child, gave you strength to face him and his insecurities. So you asked him what’s wrong and if you could help in any way.

He didn’t say anything, but judging by his expression you knew he was looking at his word carefully.

« Do you think I am monster ? »

« What ? »

« Y/N do you think i’m monster ? »

« No of course not why would you say that ? »

He didn’t answer back instead he just stared at the fire and then you realized what was behind his question

« Lance’ look I can’t say that I know what you’re experiencing right know as much as I can’t say that I understand what you’re going through. But I know something Lance’ no matter what people would say about you, remember that me, Y/N do not see you as a monster quite contrary all I see right now is a broken man trying to find his path. »

« How can you say that ? I-I murdered a lot of us »

« But you’re trying to change, you did once to save squirrel and you’re trying again »

« How can you be so sure about it ? I still believe on the power of the church »

« Lance… Do you think I am monster ? Do I deserve to die ? »

« What ? No ! Of course not »

« See ? You’re changing and if you want another argument you never be so talkative before »

Hearing him chuckled told you you were successful for now at least. You knew he needed to take time because of everything he’s been through. You never noticed, but that day he realized by his quick answer that you mean something to him. He knew by his reaction that he would never be able to hurt you. You put faith on him while he couldn’t even believe in him, you were genuine with him and he knew that you meant everything you told him that.

That day the weeping monk decided that he’ll do everything in his power to make you happy even if he would need to stay away.

I believe he’ll still follow his moral and would still respect most of the rule he learnt from the church. But the moment he realized that you were his everything and that you might feel the same, well let’s say he forgot couple of rules (especially the one who prohibited marriage)

He is into marriage fight me on this

Being in relationship with him implies helping him when he feels down especially when is questioning is whole being as a person. Cause he is truly fucked up, he believes he doesn’t deserve to live, the church was supposed to be the only way to save him from damnation. Now all he can do is to rely on you.

He will need a tone of times

He also needs attention, but be careful cause the man got reputation and is pretty awkward with all those things since I believe no one was very careful and kind with him.

He is touch-starved meaning he would crave for attention, but he isn’t comfortable enough so there things he will tolerate in private while some things would be okay in public.

For example he doesn’t mind holding you hand (he loves it your hand is so small and feel so sweet against his calloused one) even in public especially if notices someone starring at you

He likes hug but don’t do frequently though. He was raised to become a monk, I believe he never received any mark of affection or barely so he is still a bit tense about you being physical with him.

He is a monk but he is still a man and well he got urges and he can’t focus on stopping those kind of thought when you’re holding him tightly, pressing your chest against him. But there is time when he just can’t help but needing to have you against him.

Same thing for kiss, it’s so intimate, so intoxicating it’s like you were the one in charge of his own body and mind. He is overwhelmed by way too many feelings at once, so kiss are only tolerated when you two are alone.

At this point, you’ll understand that this man is a virgin baby

And if we’re talking about sex well, he is a monk. Safe to say you would be his first and probably he is last. It will take a long time before he would even consider being intimate with you, it was one thing to betray the church but breaking his vows was quite another.

Kissing you or hugging you doesn’t make him feel bad in the meaning it wasn’t for him as if he was breaking one of his vows. I’m not saying that he is asexual but I’m sure he can live without having sex with someone (even if sometimes he feels the need to have you right here and then, he can control it he does it all the time).

If he feels like he could dedicate his whole life to you, well you feel it when you two would be intimate.

Let’s say he counterbalances his lack of experience by skills and a tone of worship, I can’t explain how he could do that, but the man is a worshiper (no punt intended).

He kisses and caresses a lot

When you two are linked, he expects you to be on the top in every way (especially because he is aware of his lack of experience and also because he turned him on to see you being in charge, more than he would like to admit)

During your first time he didn’t last as long as he expects to last, especially because he was overwhelmed by all the feelings and the love he could feel through you.

He tends to last longer after that

I didn’t underline it enough, but I think the man is pretty sensitive in all way. He may look like a cold soldier but he is doing a good job at internalize his feelings. Which could be a huge obstacle for a relationship cause he tends to not talk about his feeling hence the difficulty for you sometimes cause you don’t know what to do to make him feel comfortable enough to talk to you.

Don’t worry just give him time, remind him that you’re here to help him, that he is not alone. Let him go to you when he feels like it.

It will take time but it’ll be worth it : he is very carrying, he would love you in a way you would never expect someone to love you like this. He would be your friends, your lover, your protector.

Yeah because he is overprotecting don’t ever try to protest that’s a battle you won’t win : you’re too precious.

#Cursed Netflix #cursed #daniel sharman #the weeping monk #the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk x you #Lancelot x reader #Lancelot x you #cursed Netflix headcanon #the weeping monk headcanon

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theloneliestshipper · 3 years

Text

I don't always do collaborations but when I do it's an utterly self-indulgent crossover of two Star Wars properties that have absolutely no reason to overlap and a potential audience of about five people. Also I do it with @nyelung.

AO3 Link

And never kick the ball! Rated T

“... Hutts don’t have feet!” The final words of Baroness Deathmark echo through the arena. Having heard the introduction a few dozen times or more in the last year alone, Boba could say it with her if he were in the mood. He’s not.

They’ve changed the arena up for the season. There’s only so many ways that the Nar Shaddaa Huttball arena can be changed but apparently they went all out this time and rearranged a significant portion of the walkways and traps. He can make out something that looks suspiciously like a series of trapdoors surrounding the mag-ball’s centre spot, undoubtedly hiding some nasty surprises. Well, since Fennec managed to draw Djarin in as the team captain he’s not too worried that one of their team will find out what’s beneath those trapdoors the hard way.

Two minutes into the game Boba is scowling inside his helmet - not an unusual occurrence if the Quesh Rotworms were to be asked. He came aboard as a coach last year, when there were children’s teams on Tatooine who could play better so they had seen it a lot.

“It’s nice that for once it’s not our players getting maimed,” Fennec comments. “It was getting hard to find new ones.

Huttball is one of the most brutal semi-legal sports in the galaxy and even though all players are fully armoured - part of the reason why the sport is so popular in the Mandalorian sector - and killing during the game has been forbidden since the Cold War, injuries or even crippledom aren’t uncommon because the players are also armed to the teeth. That’s what the Frogdog wearing the number seven just found out the hard way when Djarin and Aelto perfectly executed a manoeuvre to take the ball from him.

Baroness Deathmark on the other hand should avoid dark alleys tonight since the ban on killing did not apply to the way she verbally tore Frogdog Seven apart with her remarks. The handsigns he throws in the direction of the commentator box are basically a promise to hunt her down and kill her slowly and painfully. At least that’s what they mean in Mandalorian space and that’s what has Boba scowling. Why promise the commentator utterly brutal torture when it was Djarin and Aelto who maimed him?

It’s not his problem, Boba reminds himself and concentrates on giving Djarin reports on the Frogdog team’s movements. If Baroness Deathmark earns another deathmark to her name, it’s nothing he has to worry about.

In the end, Boba doesn’t have to feel too bad about the Rotworm’s performance even though they took quite the beating and lost by two points against the Frogdogs. Baroness Deathmark’s final comment is just as cutting as the spikes Tika fell on in the second half. They’re still stitching all the muscles and tendons back together in the med-area but Tika will probably never play again.

Still, just one player permanently out of commission and eight points scored versus ten lost is much better than the Rotworms have managed in decades. Overall Boba is quite content. “Do you think they serve Spotchka here?”

Fennec raises one brow. “Do you mean: Do they serve affordable Spotchka here that’s not actually engine grease? No idea, let’s find out.”

___

The commentator booth is quiet now. Leia takes a second to let her head fall back and to roll the stiffness out of her neck. When she turns her chair around, the event producer Lando Calrissian is standing in the doorway, his headset still on. “Nice work today,” he says, covering the mic with his hand. “You really live up to your name.”

“Let them try it,” Leia scoffs as she picks up her satchel and jacket. “If I had a credit for every huttballer who threatened to kill me I could retire yesterday. And anyway, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t blatantly obvious to every being in the stands.”

“Still, I’d watch your back while you’re on Nar Shaddaa. And listen, my buddy Han is in town this weekend. Why don’t you let me set you up?”

“I’m busy next weekend.”

“Sure you are. Where are you going now? Home to your tooka and the latest episode of Sith Mansions?”

“For your information I’m going to a cantina. To meet someone.”

The fact that she doesn’t yet know who she’s going to meet doesn’t seem important. She might be a farm girl from Anchorhead, but she’s never had any trouble getting someone to pay for her drinks. Maybe she’ll get really lucky and it’ll even be someone who isn’t a spicer, slicer, smuggler or assassin. That would be a nice change of pace.

The Slippery Slope cantina is crowded with fans. Some of the Frogdog and Rotworm players are there for their contract-mandated mingling. As usual the Mandalorian players keep their distinctive helmets on for the personal holos their fans will want and to protect their privacy.

She passes by a knot of fans in Frogdog colors, several different languages conversing in varying tones of outrage. She hears “the Baroness” and smiles to herself as she finds a seat at the bar. She doesn’t need a helmet to keep people from recognizing her face. It’s her voice they know...and sometimes despise.

There’s a man two seats down wearing Mandalorian armor, but it’s not painted with team colors. He’s a fan, maybe. His helmet is resting out of sight beneath the bar while he nurses a glass of Spotchka. Spotchka sounds pretty good, actually.

He glances in her direction, but there’s no shift in body language, no smile. Shame. He’s a good-looking man and probably has a very nice smile. Leia signals the bartender and nods in his direction. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

That catches his attention, if briefly. He lifts his glass in a silent salute, one eyebrow slightly raised. Still no offer. Maybe he’s partnered. She lets her eyes drift down over his armor, applying what she’s learned from interviews with the Mandalorian huttball players. It looks like beskar to her.

The bartender delivers her Spotchka and her attention strays from the Mandalorian to any other likely candidates at the bar. Everyone is talking about the match.

“She’s dead,” a heated voice rises behind her, but not addressed to her. “Who does she think she is? That play was bullshit. You know it, I know it. There was nothing he could have done.”

Leia doesn’t have to turn around to know that the person speaking is wearing Frogdog yellow. They can whine about it all they want, but their player had at least two opportunities to pass before the Rotworms took him out.

Some players want all the glory. That’s not her fault.

“She had no right to tear into him like that. No wonder everyone hates her.”

“It’s her fucking job.” The unexpected defense comes from the Mandalorian sitting two seats down. He’s turned his chair to face the yellow-clad group, and there’s an unmistakable challenge in his low tone. “If your player did his, you wouldn’t have lost him two minutes in.”

The man who was speaking turned a startling shade of purple. Almost Rotworm purple. “Who asked you?”

“It’s a public place. If you want to have a private conversation I suggest you go home.” It’s not a suggestion. The Mandalorian makes that clear by standing up.

“You can go to hell! You and that fucking bitch-”

“Did someone say my name?” Suddenly there’s a woman standing between them, and Leia recognizes her instantly. Fennec Shand. Her iconic steely gaze is now fixed on the outraged fan. “You want to go home.”

In spite of the clamor around them there’s a silence and stillness that makes the threat implicit. The fan bares his teeth in a snarl before turning to go. Some of his friends leave with him and the rest drift away.

Fennec’s head tips toward the bartender. “Her drink is on me.” She winks at Leia before walking away. Maybe she’s more recognizable than she thought.

“Well. That was exciting,” she says, more to herself, but the Mandalorian nods as he reclaims his seat.

“You know Fennec?”

“Just by reputation.” She takes a quick sip of her paid-for drink. “That’s definitely the first time a huttball coach has bought me a drink.”

“Your lucky night.” The corner of his mouth curves up just enough to make Leia feel validated. A very nice smile indeed.

“And she’s a legend, obviously. It’s a shame she’s stuck holding up the Rotworms by herself.”

His smile hardens, just a little. “Is it?”

“There’s gotta be a dozen better teams who would be delighted to have her. And the Rotworms might be better than they were a year ago, but their offense is still half-awake at best and I heard her defense coach only got the job because his daddy rules Mandalore.”

“You believe everything you hear?”

“No, but I kind of have to keep my ear to the ground. Like you said, it’s my fucking job.”

“You’re Baroness Deathmark.” He says it with disbelief. “That’s why-” He directs a look of annoyance at the place where Fennec Shand vanished into the crowd.

“My friends call me ‘Leia.’” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I don’t think I got your name.”

For a moment the Mandalorian hesitates. Then there’s a shift in his posture, a slight relaxing of his shoulders and Leia’s willing to bet that that twitch in his face could become an actual playful smile. “Why don’t you tell me? Since it’s your job to know everything.”

It’s a challenge that makes her sit up. He’s someone connected, then. A promoter or a staff member. That explains how he knows Fennec. “Okay,” she says, intrigued. This could be fun. “Where did you grow up?”

“Kamino. What about you?”

She’s never heard of it. No help there. “Tatooine. My local team was the Anchorhead Womp Rats.”

“Did you play?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions,” she reminds him. “Did you play?”

“Yes. For the Skullhunters of Mandalore.”

“Fenn Shysa’s team?”

His head tilts to one side. “How do you know Fenn?”

“Everyone knows Fenn. Are you single?”

“You think that will help you figure it out?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Maybe I just want to know.”

“Yes. I’m single. You?”

“Yes.” She pauses to take a sip of Spotchka. “I wanted to play, but Uncle Owen wouldn’t let me. Too violent. I tried telling him that it wasn’t like the old days where entire teams could be massacred in a match, but for some reason he didn’t find that convincing.”

He nods in agreement. “It used to be a rite of passage in Mando culture. Now it’s just sports.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic for someone hanging out with Fennec Shand.” For a short moment Leia entertains the question whether he resents the no-killing-part or Huttball itself.

He shrugs. “There’s better sports.”

She hates to admit it, but she’s stumped. He knows the game but doesn’t particularly seem to like it. He can handle himself in a confrontation but it’s not as if the legendary Fennec Shand needs a bodyguard. Is it possible that someone actually hired a Mandalorian to take out Baroness Deathmark? But no, his surprise about her identity had been genuine. “Okay, final question. Why are you here?”

“Don’t quote me on this… nah, forget it.”

Oh, so it’s a story. “Come on. Entertain a lady.”

It’s clear that he’s tempted, calculating loss of face versus the chance to win her over for wherever this flirtation is going. Leia’s got a few suggestions already lined up in her mind. With an inaudible sigh he comes to a decision. “Dad kept nagging me to make connections beyond bounty hunting and Huttball is a lucrative enough business. It could be worse.”

Now there’s a hint. “So your father is…?”

“Some might say he rules Mandalore.” He gives her a quick smirk before finishing off his drink.

It all adds up quickly in her head, his history as a player on Mandalore, his knowledge of the game and his connection to Fennec Shand. She sets her glass down hastily in case she needs to make a very quick exit.

“You asked for my name,” he says, drawing it out with the ruthlessness of a professional Huttball defensive coach. “It’s Boba Fett. And for the record, that’s not how I got the job.”

As he speaks he stands and removes his helmet from the shelf under the bar and Leia recognizes it immediately. For one thing, it has the Rotworm logo painted on the side. She couldn’t say a word now even if she tried, but when Boba Fett turns to face her, it’s with a smile.

“I’m sure you have more opinions on what my team did wrong. Maybe you’d like to tell them to me over dinner.”

“I do,” she manages. “Especially about your team’s inability to follow through.” Feeling a little bit daring, Leia leans in to make her intentions perfectly clear. “What about dinner at my place?”

#boba fett/princess leia #rebelbounty #star wars: the old republic #swtor #star wars fanfiction #the Huttball AU no one saw coming #with good reason #my fic

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sgtbradfords · 3 years

Note

Hi! If you’re still taking prompts, maybe Tim roasting Lucy for hooking up with Nolan? Not my girl’s finest moment..

Ugh, right anon! That whole storyline still grosses me out... Thanks for the prompt and I hope you enjoy! :)

Lucy’s not sure how they got on the topic, one minute they are sitting at the table enjoying the meal they had made together, and the next they were discussing their exes.

“Believe it or not Chen, there’s been other women besides yourself.” He said rolling his eyes.

“I know this.” She stated matter of factly. “There’s been Isabel, of course, and then Rachel, who could forget that one.”

“You would have gotten your sleeves off eventually, you just wanted to rush the process.” He said as Lucy snorted. “Besides, I am not a saint Luce, there was a few women before Isabel. And like you’re one to talk, I know one you your exes, I practically introduced you to Emmett.”

“You actually know two.”

“What?”

Lucy looked away nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You actually know two of my exes. I ummm- I kind of dated Nolan for a while.”

Silence ensued until the sound of Tim’s laughter echoed off the walls. “You’re kidding.” He said before taking in the serious look on his girlfriend’s face, his smile falling. “You’re not kidding. Nolan? As in John Nolan?”

Lucy looked away, taking a sip from the glass in front of her as Tim huffed out a laugh.

“Nolan. Nolan?” He repeated in disbelief. “John Nolan?”

Lucy sighed exasperatedly. “Yes Tim, John Nolan.”

“When?”

“A few weeks before we left the academy till Talia found out and told us to knock it off.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Talia knew?”

“She found out on our second day actually, turns out we weren’t that subtle. She pretty much told me that ‘cops can’t date other cops.’”

“Well that’s a lie, cops date other cops it all the time. Hell, we’re dating and we haven’t had that many problems come up while on the job.” He pointed out.

“I know. But she said we would get caught if we didn’t break it off and she didn’t want me to earn a reputation.”

Tim stood, grabbing the dirty dishes off the table in front of them. “I see her point. I would have told you the same thing had I of known.” He told her as he walked to the sink. “Your rookie year, it would have been hard, I mean you seen how well dating Emmett went.”

“Emmett was more of a ‘get back into the game’ kind of relationship. I mean everything that happened with… happened and then Nyla and Angela took me speed dating-“

“They done what?” he interrupted, turning around from the kitchen sink.

“Later.” Lucy said as she waved a hand. “I needed some normalcy, I mean you were there, you seen what I was like. I was this shell of a person who was living day to day Tim, everyone tried to help me but I wasn’t even helping myself and then I met Emmett and he was normal. He had been through somethings himself so it was… comforting to find someone that I could just be Lucy with, and not the girl who almost died at the hands of two serial killers.”

Tim walked over, placing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You could have told me.”

“I really couldn’t, you were blaming yourself for what happened to me and you were dating Rachel.” Lucy told him, carrying a few more dishes over to the sink.

“I still could have-“

Lucy turned to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t ready for any of this. And this relationship, would have crashed and burned before we could have even gotten our feet wet.”

Tim placed one of his hands over top of hers, he knew she was right. “Nolan?”

“I’m not answering that again.” She laughed, pulling away. “Besides, it was more of a friends with benefits kind of thing than a relationship. We always met at his condo, never went to my apartment.”

The new information sunk in, Tim smirking as a thought occurred to him. “So, I guess you’re not new to the whole dating someone older than you idea huh?”

“You’re not that old!”

“So, does that make me your sugar daddy?”

“Tim!” she shrieked. “You’re not- there is almost eleven years between us, it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, there’s fifteen between my parents.

“So this is a family thing, is that what you’re saying?”

Lucy turned around, jokingly pointing the butterknife in her hand at him. “Can we please just let this go?”

Tim thought for a second, leaning against the countertop. “I’m sorry, I just find it hard to believe that you and Nolan were fuck buddies.”

Lucy grimaced. “When you say it like that…” her words drifting off as she turned around, picking the dish rag out of the water. “Just- it didn’t mean anything ok? It was a way for both of us to let off some stress and-“

“Luce,” he said as he stepped behind her, placing his hands on her waist. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I know but I feel like you should know.” She told him as she leaned back into him as he began placing kisses into the nape of her neck.

“You know,” he mumbled against her skin, his stubble rubbing against the open flesh. “I have a dishwasher for a reason.”

“Yeah?” she sighed.

“Yeah.” He smirked, turning her in his arms in one swift motion. “How about we let it do it’s job and we go do something else?”

Lucy snorted. “You need to work on your dirty talk.”

Tim pulled her closer into him, her body flush against his as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, the words being spoken causing a moan to escape past her lips as he pulled back with a smirk. “Better?”

The next morning, Lucy smirked from where she sat on top of the countertop, as she watched Tim pull the dirty dishes out of the cold and murky water, loading them into the dishwasher as images from last night danced in her head.

#tim bradford x lucy chen #the rookie fic #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #chenford #fanfic

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1

- Chapter 2 -

It turned out that the party had been a meeting of important cultivators, sect leaders, and that meant, of course, that his father had been there.

His father. No wonder his mother had been so excited!

And even knowing that nothing had come of it, that his mother had returned empty-handed, despite himself, when he heard it, Meng Yao was excited, too, feeling a frisson of hope run down his spine. He regretted, now, that he hadn’t been able to go to the party as a server, thinking of the might-have-beens if he’d gone, if he’d done something to impress the man, if his father had finally decided to take them away from this place –

“He was too drunk to recognize me,” his mother said, sad and eyes distant. “And some of the younger girls had gotten to him first…I couldn’t catch his eye, and in the end they sent me away with one of the other sect leaders.”

As a joke, she didn’t say, an old whore with a man too drunk to tell the difference, but Meng Yao wouldn’t guess at that truth, the source of so much bitterness, until much later.

“Not Wen Ruohan, right?” Meng Yao asked, and breathed a sigh of relief when she shook her head.

“You shouldn’t refer to your elders by name, A-Yao,” she reminded him, always trying to teach him etiquette – though now that he thought about it, Nie Mingjue had used the man’s name directly, too. Maybe it was his way of trying to make the man seem less scary. “It would be ‘Sect Leader Wen’…and how do you know any of the sect leader’s names, anyway?”

“A cultivator came here last night,” Meng Yao explained. “He gave me a qiankun pouch, and some money –”

“In return for what?” His mother’s voice was sharp. “A-Yao, I told you, you’re not allowed to make deals with people –”

Meng Yao’s shoulders went up by his ears. He knew what she really meant, that he wasn’t allowed to sell himself or his body because it’d give him a bad reputation in the future; he wasn’t allowed even if it meant the difference between a hungry night and a full one, a freezing one and a warm one.

“I didn’t do that,” he muttered. “I just –”

“There’s no just. No deals at all, A-Yao; if you get into the habit of seeing everything as something you can buy or sell, then it’s only a matter of time before someone buys you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Meng Yao protested. “He gave me a pouch, and he said –”

It was the wrong thing to say, especially after a disappointment like last night, and his mother started scolding him fiercely, alternating with tears, and in the end he decided it was better to say nothing.

Nie Mingjue would come back with the manual, the way he’d come back with the money, or else he wouldn’t, and either way there was nothing Meng Yao could do about it.

And anyway, after a few months, he realized he had bigger problems.

It started pretty unnoticeably: a tightness in his mother’s face, an unusual refusal to take on clients for the more lucrative type of engagements, spending more on food than usual…at first Meng Yao thought that it was only that she was happy to have money again, even if it spilled through their fingers like sand on getting her new clothing and better make-up, larger shoes for Meng Yao and a warm coat, only slightly torn from previous use.

He’d been worried, although not unduly so, when she’d started being sick sometimes – she’d claimed it was food poisoning, and they had been eating more meat than usual, so maybe…

Foolish.

One of the other ladies called it out one day in mockery, not a single doubt in her voice, and his mother didn’t deny it. Meng Yao’s stomach dropped, his heart frozen in terror.

Pregnant.

Again.

And she hadn’t taken any steps to get rid of it, the way she should have – whores had their ways, even if they weren’t perfect, and his mother knew enough of them. He knew that she would have been acting very differently if she intended to abort, would have been less cautious, less resistant, less –

She’d bedded a sect leader at that party, he remembered, doing the miserable math on his fingers. Not his father again, no, she wouldn’t make that mistake twice - would she? She’d gone there to see him, after all.

No, in the end, she was still counting on Meng Yao to earn his way into his father’s graces on his own, for the sake of both of them. But she had gone to bed with another one, and if it had taken…

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared losing that love.

He tried to keep his fears to himself, tried not to burden her, but in the end he was a child and not yet good enough at hiding his expressions; she spotted him soon enough, took him into her arms and coaxed his fears from him.

“You silly goose, A-Yao. Don’t you know it’s for you?” she whispered in his ear, putting his hand on her belly. “I’m too old and sick to have a strong child, all the doctors said so; even if this one is born, he’ll be weak and sickly, likely to be swept away by the first chill of winter. I don’t need that sect leader to support me – we know already that they won’t do that. I just need him to feel guilty enough to take you with him back to his sect as recompense for having burdened me with a child that was lost.”

Meng Yao felt a touch of ice run down his spine. “But...what if the child lives through the winter?”

“There are many ways for a child to die,” his mother said, and her voice was calm and gentle, a pool undisturbed by the ripples beneath, just the way she’d always taught him. “Only some of them are winter.”

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared what that love might mean.

His mother had grown cunning since his birth and more cynical since his father’s most recent rejection. She decided not to write to the sect leader with the news at once – that would be risking a rejection, a dismissal, an accusation that the child could be someone else’s son, or worst of all a blow to make her miscarry. She planned instead to wait until the child was almost here and only then she would summon him, knowing he would come to check just in case it was true. It was said that cultivators had a means of testing birthright, the way regular people didn’t, and that they were very cautious about such things.

That way, when the child died at birth or immediately thereafter, there would still be enough time for the sect leader to feel guilt and to be coaxed into taking Meng Yao in as a disciple, and once Meng Yao had learned the basics of cultivation, he could make his way to his father’s place to prove to him that he was worth taking in, that it was time to make good on all the old promises he’d made.

It was a good plan, if a cold one.

It would have worked, too, if Meng Yao hadn’t blundered his way into something better.

Perhaps that was giving him too much credit: he wasn’t the one who did the blundering. That was all Nie Mingjue, who six months after he’d made a crazy promise to return had actually gone and done it.

“You live in Qinghe,” Meng Yao said accusingly instead of greeting him, because he’d gone to listen to the gossips talk until he’d managed to figure out where the cultivation sect surnamed ‘Nie’ resided. “That’s not even in this part of the country; how can you be back so soon?”

“I promised you I would, didn’t I? I keep my word,” Nie Mingjue said with a smile, as if it was that easy – as if a child could make decisions like that, ones that involved crossing mountains and rivers and going deep into another sect’s territory, when Meng Yao couldn’t even walk too far down the street without the brothel owners cursing him out as a would-be runaway. “Don’t worry about it. The Jiang sect doesn’t really pay attention as a general rule, and even if they did their current leader’s too busy with his angry wife to care about who’s traveling through his domain.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes - he’d heard that gossip, too. But he didn’t care, that wasn’t what mattered; there were more important things to focus on. “Did you bring it?”

Nie Mingjue produced a manual out of his sleeve. The quality of the paper was far better than any of the ones Meng Yao’s mother had bought for him, and he knew at once by looking at it that this was no fake. He tried to grab at it with both hands, but Nie Mingjue pulled it back.

“Cultivation is dangerous,” he warned. “You need a guide, at least at first, to make sure you don’t make any mistakes – it’s easy to make mistakes, especially at the beginning, and that can lay the groundwork for a qi deviation in the future. I’ll let you read it, but you have to promise that you’ll only practice with me for the first week or so, okay?”

“You’re staying a week?”

Nie Mingjue’s cheeks flushed red. “Uh, well – I was planning on two, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course I don’t mind! You can stay with me in my attic.”

“I brought enough money for a room at an inn –”

“We can use the extra to buy more meat,” Meng Yao told him, already pushing and shoving him, and Nie Mingjue was easily convinced.

He was easily convinced to follow him back to the brothel, too, which was a little frustrating: how could anyone be that naïve? If Meng Yao had wanted to sell Nie Mingjue, he probably could do it, cultivator or no; there were a hundred things to fear in a brothel, hidden in the tea or the incense or the smiles of seemingly friendly strangers.

Nie Mingjue was lucky that Meng Yao had longer-term goals in mind for him.

They passed the day quite pleasantly, eating meat skewers and dragon’s beard candy and discussing the basics of cultivation – Meng Yao read the book (his book!) and asked questions, and Nie Mingjue did his best to answer them – and then in the latter part of the afternoon the women at the brothel roused themselves, coming out to prepare for their nightly work, his mother included.

She was fairly heavily pregnant now, but there were men who liked that sort of thing, as long as there was something she could do for them, and the brothel owners wouldn’t waste their money by kicking her out no matter how annoyed they were at her for keeping the child. She wasn’t allowed to roam too far out of her room, being as she was a specialized service that might frighten regular customers, and so it wasn’t until she came to find Meng Yao to make sure he was all right that Nie Mingjue saw her for the first time.

“This is my mother,” Meng Yao said, his back stiff with expected insults even though Nie Mingjue hadn’t said a single word about Meng Yao living in a brothel so far.

Nie Mingjue stared at her with eyes so big and round and surprised that Meng Yao irritably wondered if he’d never seen a whore before, or perhaps it was the idea that one might be stupid enough to get pregnant and keep it. Maybe he would save his insults for that, instead, and Meng Yao would be forced to try to break his handsome face…

“You’re the lady they sent to my father’s room,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice faint and shaking with shock. “You’re – is that my brother?”

It turned out that the Nie sect, unlike the Jin sect, cared a great deal for matters of blood and children born of it; Nie Mingjue didn’t even demand a test or anything before he’d insisted that they come back to Qinghe with him, both of them, absolutely certain that his father would be overjoyed by the news.

Meng Yao and his mother exchanged looks, each of them skeptical and cynical to the core, and tried to convince him to slow down a little. To write a letter, perhaps –

“No! You have to come right away,” Nie Mingjue insisted, his cheeks pink with excitement. “We have doctors to care for you, and, oh, he’ll need a saber, someone will need to start on that right away – and anyway, a Nie should be born in Qinghe.”

“There’s still some months left to go,” Meng Shi said, though Meng Yao could see that she was a little amused by Nie Mingjue’s earnest enthusiasm. “Tell your father to come here and take me away, if you’re sure he’ll care so much.”

“I am sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s just busy at the borders again, with Qishan Wen causing trouble all over; who knows how long it’d take for him to get word? Why do we have to wait for him to come in person anyway?”

“Because we can’t leave,” Meng Yao said, finally condescending to point out the obvious. “Mother belongs to the brothel, and we haven’t saved up enough to buy her freedom.”

Even an old whore was an expensive proposition, especially if she knew skills like singing and dancing and playing instruments the way Meng Shi did – and one with a burden like Meng Yao could be exploited to do all sorts of things that a normal woman might refuse. It would be costly to redeem her, more costly than anything a young sect heir might have expected to buy.

Meng Yao had expected that to be the end of it, but he’d apparently underestimated Nie Mingjue’s stubbornness: he went to the market and sold every last piece of metal he had on him, right down to the silver crown off his head, and was about to go try to barter away his clothing or sell his strength to a dockworker when Meng Yao shoved the money he’d so carefully saved up into his hands.

“With this it might be enough,” he said, biting his lip with guilt as his mother gaped at the glittering gold in his hand – he hadn’t dared tell her about it, about the fact that he’d been saving up again. She’d told him before that there was no point in buying her freedom, that she had no other skills to sell and a bad reputation to boot; they would live free for a single summer only to have to sell her back again in the winter, and the brothel owners wouldn’t be pleased at all by that.

“It will be,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if I have to buy the rest on credit, it will be!”

“At least be clever about this,” Meng Shi sighed, giving in even though she clearly didn’t think it was a good idea. Meng Yao supposed she figured that if it came down to it, there were brothels in Qinghe, too, and at least she’d be something new there with her soft Yunping accent and manners. “If they think you’re desperate, they’ll raise the price – you should be more arrogant. Act as if you were doing them a favor by taking me off their hands.”

Nie Mingjue’s nose wrinkled.

“Pretend they’re surnamed Wen,” Meng Yao suggested, and that did the trick: Nie Mingjue’s lip curled at once, vicious and angry (and a little scared, but only deep down where most people wouldn’t see it easily). He marched right inside the brothel and demanded they sell Meng Shi to him, flaunting himself as the son of what he called a Great Sect.

It might not have worked except that he made such a fuss that people started to gather, including a passing cultivator and his wife – a much more respectable-looking pair than gawky too-tall-for-his-age Nie Mingjue with his hair now bound only by a ribbon, with a horsetail whip in the hands of the woman and swords on both of them – and the man’s eyebrows had gone up as high as his forehead. “Nie-gongzi,” he called, and even saluted properly and everything. “What are you doing so far from home?”

“Trying to complete a transaction,” Nie Mingjue growled, glaring at the brothel owner even as he saluted back. “I think he doesn’t think I’m good for it.”

The female cultivator snorted, shifting the baby she carried on her back from one side to the other. “That’s brave of him. Doesn’t your Nie sect like to break things that disagree with you and pay for the damages later?”

“He’s too young for that,” her husband told her. “Look, he’s not even carrying his saber yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “I was talking about the retainers his father almost certainly sent to track him down – didn’t you say you saw some very angry-looking cultivators entering town not long ago? They looked fit to slaughter.”

Nie Mingjue blanched, suggesting that he hadn’t expected company quite this early – or perhaps hoping that he could hide away from them – but the cultivators’ words had made the brothel owner quite contemplative. He finally agreed to sell him Meng Shi’s contract for all the money Nie Mingjue had and a letter of promise for that amount a second time over, an outrageous price even after they’d used all of Meng Shi’s tricks on him, but Nie Mingjue had agreed to it in a heartbeat.

“Won’t your father be angry at your spending?” Meng Yao asked, wondering. It was so much money.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively. “As soon as I get my saber and start night-hunting, money flows free and easy. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see what it’s like once you get there.”

Meng Yao blinked. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to be a cultivator?” Nie Mingjue asked, blinking at him. “You’ll be part of my Nie sect, of course, so the same rules that apply to me will apply to you.”

“No,” Meng Yao explained. “I’m going to be part of –”

His mother pressed down on his shoulder. “You’d be willing to accept A-Yao into your sect?” she asked, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding puzzled. “I was willing to do it before, just for helping me out, and now, well – he’s the brother of my brother, isn’t he? That makes him all but family directly, especially if you marry in as a concubine.”

They both gaped at him.

“…do you not want to?” Nie Mingjue – hapless idiot, fulfiller of dreams – asked, actually sounding worried. “I just assumed you would, to make sure the child isn’t born a bastard…”

“I wouldn’t object,” Meng Shi said, her voice full of rich irony that only Meng Yao understood. “But I think your father might.”

“You don’t know my father,” Nie Mingjue said simply. As if it was simple, as if people were like that. “He’ll do the right thing.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #meng yao #jin guangyao #nieyao #meng shi #my fic #my fics #three gates

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