#european cushion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladylaviniya · 8 months

Text

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow. The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you. Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover. Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

130 notes · View notes

blueiscoool · 7 days

Text

The Getty Museum Returns 2,500-Year-Old Bronze Kline to Turkey

The Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the J. Paul Getty Museum announced today that the bronze kline, dating back to approximately 530 BC, was returned to the Republic of Turkey.

The work was purchased by the Museum in 1982 from a Swiss art dealer who presented false evidence that it had been in European collections since the 1920s. Investigations conducted by the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the J. Paul Getty Museum revealed that this claim was false and that the work had been obtained from a tomb near Manisa in the early 1980s through illegal excavations and taken out of the country illegally.

As a result of scientific research, the pieces of linen stuck to the kline were matched with other pieces left in the tomb, including pieces of wood and bronze plates found by Turkish archaeologists during excavations at the site, and remains of marble and ceramic vessels, which helped date the tomb.

The piece called a divan or a kline was a piece of furniture that was used to rest and eat during the day. The returned piece is considered to be a very rare example of this type of furniture that has survived to the present day, as seen in the depictions on other pieces of art such as archaeological wall paintings and pots and pans with painted pictures. The metal divan, which consists of cast bronze legs and rails on an iron frame, perforated copper sheets riveted together and wrapped around iron rail cores, is understood to have been made by taking the example of divans commonly produced from wood at the time, with its lathed legs, protruding tenons at the corners and a latticed surface that once supported cushions.

30 notes · View notes

ohitsthemindstuffagain · 18 days

Text

We are taken by surprise by the first seconds of the vídeo where it's just the image of an empty hotel room. It's a luxurious, european styled room. With a comfy opulent L sofa, satin cushions, golden details and perfect soft blue sky meets champagne pallet. Suddenly we can't do anything but dream of sinking on that sofa, of satin touch and a distant feeling of finally coming home but when we are so close to it that we can almost taste…

The vampire materializes himself from thin air on that tempting sofa. He's in a dark green with gold embroidery long robe and stares at the cam, at us, as if he knows how we are feeling - denied passing in the doors of happiness. No, it isn't for you.

‘I'm the vampire Lestat…’ he starts his velvet voice caressing us with such reverence we can't do anything but sink to our knees. He holds out his left hand in a slow move, palm facing up. ‘And this is the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac’ he completes his voice trembling, at the same time a black hand materializes sliding on the offered hand. And we are presented with the manifestation of a flaring elegant man, on a matching robe.

Their eyes are linked to each other, and we can feel all the air leaving our lungs as we stare, there's a new feeling blubing from our insides. It's a hunger so big we start to vibrate.

‘No. Call me the way you really wish,’ Louis says, holding Lestat’s hand. The later vampire seems to contemplate the information, there's a bit of surprise and disbelief in his eyes, he swallows deep and at last smiles.

‘This is mon cher, my insufferable mon amour, the hand around my very eternal heart, my Louis.’

‘That I’m’ Louis says kissing the white hand in his and it's the first time we see a vampire blush. ‘And I must inform you that there was a change of plans.’

There's a touch of fear in Lestat's eyes now and we can feel it in the pit of our souls, his posture tensed. ‘What? Is something wrong?’ The star asks and his worry can't be masked.

‘No, there's not, for the first time in a long and painful time everything is as it should be.’ Louis says, letting the hand go and sitting next to Lestat. He moves his hands touching the other’s shoulders. ‘You seem tense, my dear. I just want to ask you something.’

His hands move, sliding the rob in its ways revealing perfect skin. His fingers dance massaging with slow precision. When Lestat speaks his voice falters ‘What… What would it be? You know very well I can't say no to you. Never could.’

There's a moment of silence, where dark skin and white skin seems to merge. We follow every move of the dance of the hands. Every tremor of pale skin, the moans that reverberate in the air.

‘Would you allow me to take care of you?’ He asks and we feel the little fear beating inside us give space to confusion. ‘Excusez-moi?’ The deep eyes of the vampire blink slowly. And Louis smiles, his hands don't stop and we can see Lestat petrificate. ‘I said, would you allow me to take care of you?’

‘I… what?’ He turns on the sofa, stopping the hands and taking hold of them. ‘You're not plotting to kill me again, are you?’ He seems nervous as they swim in each other's eyes. It's a desperate dive from Lestat's part but the sea in Louis' eyes is calm even if dark and deep.

‘It's always tempting, isn't it?’ He says and looks like Lestat found what he's looking in the deepest because he let the hands go and smiles, the smile blind us, it's like the moon entered the room. ‘Oui’.

He sits properly and the dark hands start to work again, and it's a wonder to watch the marble body start to relax.

‘So tense. When was the last time you had a good rest?’ the black vampire asks. ‘On our reunion. I guess.’

‘On the stormy night? The building was falling apart and we were a wet broken mess.’ Louis points out and Lestat lets his head fall on the back of the sofa in a fluid motion. The moon shows up again when he speaks: yes, but I was in your arms.

And so it's a phenomenon, two moons side by side. We can't even breathe. Then Louis moves as wind positioning himself behind the sofa, the transition so subtle we couldn't even see a change in the position of the hands. Lestat looks boneless and far away. Peaceful. The robe is loose and we can see his toned chest.

Louis looks at the cam now. ‘Step 1. Calm of mind and body.’ His hands stop and he contemplates the vampire who looks to be in deep sleep. ‘I saw that video about the heart bag. The bag I gave you.’

‘Hum… I love that bag.’

‘Good. I would like to read something while you rest.’

‘It's not the divorce papers, is it?’ We don't see his lips move and the voice sounds distant.

Louis laughs and it's like the darkness itself was having fun.

‘It’s a sonnet, since you love Moraes work.’

‘Oh.’

‘Sonnet of Fidelity Above all, to my love I'll be attentive First and always, with care and so much That even when facing the greatest enchantment By love be more enchanted my thoughts. I want to live it through in each vain moment And in its honor I'll spread my song And laugh my laughter and cry my tears When you are sad or when you are content. And thus, when later comes looking for me Who knows, the death, anxiety of the living, Who knows, the loneliness, end of all lovers I'll be able to say to myself of the love (I have): Be not immortal, since it is flame But be infinite while it lasts.’

‘He was such a bastard.’ Lestat says, red tears contorning his face, they reach his mouth, so it's a blood moon. And the darkness laughs again, sounding like leaves on an old tree. ‘Well, the option was that or to sing We Belong Together but you know I can't really sing. Could do a little dance.’

‘That would be something.’

Louis looks to the cam slowly and we tremble, there's something heavy coming. ‘Step 2. Peace of heart.’ He says and moves his gaze back to the body laying. We feel the smell of smoke, the stinging on our skins, the desire palpable like the room is on flames.

‘For now on it will be very much like you planned. Just a little essential change.’

Lestat opens his eyes at this moment, they seem vibrant blue, like the vision of the sky from a crack in a wall, a promise of better days and a team enters the place.

Louis sits now, the cam zooms on them on the sofa. We can hear movement out of the screen, the sound of furniture being moved away, plastic being unrolled. Louis' hand slowly touchs the star's face like it's fragile and precious. ‘I always loved your face. Your skin. Even to this day it still takes my breath away.’

Lestat's hand lands on the hand on his face, he holds it and kisses the palm. We can feel the tenderness in our souls. ‘I always loved your face too.’ A dark thumb caresses his red lips and he takes it in his mouth. We swallow with him.

‘I know, you told me over and over, about everything you loved in me. Every part, the favorite ones, you loved all of me, the bad and the worse.’

The star sucks the darkness' finger one last time before letting go. They turn to each other fully on the sofa, cross legged. ‘Well... I still can't believe you agreed to do this video with me.’ Lestat says fed up. It's like they are the only ones in the world.

‘You asked me to. But I'm gonna say I don't understand why you doing it. These people out there, they know you are a vampire so the secret to your skin is pretty obvious.’

‘Is it?’ He sounds funny and so there are hands touching them from people we can't see the faces but envy. The hands touch their hair, brushing it and putting a cotton headband on them. ‘No, I agree and that's why I refused to do it for so long. I couldn't see the point at all. But so I understood. It wasn't about my skin routine, it was about why I’m still here, what's the secret for wanting to live? To stay. That's the reason I asked you to be here with me.’

When the hands finish with the hair, they get hold of their robes and they let them undress their bodies but there's no rush, we could wait for eternity. So the star and the darkness are almost naked, only their underwear left. The hands stop and Lestat and Louis stand without breaking the stare while the hands take the sofa away.

And they are standing in the empty room that is now covered in transparent plastic.

‘Tell me, Lestat's secret for life.’ The darkness takes one step forward.

‘I wanna stay, I wanna learn everything there's to learn and what will come. So learn again, not that I’m good at that.’

Another step.

We just stand there, waiting. We have been waiting for so long. ‘I wanna watch the change, the transformation of the world and the transformation of myself. I wanna be the change.’ There's wonder in these words and we wish the same.

The darkness gets close. Tempting.

‘And I have hope. I always have hoped. Prayed, to be honest, even if I don't believe in god.’ It's painful now, the despair palpable. We are still praying.

And the darkness meets him and the star looks to him as if all our prayers had been answered.

‘What was it you hoped for?’ The darkness finds the star's hands. And we can almost say it.

‘To have some… company on the journey. Someone to dance through time, to share a soul, to create things, to inspire.’ We bleed the words.

‘Dance?’ The darkness asks and the star nods slowly. And darkness surrounds his neck, the star's hands shining pale on his waist. Bodies sway. Their feet leave the floor. And we are levitating like every chain that held us to earth was broken.

‘What more?’

‘Someone to feed me and to devour me in return. Is it too much of a prayer?’

There's only air, freedom, their bodies are nested on each other, when Louis says: I’m sorry.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry for making you wait for so long. But I’m finally here.’

‘Are you? What if I’m still dreaming in that trunk, praying to a god that will never listen, trying to grasp life but falling everyday a little bit in the sleep of death.’

‘I’m the flesh of night. Here, take a bite.’

We sink our teeth.

Red and warm wine slide down our throats. We say it wetly: amen.

We drink with him and when he stops we are pulsing. The moon is red again and silly. Drunk of this bendicion. ‘That thing you just said, what's it with this “I’m the night”, “I owe the night” you have going on?’ He laughs and Louis gets annoyed but there's a moon in his lips too.

‘Maybe I should go look for another person to go on a journey and share and all that.’

‘As if anyone could put up with you.’ Lestat says bending over and exposing his own neck. And the darkness shows its fangs and they tear the shiny skin. The blood flows and it takes us some time to realize we are moaning. We are so high. Ascending.

When Louis pulls away slightly, his face is covered in blood. They don't stop at it, no, they start biting and sucking each other all over as if they cant have enough. They spin in the air, blood painting everything, even the screen. In the end the only sound we can hear is the sound of two hearts beating in synchrony...

There's a jump in the video, we feel like we fell. The trance is broken like if we just woke from a long dream.

So there's the hotel room again, with the sofa, Lestat and Louis are sitting on it, leaning on each other, one of Lestat's legs over Louis' lap. They have their robes and are clean, happy and relaxed.

“So it's basically this. A good rest, some meditation here and there, no sun…’ Lestat says to us, then looks at Louis. Louis makes a face.

‘Well, once in while is fine’

‘Is it?’

‘I’m older now.’ He's proud. 'And theres sun block.'

‘Hum… should we go to the beach? I would love to take you to Fernando de Noronha.’ He looks tempted.

‘Would love to.’

‘Yes?’ He seems to remember something and looks at us again. ‘Oh and eating healthy.’

‘Yes, eating healthy. And I love you.’

‘What did you just say?’

‘Eating healthy is the Step 3’

‘What… no, say that again, you cruel man.’

Louis smiles at us.

And it fades in black.

you may also be interested

#iwtv #iwtv fanfiction #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #lestat and louis #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire lestat #vamptember #prompt challenge #day 7: free day #day seven #lestatcore

34 notes · View notes

ghelgheli · 6 months

Text

Depending on who you ask, the trans woman sex worker might be a mere stereotype. Or her job might be an unfortunate product of deprivation, as it often is in anti-sex-work feminism. Trans women would do a wide range of work, according to such arguments, but they cannot because transphobia in the labor force remains an obstacle. In this view, sex work is perhaps a last resort for trans women, just as it's seen as the last resort of all women down on their luck. These anti-sex-work answers all presume that doing sex work somehow degrades or sullies trans women from lives they otherwise were destined to lead. Trans womanhood is, accordingly, made respectable when it's stripped of labor and money. Yet people still line up to pay trans women for sex, or to watch them in porn. Those two transactions are widely perceived to be how many non-trans people, especially straight men, form their first relationship to trans womanhood.

When it comes to answering these questions, trans women themselves aren't nearly as evasive as the men who jerk off to them under the covers at night or who pay them for blowjobs in their cars—or as the liberal feminists who want to rescue them from sex work to prove their value. Many have spoken with great sophistication when asked. In ethnographic research with Black trans sex workers in Chicago, Julian Kevon Glover stresses that they "have numerous work options and engage in sex work by situating their labor in the sexual economy alongside, rather than outside, other types of work." Adding sex work to other kinds of labor, these Black trans women were most like the non-trans Black women in their lives, rather than standing apart from them. Taking up sex work as a form of "self-investment," Black trans women may have a higher price tag than many attached to their needs and desires, but they refused to exceptionalize their situations. "I look at everything in my life as customer service," explained Shayna, one of Glover's informants. "Because if you want me to do anything for you, I'm giving you my customer service." [...]

For Europeans or Americans contemplating living as women in the nineteenth century, giving up recognition as a man meant transition was primarily a loss of status and wealth. On the female side of the gender line, neither of the two prevailing contracts available to non-trans women—marriage or unskilled labor—were there to cushion the dramatic fall. Both demanded a degree of passing that was difficult to maintain over a lifetime. Besides, as wage labor came to dominate the global economy, simply to be an unmarried working woman was already an impoverished life. Little remained for unmarriageable trans women other than the lowest-paid service work, whether dancing in a bar, performing onstage, or selling sex. These services were patronized by growing populations of working men with a little money to spend. From the perspective of moral reformers, or the police, "public women" were all guilty of prostitution, regardless of what they did for money. Understanding trans womanhood as a way of life built into the modern service economy goes a long way toward explaining its enduring relationship to sex work.

A Short History of Trans Misogyny, Jules Gill-Peterson

#reading #jules gill-peterson #transmisogyny #this is possibly the furthest she goes into materialism viz. political economy #excellent historiography but the morphodyke post is still more clarifying as to the etiology of transmisogyny imo #still stewing over what i think of this book as I'm reading histories of the transgender child

55 notes · View notes

itsseohannbin · 8 months

Text

• Like A Volcano | Part One | •

Han Jisung Mini Series

♡ itsseohannbins masterlist ♡

Series Masterlist

Chapter Genre: Fluff 💕Angst⚡️ Crack💥

-Bestfriends to Lovers Trope-

Summary: being best friends with the kings of kpop always has its ups and downs, and when you're offered a spot on the next European-American book tour to promote the publishing of your new book, there's one kpop king in particular who just doesn't want you to go.

Pairing: Idol!Han Jisung x Female Reader x Bestfriend Skz

** Includes two of my own original female characters, both whom are romantically involved with two of the members. Chan x Jo / Minho x Ash **

Warnings: a lil bit of fluff. angst. swearing. sexual innuendos. use of alcohol. best friend skz. selfish han jisung. lots of crying. the boys do not use honorifics.

Word Count: 9.3k

**this chapter is unchanged**

Enjoy!

Lately you’ve been feeling like you were the last of your kind.

You sat slouched back in a drunken haze, your eyes glaring at yet another group of girls as they squealed annoyingly with one another. One of the females, a tall blonde with long hair and even longer legs, had just emerged from a dark room with a male idol you didn’t care enough to recognize. The male removed himself from her side immediately and disappeared into the crowd of people that littered the large house, no doubt looking for his next target, while she was carried away by her friends towards the nearby bathroom. The girls all giggled and whispered in not-so-hushed voices, vying for the dirty details you doubt any of them would experience themselves.

You sent a hard glare to the closed door they locked themselves behind and took a long swig from your red solo cup. Even over the music and ever-growing chatter around you, you could still hear the flock of airheads screaming relentlessly in excitement for their friend.

Girls your age have always been so fucking dramatic and it annoyed the hell out of you.

“What’s wrong y/n? Can’t handle a little competition?” a familiar voice cooed softly in your ear as the cushion next to you sank and a muscular arm hooked itself around your neck. Changbin planted a kiss on your cheek before taking the cup from your hand and chugging the rest of the liquid inside. He gave you a satisfied look at your drink of choice as he swallowed before tossing the empty cup onto the table in front of you. “I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Come on Binnie,” you joked, lazily turning your head towards him. “You know I put all those girls to shame.” It took a couple of seconds for your mind to catch up to your movements and you were left giggling at the delayed response of your own brain.

It’s been a while since you’ve been this tipsy and damn, did it feel good.

“You’re damn right you do.” Jisung hopped over the back of the L-shaped couch you were stretched out on and settled himself beneath your legs. He had two red cups in his hands and he handed one to you out of habit, which you happily accepted. “Those chicks don’t even come close to the level you sit on, Bubs.” he purred, his hand coming to rest on your thigh.

You smiled at his words, loving the way your ego grew as each syllable left his mouth.

“And that, my dear Sungie-” you leaned in towards him and flicked his nose. “-is why you guys are my best friends.”

Jisung gave you a wide smile in return and pushed his dark hair out of his eyes before he began toying with the strings that were hanging from the multiple rips in your black jeans.

“Because I’m devilishly handsome and put you on a pedestal not even God can reach?”

You let out a sigh and fell back into the side of Changbin’s body, resting your head against his shoulder for support and cuddling into the warmth his strong torso always emitted.

“Because you guys always lie to me so perfectly that I have no choice but to believe it.” you corrected him before chugging back whatever Jisung had filled your cup with.

You swallowed in disgust as the tequila burned the back of your throat. This was definitely going to be your last drink of the night.

Jisung just smirked at you, choosing not to respond to your words as his hand rubbed up and down your leg soothingly, absentmindedly tracing soft circles on whatever skin he came across.

Changbin, however, took immediate offence to your words, as he usually did, and wasted no time speaking out against your claims.

“Yah! We’d never lie to you, Bunny!” he protested, his phone momentarily forgotten as he frowned down at you.

You turned your head up to give him a blank look.

“Binne, you guys literally lied to me last week about going to the gym.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Yes. You did.” you deadpanned. “I asked if you guys wanted to go and get ice cream, and the two of you claimed you couldn’t because you were meeting Chan for arm day.”

The two boys exchanged a look of confusion before shrugging their shoulders at you. You rolled your eyes at them.

“I literally caught you guys eating ice cream together, at the ice cream place, without me. Do you know how much I had to pay Innie to come with me that night? Dude doesn’t like to be rented out for cheap, I’ll tell you that much.” you muttered before taking another long, treacherous drink from the cup.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders again and gave you a guilty look.

“To be fair, Bunny, the last time we went out for ice cream together you ate half of my sundae.” he stated, as if that made everything better. You glared at him, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm.

“Yeah, because you ate half of my cone. In one fucking bite!” you bit back.

“Hey now, it’s not Changbin's fault he’s got such a large mouth.” Jisung reasoned. Changbin took the opportunity to make the joke you knew would come the second the words left Jisung's mouth.

“I’ll show you something else that’s big.” he smirked down at you, his eyebrow raised mischievously as he popped his chest. You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.

“You guys are pigs.”

Jisung frowned at you. “So mean.”

“Says the one who lied to me.” you shot back, trying to stop the grin that fell on your face as you pulled a pillow out from behind your body and threw it at Jisung. You loved bantering with these two. You sure were going to miss this.

Jisung caught the pillow with his one hand and threw his other up in surrender, nearly spilling his drink in the process.

“Okay, okay, we’re sorry! We did go to the gym, but decided to have some guy time before coming home. You know, just us dudes.”

You feigned offence, turning your mouth down into a frown and pouting at Jisung. You knew your actions would immediately tug at your best friends heart strings, but you continued to push your lip out further for added effect.

“We’ve been best friends for nearly six years now. When did I get downgraded from one of the dudes to just some basic bitch?” You saw the way Jisungs face softened at your pout and you felt victorious. That is until Changbin opened his mouth and made you nearly spit your drink out directly into Jisungs face.

“Since Jisung realized he’d rather fuck your brains out than fist-bump you.”

Both you and Jisung turned to stare at Changbin.

“Oh my god! Binnie! What the hell?”

“Dude, come on. What the hell?”

You and Jisung spoke at the same time, your face twisted into a look of utter shock, while Jisung looked as if he wanted to beat Changbin to death right then and there.

“What?” Changbin laughed, smiling between the two of you as if what he said was the most natural sentence in the world. “I’m just saying.”

“You guys are pigs.” You repeated your earlier statement, rolling your eyes at him and squishing yourself into the corner of the couch.

“Maybe, but you love us.” Changbin said confidently.

“Well, that’s certainly debatable.” you retorted. Changbin just stuck his tongue out at you before pulling his phone back out of his pocket and going back to scrolling, indicating the conversation was done and he was satisfied with the havoc he caused.

You glanced over at Jisung, his face flushed with embarrassment as he chugged his drink back in one gulp. You were going to reach out to reassure him everything was okay and that you knew Changbin was only teasing, but just before your hand reached his, he jumped abruptly from his spot.

“Need another drink.” Was all he managed to mumble out before he disappeared into the crowd.

You glared over at Binnie. “Nice going, Bin.”

Changbin rolled his eyes in annoyance before standing up and straightening his clothes.

“I’ll go take care of it.” he muttered, shaking his head as he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. You called after him to be nice, but you doubt he heard you.

You took another gulp of your drink, finishing it off completely as Felix then approached the couch with a pout. His lower lip jutted out further than yours had and he looked incredibly cute.

“Lixie," you drawled, concern lacing your tone as you reached out for him. "What’s wrong?”

His eyes were red and glassy, his blonde hair was slightly disheveled and he looked so disappointed in himself you thought he was going to cry.

“I lost against Minho in beer pong.” He immediately took your hand and fell to his knees onto the couch before crawling up your body. He nuzzled himself in between your legs, his head resting on your soft stomach while his arms curled comfortably around your waist. Your one hand instantly ran itself through his slightly damp hair while the other rubbed his arm.

You smiled down at him as he propped his chin up on your belly, his frown growing impossibly bigger. You loved how much of a cuddle bug Felix was with you. It was so comforting and relaxing and nice.

“What did you guys bet on this time?” You questioned with a raise of your brow, knowing full well that Minho would never play just for the fun of it. There always had to be a prize to be won, one that he could hold over the loser for the rest of their days.

Felix let out a whimper.

“My black Chelsea boots.”

You tried not to laugh, but the sound escaped you anyways, earning a groan from Felix as he shoved his face back into the fabric of your shirt.

“It’s not funny, y/n.” he grumbled. You laughed again and patted his head.

“I hate to say it, but you did it to yourself Lixie. You know better than to challenge Minho to a drinking game. Didn't you learn your lesson after you lost your sweater?” you joked, your fingers still running through his hair.

“I just wanted to see him drunk. He’s always the only sober one out of all us males. It’s not fair. And now I lost my favorite shoes because I was a fool.”

You laughed at Felix’ words. Despite him being annoyed and upset, his words came out in a delicate sigh as he relaxed into your touch. Running your nails up and down his scalp only made him sigh again and relax even more.

“Don’t worry, Jo will get them back for you.” You reassured him. Your eyes scanned the crowd until you found Jo standing over on the other side of the room with a soda in her hand, situated across the beer pong table from Minho. She had a mischievous look in her big brown eyes as Chan held her lovingly at the waist.

“In fact, I think she’s about to win them back for you right now.” you continued, watching Jo sink her ball into one of Minho’s cups on her first shot. Minho glowered at her like a delinquent as he proceeded to chug back his drink.

Felix lifted his head from your stomach long enough to glance back at the two of them as they faced off in the intense game of beer pong. He chuckled lightly before laying his head back down.

“She’s so brave.” he whispered in amazement. “No wonder Channie loves her so much.”

You let out a laugh in agreement as your eyes stayed glued on your life-long best friends. They were disgustingly cute, and it made you want to throw up and squeal in adoration at the same time.

You watched as Jo then made another shot, sinking another ball, and Chan congratulating her with a kiss to the side of her head, her colored hair swaying as she laughed victoriously.

“She’s the only one I know who can go toe-to-toe with Minho and actually win.”

Felix laughed before curling his fingers into the back of your shirt, squeezing you tighter.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Bunny.” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft and sad. You glanced down at him and took in the look on his face. You could tell he was drunk from the way his eyes couldn’t quite focus on you, but you could also tell he was a second away from crying. Felix always got more emotional when he drank.

“I know Lixie. I’m going to miss you too.” you murmured.

He swallowed roughly, no doubt trying to prevent the lump in his throat from becoming even bigger.

“What am I going to do without you for the next eighteen months?” he asked. He didn’t even give you time to answer before he continued on his rant. “Who’s going to play video games with me until three in the morning and then help me bake cookies afterwards instead of going to bed? Who’s going to cuddle with me like this while we watch our shows and tell me to shut up when I talk through all the important parts? Who’s going to go on early morning walks with me and watch the sunrise from the roof? Who the hell are Seung, Hannie, Binnie and I supposed to flirt with now?”

You gave Felix a look of confusion at his last words, but he didn’t even glance up from where his eyes were now focused on the fabric of the couch. He just rambled on.

“You’re the last single female in the group you know. If we try to flirt with Ash, Minho will threaten to kick our asses for just looking at his fiancée, and if we try to flirt with Jo, she’ll literally kick our asses. You’re the only safe, tame option available. What are we going to do?”

You let out a sigh at his words and gave his head one last scratch with your nails as you braced yourself for the conversation you knew you needed to have. As much as you loved the boys and their naturally flirty nature, you were now officially no longer single, and you needed them to know that their shameless flirting was doing more harm than good.

“Actually, Lixie, about that. I’m not single anymore.” you spoke slowly, bracing yourself for his reaction. You felt his entire body freeze for a moment before his head popped up at the sudden news, eyes wide with shock.

“Wait, you and Seojun made it official?”

You couldn’t tell whether or not he was grimacing at the news, but you gave him a hopeful grin regardless.

“Yeah, we did last week after dinner.”

Felix smiled, though you noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually did when he was happy or excited. “Congratulations Bunny.”

You tried not to let his lack of enthusiasm affect you. “Thanks Lixie.”

“Guess I should stop doing this then, hey?” Felix then awkwardly pulled away from you before you could stop him, repositioning himself so he was sitting on the couch with your legs stretched over his lap, much like how you were sitting with Jisung moments earlier. Though, unlike Jisung, Felix’s hands stayed on your knees and didn’t wander. You felt your heart drop at the sudden change in the atmosphere that surrounded you two, but chose not to comment.

Your new boyfriend Seojun never got along with Felix, or any of the other single males in your friend group for that matter. He made an effort to be friendly with Minho and Chan, as they were already happily taken, but he struggled to get used to the idea of you being surrounded by six single males twenty-four seven. Even though Hyunjin and Jeongin saw you more like a sister rather than a potential romantic interest, Seojun was wary of them too.

He was trying to be alright with the idea, you knew that and you appreciated it, but you also knew that he wasn’t going to get used to it overnight, so laying down a boundary with the guys was a must if you wanted this relationship to last.

Felix cleared his throat awkwardly and sent you a hesitant laugh when you glanced his way. “Seriously though, Bun, what are we supposed to do now if we can’t even flirt with our best friend?”

You rolled your eyes and cracked a smile at his question.

“Oh, I don’t know Lixie. Maybe you guys should exert all the energy you use flirting with me into finding actual girlfriends while I’m gone?”

Felix granted you a look of complete and utter disgust, the tension that hovered in the air between you momentarily forgotten. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sighed.

“I’m sorry Felix, but Seojun is growing less and less fond of you guys by the second, which isn’t good considering he wasn’t very fond of you all to begin with. Anytime you guys open your mouths and make a pass at me, he gets more and more agitated. You guys gotta stop, or at least tone it back.”

Felix let out a snort of discontent. You heard him mumble something about trust and relationships, but just as you were about to question him, you were interrupted by the sound of the music being cut short and microphone feedback echoing loudly off the walls.

You and Felix, along with everyone around you, all jumped at the noise and looked towards where Chan was now hoisting himself up onto the DJ’s stage that sat in the far corner of the living room, microphone in hand.

“Excuse me, can I have everyone's attention please?” he spoke loudly into the mic. The bodies that filled the room all turned to look at Chan as he waved at everyone to quiet down so he could talk. “Guys, please, if I can have a moment?” he tried again.

Groups of party-goers began sauntering out of the kitchen while clusters of people sat down along the staircase and others emerged from rooms looking guilty and disheveled. You were always jealous of how easily Chan could captivate an entire room of people in a matter of moments.

Changbin suddenly plopped back down onto the couch next you, wrapping his arm around your neck once more while Jisung took a seat beside Felix. He looked a little less flustered now, but far more intoxicated than he was before.

Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin pushed their way through the crowd and came around the side of the couch, settling themselves at your feet with drinks in their hands, while Minho plopped into an empty chair across from you, pulling Ash into his lap as he did so.

In a matter of seconds, the entire room was quiet, watching Chan in awe as he flashed his dimples and began to speak.

“Thank you all so much for being here tonight. The guys and I could not have asked for a better turn out. I’m sure a lot of you thought that the guys and I threw this party to celebrate our most recent comeback, but this party is actually a going away party we are throwing for one of our closest and dearest friends.”

When Chan made eye-contact with you and suddenly lifted his finger in your direction, you cringed and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Everyone's head turned your way.

“Y/n, Bunny, would you please join me on stage?” He beckoned you to join him. You resisted an eye roll and sighed as you looked up at Chan, your face flushed. You did not want this to be such a big deal.

“Bunnnnnnyyyyy,” Chan teased a second later, smiling at you expectantly. You shook your head and sent him daggers, begging him not to make you stand up in front of all these people. He didn’t let up though, and instead, he jumped down from the stage and pushed his way through the crowd towards where you sat, giving you a look that you knew all too well.

“Touch me and you die.” you threatened.

Jeongin and Hyunjin leaned out of Chan’s way once he reached the couch, and before you could fight back, Chan grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to your feet. He immediately ducked and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

He held you firmly with one arm, laughing maniacally as he turned and retreated to the stage, ignoring the way you kicked your legs and begged him to put you down.

“Put me down you fucking heathen!” You squealed, trying to wiggle out of his tight grip.

He didn’t set you down until he was back on the stage, this time joined by Jo, who made sure to give your ass a loud smack before your feet even touched the ground. You glowered at her, but she just smiled and winked at you in return.

She was your absolute best friend in the whole world, like two peas in a pod. She was the Ying to your Yang, the Sugar to your Spice, the Minho to your Jisung, so it was impossible for you to stay mad at her for anything, big or small. Still, you glared at her as she smacked your ass once more before she wrapped her arm around your waist and smiled proudly up at you.

“This girl right here is one of my oldest friends.” Chan announced then, putting his arm around your neck and leaning his head against yours. “She’s one of the coolest, most down-to-earth and loving people I’ve ever met, and tonight, we are celebrating her last night in town, as she leaves for her first ever European-American book tour tomorrow!”

You felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears redden as the crowd of people you mostly recognized but barely knew all erupted into cheers. A lot of them were other idols and groups that trained with Chan and the boys before debut, and they all looked genuinely happy for you, but there were a handful of those who you didn’t know, friends of friends you guessed, who cheered regardless just to feel included.

“This is something she’s been working towards for the last three and a half years! Not only is this her first published book, and first tour ever, but Under Our Stars has just hit number two on New York Time’s Best Selling Books of 2022!”

Again, the crowd burst into cheers at Chan’s statement, your friends being the loudest and proudest of them all, and you fought back a wave of emotion that suddenly entered your body.

“She will be gone for the next eighteen months, so everyone, please, if you respect me and love me, please bid our Bunny goodbye and wish her luck on her journey before you leave tonight.”

Chan paused to grab his drink and raised it in the air.

“To y/n!” he toasted, and everyone in the room toasted along with him. "I am so proud of you Bunny. You deserve all of this. You’re going to kill it out there.”

You smiled awkwardly at the unexpected applause you received, trying to hold back your tears as you planted a peace sign to your dimple and gave the crowd a goofy grin in thanks.

Chan pulled you into a tight hug while the crowd continued to clap for you. You could hear Felix, Minho, Ash, and Seungmin scream your name as Hyunjin and Jeongin began clapping manically. Jisung and Changbin let out a ‘That’s my baby!’ somewhere in the background of the noise, but you were too focused on Chan and his now glossy eyes as you pulled back from his embrace.

“Bang Christopher Chan, are you crying?” you teased quietly, not wanting to draw attention to him. He all but nodded and buried his face into your hair, pulling you in for another tight hug.

“Y/n, you’re one of my closest friends. I’ve known you and Jo since we were in diapers. Writing has always been what you wanted to do, and you’ve spent your life working towards this accomplishment. You got to watch me and the kids live out our dreams, and I’m so excited that we finally get to watch you live out yours.”

The music started up again and people had gone back to what they were doing prior to Chan's dramatic speech, but you were too awestruck by his drunken words to return to your spot on the couch with Changbin. You gave him a frown as the tears escaped his eyes, and you reached up with the sleeve of your sheer shirt to try and wipe some of them away before you hugged him one last time.

“I love you Channie,” you whispered. Chan sniffled once, twice, almost three times before crushing you into his arms, causing Jo to step forward and grab him as he cried.

“Okay Big Guy, let the girl breathe.” she rolled her eyes as she thankfully pulled Chan away from you. “We aren’t saying goodbye until we drop her off at the airport tomorrow. You gotta’ save your strength so you can hold me when I inevitably end up blubbering like a little bitch.” she soothed, the tears still falling dramatically down his face.

He didn’t even care if he looked pathetic. He was so happy for you.

“I’m just so happy for her,” he voiced, practically sobbing into his girlfriend's shoulder. She shushed him and handed the microphone back to the DJ before wrapping her arm around him and pulling his large figure off stage.

You shook your head at him, thankful to have him in your life, before you jumped off the stage yourself and returned to your spot on the couch. People smiled and patted your back as you passed them, congratulating you on your success and wishing you luck, which you awkwardly thanked them for.

When you reached the couch again, you plopped back down in your spot beside Changbin, cuddling into his side. Felix had retreated to the floor with the other three, all four of them watching tiktoks together, allowing Jisung to take his place under your legs once again. Almost immediately after you laid back, Jisung bent his upper body to lay next to you, his head resting on your shoulder as you pulled out your phone and began checking your notifications.

The rest of the night went by like this. You, surrounded by your closest friends, laughing and drinking and enjoying the last few hours of peace you’d have before your life turned into one big stressful puddle. A puddle filled with book signings, late flights, early mornings, meet and greets and more. And even though you acted as if the entire tour wasn’t at all a big deal, deep inside you were scared to death.

*****

You have always been enamoured by Han Jisung.

Ever since you met him pre-debut, you knew he was the type of friend you’d inevitably have for a lifetime. His hard-work and dedication, his playful personality, his big brown eyes and gummy smile. The second he introduced himself to you at Chan’s backyard barbeque, you knew his presence in your life would be infinite.

Sure, he came across as an asshole during his time on the survival show, but you knew right away his attitude was nothing but a façade he had put up in order to protect himself, to mask the anxiety in his brain that never seemed to have an off switch.

But off camera, he was nothing but an introverted goofball who just wanted to be liked by everyone around him. He craved attention and praise, and as he and Chan and the other members who would eventually make up Stray Kids bonded, you and he bonded too, and quickly at that.

It had taken him no longer than two months to worm his way into your heart, and that’s where he snuggled up and stayed, taking up a permanent residence right next to Chan and Jo.

The two of you did everything together. Going out for food, clothes shopping, karaoke, late-night ice cream runs, bike rides, road trips, vlogging on your crappy iphones for no one else except for you two to see. You helped him find beauty in the smallest of things, creating inspiration for his music, and he helped you see the world in a different light, bringing you inspiration for your book.

You two were quick to become the best of friends, the perfect combo, like peanut butter and nutella; loveable on your own but together, you were unstoppable.

You never could pinpoint the exact moment your enamourment with Jisung grew into something more, only that it was after debut, when he really started to find himself. One day he was your best-friend, the next you looked at him as if he hung the stars, because for you, he did.

For you, he would.

Never in a million years did you think he’d feel even an ounce of something in return for you, and when he began bringing home random girls and disappearing into his room with them every Friday night, you knew you’d never be anything more than his best-friend.

But you were okay with that. The affectionate and loving friendship the two of you shared would suffice for the next one hundred years if it had to. You’d take him however you could have him, and if that meant watching him be happy with someone else, then so be it.

It took you a long time to get over some of your feelings for him; some days you still felt like you had a long way to go, but when you met Seojun at the most recent Authors Convention nearly five months prior to this fateful night, it immediately felt easier.

Suddenly, Jisung wasn’t invading every thought, causing a hitch in every breath, being the sole reason for every laugh that bubbled up from your throat. You loved Jisung more than you’ve ever loved anybody else, but with Seojun, it just felt easier to exist, and that was what helped your feelings for Jisung slowly begin to fade.

So, when Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled his face into your neck in a drunken stupor, pulling you from your racing thoughts, your breath hitched in your throat, just like it always did. When he planted a soft kiss against your neck right below your ear, small enough for no one else to notice, you froze in place. When a soft whimper left Jisung’s mouth involuntarily, followed by a whispered plea, “Jagiya”, you thought your heart would stop beating right then and there.

Just like it did every time something like this happened.

Before you did something you’d both regret, you had to remind yourself that Jisung was intoxicated and just looking to get his dick wet, that he didn’t actually want you the way you wanted him.

A wave of guilt washed over you.

You knew you needed to tell him about Seojun. As much as you wished Jisung would do it again, you had to remind yourself of the romance you had decided to chase, a promise of a long-lasting relationship with someone who actually liked you back.

You weren’t about to throw that away for a one night stand you knew Jisung would regret in the morning when sobriety took over, no matter how badly a piece of you wanted to.

You needed to tell him, but this was not the time or place.

You gulped as your nerves sprung to life at the mere thought of the conversation, and Jisung picked up on your change in mood instantly. He lifted his head up to look at you in concern as a shaky breath left your mouth.

“You okay, Bubs?” he whispered quietly as to not draw attention to the two of you.

The house was emptying out slowly but surely as the clock drew closer and closer to midnight. A lot of the guests had early morning interviews and practices, so you didn’t expect anyone to really stay past one. But just because loads of people had already said their goodbyes and left, it didn’t mean there weren’t dozens more still lazily hanging about.

The music had dwindled significantly, leaving the room filled with nothing but noisy chatter. Chan and Jo were beginning their slow clean up of the house, accompanied by Minho, Jenn and Felix, but it still felt too crowded to have such an important talk.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” you gave him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way his hands ran up and down your sides. “Can we maybe go somewhere a little quieter? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Jisung gave you one of his goofy, gummy-filled grins and nodded before pulling himself up and off the couch. He grabbed you by the hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulled you to your feet and dragged you away from the crowd.

“I’m actually really glad you asked. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you and I think now is the perfect time.”

You were silent while Jisung pulled you up the staircase and down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“I finished this song yesterday and I really need your opinion on it.” he spoke again as he pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you. He guided you excitedly to his desk and pushed you down into his computer chair, ignoring the way you sighed at him as he opened his laptop and loaded up his music file.

“Sungie, this isn’t really the ti-”

“Please Bubs? Please?” Jisung interrupted, a hopeful look on his face, his hands praying for you to hear him out. “Please, I just need three minutes of your time and then you can have the floor for as long as you want. It’s really important to me.”

You couldn’t help but give in after seeing the twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. You always loved how excited he got over the tracks he made, and how you were always the first one he showed them to. Sure, you knew almost nothing about producing music, just the basics you learned from Chan and Changbin, but Jisung always took your feedback seriously and worked his ass off to make sure each and every track was perfect.

“The working title right now is Volcano. It’s my favorite track yet.” he explained. He handed you his big headphones and helped you place them comfortably on your head before pressing play.

Jisungs expression while he watched your reaction was a mixture of anxiousness, enthusiasm, and hope, and you knew by the intensity of his gaze that this wasn’t just another track he’d stirred up in a day's time. He slaved over this track for months and your opinion and feedback alone would either make or break his decision to release it publicly.

The song was absolutely incredible. You never heard a song so raw, so passionate, so intense before, and you felt yourself get goosebumps along your arms and legs with every word.

You closed your eyes and allowed your entire body to get lost in the beat, the emotion behind Jisungs voice overwhelming you so much that you found tears building up in the corners of your eyes as you listened to the melody, the tune, the lyrics.

It made your heart flutter and clench in pulses, and when that chorus crashed back into your eardrums one final time, you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest and explode.

It was fucking phenomenal.

And then it was over way too soon.

Jisung was quiet while he watched you, smiling while he brought his hand up to wipe away the tears that managed to escape down your face. He waited patiently as you hit the replay button and listened to the song again, not once, not twice, but three more times.

Immediately, it became your favourite song.

After your fourth playthrough, Jisung waited patiently while you salvaged your composure, breathing through the emotions that had hit you like a brick.

“Sungie,” you whispered, shaking your head in amazement as you finally turned to meet his gaze. “That song is-” you trailed off, unable to even find the words to describe what you were feeling right now.

Despite the tears in your eyes and the proud look on your face, Jisung was still nervous.

“Did you like it?” he asked while wringing his hands together.

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Like it? Jisung, it’s fucking beautiful. I love it.” you told him honestly.

A breath of relief left Jisungs mouth before his face fell into one of the brightest, cheekiest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Thank fuck.”

Another laugh bubbled out of your mouth and you gave him a look of endearment.

“What? Was my opinion really that important?” you teased, knowing full well that it was. You were completely unprepared for the next words to slip past his lips.

“Well yeah, I wrote this song for you, Bubs.”

You froze in place, your eyes on his once again as your smile fell.

“What?” you asked.

Jisungs grin grew impossibly wider, his eyes beaming with adoration.

“A fucking beautiful song for a fucking beautiful woman.”

You suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe.

This is not where you wanted this conversation to go.

“Jisung, I don-”

You were cut off abruptly by the sound of your phone ringing loudly in your pocket. Confused and frustrated at the interruption, you pulled it out and felt a sharp pain stab through your chest.

Seojun.

Of fucking course it was Seojun.

“Shit, sorry Ji, I have to take this.”

You didn’t bother waiting for an answer before you jumped from your seat and paced towards the door, trying to keep your voice low. Jisung bit his lip and watched you anxiously, listening in to the one-sided conversation you were having.

He knew the second he saw Seojuns name pop up on your phone that something was up.

“Hey Seojun…. Yeah, I’m doing good, still hanging with the crew… Yeah, I’ll be heading home in the next hour or so to pack… You know I procrastinate!... Well, maybe when I’m home we can facetime and you can help me pack?.... God, you’re so wonderful…. I’ll call you when I’m home okay?… You too…. Bye.”

Jisung tried to keep it together as he overheard you speaking in a low, hushed voice. He tried to keep cool, but he could practically hear his heart shattering as each word left your mouth. You and Seojun were no longer just friends, and all plans to confess his ever-growing feelings to you after pining after you for so long suddenly dissipated.

All the years Jisung spent trying to make you jealous, trying to get your attention, trying to make you see that you were everything to him and more, was in vain. All his advances and relentless flirting had no effect on you.

You had found someone else.

It was game over for him.

Jisung felt ill.

“Sorry Sungie, wha-” you stopped short when you turned back towards him, noticing the way his head was now hung. His unblinking eyes stared at the ground as wetness pooled at the corners of them, causing panic to set in your bones.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” He was picking at his thumbnail and didn’t even glance up when you spoke.

He was silent for a moment before, “I don’t want you to leave.”

His voice was quiet and sad, and it shook slightly as he responded. He knew trying to convince you to stay was useless, but now that he knew you and Seojun had taken the next step, he was desperate to grasp at straws. He needed you to stay.

You frowned at his words and sat next to him in the chair, taking his hands in yours. You rubbed your thumbs over his knuckles, urging him to stop picking at his skin.

“I know Sungie. This next year and a half is going to suck, but we’ll survive it. We always do.” You reassured him. You were completely oblivious to the reason behind Jisungs sudden change in mood, and it was making him feel worse. He hiccuped and a drop of water fell onto the back of your hand, followed by another, and you felt your heart crack.

Jisung was crying.

“Sungie, what’s wrong?” You asked him again, instinctively pulling him into a hug. His arms snaked around your waist without hesitation and he buried his face into your neck. You could feel his tears soaking your skin and you found yourself holding back a sob of your own as your hands ran slowly up and down his back.

“Please don’t leave me. Please, Bubs. I need you. I need you here with me. Please stay.” he cried. He hated groveling, hated being weak like this, but he had to find a way to stop you from leaving with a man who didn’t love you the way he did. He’d do anything.

“Ji.” you whispered as you pulled back to look at him, brushing stray hairs out of his eyes as you wiped at his tears. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Jisung shook his head and let out another choked sob before he swallowed and did the last thing you ever expected him to do. He quickly brought his hands up to cup your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours roughly, pouring every ounce of love and adoration he had for you into the kiss he’d been waiting years for.

His lips were warm, soft, and felt like heaven against yours, but the shock of his actions caused you to pull away from him in total confusion.

“Sungie, what the hell are you doing?” you asked, unsure how to process what had just happened. Jisungs hands stayed glued to your cheeks as he pleaded.

“Please, don’t go. Not with him.”

You froze at his words. Dread and confusion turned your stomach to mush and you felt like you were going to throw up as Jisung continued to speak.

“Seojun's an asshole. He’s not good for you. I don’t want you to go with him. None of us want you to go with him.”

You pulled your face out of Jisungs hold and leaned away from him, a look of betrayal and shock clear across your features.

“I’m sorry?” There’s no way you had heard him right. “What do you mean none of you want me to go with him?”

Jisung wiped at his face, trying to dry the tears that continued to pour out at your silent rejection.

“The only one who likes him is you, Bubs. The only reason we even tolerate him is because Jo asked us to.”

You blinked at his statement, feeling another wave of confusion wash over you, followed by irritation and then downright annoyance. Your brain was honestly still trying to process the kiss you two shared, but your mouth was five steps ahead.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Do you love him?” Jisung abruptly asked.

“Jesus Jisung. I don’t know! We haven’t even been dating for a whole week, you idiot!”

“So you don’t love him?”

He knew he was being an idiot now, sputtering out any type of bullshit he could to try and save this. He knew it was useless, but he always told himself he wouldn’t go down without a fight, and a fight is what he got.

“What the fuck, dude?” You threw your hands up in exasperation, growling at his stupid inquiries. Jisung winced at your change in tone.

“I’m sorry Bubs. I don’t like him. He’s not good for you! You and I both know the only reason you’re with him is because he got you published.”

That was a low blow, he knew it. But the connection from his brain to his mouth had been severed and all he could do was ramble, letting his emotions take control.

“Are you-? Are you saying the only reason I was invited to go on this tour is because of him? As if I couldn’t have done any of this myself?” you spat, feeling your anger boil. Jisungs eyes widened as you misunderstood what he was trying to say.

“Jesus, Bubs, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just-” he paused and ran a hand through his hair, pulling on it roughly in frustration before letting everything out, rendering you speechless.

“I am so fucking head over heels in love with you, y/n. Can’t you see that? I’ve been in love with you since before debut. I have spent years trying to get your attention. And suddenly, this asshole shows up out of nowhere and kicks me to the curb? I should be the one going on this tour with you, travelling with you, making memories with you, not him. I should be the one beside you, holding you while you live out your biggest dreams. It’s always been you and me.”

At Jisungs sudden confession, a new wave of emotion overcame you. The anger, the annoyance, the irritation all drained from your body and you were left with nothing but tears suddenly pouring out of your eyes the same way they were pouring out of Jisungs.

You had waited for so long to hear those words come from his mouth. You had dreamed of him confessing to you and kissing you the way he had so many times, in so many different ways, so why was your heart breaking impossibly more instead of soaring the way you always imagined it would?

Why was he doing this?

Why now?

You let the tears fall down your face freely, not bothering to wipe them away while Jisung sat on the stool, staring at you with so much conviction in his big, beautiful eyes. Anger, sadness, adoration and love, regret, hurt. All of those emotions shone back at you and you felt every single one of them as if they were your own.

“Why are you bringing this up now, Sungie?” you whispered, desperately searching for reason. “When I’m less than twenty-four hours away from going on the biggest adventure of my life. Why?”

Jisung’s face softened as he reached forward and grabbed your hand. He watched you hiccup and sniffle while he rubbed his thumb over yours in an attempt to help you calm down.

“Because I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered.

If his confession didn’t throw you for a loop, this last sentence definitely did, and you found yourself jumping out of your seat, the bubble of anger suddenly returning.

“That’s bullshit Jisung! Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you spat out in disbelief. "I have known you and the guys for almost six years. I have done nothing but support you and cheer for you from the sidelines while you’ve been living out your biggest dreams on stage, becoming the superstar you always said you were born to be. I have stayed up with you for nights on end, helping you make your mark in this industry, watching you create and produce beautiful music. I have stayed behind while all ten of you guys go on tour without me and I haven’t complained once because it’s been your dream, and now that I’m about to go live out mine, you’re telling me you don’t want me to go? Do you know how fucking selfish that it?”

You began pacing around the room, searching for something to punch while simultaneously trying to resist the urge to break anything you could find. Jisung sat planted on his stool, staring at you.

“I’m sorry.” he spoke low enough that you almost didn’t hear him. You did though, and his words caused you to whirl around on him once more, your face now covered in mascara-stained tears while every emotion you were feeling brought an unruly red to your face.

“No, you’re not! If you were really sorry, Jisung, you wouldn’t have even brought this up in the first place! So why are you? Why now? If you’ve felt this way about me for as long as you’ve said, why now? Why not a month ago? Two months ago? A year ago? Three years ago? If you’ve felt this way about me since debut, why haven’t you told me?”

Jisung’s face scrunched up into an expressionless laugh as he crossed his arms and gave you a sceptical look.

“Do you honestly believe if I had told you how I felt all those years ago, you would’ve had an ounce of feelings for me in return?” Jisungs face was quizzical and sour, his voice dripping with a sudden poison as he glowered at you.

He was oh-so impossibly wrong.

It was your turn to let out a humorless laugh.

“Contrary to popular belief Jisung, yeah actually, I would’ve. I did.” you answered. In a split second, Jisungs demeanor flickered, his eyebrows softening at your words and a puzzled expression found its way to his face.

“Wait, you what?” he asked in surprise. You hesitated for a moment before spilling out your own confession to him. You two were already this deep into the fight, there was no point in holding back now.

“Jisung, I have loved you since the moment I first met you. I fell in love with you after watching you work your ass off every damn day, doing everything you possibly could do to make sure you’d survive another week on the show. The hours upon hours of dedication and hardwork you put into being the best version of yourself possible. Being the most vulnerable, unapologetically, truest version of yourself. I watched you fall and fail, and I watched you fail better. I watched you grow from this small, innocent little dickwad of a teenager to this confident and cocky grown ass man who oozes charisma and charm and happiness everywhere you go. I have loved you since day one, so don’t tell me I wouldn’t have.”

Jisungs eyes widened at your confession, his eyebrows disappearing behind the hair that hung across his forehead. He choked out a breath, shaking his head at you incredulously.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed roughly around the lump that sat idly in your throat, willing your tears to stop.

“Maybe because I had to watch you stumble back into the dorms with a different chick on your arm every Friday night for four and a half fucking years! Yes, watching the one person I loved more than anything else in this world hook up with some random bitch who didn’t know the first thing about him really instilled a lot of confidence in me.”

You saw the way Jisungs eyes fell at your use of words, and you had to force yourself to look away from his face before you changed your mind.

“Wait, loved? As in-”

“Past. Tense.” You lied, glaring at the Han Quokka plush that sat on his dresser. Another one sat directly beside it, wearing a pink shirt and a tu-tu, meant to represent you. Quokka Prince and his Quokka Princess.

“Fuck.” Jisung spat, bringing your attention back to him as he removed himself from the stool and rushed towards you. You glanced at his face and regretted it upon seeing a new wave of waterworks streaming down his puffy cheeks.

“No, no, no, no.” he begged quietly, his hands coming up to cup your face once more. “Please, Bubs, I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. For everything.” He planted a soft kiss to your forehead and you restrained yourself some melting into the feeling. “Please, stay with me tonight, yeah? I can fix this. We can fix this. We can talk about this and figure it out. Please.”

You hated the way butterflies tore through your stomach as soon as his hands rested on your cheeks, his big brown eyes staring into yours in a way you always wanted them to. You hated the way your head tilted up towards his automatically, silently screaming at him to just kiss you again. You absolutely despised the way you trembled under his touch as the pads of his thumbs wiped at your wet cheeks.

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You would not let yourself do that to Seojun, and you sure as hell weren’t about to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime that waited for you, no matter how much he begged. You couldn’t. You weren’t going to throw away your dreams for him.

But with the way Jisung was holding you, it was nearly impossible for you to say no. Which is why you pulled your head out of his grasp once again and furrowed your brows together.

“You’re not listening to me, Jisung.” you whispered, your head now falling forward as you forced yourself to break your best friend's heart the way you always promised him you wouldn’t. “I don’t love you. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It was the biggest, filthiest lie that ever left your mouth, and for once, Jisung didn’t catch onto it. He didn’t hear the tremble that caused you to stutter over the words ‘I don’t’, and he sure as hell didn’t hear your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces as you spoke.

You stepped away from him and turned to leave. You needed to get out of this room, this house, before your emotions got the better of you and made you stay. You had an adventure waiting for you, you had fans to meet and books to sign and conventions to attend and memories to make, and you knew that if you stayed for even a minute longer, your resolve would break and you’d never leave Jisung or his room ever again.

“Where are you going?” Jisungs broken and defeated voice was small, but you stopped in your tracks as if he’d yelled.

“I’m going home to pack my suitcase and then I’m leaving for my tour. If this is still something you want to talk about when I get back, fine, but you’re not ruining this chance or this relationship for me. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

You took another step towards the door when Jisungs next words cut through you like a knife. His voice was hard, sharp and clipped.

“No, you won’t.” You knew if you turned back around, Jisungs face would be that of a total stranger. Stoic, numb, emotionless. His words forced a sob out of your throat at his abruptness, but you didn’t dare turn around

“I’m sorry y/n.” your name already sounded so foreign coming from his mouth, and it was then that you knew nothing between the two of you would ever be the same again. Chan always said the infamous Han Jisung loved hard and hated harder, and boy was he right. You could practically feel the daggers he was shooting into the back of your skull.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say goodbye and let you run off with someone who doesn’t love you the way I do. I can’t let you run off and make the biggest mistake of your life. I won’t.”

You bit your tongue and swallowed hard, forcing tears back as your blurry vision found the polaroid picture of the two of you Jisung had sticking out from his lightswitch cover.

It was a candid photo Hyunjin had taken of you guys at the beach nearly three years ago. The two of you had your hands interlocked and you were dancing and laughing along the shore of the beach, the sun setting beautifully in the background. Neither one of you even realized Hyunjin took the photo until two months later when he gave it to Jisung as a birthday present.

It was your favorite photo.

The lump in your throat grew bigger as you ripped your eyes away from the memory, knowing you’d never get that feeling of happiness with Jisung again. Not after this.

“Fine,” you sniffled one last time at his harsh and hurtful words. “I guess I’ll see you next June.”

And with that, you left.

Here we are, back at part one again!!!

Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did!

As always, feedback & interactions are always welcome and greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

Hannji Asks: what was your favorite part from Part One?

lmk in the replies or with an ask!

See you soon for Part Two!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @sungshineworld @collisvng @ihrtlix

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

Next Part

#Like A Volcano #Like A Volcano Mini Series #Hannji's Mini Series #han jisung mini series #han jisung x reader #best friend skz #stray kids #han jisung fic #skz han #bff skz #LAV by Hannji

65 notes · View notes

gippynippyhadaskippy · 9 months

Text

Secrets; Mizu x mixed!fem!reader Pt. 3

A/n: Hey beauties! Happy Holidays and Happy early New Year!! I appreciate all the comments on the story :3, Also reader is a bit unhinged, just clarifying, 'Kay byeeeeeee!

Warnings and notes: Violence, Suicide implied, Racism, Mizu he/him pronouns till reader finds out otherwise.

Pt 1: https://www.tumblr.com/gippynippyhadaskippy/735820843700158464/secrets-mizu-x-mixedfemreader?source=share

Pt 2: https://www.tumblr.com/gippynippyhadaskippy/736299148632064000/secrets-mizu-x-mixedfemreader?source=share

The next stop in the journey wasn’t interesting, a noodle shop in the middle of nowhere. A sigh escaped your lips, growing tired from such a long mission. Not giving much thought to a bold approach or its repercussions, you enter the shop without hesitation. The samurai was already seated and hadn’t even looked in your direction. Why, not so much as a twitch.

You dragged your eyes in his direction, he knew,

you knew he knew,

he knew you knew he knew.

He met your gaze, inquiry was clear as day in them.

You snapped your eyes back, you’ll kill him, soon.

You sat on a cushion from the opposite side of the restaurant as a big clumsy gentleman came to ramble about menu options, you gave him an eye smile and held up two fingers, second choice. After some fumbling, he assumed you were deaf and meant the second choice. It wasn't the first time your high voice had led to misconceptions—too high to pass as a man, too high to command respect. As he walked away you sighed. Your eyes were pulled back to him—the samurai. His attention was already on you. Another sigh, you squeezed your fist, but this time instead of exhaustion, it was titillation.

Sweet and deadly.

You felt hot, why wasn’t he looking away?

To everyone else, the two of you were stoic and intimidating, but you both were asking each other so much without even moving your heads. The bumbling man comes out from the kitchen and you disconnect your eyes first, following him instead. Once he brought the samurai his food and brought a rude flesh trader’s noodles to him, the girls looked miserable—poor things.

In a split second, with a wobble and a fall a bowl of noodles fell onto Hachi’s lap. Of course, you knew who he was Shindo has done many business deals with him before. Many eyes watched on as the big gentleman slipped on more noodles, trying to fix his mistake. Your heart twinged with sympathy, as Hachi pulled a gun on him calling him a dog. Alas, you couldn’t do anything, if Fowler found out…

Gods, you sound like your father.

Fuck.

You absent-mindedly shook your head to rid of the thoughts of your father, he left you, alone.

It hurt that you love him. It’d been like that for most of your life.

Right, loved.

A loud screeching noise made its way from across the restaurant, a table on wood. It went on for a bit and almost made you chuckle. The dramatic gesture came from the samurai—why weren’t you surprised? You were intrigued by the way he stood in front of the gun, his voice, his stance.

It wasn’t like you hadn't killed attractive men and women before, it was often a pity that you quickly brushed off, letting yourself taste the dessert of what could’ve been. Although he is an entirely different kind of person, not from fame or wealth or any privilege at all.

You’re hooked, and the drug was just six feet away.

“European design, isn’t it?” A cocky smirk cracked on his lips, trying to make light gun talk with the flesh trader. Customers started to file out, in fear for their lives.

After he revealed that he knew about Hachi, one of your eyebrows quirked up.

“Why do you know so much about Hachi?” Hachi’s tone was defensive, guarded even.

“Maybe I’ve been following you, the famous Hachi with the famous gun.” He chuckles, smirk still evident.

“I’d love a gun like that.” A bold-faced lie, it was so obvious that he wanted something else.

“You can tell me who sold it to you.” Bingo.

“Hmm. Fuck off.” Hachi disregarded him and went back to eating.

“You will tell me who sold you that gun.” A more commanding tone took the place of the cocky one.

The blade slightly clicked out of the tsuka.

Within a second Hachi pulled a gun on the samurai, and the samurai—ever so calm, splayed his hands. No foul play right?

You watched on in amusement as he was backed up next to a knife.

Oh, a snack would be great right now.

“You don’t deserve my blade,” The smirk disappeared, “You don’t even deserve this blade.”

Two fingers plopped onto a plate, and Hachi screamed.

You shifted in your seat, and your face felt hot.

“Take the gun if you want it! Take it!”

He pinned Hachi to the table and plunged a knife into the wood, not missing a beat he demanded,

“It’s a filthy gun from a filthy place. I don’t want it.” He pulled him up by his obi.

“I wanna know you sold it to you, tell me now.”

You looked around at the restaurant taking in the situation fully, the girls seemed scared and meek, the big gentleman was in awe, and the shopkeep, with no customers, was horrified. A small smile formed on the corners of your mouth, stirring the pot definitely wasn’t his intention, it’ll have consequences.

“Heiji Shindo! I bought it from Heiji Shindo!” Hachi whimpered, a pathetic sound really, for a pathetic man.

“Heiji Shindo,” He tested the name in his mouth, “Where is Heiji Shindo?”

“I don’t know! I swear.” He whimpered again, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Then the samurai tilted his tinted glasses down, revealing his blue eyes, and threw him down walking for the door.

“You dead-eyed, half-blooded demon bastard.”

Hachi pointed. Big mistake.

“You look like an onryo!”

Two more fingers were added to the plate and your smile grew.

After the big guy named Ringo left to follow the samurai, you followed suit keeping a safe distance between all of you. Another element was added to the mix, but that was the least of your concerns.

Who was he?

Most importantly why do you want to know?

#mizu bes #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #:3 #mizu #bes #netflix bes

62 notes · View notes

viric-dreams · 3 months

Text

Going to put a rough timeline together for Ockham:

1781:

Eduard Ackerman is born in Antwerp, in what was then the Austrian Netherlands, the second of what would be five children (and only one of two to survive to adulthood).

1792:

Antwerp falls under French control. Ackerman has since become the oldest living child.

1796:

Ackerman begins working on a merchant ship, involved in minor trade between nearby European ports, and sending money back to his family.

1804:

Whilst away, Ackerman receives a letter that the entire family is ill with cholera. Rather than try to gain passage back to Antwerp on another ship, he makes the decision to stay the course and return as planned, with pay for the full journey. By the time he returns, he learns his younger brother is the only one to have survived. This leads to a massive row between the two of them, in which his brother accused him of being callous and caring more about money than their own family. Ackerman argued that with the benefit of hindsight it would not have many any difference--even if he had taken the next boat back he wouldn't have arrived in time. And was it not his wages that was, in no insignificant part, supporting them all? His brother did not appreciate the logic of this argument, and it became the last time the two ever spoke.

1804-1812:

Ackerman continues work as a sailor, semi-consistently changing ships and never holding onto interpersonal relationships for long. In this time he has no fixed address, yet spent significant time in both Rotterdam and Hamburg.

Autumn 1812:

Whilst on shore leave in London, he's impressed into the Royal Navy.

1812-1814:

Ackerman serves against his will on a British warship, his desertion attempts unsuccessful. Shortly after conscription, the officers give him the nickname Ockham, seemingly unable or unwilling to pronounce his name correctly. He maintains sanity during this period with minor forms of rebellion.

Summer 1814:

His ship engages with a French vessel. Amidst the chaos and cannon fire he's thrown from the deck into the mirrored surface of the sea.

1814-1899:

Viric dreams under a cosmogone sun

1899 (Pt. 3):

Ockham wakes up in Fallen London during Whitsun of 1899.

Much has changed since hishertheir last memories of the place. Ockham tries hishertheir best to get back on hishertheir feet and adapt. Heshethey gets a job on the docks.

Things don't always seem to add up in the Neath. Acquaintances seem to struggle to understand Ockham, to remember details of their interactions, often yawning in boredom when Ockham's speaking. It only serves to worsen Ockham's already negative impression on Londoners, and the English specifically.

And then there are the dreams. Ockham dreams of a jungle, impossibly green. Heshethey lies on a cushioned bed of moss, soft as any cloud. Warm bodies surround himherthem, slithering and sliding across hishertheir limbs, like the sway of floating in a gentle sea. The mellow sounds of the jungle at rest are broken by the low drone of many conversations and it’s so easy to get lost in that hum. Sunlight trickles through the canopy of leaves, warming them all. The smell of saltwater hangs in the air, and the occasional call of gulls hint at a shore not far from here. This is peace. This is home.

Ockham learns of the existence of Parabola, the likely source of hishertheir recurring dreams (memories?) and vows to find it.

At some point in this saga, Ockham gets looped into killing the Vake. Sure, heshethey'll do it, if it enables hishertheir ultimate goal of crossing through the mirror.

Ockham becomes a silverer and begins exploring Parabola, searching for that clearing from hishertheir dreams. All the while, a familiar-looking figure seems to lurk just in the corners of hishertheir vision, never quite in catchable range.

1899 (Pt. 4)

Ockham continues the search for the location in hishertheir dreams. Heshethey decides to petition the Fingerkings for information. There's some sort of connection between them, Ockham can sense it. They seem, however, to be unusually elusive. Not a reptile in sight.

An unpleasant entanglement with The Thieving Stowaway (The Youthful Naturalist) results in Ockham zailing to Irem. There, heshethey finally corners a powerful Cacophony of serpents at the Market. Ockham tries to broker a deal with them, to take himherthem back to that place, or possibly back into their fold. That's why they have the connection, right? That's why some of Ockham's memories (dreams?) are so distinctly inhuman. The Fingerkings don't see it that way. They don't want Ockham. They have no use for himherthem. What would they do with a Parabolan reflection, especially when they already have the original. It's at this point that Ockham finally comes face to face with the familiar figure--the surface sailor whose face Ockham's mirrors. But appearances is where the resemblance ends. If there was once a person in there, any trace of life is long gone, an empty husk puppeted by the Cacophony. Whatever may have once been behind those eyes is gone now, leaving Ockham the sole steward of what used to be Ackerman, now woven together with a patchwork of Parabola.

Furious and frustrated, Ockham zails back to London, nearly drowning in the process during the harrowing voyage. Upon docking, heshethey sets hishertheir zub on fire, wrung out and thoroughly done with the Zee, and vowing never to step foot on a ship again.

Ockham spends the next several months coming to terms with the fact that heshethey're not human, but a creature of Parabola, imbued with the spirit and memories of what once was a person, and many of those of the Fingerkings.

Ockham bounces from job to job, untethered, slowly becoming involved in ventures in the Upper River.

Around this point, heshethey meets Tamara, and seeing someone so clearly lost and in need of a place to stay offers her a spare room in hishertheir flat.

This awkward but tentatively friendly relationship goes slightly pear-shaped upon Tamara discovering what Ockham is. They do manage to eventually mend it to an extent, and slowly begin to understand each other better, both figuratively and literally, as they both gain a common language.

Ockham is often away from London, busy in the Upper River and also Parabola. Heshethey begins a business selling Parabolan-grown ghost peppers to the Stags and rich Bohemians with more money than self-preservation skills.

All this draws to a violent end when the Cacophony makes their move, attempting to kill Ockham and break out of Parabola, something they couldn't do as long as Ockham was in the Is. They don't succeed, and Ockham manages to make it back to London, but it's no longer safe for himherthem to cross through the mirror.

Ockham needs to regroup and find a new profession.

#ockham #timeline #might still mess around with this later #but there’s a lot going on #so maybe it’s not a bad idea to throw it all somewhere #I know I’m probably forgetting something important #and will probably add more links when I have more time

29 notes · View notes

princess-of-thebes-1995 · 3 months

Text

Make My Wish Come True.

Yandere! Doctor Hannibal Lecter x Bipolar! Female Reader.

One Shot.

Warnings: Mentions of sensitive topics like COVID19. Mental Illnesses. Culture Shock. Misogyny. Sexual Content.

Rated Mature.

Setting Time: Year 2020.

You were sitting down on the plush goose feathered cushioned bench in front of your new and expensive crystal vanity desk which had three matching mirrors to go with it.

Everything was brand new and it was now yours.

There was no way in Hell you could have afforded it yourself. All of it was gifted by your Psychiatrist and new Boyfriend. The locally known Doctor Hannibal Lecter PHD in Psychology.

The man who rescued you.

You owe him your life.

Since the good for nothing Pandemic happened…your already miserable and pathetic life turned into the worst.

How? The quarantine enforcement law which caused your toxic and dysfunctional family to stay more with you inside your gloomy household.

The failing economy made the cost of living too damn high.

Your father and older brother especially were giving you suicidal ideations.

Doctor Lecter gave you a weird look and knew something was wrong. He was an intelligent man and was a known Psychiatrist for many years.

So you bursted into tears.

Hiding a knowing smirk. The Doctor made his move on you.

It was about damn time.

He waited so long for this moment.

Lecter admitted his love for you. He begged you to run away with him. You refused to live with a stranger.

Suddenly, the gentle person you thought you knew threatened you. The Asylum or his home.

To your surprise. He made you sleep in his bedroom while he slept in one of his guest bedrooms.

You felt flattered. He was serious about you.

Best of all. He didn't touch you.

Yet.

Out of guilt, you wanted to repay his kindness.

You decided it's tonight.

Tonight you will consume your relationship with him.

You wondered how long he would wait for you to give yourself. He must have had a strong will to not force himself on you.

Gulping, you continued to apply makeup. The Doctor spoiled you and it was almost a week since you ran away from your parent's house.

You were nervous. Your first time.

Not to mention. It was a disgrace for an Afghan woman to date. Especially to a white man.

Thanks to the war, your community was mostly racist to Caucasians.

They would call you a traitorous whore because you had a thing for European men.

You found a home.

You found family.

You only had a house and lived with blood relatives. That was all. No love and genuine morals.

So many dreams came true this year after many tragedies in your young adult life.

Tonight you will make his dream come true….

You greeted him with a smile as he came home from work. He kissed you hard on the lips after holding your face then your forehead.

He was washing up for dinner. You placed your best Afghani and Turkish dishes on the dining table and waited for him to join you.

He sat down and complimented your culinary skills.

As he always did when you cooked.

You acted normal. But, you were shaking like a leaf. You didn't want to blurt out that you wanted him to make love to you. But, he wouldn't know. You would have to make the first move.

Being the smart psychiatrist he is. He always noticed you.

“Why are you nervous?”

Your face turned red. You gulped and before you could do anything. Hannibal's cell phone went off.

Your lover excused himself and you began to wash the dishes and put away the leftover food.

Hannibal was in his office typing on his laptop.

Rolling your eyes. You went back to your own room. It was actually his room.

Some romantic date night this was supposed to be.

You sighed as you sat on the bed. Lecter came back and saw your defeated face. His eyes furrowed.

He was leaning against the door frame of his bedroom with his arms crossed.

He realized what you wanted…

Finally.

He knew he couldn't control himself any longer.

About damn time.

He sat next to you on his bed. He stroked your long hair. He sighed. “Are you upset?”

You looked at him and replied a quick yes.

Hmm. Hannibal nodded knowingly. “Remembering how life used to be less difficult.”

You lowered your eyes and stared on the fluffy white carpet floor.

Hannibal smiled. “Don't dwell on it too much.”

If only it were that easy you thought to yourself.

Hannibal frowned at your hopeless look on your lovely face. “We're going to win.”

You shrugged.

Titled your chin up to look at him. “Hey! Look at me.” He stared at your shiny doe eyes. “When you think back to those memories. They're not a one time occurrence.”

You wondered if he was telling the truth or just not wanting to hurt your feelings.

“Maybe those won't be repeated.” Your lover explained. “But, new memories will follow after.”

He traced your fat bottom red lips with his thumb.

“I can't let you give up.” He shook his head. “We might be on lockdown. Maybe there is an enemy that's hard for us to fight.”

Hannibal's eyes softened with pity as he watched you slightly tear up.

A wealthy Doctor living in a luxurious mansion in the forest of the suburbs while women are forced to sell themselves, people committing suicide due to financial stress mainly and mental illnesses growing rapidly saying he finds this pandemic hard?

What about you? A struggling college drop out with bipolar, depression, insomnia and now anxiety who can't afford an apartment. What chance do you have then?

You began to cry.

Trying to evade the subject. “We'll fight. Darling we'll fight. And you will see your friends again.” He cracked a smile. “Your former colleagues, Officer Jack with his wife. We will win.”

He let go of your face. You smiled back. Finally.

“You don't have to hang your head low.” Hannibal placed his large palm on your small right knee. You were wearing the long silk nightdress he bought you when you moved in.

You were ready for him.

“You don't have to feel hopeless.” He rubbed circles on your silk clothed knee. I’m here with you. Understand me?”

You nodded and smiled broader.

“I'm going to be with you. Every step. I already have, haven't I?”

“Yes. I am grateful. Thank you very much.” You finally spoke and you meant it with enthusiasm.

He touched your wet cheek. “And why would that change?”

You shook your head.

“Exactly. It's not.”

He pulled you to his chest and held you in his strong muscular arms. He rocked you back and forth like a baby. “Darling. Darling. Darling. This world is merciless. It doesn't care what you look like. It doesn't care where you are from.” He let out a tired sigh. You heard the rumble of his broad chest. “It shows every soul the same type of treatment. Hell.”

You snuggled closer to him. Hannibal smirked and rested his chin on top of your head.

“But, at the end of that Hell; there is a light. If you keep walking, darling… if you just keep going; you'll find that light. You'll find it again.”

He pulled back from you to see your beautiful face. “You'll find it just like how I found you. How I found you, doll.” He kissed your cute perky nose.

“I love you.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He began to kiss you all over your face.

“I know…” He kissed your chin. “I know the future is uncertain.” He breathed out. “I know you're scared. I know. I understand.” He shrugged. “There's a lot in the balance of here.”

“But, I still have my beautiful bride to be.”

You giggled slightly.

Continuing, he held your hand. “Through it all. And my new car, Zalmai. Our cat. We'll add more to the family. Maybe it's selfish of me. Considering that maybe there is something in myself I need to work on.”

You shook your head. “You're perfect.”

Hannibal disagreed. “It makes me resent this situation we have to be in. Maybe I need to change my perspective. To see the blessings of you being by my side.” He kissed the tip of your fingers and bit slightly your ring finger.

“I love you, darling. You know I love you.” Hannibal placed his hand on your delicate and frail shoulders. He gently pushed you down on the mattress. “Honey, lie down.”

He sniffed your neck. “It's been a while since Daddy treated you.” He winked.

It was true. Since moving. He had to secretly change your address and he was too busy to make love to you.

“I need to make up for it. And I will…”

He kissed you finally and your tongue and his dance in a heated messy kiss.

Between kisses he said. “Put your hands on my chest.” He grabbed your warm soft palm and placed it on his muscular and broad chest.

“Feel my heartbeat. Now feel it beat harder and harder.” He bit your neck. “And harder.” He moaned. “And faster and faster.” He continued sucking your supple neck while your hand was still on his heart.

“That's what kissing your body does to me.” He explained. “Kissing your neck.” He bit your shoulder. “You being in full submission to me.”

He couldn't take it anymore. Fuck it. Fuck you.

And he will.

“I'm sorry. It goes without being said.whenever I get into this mood with you. I always come out as so fuckin’ horny.”

He ripped open your nightgown.

Your breast bounced from the impact.

He began to suck your tit. “All I want to do right now is have my cock inside your pussy.” You moaned his name.

“Feel your nails dig into my back. While we shake the bed. Good thing our neighbors are acres away.”

He circled the hem of your panties. “Baby, can I really fuck you tonight?”

Your eyes widened. This is his idea of being romantic? You knew men from the books and movies were different from real life. But, not like this…

You chuckled. “You don't have say it like that. So blunt.” Letting out a giggle too.

With an arrogant smirk. He cooed. “Will you let me? Will you let me go deep inside you for the first time? Your first time?”

That bastard wanted you to beg him. He was obviously teasing you.

“I need you. I am always thinking of you.” You blushed.

Finally. You admitted it. He spread your legs with his hands and he began to strip himself.

And bang! He dived himself deep inside you and you hissed in pleasure.

“Fuck!” He growled. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the master bedroom. “Shit, you're killing me, sweetheart.”

AN: I wanted to write this in 2020. A Ransom Drysdale x Cousin Reader

But, I deleted my old account because people hurt my feelings. 2020 was hell. The cost of my medication sky rocketed. I had no insurance then. I needed pills. And I had free therapy for almost three months. It was not enough.

Anyway, I got this from this voice actor I am paying 5.00 dollars a month on patreon. King Akira. This was a Levi x listener ASMR. All credit goes to him. He has a sexy and romantic voice. He has a YouTube channel too. He does Eren, Levi, karma akabane and more. He is a talented professional.

And see the song of final fantasy to feel better. Bye.

youtube

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #mads mikkelsen #Yandere #yandere hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Imagine #King Akira #Youtube

33 notes · View notes