#the fic never happened but i feel like this fragment can stand on its own as a drabble. in any case i still like it so i'm putting it here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvel-trash-bin · 3 years

Text

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

#helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #sugar daddy zemo #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #smut

3K notes · View notes

jungkxook · 3 years

Text

—make it right. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: punk!jungkook / band au / exes-to-lovers au / angst / smut

⟶ words: 11,528

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

⟶ warnings: jungkook has a tongue piercing, oral sex because of said tongue piercing (fem!recieving), more tattooed and long haired jungkook to feed my fantasies, angsty pining clingy sex, also just general soft sex, crying sex lol, riding, creampie, slight praise kink themes, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: here’s my one year blog anniversary present inspired by the first ever fic i posted on here! yes this is technically a sequel to melomaniac but not really. sort of like an alternate universe to the alternate universe but you don’t really have to read one or the other to understand the other. so, i hope you enjoy!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

You swear you’re over Jungkook.

In fact, you would even go so far as to say you hate him ━ but you know that’s not true. It’s just that it’s much easier to believe that if you tell yourself you hate him enough times, then maybe you’ll find a way to fix your broken heart, and the pain in his absence won’t hurt so bad.

As it turns out, it hardly works.

Seven months since he had left you to travel the world with his band, basking in promised eternal glory and fame and money, and yet even miles and oceans away from where you stand, he’s all you can think about. There’s a myriad of reasons as to why trying to forget him was an useless endeavour. The hardships of trying to forget a cherished life-long friendship you had grown accustomed to was one of them, and those lingering happy moments you had shared with him as lovers however fleeting they may be was another. But then there was the ever present fact that Jungkook and his band were so quick to rise to fame, their names far exceeding the seemingly cramped and small city you had both reigned from, and suddenly the boy you had known forever, and everything special that makes him, was now being shared to hundreds of millions of adoring fans.

You were certain it was all Jungkook ever wanted, the added attention and the pretty girls fawning over him, because he had always been a casanova in many ways despite always promising you that you were the only one for him even before you had started dating. You had told him it wouldn’t work ━ I trust you as my best friend, you had said in a moment of despair, grasping at straws. I don’t have to worry about you breaking my heart. But I don’t know if I can trust you as my boyfriend ━ far before he and his band had been signed to their record label and paraded around the world, when they were still practicing in rented storage units and friends’ garages and rundown local studios, playing gigs anywhere and everywhere from dingy bars to college campus parties, supporting him every step of the way if only because he was your best friend, and he had been so persistent that it would work, chasing after you even when you tried to push him away. I would treat you right, he had urged so ardently late one drunken night after stumbling back to his apartment. I already practically worship the ground you walk on.

And how could you ━ who had already been so madly in love with him but scared of him breaking your heart, scared of losing him, scared of this happening ━ ever resist him? He made love seem so easy, and maybe that’s because it was when you were with him. But now, he was no longer yours; now, he was the world’s, and you were nothing but a mere hazy fragmented memory in his mind, long forgotten, watching from the side of the stage much like you always had from the very start of it all.

“Hey, isn’t this that band?” Jihyo’s voice bursts through your wandering trail of thoughts.

It takes you a moment to recollect yourself, finding yourself not in the arms of an ex-lover or stuck in a bygone time of months past, but in the cosy and amiable café nearest your campus and frequented by a plethora of your fellow peers. You’re fortunate to find that your other group mates have also become sidetracked, trailing far from the assignment you were all supposed to be working on. Dahyun is perched beside you, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and elbow propped on the table as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone; Jihyo and Taeyong were sat across from you, gossiping fervently about some mutual friend of theirs. You hadn’t known the pair long enough to know much about them or the tragic affair of whoever Mina is for accepting her cheating boyfriend back for the second time, and, likewise, they seem oblivious to your own self-wallowing once you realize what’s caught Jihyo’s sudden attention.

You hear his voice first.

It’s easy to discern, even after all this time and even amongst the muffled chatter and clanking of porcelain and cutlery of those seated around you. The sweet, velvety lull of Jungkook singing throughout the café from the overhead speakers, pretty upbeat melodies and synths mixed with wistful words making up the song he had written for you before he left, before the fame and fans, as a way of telling you how he truly felt about you. It feels like a dream, and maybe that’s because it is, bringing you instantly to another time, and another world. You still remember him showing you the unfinished song for the very first time, curled up next to him in his living room, listening to him serenade you to sleep, humming in places where he hadn’t formed the words yet, strumming along with his acoustic. It was yours and his until he showed the world almost a year ago on their very first show at the Seoul Olympic Stadium in front of thousands of people, as a final desperate act of proclaiming his love for you after a disastrous attempt at a first date that he had begged from you. Just one, he pleaded. To prove it to you that I can be a good boyfriend. And if things don’t work out, we can pretend it never happened and just go back to being us. That’s a promise.

At the time, you had treasured the song. It was beautiful in every way, his love transcending his words and enveloping your heart in pure warmth.

Now, you hate it.

It’s the third time you’ve heard the song that day. Despite avoiding it as best as you could, it seems to find a way to make itself known in your daily life like the nagging nuisance it is. Because fate seemed to enjoy its sadistic behaviour of having the song be one of the main reasons Jungkook and his band had skyrocketed to fame in such a short span of time and, suddenly, Jungkook disappearing from your life meant little when his voice remained as a constant reminder of what could have been, what couldn’t have been, and what fell apart at the already fragile seams. And what was a proclamation of love to you turned into nothing but a fabled tale of lovers. You wonder if people who hear it ever think about where they’ve gone, or who they’ve turned into, or if their love was made to last. You wonder, above all else, if people ever think about it at all.

“Beyond the Scene, right?” Taeyong asks. He seems just as animated to be discussing the song as Jungkook’s voice fades into Jimin’s.

“God, I love this song. It’s so dreamy,” Jihyo lets out a longing sigh as she slumps against her seat. “Y’know, I’m seeing them this Friday. It’s their first time being back in, like, five months.”

“Dude, I’ve been trying to get tickets to see them for months now!” Taeyong gaps incredulously. “How’d you score them?”

“A friend of a friend knows the guy who plays keys,” Jihyo says. “The cute mysterious one.”

“Yoongi, right?”

“Yeah━”

As the pair dive into a passionate discussion about the boys and their first full-length album released under their recently-signed-to label from Columbia Records, you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Dahyun almost immediately straightens up, eyes flickering from the pair to you and back again. You’re both fortunate she’s there, having known your past with Jungkook, and despise it a little more, wondering what her pitying gaze must mean.

“Hey, Dahyun. Y/N.” Taeyong’s voice grabs your attention now. “What do you think of these guys? Didn’t some of them used to go to this school?”

“Yeah, I had a few classes with their drummer.” Dahyun waves her hand airly, swiftly brushing over the fact that she did far more than have a “few classes” with any of the boys but was also one of their closest friends. “I think they’re great━” She glances sideways at you one more time. “Hey, maybe we should get back to the assignment now━”

“I had a class with their lead guitarist, Jungkook, last year,” Jihyo continues, her excitement getting the best of her as Dahyun’s voice drowns out in the foreground.

“No way!” This dubious exclamation comes from Taeyong.

“I tried talking to him once but he totally blew me off,” Jihyo says. “Which is fine, because he’s still hot. If I had known he was gonna be a famous rockstar, I’d have tried asking him out a second time━”

Suddenly, you feel sick.

It’s odd to hear two strangers discuss Jungkook’s life while you’re seated across from them, as if you’re nothing more than an outsider to whoever Jungkook has become now. But you can’t stand it anymore. You’re certain you look insane to them when you push your seat back abruptly, the metal legs screeching against the floor as you stand.

“Whoa, what’s wrong━?” Taeyong starts to ask but you’re gone before he can finish the question, murmuring a half-hearted excuse about how you forgot you needed to be somewhere.

You’ve rounded on your heel and have fled from the café before anyone can try to stop you, with nothing but Jungkook’s mellifluous voice fading in the distance as he croons aloud for you in a time long since passed.

You don’t care. Besides, you’re sure Dahyun will cover for you.

The worst part of it all? The dreadful realization that sinks into your mind, and into your heart, beckons the question: who’s to say you aren’t a stranger now to Jungkook’s life altogether?

“So, what are you trying to say?”

You remember the moment so clearly despite wanting nothing more than to forget it all, and the pain associated with it. Because even from then you knew you would always be in love with Jungkook, but you couldn’t have him. It’s hard to remember whose fault it is this time that caused the sudden fight, though random little arguments had been a frequent occurrence nearing the end of your one year relationship more often than not. You hate blaming it all on him, because you were certain you were at fault too. Maybe a little bit wary at times, a little selfish, wanting him all to yourself. Even though you knew he has an obligation to the world, it still hurt when he started making promises he couldn’t keep, blowing you off for soundchecks, or spontaneous interviews, or record label meetings. More and more you could feel the both of you drifting apart, maybe without even meaning for it to happen.

It was just that Jungkook was destined for a lifetime of greatness, and you were starting to think that meant without you.

You had stopped him late one night after he had stumbled home from his and the band’s nightly studio sessions as they worked through recording their debut album as a signed band. Lately, it seemed as if that was all that Jungkook cared about, and while you knew the band meant the world to him and you would always support him in his endeavour, you couldn’t help but feel lesser in comparison. That, and you hated seeing the boy overwork himself to the point of near exhaustion every night if only because their label was so adamant about having the album finished before the month ended.

“You want to, what? Break up?” Jungkook asked, this time more incredulously and less dumbfounded as he had initially been. He didn’t believe you just yet, but you couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking anymore at that point.

“I just figured we could use some time apart,” You had suggested awkwardly. “Just a break.”

He had let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Y/N, this is insane.”

You flinched. You remember having to look away, refusing to meet his suddenly sorrowful look. “Is it, Jungkook? I mean… Look at us. We’re falling apart. It was bound to happen eventually. We tried to make it work but maybe we’re on different paths now.”

“But I love you,” Jungkook gasped, exasperated. “Where is this coming from?”

“And I don’t want to have to tie you down for the rest of your life,” You continued on stubbornly, “or make you think you owe me your whole life just because you said you fell in love with me when you were thirteen━”

This seemed to catch Jungkook’s attention. He grew rigid in front of you, a look of wary agony contorting his face. “Is that what this is then? You don’t love me anymore?”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead the dread of the night seemed to finally catch up with you and you had grimaced. You had loved him even then, but the thought of voicing it aloud when you were supposed to be breaking up with him didn’t feel right. The tears began to swell in your throat and blur your vision. Jungkook must have noticed, because he always seems to spot the small things about you that even you miss. Almost instantly, the sour look on his face softened and his gaze turned helpless, with those big puppy-dog eyes that you’ve always been too fond of. He closed the distance between you at once, warm hands grabbing at your own.

“You do.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you were still in love with him ━ or maybe he’d just been hopeful. “I know you do. So then why are you breaking up with me?”

He let go of one of your hands to reach up to your face, calloused fingers gentle and soft against your cheek as they brushed away a rogue tear you hadn’t realized had fallen from your lashes. For a moment, you had let yourself get carried away. You leaned into the comforting heat and touch of his palm as he cradled your face.

“Don’t━” You choked out after a moment of silence, hating when your voice splintered into a sob. “Don’t touch me. Please, Jungkook. You’re only going to make this harder.”

His hands sprang away from your face almost at once, as if he had just been burnt by scalding fire. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull you into his arms but he had refrained the urge somehow, miraculously. So, instead, he grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as his arms fell limp at his sides.

“Then don’t do this. Don’t walk away,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. “I don’t understand. If you love me still, why are you making this harder for yourself?”

“Because what if that’s all we have in common anymore?” You asked wretchedly. “We care about each other. We always will. But you’re focused on the band, and this is my last year of school. Maybe we just need time to focus on ourselves.”

Jungkook blinked once. Twice. His stare was suddenly devoid of any emotion as he gawked at you, but you could tell that he was hurting. It was there in the fluttering of nerves in his jaw; there, in the way his lips pulled taut into a thin line; there, in the way even you could see his eyes begin to shimmer with wet tears that he unabashedly displays without trying to wipe away.

“So that’s it?” he asked. “After everything we’ve been through. You’re just gonna end it, like that? Y/N, come on━”

His hands had found purchase on your waist, and you had lingered for a moment too long; then, fumbling, he tried to grab delicately at your face, probing you to look at him. But you couldn’t. The moment you met his wounded gaze, you shook your head furiously. You had slithered out of his grasp, slipping through the seams of his fingers just like that.

“I━” You paused. “This isn’t some spur of the moment decision, Jungkook. How can you not see it? I’ve felt so alone these past few months. It’s like you’re here but not entirely. Your mind is always somewhere else, always thinking about the band and never about us.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he had asked hotly. “The band is my everything.”

“And what am I?” You asked. The question only mildly offended you, a shot right to your heart. Because if the band was his everything, what were you in comparison? “A distraction until you get everything you want? I can’t keep being that.”

“No!” he protested. “You’re not a distraction. You’re━” He stopped himself short, brows furrowing. “You can’t keep pinning this all on me. You just don’t trust me, do you? You never did. Always thinking I’m with some other girl when I’m not with you━”

“That’s not true,” You admonished.

“Isn’t it?” Jungkook retaliated.

“I don’t want to hear it,” You had said at once. Your tone was final, a decisive ending to your argument with him. “My mind’s already been made up, Jungkook. I don’t think we should see each other again until we sort all this out ━ or, until you sort out whatever your priorities are.”

Jungkook’s stare had hardened, a frown deeply etching into his face. He had straightened up then, perplexed and upset with your standoffish demeanour, as if thinking this surely meant nothing to you. But little did he know this would become one of the hardest decisions you would have to make.

“Fine,” he said rigidly. “If that’s how it is, then I’m gone. You’ll never have to see me again.”

You hadn’t known at the time just how terribly you had messed up ━ neither had Jungkook. He had left before you could stop him, or before either of you could change your minds. Because nothing’s worse than a broken heart, blinded by stubborn and defensive rage. Accusatory fingers and blaming him or you wouldn’t heal the wounds that had already formed, and ending things seemed to only make it worse, months of lonely heartache without Jungkook to further prove just that…

The last time you spoke to Jungkook, you told him you never wanted to see him again ━ or, at least, that seems to be how he interpreted it.

Now, you were standing in the midst of his domain, surrounded by everyone in his public sphere of friends and colleagues and acquaintances, and there was certainly no way of escaping him.

You were starting to think you’re losing mind, because you’d truly have to be insane to have worked up the nerve to agree to go with Dahyun to a party being held celebrating the band’s recent tremendous success and headlining their first world tour. Their manager, Jin, had personally reached out to you and Dahyun, calling you as a means of asking you to attend, though you had given him a timid and dismissive response at first. If it hadn’t been for Dahyun purposely and almost quite literally dragging you out under the premise that “even if you don’t want to see Jungkook, you at least owe it to the boys to go,” you don’t think you’d even be here. But while you didn’t know where you stood with Jungkook anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still proud of him or the rest of the boys. It just became harder to bask in their success with them when you had gone from knowing every detail of their lives, of Jungkook’s life, to knowing only what you could hear from gossiping fans around you, or plastered in tabloids, or all over any form of social media.

The party is held at some sort of fancy lavish restaurant, the entire back room rented out by the band’s record label and management, and is filled with dozens of people you don’t know. Fortunately, you and Dahyun aren’t left alone for very long, as an elated Jin and Jimin, the appointed lead singer, bustle their way through the crowd to you almost as soon as you arrive, leaving very little time for you to feel so awkward that you consider running away again. Jimin, in all his spritely and extravagant blue haired disposition, wastes no time in engulfing you both in a comforting hug as if months hadn’t passed since you’ve last seen them.

“Glad you guys could make it!” Jin smiles from over Jimin’s shoulder.

“It’s been forever,” Jimin affirms.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dahyun says. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t forget about us, considering you’re big rockstars now.”

“Rockstar is a bit of an overstatement.” An effortlessly charming smirk unfurls on Jimin’s face, which seems to immediately dazzle Dahyun. “Besides, we could never forget you. Hey, come with me to find the guys. I think we could all use some time to catch up━”

He places his hand on the small of Dahyun’s back as he guides her away, leaving you with Jin. A moment of silence passes, in which time you can feel the boy’s eyes lingering on you.

“He knows you’re coming tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jin says carefully, treading over his words lightly. It’s too painfully obvious who he’s talking about, though you’re fortunate he doesn’t bother mentioning Jungkook’s name anyway. “There’s no point in hiding. I think you should talk to him.”

“I━” You trail off uselessly, your voice croaking. Fearing an imminent breakdown, you shake your head. Then, holding your chin a little higher, Jin’s startled to hear you pretend as if he hadn’t said anything. “It really is good to see you guys again. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

And you’re gone once more before he can say anything else. On your lonesome, you find refuge at the bar, though you only order water because you’re certain you won’t be able to stomach anything stronger. You don’t know how long you spend there, blankly staring at a spot on the wall as your mind wanders everywhere and yet nowhere at all until━

“Y/N?”

There it is again. The familiar sound of his voice, only this time it’s much more attainable, closer to your world and not elsewhere so high in the clouds like a hopeful dream. You brace yourself before turning to face him.

This close, Jungkook looks breathtakingly and painfully beautiful.

As always, he’s adorned in all black, the first few buttons of the silky blouse he’s wearing left undone so that it teases the exposed flesh of his collarbones and the rose tattoo that inks his chest, the thorny stems crawling up the side of his neck just below his ear, accompanied by a pair of leather pants. He’s the same as ever. The same imperfect tattoos that decorate his fingers and arms that you’ve always loved, the same ring-clad fingers painted a chipped black, the same hoop accentuating his button nose. His hair is still his natural dark ebony color (something he’s seemed to stick with much more as of late despite dyeing it wild colours throughout his past), only it’s a little longer than you last remembered, and the sides of his head are shaved in the form of an undercut. You’re foolishly surprised to find he still looks the same, but almost a year away from someone can both change nothing and yet everything all at once.

“Jungkook…” You want to say something more, but your words fall short.

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or upset at seeing you there, but you don’t think he’s either, and you have an inkling of a thought that he purposely sought you out amongst the many faces. Instead, he looks hesitant, apprehensive, as if dreading how you’ll respond to see him. As if you’ll yell at him, push him away. You do neither, fortunately.

Just when the dense silence starts to become almost unbearable, Jungkook clears his throat. “I━ Wow… You look great.”

You blink once, a flustered blush warming your face that you hope he doesn’t notice. “Oh. Thank you. You do, too.”

His eyes flicker over your presence as he nods absentmindedly. Then, he’s offering you a pretty smile, soft and sweet in nature. No malice, or ill-intent. “Um━ How have you been?”

You hate this. You hate the awkward pauses, the prolonged periods of silence. A year ago, even despite knowingly pining for one another, your moments alone with Jungkook were never so terrible. He always found a way to say something cheekily flirtatious even when you were just friends, if only because he knew it would make you blush and giggle because, no matter how many times you would roll your eyes or nudge his sides, he also knew you secretly loved it. All the inside jokes, the milestones shared together, the ardent fleeting touches ━ where did it all go? And while you were both noticeably trying to maintain the peace and pleasantry between one another, it didn’t feel the same. It felt forced, fake. Distracted.

“I’ve been good,” You lie. “How about you? Actually, don’t answer that━” You let out a breathless chuckle. “You’ve clearly been doing amazing. I mean, your album, and your world tour. And tomorrow you’ve got a big day with the hometown show. I heard it sold out in the first ten minutes.”

“Something like that,” Jungkook says modestly. “It’s been kind of crazy. Namjoon says it’s good, but I miss━ I just miss a lot of how it used to be. The slow pace. I dunno. The quick burn up is quick to burn out, right?”

“Maybe,” You admit. “But I think you’ve all got it in you. You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Enjoy it while you’re in it. You deserve it, Jungkook.”

His stare softens as it meets yours. “Thanks.”

Another beat of silence passes. He looks as if he’s warring with himself, as if he’s fighting the urge to say something more, gnawing at his lower lip, brows knitting together.

“Yo, Jeon!” A foreign voice from amongst the crowd beckons aloud abruptly for the boy.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder swiftly in search of the source, then waves his hand as if to motion he’ll be there later. Then, he turns back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I won’t keep you,” You say. “I know you’re busy.”

“But━” He stops himself, his jaw clamping shut. Changing his mind, he decides to ask hopefully, “Will you be at the show tomorrow?”

“Of course.” The affirmation seems to relieve him, even though it’s a spontaneous decision made by you on the spot. Before this moment, you hadn’t been so sure you could go.

“Promise?”

You can’t help but shake your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips at the innocent boyish question he asks. “Yes, Jungkook.”

His smile widens a little more, however sheepish it may be. “Then can you promise me one more thing?”

“What?” You quirk a brow, intrigued to say the least.

“Will you drop by the hotel we’re staying at tomorrow morning, so I can take you out for a coffee? Just to catch up. It’s been a while,” he says timidly. Then, feeling a little stupid for being so bold, scrambles to explain himself. “And no pressure if you don’t want to. I just thought━”

You can’t possibly say no. Not when it comes to Jungkook, all your past struggles seemingly vanishing without a trace. “I’d like that a lot, Jungkook.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Then he’s positively beaming, his self-indulgent grin making your own heart flutter in your chest. When he leaves your side that night, you find yourself looking forward to the future perhaps a little too optimistically. But how terrible could grabbing coffee with your ex be, if you had survived the first wretched encounter?

So, in the morning when you wake, there’s not a stutter in your step or a wavering flicker of your confidence as you make your way to the Four Seasons hotel Jungkook had told you to from the night before. In fact, a selfish part of you almost thinks that maybe things will start to look up. That maybe you and Jungkook can finally make amends. That maybe you never had a reason to fear Jungkook breaking your heart if he made such an effort to heal it.

The hotel itself is one of the most luxurious ones in Seoul, a considerable contrast from when the boys were slumming it on friends’ couches and in their run-down van touring the country. The room Jungkook tells you to meet him at is one of the hotel’s grand suites, located on the higher levels of the building. But as soon as you reach the landing and have begun making your way towards the designated door, it flings open and a pretty girl comes stumbling out. She’s giggling at something that has just happened inside, her hair a dishevelled mess which she ruffles up in an attempt to fix it. She’s adorned in a pretty little dress, the skirt of which is hiked a little higher up and one strap falling down her shoulder, as she clings her shoes and bag to her chest. She smiles at you on the way past, though she’s too far gone in her own little daze that you wonder if she even notices you at all.

But you certainly notice her, and, all at once, your reverie of him and what could be comes crashing to the ground once more.

Maybe you should have stayed, should have waited for Jungkook to let him explain, but you were too afraid to hear an answer you weren’t looking for. You try desperately not to imagine Jungkook loving someone else. You try not to think about him holding her the same way he held you, his lips finding purchase on some other girl. But by trying to avoid the thought, it beckons the unwarranted memories of how it felt to be loved all over by him once upon a time. You wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in your time apart, and the overwhelming sense of regret washes over you.

You don’t bother to wait. You know fleeing is the easiest option rather than facing your fear, but you’re far too timid of rejection again. Instead, even before you can approach Jungkook’s hotel room and knock on the door, you turn on your heels and run.

You’re long gone by the time Jungkook comes to the door, prying it open in search of you on a whim. When he doesn’t see you, he glances up and down the hallway but to no avail. Namjoon comes slinking past inside then in his own disoriented haze, having just woken up from moments ago when the girl he had taken back to their room the night before left. Even then, Jungkook had warned the rhythm guitarist against bringing the girl back, pointing out the fact that they had much to do today ahead of their concert. Namjoon had promised it wouldn’t be long, that she would be gone in the morning, and Jungkook was fortunate enough that the suite had two separate bedrooms on the opposite ends of one another so that Jungkook didn’t have to hear whatever it was the pair were doing in the other.

“Did Mina leave?” Namjoon asks through a yawn, digging the heels of his palms into his tired eyes. When Jungkook nods, a sliver of a reminiscent smug grin tugs at Namjoon’s lips. “You missed out, Jungkook.”

The cheeky quip is met with a roll of Jungkook’s eyes. “I’m sure I’ll survive. You know I’m not like that.”

Like that━ As in midnight hook-ups and cheap thrills alike. He tried it once, far ago when you had first broken up with him, on a drunken spur of a moment as a way of healing the anguish in his heart. It hadn’t worked then; he assumed it would never work.

Namjoon seems to understand this immediately. He gives Jungkook a look that the boy doesn’t notice. “Well… is Y/N here yet?”

“No. But I’m sure she’ll be here,” Jungkook grimaces. He hopes. “Something probably came up.”

Namjoon clasps a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, humming aloud, “Good luck, dude.”

But you never arrive, even though Jungkook waits for most of the morning, nervous eyes flickering to the door at every commotion outside, running to check only to see room service delivering breakfast or concierge showing guests to their rooms. He has no choice but to give up on the thought of you coming when Jin knocks on their door, prompting the boys to get a start on their day. Interviews and soundcheck await, but how could he possibly go on with his life without knowing what happened to you?

Which is why you stay on his mind for the rest of the day, distracting him in every aspect, mixing up his words when he’s in the midst of his interview, tripping up on stage as the boys set up and begin to rehearse. As the hours wane down to just an hour before the show, the thought of performing in front of thousands of fans starts to make him nervous and he doesn’t know why. He’s done this countless times before, almost nightly during the tour, so what stops him now? Of course he knows the answer, had grown all too accustomed to the feeling the first few months in which the break up had been so recent. It would always be about you.

But just before the show starts, Jungkook is making his way backstage from the greenroom, where the band had been waiting, to the stage. Fiddling with his in-ear piece, he almost doesn’t notice you and Dahyun weaving your way through the roadies and sound tech, being guided by Jin to the pit on the side of the stage where only family and friends are allowed. You don’t see him, and there’s a split moment where he thinks he should just let you go, until he doesn’t.

As he makes his way to you, the tour manager for the band intervenes part way, shouting out to the boy. “Where are you going? We’re on in five, Jungkook!”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back━” He waves the manager off as politely as he can, wasting no time to chase after you. He calls out your name, though it drowns out in the sound of the music being blasted through the speakers of the arena and the screaming fans. “Y/N, wait up!”

He’s relieved when he sees you stop in your tracks, turning to face him as Dahyun and Jin become lost in the chaos of the backstage. He comes to stand just before you, smiling breathlessly at you, unaware of the way your shoulders tense at the sight of him.

“You didn’t show up this morning,” he says as a way of greeting, his voice a curious prob. “What happened?”

You try desperately not to get lost in his big beautiful eyes, laced with such hope. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest, looking away. ��Something came up.”

It’s then that Jungkook senses something is wrong. You’re upset with him, though he can’t tell why. Aside from the obvious rift in your relationship that had initially split you two up, you had been so pleasant to see him the night before. But he doesn’t give up just yet. “Well… you’re here now.”

You meet his gaze with your own hardened one. “For the boys.”

A shot right to his heart almost makes Jungkook gasp for air. He flinches, and then his stare softens, and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that, out of fear that you might just relapse into his arms.

“What’s wrong?” He closes the distance between the two of you. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you, but refrains with much difficulty. There’s dozens of things that could be wrong, and he braces himself for your retaliation. “You didn’t want to come, did you?”

When you don’t respond, but also don’t stray from his side, Jungkook hurries to speak again if only to fill the tense silence.

“Look, last night… Maybe it was just me, but last night seemed like things were okay,” he says. “Was I wrong to feel that way?”

“Jungkook…”

“Please, just let me know,” he begs. “Because you’re all I can think about these days, it’s driving me crazy. And I don’t know what’s going on, but the reason I wanted to see you this morning was because I hate how things ended between us, and I wanted to tell you…” He swallows nervously as he trails off uncertainly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m still in love with you. And I can’t get you out of my head. These months away from you made me realize that I━”

Suddenly, you’re shaking your head and he knows you don’t believe him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying it, if only because they seem to enliven you. Now, you push yourself away from the boy. “I’m not doing this right now. You’re not doing this right now.”

As if to further your point, the band’s tour manager can be heard calling out frantically for the boy. “Two minutes, Jungkook!”

But Jungkook is hardly paying attention now, instead solely focused on you. “Please, Y/N━”

“No, you don’t get to say that to me,” You admonish hotly. You can’t bite the words back, no matter how hard you try. “You don’t love me. You think you love me, but you don’t.”

His jaw clenches, and his brows furrow into a frustrated stare. “I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Stop.” The harsh word makes Jungkook clamp his mouth shut. You shake your head furiously, but you know it’s only to distract yourself so that you don’t let the tears fall. “You’re being selfish, Jungkook. You don’t get to take all of me, love all of me, and leave, only to come back months later and pretend you’re still in love with me. And whatever this━” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, “is, or was, doesn’t exist anymore. We both need to stop pretending otherwise.”

Jungkook winces, eyes tinged with pain. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t respond. Elsewhere, his tour manager starts to grow impatient, scolding the boy aloud, “Jungkook, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” Jungkook calls back, irritated. Maybe he is being selfish. He’s wasting precious time by not leaving, all the hard work that the crew put into tonight’s show, and the fans awaiting his and the band’s arrival. He can still hear the crowd, this time their buzzing voices amalgamating into unanimous chanting muffled by the walls that sounds akin to the band’s name.

“You should go,” You say now. “Don’t wanna disappoint them.”

But he’d throw it all away for you if you told him to. He promised you that even before he had left for tour, before the band had been signed. Had you forgotten? Because he surely hadn’t.

“Y/N…”

“Good luck out there.”

Then, you’re gone before Jungkook can even make a move to stop you ━ but even if he did, what could he do to make you stay? The feat seemed impossible, and you always seem to find a way to slip from his grasp no matter what he does. Only this time he has no choice but to let you go, out of fear of being berated further by his tour manager or angering the boys so much to the point where he gets kicked out of the band.

He makes it on stage in time, the band filing out to take their places one at a time, deafening screams blowing out their in-ear pieces that stand no chance as each member joins the stage. The lights fizzle out until complete darkness cloaks the venue, but Jungkook still looks for you. He finds you in the pit on the side of the stage, Jin and Dahyun standing beside you, and finds it hard to keep his eyes off of you even though you attempt to pretend as if he’s not even there.

After their first adrenaline-filled opening song of the night, Jimin takes to the microphone to greet the crowd who scream back an indiscernible shout as, elsewhere, you notice Jungkook pry himself away from the microphone stand on his side of the stage to wave the rest of the boys over to Hoseok’s drum kit. They murmur amongst themselves briefly, though they go unnoticed by Jimin or the crowd as the lead singer entertains them.

“Seoul! It’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all so much━”

Jimin’s words get cut short when Jungkook, having just parted ways with the rest of his members for their impromptu meeting, beckons the lead singer over, out of range of the microphone. They seem to discuss something just as shortly as Jungkook had talked with the rest of the boys, in which time Jimin nods understandingly, then steps away from the microphone. Then, Jungkook takes to the microphone, the rings on his fingers glistening under the spotlight as he grips the stand.

“I know the night’s only getting started,” Jungkook’s voice wavers as he speaks, “but we’re gonna slow things down for a moment. We hope you don’t mind.”

Intrigued murmurs echo around the crowd, suddenly buzzing with excitement as they watch Jungkook with eager eyes. A few encouraging bellows has Jungkook smiling smally. Jin, on the other hand, looks perplexed.

“What is he doing?” Jin asks no one in particular, a quizzical look on his face. “This isn’t part of their set.”

“I think a lot of you might know this next song,” Jungkook continues, “but I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how much it means to me. This next one, I wrote for a special someone, and it sort of helped us achieve all of this. So, I think it’s time that person knows how much they mean to me.”

Jungkook glances nervously over at the boys standing behind him, each in their own respective spots. Then, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, he finally finds you already staring up at him. His own eyes soften into a look of longing, however hardened by past tribulations and sorrow it may be. As if he’s determined not to lose you again; determined to make it up to you.

“This next one is for Y/N,” he says timidly. He has to turn away from you in the next second, afraid he might just break down before the fans and the boys and you. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

As the boys take their place, with Jimin taking an acoustic and fading back from the limelight, you wonder why. But then you hear it, the familiar beginning chords making up the song you had so wholeheartedly claimed you hated. Only this time they’re gentler, made up of acoustic strums of a guitar, Hoseok’s drums, and Yoongi’s keys, all amalgamating into a pretty song almost unrecognizable.

Then, Jungkook starts singing, and what was once a wistful dreamy song of prospective lovers suddenly turns into a melancholic requiem for you. Some lyrics are changed, present tense turning to the past, and Jungkook sings his way throughout the entirety of the song in contrast to the one that plays all over the radio featuring the other member’s voices. The fans sing along, their voices melding with Jungkook’s into some sort of celestial mellifluous choir, and you’re left no longer wondering if the fans would ever know the meaning behind the song that Jungkook had brought to life. Because now, it wasn’t just Jungkook singing to you; it was the whole world. And yet, paradoxically at the same time, it felt all that much more intimate. As if it were just you and him once again, seated on the couch in his small apartment, listening to the beginnings of what would be their number one selling song.

Above all else, you realize that you don’t seem to hate the song as much you claimed to.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You find yourself leaving the venue earlier than everyone else, even when the boys invite you and Dahyun to join them for celebratory drinks, returning to your home in the hopes of forgetting the night altogether. Instead, you stay up tossing and turning, your mind filled with memories consisting of only Jungkook and his haunting voice singing to you, and for you. But at some point during the night nearing one or two in the morning, just when you give up on the idea of sleep, the sound of incessant knocking at your front door rouses you from your trance.

When you finally answer the door, you’re more than surprised to see that Jungkook stands on the other side of the threshold as if coming to you from a dream. But then you register the fact that he’s a complete mess. Dark circles line his weary eyes, now smudged with that faint hint of charcoal liner he had worn for the concert, hair so messily mused beyond repair, and you notice quickly that he’s crying, fresh tears glazing over his pupils and streaking down his face. It’s startling to see him in such shambles, a complete contrast to how effortlessly charming and confident he usually portrays himself. But though you’ve seen him cry before on various occasions, now is all the more unsettling.

“I━I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head. He fumbles over his words, slurring them together in his rush to get them out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to see you.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, no, I swear━” He pries his eyes open to meet your desolate stare, tears unabashedly falling from his lashes. His voice thins with desperation. “You said we need to stop pretending, but I’m not pretending. I never have been. And if you think ━ if you truly believe ━ that there’s nothing here between us anymore… Tell me. Right here, right now. And I’ll leave you alone forever, you’ll never have to see me again. I just━ I’ve missed you every moment and it kills me.”

You’re silent for a long period, pitying gaze sweeping over him, but he doesn’t care if he looks insane. He just needs you to know how he feels.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” You ask the question carefully, but then the memories come flooding back and the semblance of a scowl forms on your face. “You leave and suddenly everywhere I look I see you. Your song is playing everywhere, you and the guys are everywhere, and I’m reminded every day about how we ended. About how you left me.”

Jungkook blinks. He shakes his head stubbornly, the nerves in the corner of his jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth. “You were the one who said we should take a break.”

“A break!” You snap sternly. “Fuck, Jungkook. I didn’t want you out of my life forever. I wanted you to fight for me.”

“No, don’t put this all on me,” Jungkook pleads helplessly. “I have always fought for you. But the minute things got rough, you bailed. You told me you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I was scared!” You try to swallow the tears away that start to form as a lump in your throat but to no avail. “I was, and I still am, so fucking scared of losing you. And you━ It felt like you gave me no choice. Like you were over it. I would have wanted to make things work but you left. You just… You left, and suddenly it was like you were never in my life at all. Seven months, and I get no word from you.”

“I fucked up, okay!” He cries out so suddenly, it silences you at once. He bites at his lip, and straightens up half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair. When he meets your stare this time, he’s zealous yet sincere. “I know that I messed up. I know. And it fucking kills me every single day. I don’t know where it went wrong, but it did, and I know it’s all my fault. When you said we should take a break and I agreed, I was only thinking about you. Because I knew I was disappointing you every day, and I was afraid that was all I would ever do, and you don’t deserve that. I thought it would be better this way, if I was just gone from your life for good. But I can’t forget you.”

“How can I trust you?” You ask. When his pained stare gawks at you, you tilt your chin a little higher. “I came by your hotel room yesterday morning, just like you asked, only to see that girl leaving.”

Jungkook’s gawk turns into a dumbfounded expression. He looks weary as he shakes his head, as if struggling to keep up with the way you accuse him now. He tries not to focus on the fact that you actually came to the hotel, then feels inconsolably terrible when he realizes why he never got to see you. “That girl was Namjoon’s fling. We were sharing the suite, and they were in a whole other room. I didn’t even think about her━”

Your stare droops from him, and he knows he’s struggling to keep you on his side.

“Okay, fine. You want trust? I’ll give it to you,” he says. A newfound sense of confidence seems to possess him, though he approaches the topic with extra caution anyway. “After we broke up, I was crushed. I couldn’t move on from you, and the guys thought I should get drunk, find a random girl to bring back to our hotel one night on tour. And I listened, because I wanted to forget you, but it didn’t work. All I could think about was you. Every time she touched me, every time she kissed me, I could only imagine it was you. And when she left that night, I broke down because I felt like such a fucking idiot. I instantly regretted it. Like, even though you and I weren’t together, I still did something to hurt you by sleeping with that girl. And all it did was hurt me too in the process.”

He pushes himself forward, taking a step over the threshold. Even despite him admitting his wrongs to you, you can’t find it in yourself to hate him. Because, at the end of it all, he’s here at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him, but he had already won the moment your eyes had landed on him.

“You’re the reason I am who I am today.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, almost in a whisper. “That I get to do what I love for a living. But all of it means nothing without you. You saw me at my worst, and my best. And you were the best I ever had, and I ruined it, and the worst part of it all is that there’s nothing I can do to make up for it. But I promise I can make it better ━ I can make it right again ━ if you just give me a chance.”

There’s a short pause filled with poignant silence in which Jungkook thinks you’ll push him away or scream at him. He’s fortunate when you do neither; instead, he hears you whisper faintly.

“Kiss me, Jungkook.”

And it’s more than enough for him. His heart thrums in delight as he wastes no time in reaching out for you. His hands are warm as they come to grasp at your face, holding you delicately; then he’s leaning in to you, drawing you closer and closer until his lips are pressed against yours. It’s unadulterated, but not without feverish passion, noses smushing together in both your eager hastiness to close the distance between the two of you. It doesn’t last long either, though that’s partly because Jungkook can taste your tears mingling on your lips, and can feel your faint smile form against his mouth. Kissing him feels both foreign yet familiar at the same time. You know the feel, the taste, and the sense of comfort that comes with it, but months apart from one another has left it feeling different.

Jungkook’s thumb wipes away at the tears on your face. “Why are you crying?”

It’s a useless question, he knows, but he needs something to fill the silence. He’s relieved when he hears you snicker. “Because I miss you, you idiot. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such an idiot. I’ve messed everything up.”

His own shoulders quiver with contented mirth. “It’ll be okay.” As he leans in once more for another kiss, you can feel him murmur against your mouth, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then make it right,” You say, “right here and now.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he promises earnestly.

Jungkook understands the underlying yearning in your voice even without having you explain yourself. He knows, if only because he can feel it too. As his hands fall to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, your own arms wrap around his neck and pull him into your apartment. He has you pressed up against the nearest wall within seconds, kissing at your throat, then up to your jawline.

“It’s been so long,” he sighs.

You hum in agreement, though your mind is already spinning, and all you can muster is a weak yet urgent croak of his name. “Jungkook.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging at the roots and he croons with delight. His lips finally meet yours again, only this time he lets his tongue lav at your lower lip. Almost as soon as he does so, you notice something strange. It takes a moment for you to register the small metallic object that grazes your lower lip but when you do, you pull away from the boy.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks in a confused dazed.

“Is that…” You rasp. “Did you get your tongue pierced?”

Suddenly, Jungkook is smirking, one brow shooting up to his hairline in a smug demeanour. He sticks out his tongue for you to see the silver ball poking through and you almost moan at the sight of it as the thought entices you.

“Oh.” Your face warms with a flustered blush. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Always wanted to get it done. Guess I was saving it for the right moment.”

“Right moment, huh?” You scoff as if the implications don’t already have your thighs rubbing together. “Care to explain?”

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles, marvelling at the way Jungkook’s familiar flirtatious bantering can soothe your troubled heart at once. It’s almost as if time hasn’t lapsed between the two of you.

“I’ve missed this,” You sigh. “I’ve missed you, Jungkook.”

You spot him smiling before he’s kissing you again, this time his tongue slipping past your parted lips to meet yours midway. The piercing is strange to adjust to, but you get used to it quickly, humming at the feeling of it against the soft flesh of your tongue. It’s easy to get lost in one another’s lips as you pull and tug at Jungkook, guiding him to your bedroom, nearly tripping and stumbling over one another in the process. He knows the path like the back of his hand, the same way he knows every curve and dimple of your body as his greedy hands explore you. He has you sprawled out beneath him on the bed in a matter of seconds, carelessly shedding each other of your clothes until you’re left naked and he’s without a shirt.

As he’s tugging off the hoodie you’re wearing, he realizes two things abruptly. One: you’re not wearing anything beneath it, your bare body dazzling him at once. And, two: a sudden thought jogs his memory that makes him ponder aloud, “Is this my sweater?”

“Yes,” You admit sheepishly.

He smirks. “Was wondering where it went.”

“You forgot to take it back when…” You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you tug your fingers at the hair at the nape of his neck, as if scared he’ll leave again. He doesn’t. Instead, he nestles his body between your legs, tonguing patterns on your neck. “I wear it sometimes, especially when I’m missing you. I don’t know… It just━ It still smells like you, even after all this time.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly implodes. He wonders briefly if he’d prefer fucking you without or with the hoodie; but then he’s letting himself time to study your naked body and he deduces he needs to gaze at you in your entirety a little longer.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs. He starts kissing down your body now, starting from your throat to your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, then your navel. “Tell me more. How badly did you miss me?”

“So badly,” You whimper. Your legs instinctively part to make way for him as he shifts downward, kissing just above your core. A shudder runs down your spine when he kisses the inside of your thigh. “Sometimes I’d put your sweater on and touch myself to the thought of you.”

He grunts against you, teeth softly biting at your flesh. His tongue pokes against your thigh, the metallic piercing a dully cold sensation as he licks upward to your core. He laps at your folds, as if to taste the glistening cum that starts to form.

Your breath audibly hitches in your throat, hips jutting forward to meet his mouth. “I missed your hands, and the way they made me feel. Missed your mouth between my legs. Missed cumming on your tongue, or your fingers.”

Now, you’re starting to understand what he meant by waiting for the right moment to use the piercing to its fullest potential. As he lifts his head higher to tongue at your clit, the piercing makes your head spin. The contrast between his soft tongue and the harsh metal works wonders against you, rubbing you just the right way that has you a moaning mess beneath him within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck━” You cry out, hands twisting in his hair. “My hands never feel the same. You always made me feel so good, Jungkook.”

He hums something in response, the sound reverberating up your spine. He busies himself by replacing his tongue with his finger, rubbing small, controlled circles against your clit as he lowers his mouth to your folds. He teases the piercing against the sensitive flesh before lapping at your insides, burrowing further into you.

“Ooh, Jungkook━”

The noise that eclipses your throat is a piqued sob of delight. The piercing that scratches against your walls has your insides throbbing, body twisting and turning beneath him. You grab at your breasts, fingers pinching at the perked buds as you imagine Jungkook’s hands in replace of yours.

His mouth wraps just right around you and he sucks hard, earning a beautiful moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to draw closer to your high, sputtering and whimpering at every action he does. Soon he’s burrowing his face even closer against your core, nose nudging against your clit in a way that makes you writhe and squirm. Before he can get carried away (and he certainly could), Jungkook decides to come to a stop which seems to thoroughly surprise and upset you. When you feel his missing warmth between your legs and the sticky wet mess accentuated further by the cool air that hits you, you pout like a child.

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

“Sorry, baby. Need to feel you.” He pulls away from you and crawls over your body once more. He kisses your lips, sloppy and heated, and lets you taste your own succulence on your tongue. “God, I need to feel you so bad.”

You’re just as much startled as you were seconds ago to hear the slight whine in his voice, a sound hot enough to almost push you over the edge.

“I’ve missed you too, just so you know,” he moans, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers continue to scratch delicately at his scalp and he simpers delightfully against you. He ruts his hips eagerly against yours, the bulge in his pants rough against your core. “So fucking much.”

“How much?” Now it’s your turn to ask, your curiosity getting the best of you once you find your voice.

“Every day,” he sighs as he continues to grind his hips into yours. “Get so hard at the thought of you. Your pretty mouth moaning my name. Your hands in my hair, just like this━” You pull a little tighter at the roots of his locks, and he has to stifle his contented moan. “And your body━ Fuck, your body. You take my dick so well, baby.”

“Jungkook,” You mewl impatiently. “Wanna feel you in me.”

“Fuck, okay. Okay━”

He hastens to rid himself of his pants and you help, arms momentarily tangling with one another in your rush. Then he’s kneeling before you, one hand planted firmly on your hip, rings digging roughly against your skin, as his other hand wraps a fist around his hard length, slowly pumping himself. He guides the tip of his leaking cock to your core and pushes himself forward carefully. He easily slips past your folds, coaxed by your slick walls, that he has to pause to give you both time to adjust to the feeling. It’s just as he remembered, though somehow better, and he isn’t so sure how long he’ll last. You don’t know either, marvelling in the way he stretches you open.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts.

He watches as your jaw drops open in a silent gap, your eyes fixed only on his. You grab at his hips, fingers scratching delicately over the laurel tattoos inked there, prompting him to move. He does so in one languid movement, burying deeper and deeper into you until you feel so full and he feels so warm. He fucks into you a little sluggish at first, taking his time and enjoying the way your clenching walls feel around his throbbing cock. It’s a pace so maddening that it soon has the both of you panting, heavy moans filling the space around you. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders, his back, his hips ━ anything to keep a hold on reality as you slowly lose yourself to the pleasure. He reaches for one of your hands, eager to feel you in more ways than one, and laces his digits with yours, pressing your clasped palms above your head. You squeeze tightly, his name falling from your lips in a cry.

“Doing so good,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Feel so nice, baby.”

Jungkook grasps at your hips and flips the two of you over. He lands on his back on the soft mattress and you fumble to not break the pace. Firmly planting your hands on his chest, you grind against him, sweat coating your forehead. He watches you with a dark fascination, brows screwed together and jaw clenched as your own cum starts leaking down his length. Not wanting to waste another moment without being beside you, he sits up and shifts you in his lap. Then he pulls you close to him, chest pulled flush against chest to the point where he can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his. You whimper aloud, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he guides your hips back and forth on him. There’s little to no space between your gyrating bodies, sweaty skin sticking to one another.

At some point, Jungkook notices you’re crying again, steady tears tangling in your lashes and wetting your face. Despite the way you’re driving him to near euphoria, he brushes your hair out of your face and manages to ask, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry━ fuck,” You gasp. He can tell you’re genuinely sympathetic for whatever’s making you cry but it’s hard for you to convey it properly when you’re still so consumed by him. “I’m so sorry━ I’m okay. I just━ You feel so good, Jungkook.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing tender circles against your waist that contrasts with the fierce burn between your legs. “You’re okay, baby. Doing so well for me, aren’t you? Cum for me, yeah?”

You won’t tell him why you’re crying ━ not yet, at least. But Jungkook thinks he knows why; he can feel it too. The bitter sense of longing and mingling regret for all the time lost. The overwhelming feeling of love of finally being reunited. You continue to roll your hips against his, and he, breathless, rubs his nose faintly against yours, resting his forehead against yours.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to come tumbling to you high. He strokes your hair so lovingly as you ride him recklessly, leisure rolls of your hips driving you to your high. When you cum, the feeling completely washes over you and electricity crackles in your veins, warming your entire body. He holds you close to his chest the entire time as you writhe with pleasure, your walls clenching around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off as you busy yourself by sucking a bruise onto the underside of his jaw.

He reaches his high moments later just as you’re beginning to wince at the feeling of oversensitivity. He grunts and groans, spilling his hot seed into you, and then, with his hips slammed against yours, grinds leisurely to ride out your highs.

Then, the room falls silent.

Neither of you move from your warm embrace, with you still perched on his lap, his cock softening inside you as his cum runs down his length and onto your thighs. Your face is hidden in the crook of his neck, and he waits until you’ve both calmed down from your orgasms. You’re running your fingers through his sweaty hair, but he knows you’re still sad. He kisses you all over in the meantime, a few ticklish kisses that make you smile sleepily and a few loving ones that have your heart swelling. Then, he gingerly shifts your head to look at him.

“Why were you crying?” he asks silently.

It takes you a moment to respond. You cling to him tightly when you do and all he can do is cradle you closer to him. “I don’t want this to be some kind of drunken one night stand thing. Like we both needed one last fuck to get over each other, or something."

“You mean more to me than a one night stand,” Jungkook says and it makes you smile smally, a little timidly.

“That’s good,” You say, “because I’m not over you or us. I want us to work out. I love you too much to lose you again, and I’m scared this might be the last time I’ll ever see you.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Jungkook shakes his head furiously. “I’d be an absolute idiot to let that happen. You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere this time. You’re my priority, Y/N. You always have been. Not the band and definitely not the record label.”

“I’m sure the boys will love to hear that,” You snort to yourself.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Jungkook grins. But you’re only joking, and you know he sort of is too. That’s not to say the band isn’t still important to him, but you take precedent over it. “Without you, I wouldn’t even have the chance to be where I am now.”

You nuzzle your nose against his own, and he steals one sweet kiss from you.

“Do you really mean all that?”

“With my whole heart.”

And, when he says it, you know he means it. There’s no reason not to trust him.

You’ll both move eventually from one another’s arms, soft touches from Jungkook peeling you off of him and wrapping you in your covers before falling asleep beside you, and waking up in the morning with you in his arms. But, for now, it’s just you and him, a little broken still yet all the more in love.

While you both know healing a broken heart will take time, you’re both prepared for it because you’re both worth it to one another ━ and that’s all either of you really need in the end to make it right.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

6K notes · View notes

pumpkinpaix · 3 years

Note

hello there, hope you're having a nice day <3

so i've been reading a lot of fics lately, uk for sanity's sake, and i've noticed that in most of them, lwj doesn't use contractions (eg., says do not instead of don't)?? and i think he doesn't in the novel either but i don't remember lol so i can't be sure but anyway that made me curious - does chinese have contractions as well? does he not use it bc it's informal?

hello there! I’m doing all right, i started to answer this ask while waiting for a jingyeast loaf to come out of the oven 😊 many thanks to @bookofstars for helping me look over/edit/correct this post!! :D

anyways! the answer to your questions are complicated (of course it is when is anything simple with me), so let’s see if I can break it down--you’re asking a) whether chinese has contractions, b) if it does, how does they change the tone of the sentence--is it similar to english or no?, and c) how does this all end up with lan wangji pretty much never using contractions in english fic/translation?

I’m gonna start by talking about how formality is (generally) expressed in each language, and hopefully, by the end of this post, all the questions will have been answered in one way or another. so: chinese and english express variations in formality/register differently, oftentimes in ways that run contrary to one another. I am, as always, neither a linguist nor an expert in chinese and english uhhh sociological grammar? for lack of a better word. I’m speaking from my own experience and knowledge :D

so with a character like lan wangji, it makes perfect sense in english to write his dialogue without contractions, as contractions are considered informal or colloquial. I don’t know if this has changed in recent years, but I was always taught in school to never use contractions in my academic papers.

However! not using contractions necessarily extends the length of the sentence: “do not” takes longer to say than “don’t”, “cannot” is longer than “can’t” etc. in english, formality is often correlated with sentence length: the longest way you can say something ends up sounding the most formal. for a very simplified example, take this progression from least formal to absurdly formal:

whatcha doin’?

what’re you doing?

what are you doing? [standard colloquial]

may I ask what you are doing?

might I inquire as to what you are doing?

excuse me, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

pardon my intrusion, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

please pardon my intrusion, but might inquire as to the nature of your current actions?

this is obviously a somewhat overwrought example, but you get the point. oftentimes, the longer, more complex, more indirect sentence constructions indicate a greater formality, often because there is a simultaneous decreasing of certainty. downplaying the speaker’s certainty can show deference (or weakness) in english, while certainty tends to show authority/confidence (or aggression/rudeness).

different words also carry different implications of formality—in the example, I switched “excuse me” to “pardon me” during one of the step ups. pardon (to me at least) feels like a more formal word than “excuse”. Similarly, “inquire” is more formal than “ask” etc. I suspect that at least some of what makes one word seem more formal than one of its synonyms has to do with etymology. many of english’s most formal/academic words come from latin (which also tends to have longer words generally!), while our personal/colloquial words tend to have germanic origins (inquire [latin] vs ask [germanic]).

you’ll also notice that changing a more direct sentence structure (“may I ask what”) to a more indirect one (“might I inquire as to”) also jumps a register. a lot of english is like this — you can complicate simple direct sentences by switching the way you use the verbs/how many auxiliaries you use etc.

THE POINT IS: with regards to english, more formal sentence structures are often (not always) longer and more indirect than informal ones. this leads us to a problem with a character like lan wangji.

lan wangji is canonically very taciturn. if he can express his meaning in two words rather than three, then he will. and chinese allows for this—in extreme ways. if you haven’t already read @hunxi-guilai’s post on linguistic register (in CQL only, but it’s applicable across the board), I would start there because haha! I certainly do Not have a degree in Classical Chinese lit and she does a great job. :D

you can see from the examples that hunxi chose that often, longer sentences tend to be more informal in chinese (not always, which I’ll circle back to at the end lol). Colloquial chinese makes use of helping particles to indicate tone and meaning, as is shown in wei wuxian’s dialogue. and, as hunxi explained, those particles are largely absent from lan wangji’s speech pattern. chinese isn’t built of “words” in the way English is—each character is less a word and more a morpheme—and the language allows for a lot of information to be encoded in one character. a single character can often stand for a phrase within a sentence without sacrificing either meaning or formality. lan wangji makes ample use of this in order to express himself in the fewest syllables possible.

so this obviously leads to an incongruity when trying to translate his dialogue or capture his voice in English: shorter sentences are usually more direct by nature, and directness/certainty is often construed as rudeness -- but it might seem strange to see lan wangji’s dialogue full of longer sentences while the narration explicitly says that he uses very short sentences. so what happens is that many english fic writers extrapolated this into creating an english speech pattern for lan wangji that reads oddly. they’ll have lan wangji speak in grammatically incoherent fragments that distill his intended thought because they’re trying to recreate his succinctness. unfortunately, English doesn’t have as much freedom as Chinese does in this way, and it results in lan wangji sounding as if he has some kind of linguistic impediment and/or as if he’s being unspeakably rude in certain situations. In reality, lan wangji’s speech is perfectly polite for a young member of the gentry (though he’s still terribly rude in other ways lol). he speaks in full, and honestly, quite eloquent sentences.

hunxi’s post already has a lot of examples, but I figure I’ll do one as well focused on the specifics of this post.

I’m going to use this exchange from chapter 63 between the twin jades because I think it’s a pretty simple way to illustrate what I’m talking about:

蓝曦臣道：“你亲眼所见？”

蓝忘机道：“他亲眼所见。”

蓝曦臣道：“你相信他？”

蓝忘机道：“信。”

[...] 蓝曦臣道：“那么金光瑶呢？”

蓝忘机道：“不可信。”

my translation:

Lan Xichen said, “You saw it with your own eyes?”

Lan Wangji said, “He saw it with his own eyes.”

Lan Xichen said, “You believe him?”

Lan Wangji said, “I believe him.”

[...] Lan Xichen said, “Then what about Jin Guangyao?”

Lan Wangji said, “He cannot be believed.”

you can see how much longer the (pretty literal) english translations are! every single line of dialogue is expanded because things that can be omitted in chinese cannot be omitted in english without losing grammatical coherency. i‘ll break a few of them down:

Lan Xichen’s first line:

你 (you) 亲眼 (with one’s own eyes) 所 (literary auxiliary) 见 (met/saw)？

idk but i love this line a lot lmao. it just has such an elegant feel to me, probably because I am an uncultured rube. anyways, you see here that he expressed his full thought in five characters.

if I were to rewrite this sentence into something much less formal/much more modern, I might have it become something like this:

你是自己看见的吗？

你 (you) 是 (to be) 自己 (oneself) 看见 (see) 的 (auxiliary) 吗 (interrogative particle)？

i suspect that this construction might even be somewhat childish? I’ve replaced every single formal part of the sentence with a more colloquial one. instead of 亲眼 i’ve used 自己, instead of 所见 i’ve used 看见的 and then also added an interrogative particle at the end for good measure (吗). To translate this, I would probably go with “Did you see it yourself?”

contained in this is also an example of how one character can represent a whole concept that can also be represented with two characters: 见 vs 看见. in this example, both mean “to see”. we’ll see it again in the next example as well:

in response to lan xichen’s, “you believe him?” --> 你 (you) 相信 (believe) 他 (him)? lan wangji answers with, “信” (believe).

chinese does not do yes or no questions in the same way that english does. there is no catch-all for yes or no, though there are general affirmative (是／有) and negative (不／没) characters. there are other affirmative/negative characters, but these are the ones that I believe are the most common and also the ones that you may see in response to yes or no questions on their own. (don’t quote me on that lol)

regardless, the way you respond to a yes or no question is often by repeating the verb phrase either in affirmative or negative. so here, when lan xichen asks if lan wangji believes wei wuxian, lan wangji responds “believe”. once again, you can see that one character can stand in for a concept that may also be expressed in two characters: 信 takes the place of 相信. lan wangji could have responded with “相信” just as well, but, true to his character, he didn’t because he didn’t need to. this is still a complete sentence. lan wangji has discarded the subject (I), the object (him), and also half the verb (相), and lost no meaning whatsoever. you can’t do this in english!

and onto the last exchange:

lan xichen: 那么 (then) 金光瑶 (jin guangyao) 呢 (what about)？

lan wangji: 不可 (cannot) 信 (believe)

you can actually see the contrast between the two brothers’ speech patterns even in this. lan xichen’s question is not quite as pared down as it could be. if it were wangji’s line instead, I would expect it to read simply “金光瑶呢？” which would just be “what about jin guangyao?” 那么 isn’t necessary to convey the core thought -- it’s just as how “then what about” is different than “what about”, but “then” is not necessary to the central question. if we wanted to keep the “then” aspect, you could still cut out 么 and it would be the same meaning as well.

a FINAL example of how something can be cut down just because I think examples are helpful:

“I don’t know” is usually given as 我不知道. (this is what nie huaisang says lol) It contains subject (我) and full verb (知道). you can pare this straight down to just 不知 and it would mean the same thing in the correct context. i think most of the characters do this at least once? it sounds more literary -- i don’t know that i would ever use it in everyday speech, but the fact remains that it’s a possibility. both could be translated as “I do not know” and it would be accurate.

ANYWAYS, getting all the way back to one of your original questions: does chinese have contractions? and the answer is like... kind of...?? but not really. there’s certainly slang/dialect variants that can be used in ways that are reminiscent of english contractions. the example I’m thinking of is the character 啥 (sha2) which can be used as slang in place of 什么 (shen2 me). (which means “what”)

so for a standard sentence of, 你在做什么? (what are you doing), you could shorten down to just 做啥? and the second construction is less formal than the first, but they mean the same thing.

other slang i can think of off the top of my head: 干嘛 (gan4 ma2) is also informal slang for “what are you doing”. and i think this is a regional thing, but you can also use 搞 (gao3) and 整 (zheng3) to mean “do” as well.

so in the same way that you can replace 什么 with 啥, you can replace 做 as well to get constructions like 搞啥 (gao3 sha2) and 整啥 (zheng3 sha2).

these are all different ways to say “what are you doing” lmao, and in this case, shorter is not, in fact, more formal.

woo! we made it to the end! I hope it was informative and helpful to you anon. :D

this is where I would normally throw my ko-fi, but instead, I’m actually going to link you to this fundraising post for an old fandom friend of mine. her house burned down mid-september and they could still use help if anyone can spare it! if this post would have moved you to buy me a ko-fi, please send that money to her family instead. :) rbs are also appreciated on the post itself. (* ´▽` *)

anyways, here’s the loaf jingyeast made :3 it was very tasty.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #the untamed #the untamed meta #lan wangji #lan wangji meta #mine #mymeta #linguistics #chinese #english #cyan chinese school #cyan help desk #languages #contractions #register #look man idk how am i gonna tag this #*yeets into the void*

1K notes · View notes

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing.

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him. One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

292 notes · View notes

jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

342 notes · View notes

amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

You’re Important to Me

Warnings: thoughts and ideations of the un-aliving variety

Genre: Angst but it gets a lil fluffy at the end

Pairing: Mammon x oc

Summary: The way the witches and his brothers treat him leaves Mammon feeling replaceable and unimportant. His human takes it upon herself to try and make him feel better after finding out something heartbreaking.

A/N: since I hit 150 followers either last night or the day before, I figured I would do something a little different for tonight’s post and give y’all a little 2 part fic instead of art. I haven’t written in a long time and this is not proofread so please excuse any typos. I’m a little rusty.

Part 2| Part 3| Part 4

———————————————————————-

Another day full of studying for upcoming exams at RAD completed and Arella couldn’t be more greatful to finally shut her texts books. Sure, she technically didn’t have to meet the same standards as her demon classmates this time around, but if only one thing could be said about Arella, it was that she was a perfectionist at heart. She’d put in the hard work to get the best possible score- seeing the look of surprise on Satan’s face as she scored better than him would be worth it too, as much as a pipe dream that that would be.

With a soft yawn, Arella pushed away from her desk before grabbing a nightshirt she had stolen borrowed from her boyfriend and stumbled to her bathroom for a quick shower. As she brushed her teeth, she could feel a presence enter her room- well more like she could hear him. Mammon was never all that quiet or stealthy to begin with as much as he’d like to claim otherwise.

Peeking out from the small ensuite, she saw the demon sprawled out on her bed, his face buried in her pillows. Something didn’t feel right. Deciding the shower could wait, Arella made her way across the room to where the bed was located.

“Hey,” She started, gently placing a hand on his back to let him know she was there, “I thought you said you’d be out late with the Witches. Did something happen?”

“Not really….” Mammon starts, his voice muffled by the pillows before he turned to face her. “They got all they could get out of me so they jus’ let me go and I wasn’t havin’ a good time anyway so I jus’ came home….”

Arella frowned at his tone. He sounded upset, depressed almost.

“An’ then the moment I walk in the door, Lucifer’s on my ass ‘bout some stupid fuckin’ bill that came in…. So I got to sit there ‘n listen to him go on an’ on about how I’m such a fuck up and what worthless scum I am, not to mention the rest of my brothers took the first chance they could to hop on the bandwagon and I’m….. I’m just so tired.” At this, Mammon flops over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face.

“Mammon…” Her voice is soft, full of concern as tries unsuccessfully to pull his arm away so she could look him in the eyes.

“Arella, Am I important….?” Mammon asks as he tries -but fails- to hide the way his voice cracks. “Would everyone just be happier if I was….. gone?”

Its that question that shatters her heart to tiny fragments.

“Wha- Of course you are, Love. Why would you say that? I know your brothers take things too far sometimes but they’d be devastated if something happened to you. I would be heartbroken if anything happened to you. We all love you so much, Honey….”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Mammon barked out a laugh that sounded bitter. “Not with the way they rag on me like they do…. Actually, they’d probly be jumpin’ for joy if I were to off myself- don’t know why I ain’t done it already….”

“Mammon, don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.”

“Its true though. If I take myself out, then they won’t ever have to deal with the consequences when I fuck up. Won’t have to worry ‘bout me stealin’ their shit to get my hands on some extra grimm.

“Stop it right now, please.”

“It’s not like they’d miss me much anyway. You probly would but let’s face it, ya could do so much better than me anyway... Ya know, I got this pills that I swiped the other day, plannin’ ta sell ‘em an’ all but I think-“

“Mammon, stop!” Arella pressed her hands over his mouth to keep him from finishing his sentence “Please. No more….. No…. More.”

She collapsed down to his chest as violent sobs erupted from her. She had lost someone to suicide before, she couldn’t and wouldn’t go through that again- especially not with the person who was most important to her.

“I’m here for you. I will always be here fir you.,” Arella tightened her hold on the demon beneath her, her body still shuddering with each breath she took in a miserable attempt to compose herself. “So please. Please just don’t do it.”

At her tears, the demon could only react with silence. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when letting his feelings out but it wasn’t a reaction like this.

Maybe part of him was hoping for her to agree with him and let her words feed into his terrible mood, or maybe part of him wanted Arella to scold him for daring to even think about taking his own life but there wasn’t any part of him that wanted her to react with sobs and wails, with her begging him not to go through with it.

Slowly, Mammon brought his arms to wrap around her, holding her tight against his chest. They were quiet for a long while as they just held each other.

“I’m….. I’m sorry….” Mammon was the first to speak, to break the silence that had suddenly become suffocating. “I don’t know what I was talking about….”

Arella didn’t reply right away, choosing instead to hold him just a little tighter a bit long.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve talked about what’s going through your mind?” She lifted her head from its place on his chest to look him in the eyes for the first time that night.

She smiled softly as he nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re so important both to your brothers and to me. There’s no one like you in the all of the three realms. If you weren’t here our lives would be so much darker and so much more boring, do you know that?”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“No it’s true,” Arella hums, as she pushes his hair back and places a peck to his forehead. “You want to know something else?”

“What?” Mammon arches a brow, “if it’s something cheesy, I’m leaving.”

Arella laughs at that. “I love you more than anything in this life or the next, and, no, you’re staying in here where I can see you.”

“What? C’mon, babe, I won’t do anything stupid, so don’t worry ‘bout me. And the last thing I need is Lucifer gettin’ at me because I spent the night in here when I shoulda been in my room.”

“Then I won’t give you a choice.” She starts matter of factly, “I’m invoking our pact. You’re sleeping in my room tonight where I can keep you close and pamper you all night. Also you’re going to tell me where you’ve hidden those pills you were talking about earlier and if their in one of your safes, you’re going to tell me the combination to it.”

“Arella, I-“ he groaned starting to complain

“No. This is important, Baby. I’m doing this because I care. Not to mention if Lucifer were to somehow find you in possession of those pills….. his rage would be so great that not even I would be able to stand between you two.”

Another moment of silence happened between them as Arella’s orders went into effect. Mammon let out a soft, discontented growl before finally breaking the silence.

“Fiiiiine. They’re in the safe that’s hidden in my pool table. The combination it 0127. Happy?”

“Very.” She replies cheerily. “Now, you’d better get comfortable, sir, because I’m going to remind The Great Mammon just how amazing, how wonderful , how special, and how loved he is.”

“Whatever, you dork, jus’ get off a me so I can move to a better spot.” He huffed as he shifted around under her, trying to hide the faint blush was already threatening to make itself at home of his cheeks.

———————————————————————-

Masterlist 2

#tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide ideation #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon #mammon angst #mammon fluff #obey me oc #om! oc #f!mc #obey me f!mc #om! f!mc #obey me angst

127 notes · View notes

visd3stele · 3 years

Text

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious.

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help.

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly.

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends?

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts.

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

108 notes · View notes

secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

All Hands On Deck

Kinktober 2020 — public sex

A/N: Heart of the Ocean was the favourite fic I’ve ever written and I’m so glad that I get an excuse to revisit him for kinktober uwu

Pairing: pirate!Dabi x reader

Description: You seek reassurance from your love when you woke up from a dream where he wasn’t here anymore.

Warning: public sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, slight degradation, Dabi is Touya

Word count: 3030

this is a continuation to Heart of the Ocean, but you can read this on its own too;)even though I recommend reading that one for maximum enjoyment;)

It was always the sound of waves that calm you down when you wake up in cold sweat.

You blinked, trying to force out the feeling that was looming in your head and making it hard to breathe. Your chest heaved as you slowly steady your breaths, letting out a heavy sigh when you looked around to see that you were in the cabin you had fallen asleep in instead of the dreadful place you saw in your dreams.

You were back there again, at that pier during those god awful years when the love of your life was gone missing. You kept telling people that he was alive, that you needed to go find him but they just kept shutting you down. The panic when they dismissed you by saying that you were not thinking clearly after your fever was far too real that you could feel the suffocation in your chest. The ache at the back of your throat making your words came out as nothing but sobs as you tried to open your mouth to prove yourself but failed.

There was a moment when you thought that it was all real. and your reunion with him was just your subconscious protecting your shattered heart from the reality with a beautiful fragment of your dreams.

The ceiling you stared mindlessly at swayed softly, the gentle creaking of the wooden floor coaxing you down as silent tears ran down your face.

Thank god, you were still here.

The light was filtering in through the small window at the far corner of the cabin and you rubbed your eyes to accumulate to the illumination. You had no idea what time it was, you didn’t really need to know when you were not asked to follow any routines anyway.

You protested the way he coddled you at first, claiming that you wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that everyone else would start working at the crack of dawn, but was unable to win over the absolute authority he had on this ship. You got along with his crew just fine, but none of them would dare to defy the captain’s order no matter how hard you try to convince them.

The pirate Dabi held treasures more valuable than most people could ever begin to measure, but the only possession he had that truly mattered was you, and god have mercy on the fool who makes a scratch on you.

“The only work you need to do,” he kissed the center of your palm when you brought it up to him on one of the nights when you first boarded the ship while he was sliding his hand up your chemise, "is to be here, in my bed, by the time the sun sinks. Don’t worry your pretty little head over all the other unimportant things.”

“But Touya...” you whined, pushing yourself off the bed so that you could press up against him. He groaned he felt the softness of your breasts and the way his old name rolled off your tongue so naturally. The fearsome pirate had set his mind to leave his old self behind years ago, but had allowed you to reminiscence on the simpler times when you were under the intimacy of being alone.

You always managed to crack the front he put up for years with just a flutter of your lashes, but he was determined that he wouldn’t let you have your way this time no matter how sweet your voice was as you panted by his ear.

He had always been somewhat protective of you, but it had only gotten worse after he experienced those years that probably tormented him as much as or even more than it did to you. It pained you every time when you imagined what he had gone through away on the high seas as the lone survivor on the ship he sailed out on and you poured all the tenderness in your heart into each of your lingering touches against his torched skin. The consequence of that was he now knew how easy it would be for him to lose you again and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

He promised that he would treat you like a princess and he had all the intentions to keep the promise.

“No ‘but’s,” he cut you off short by pulling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the side of your hips as he rode up your chemise. You tried to protest but the speech you had prepared in your head was replaced by a lewd whine when he thrust up to grind his clothed erection against your bare cunt.

If there was anything you could say about Dabi, was that the years of surviving in a world where the strong devour the weak made him a much more domineering man than Touya ever was.

You never brought it up again, knowing that he could be very stubborn when he made a decision. It was nice to be taken care of sometimes and you slowly settled into your role on the ship as the captain’s girl. You had managed to find ways you could help around the ship too, and getting your hands dirty helped made everything feel a bit real.

But occasionally, when you woke up shaking like you had this morning, there was still only one thing you could think of that could shake the fright in your mind away.

You picked up the woolen shawl that was draped over the nearest chair mindlessly last night and wrapped it around your body, covering up the low-cut collar of your linen shift. The floor was cold as you crawled down the mattress with your toe touching the wooden boards first, sending shivers down your spine as you searched for your felt slippers that were shoved to the side. You could hear the sound of people shouting above your head and you slipped out of the cabin door, knowing exactly where your love would be.

It was probably early in the morning, you had noticed that there was still a hint of the pink and orange burn left by the sun at the edge of the skyline. You greeted the men of the crew with a murmured good morning as you walked along the side of the ship, the smell of salt in the breeze evoking your senses as you paced towards the helm area at the very front.

You slowed on your feet as you got closer and closer to the figure standing in front of the wheel, letting out a soft breath as you stared.

The helm was supposed to be handle by a man specific for that position, but it didn’t stop Dabi from getting down to the deck in the early morning to take control. His back looked broader when decked in his long coat and the silver accents of his sleeves glimmered under the morning sun. A long, curved blade was strapped onto the side of his waist, tapping lightly against his thigh as his hands held onto the handle of the helm.

What a man, and he was yours.

“Love,” he muttered when he felt your hand on his arm, glancing at you as you leaned your face on his shoulder, “why are you up?”

You sighed at the warmth that was lingering on his coat, rubbing your face against the leather. “Got waken up by a bad dream.”

He stiffened under you. He knew what it was about. Of course he did, whenever you two woke up with a shudder, it was always over the same thing.

The worst nightmare for you both was to wake up to find the other person gone again.

“Come here,” he held your hand gently, tugging your arm so that you were standing in front of him with you between the helm and his chest, “didn’t you say you want to learn how to work the wheel? Since you’re here already, might as well teach you a trick or two.”

He swelled at the light chuckle you let out when he threaded his fingers through yours, holding the wooden wheel over your smaller hands. He crouched down so that he could lean his jaw on the nape of your neck, His arms caging you in as he stared at the sea the ship was sailing ahead.

“It feels more like you’re just finding an excuse to feel me up.”

“Such big claims, you know I don’t need an excuse for that,” his breath fanned at the little patch of skin that was exposed with your shawl sliding down your arm and you felt goosebumps when the rough texture of his scarred lips brushed past your neck. His hand gave you a warning squeeze when he felt you tilting your head back, “now eyes on the sea, princess.”

You whimpered when he untangled his fingers from your hand and slid up your arms, the graze of his hand had shivers tingling down your skin. He darted his tongue out to lick at the delicate skin where your neck connected to your shoulder. A soft hiss slipped past your lips when he bit down, just hard enough to leave a mark, before sucking and licking at the sore spot alternatingly. Your shawl had fallen to the ground, pooling at your feet as your hand gripped tightly at the helm and trying hard to make sure it was stable instead of giving in to the weakening of your knees.

His arms now snaked around the side of your ribcage, taking advantage of how little obstacles there were with your open arms. He licked a long strip up along the pulse on your neck, stopping just below your ear as his hand pulled down the collar of your shift. Your breath hitched at the cold wind that brushed past your bare chest, your nipples standing up for attention under the sudden chill.

“Better focus on the helm, so no one will know what we are up to,” he nibbled at your earlobe. He pushed your tits up with his palms, giving them a squeeze before rolling the two perky buds between his fingers.

You could still hear the talking down on the deck. If any of them bother to look up and took in the way he held you there, there was no way they wouldn’t notice that your knees were bucking together while he continued to bite down on your neck. Each pinch and pull at your chest had you all the more aware of the wetness that was starting to seep out of you. You tried to rub your thighs together to ease the burn but he was one step ahead of you, shoving his knee between your legs to force them apart.

A silent whine fell short on his ears when he smoothed his palm down from your chest, bunching up the pale linen of your frock in hand and yanked it up to your waist. You lost balance when the calloused pad of his finger brushed past your clit, frantically latching back onto the helm when the ship had a sudden shift from its track.

You grimaced when you heard the confused murmurs of the crew, people looking around from the shake of the ship. Dabi let out a wolfish chuckle, parting your folds to collect the juices leaking out of you before bringing it to rub against your sensitive bud.

“Is everything alright, captain?”

“No worries, everything is dandy,” he replied with a yell, not turning around to face the men as he peered down to watch your cunt sucking his fingers in, “everyone resume your positions.”

Your lips hurt from how hard you were biting down, desperate to keep your voice down as he slowly pumped his digits within your velvet walls.

“That was close,” he grumbled in your ear, licking his lips as the bob of your throat when he scissored his fingers, “you’re getting careless..."

He let out a mocked gasp and you squeaked when he glided his fingers in and out of you at an increasingly fast pace, “Or did you do it on purpose? Do you want my entire crew to know you’re getting fucked on deck?” he cackled when you whimpered, unable to say anything in fear of other sounds slipping out too, “Do you want people to watch you cum on my fingers?”

Your cunt clamped down on his long digits at the sneer and nothing could stop you from whining out loud at the sudden emptiness when he pulled out. He pushed your upper body forward with a forceful shove until you were laying on the helm. He gripped onto the side of your hips, leaning back slightly to take a good look at your clenching hole that was now on display.

“Suck,” you took his fingers that were dripping with the clear essence of your arousal into your mouth obediently, the saltiness expanding in your mouth as you tasted yourself on him. The sound of his belt buckle rattling had you arching your back and he snickered at your eager form as he pulled his cock out of his pants.

“Ass up.”

You complied, a soft moan rolling off your tongue as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. He kneaded your cheeks roughly as he lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing the leaking tip along your pussy to spread the wetness around.

You latched onto the helm for dear life when he hilted in you with one push, your lips parted but no sounds came out as he slowly dragged his cock along your walls until his tip was barely inside of you.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Your slick gushed out from his earlier teasing, but your face still burned at the thought of humping him right on the open deck with everyone just a platform below.

A soft tuck at your scalp had you clenching around nothing but his tip dipped in. “Or would you prefer to let the entire ship behind me see my hips thrusting up against your slutty cunt?” he asked, surging his hips forward just a little and smirking at the sigh you let out, “because I’m not letting you get down here without cum dripping down your legs.”

He let out a shaky breath when you slowly pushed your hips back, the plush flesh of your mounds pressed up against his pelvis as your hands clawed at the wooden wheel you were holding onto. Your walls pulsed to accommodate the stretch, and you started rolling your hips when the itch in your core was too much to bear even with the concern of ears all around you in mind.

You were cautious of the squelching when you slammed yourself down on his length at first, but bit by bit you lose your restraints to the tides that were starting to rise up in the pit of your stomach. Dabi gave you an approving squeeze on the side of your waist as you started throwing it back faster and faster, pants falling off your lips as his cock rubbing against your walls set your body on fire.

“I always know you are no princess behind closed doors but it seems like you have no issue acting like a whore in public too,” you mewled when he unexpectant thrust up, shocks of numbing pleasure jolted down to the tip of your toes when his cock slammed right against the spongey spot deep inside of you.

His fingers dug into your sides as he took over, viciously slamming you down on his length as your body trembled on top of the helm. He pushed your shift further up to get a clearer sight of his cock disappearing inside of you with each thrust, your essence coating his shaft and running down your thighs. You buried your face onto the helm when you cum, muffling the moans you could no longer hold in as your cunt clenched around him. The burn spread all across your body and you were practically holding yourself up with the support of the steering wheel he was fucking you on and his arms propping you up.

“Not that I mind,” he let out a choked laugh, the staples on his face feeling like they were about to pop off with how wide his grin was at the sight of your shaking figure. He threw his head back slightly when the muscle in his stomach tightened up, “not when you are my whore...”

Dabi held you still, burying his cock deep inside you as he came with a shudder. His lips parted, a low moan coming out as a purr as ropes of his release filled you up. You whined at the warmth, scratching down on the helm as he pulled out. The sudden emptiness had you clenching around nothing and he leaned back to watch his cum seep out of your abused cunt.

You instinctively pressed your thighs together to put a stop to the sticky substance from trailing down the root of your legs and he chuckled, throwing his arm around you before pressing your back against his chest and pulling your collar back up.

“Feels real enough for you?” he whispered, his thumb rubbing at your collarbone.

You nodded, turning your head back when he tilted your chin to place a soft peck on your lips.

“Good,” Dabi let you go from his grip, giving your ass a light smack and earning a glare from you, “now I want you back on the bed and get some rest. I’ll come down once I have time.”

“Aye, aye captain...” he huffed at your playful tone, watching as you saunter away after picking your shawl up and wrapping it very tightly around your chest.

He spotted the faint marks that peaked out from it on your neck and hummed to himself in satisfaction. He turned his eyes back to the sea for once, sighing as the blue waters expanded out to the sky with no end.

Today seemed like it would be a good day.

#bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha smut #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi imagines #dabi smut #kinktober 2020

473 notes · View notes

iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

Wait For Me // D.M.

Request: hi! can you do a request where draco performed the obliviate curse on his gf before the war, then met her again post war when he became a healer? the storyline is up to you! by the way, i really really like your fics 🥺 - anon

A/N: This request let me explore all the things I love: angst, healer!draco, and redemption. Thank you for trusting me with this request, I love it so much. This was not also on my WIP lost but I had an idea and I ran with it. With some hope, my next few fics will be from that list!!

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares and injuries, some anxiety, short words and tempers, swearing. A HAPPY ENDING or at least the start of one.

Word count: 5.2k

1996:

“You know why I have to do this, right?” Draco whispers: worried that if he were to speak any louder his voice would give away how close he is to breaking.

You nod once. A solemn nod that juxtaposes the tears falling freely down your face. How could you be agreeing to this when it made you feel like your heart was being ripped out?

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, arms reaching for you, the urge to touch too strong to resist. “If they used you against me or if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

You hush him; not missing the irony of the situation. To be comforting him when you were going to have a large chunk of your memories taken from you, it was almost laughable.

The final few moments together are spent in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, getting as much of the other as possible before inevitably having to let go. You bury your face in his chest, almost refusing to let go of him as he unhooks your hands from around his waist.

The time has come; it’s come too soon.

You barely register Draco’s tears mixing with yours as he hauls you in for one last desperate kiss. His forehead remains pressed to yours as he whispers three words.

“Wait for me.”

Then everything goes blank. A flash of white and your life begins anew.

No memories of the last year of your life; no thoughts about the blonde haired teenager that had occupied your mind and stolen your heart.

There’s nothing.

Five years later:

The strong antiseptic smell has your nose crinkling in distaste. The overhead lights buzz as the bright light bounces off the overly clean floor; it makes your head hurt more. You place a tentative hand to the side of your head, frowning further when you feel the large bump growing there. Removing your hand, you sigh, remembering the tears of the pupil that had done this.

Not long after the war, a new decree was issued setting up centres of education for young witches and wizards that showed magical promise. They operated extremely similar to a muggle primary school; however these followed the curriculum created by the Ministry of Magic.

It was in one of these schools that you worked, choosing to train as a teacher after finishing your education.

A rogue ball is what had landed you in the emergency room of the only magical hospital in Britain. It had come out of nowhere; the children playing happily as the weather had improved over the course of the day.

Tapping your foot impatiently off the tiled floor, you had to admit to yourself it had been partly your fault for not seeing the ball before it knocked you on the side of the head and subsequently knocked you to the floor. The child, a young Hugo Ward, had felt terrible – sobs wracking his body as he apologised to you over and over again to the point where you had to reassure him you were fine.

An hour after the accident, it became evident that you were not fine. The dizziness and double vision being symptoms of something worse, your boss had sent you off to St. Mungo’s without room for argument, promising you she would cover your class for the rest of the day.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” calls the triage nurse. A blonde middle aged lady with bright eyes and a kind smile; she points in the direction of exam room two and you flash her a grateful smile.

The hospital bed is uncomfortable as you take a seat on top of the crinkly paper. The pounding in your head had not stopped since you arrived but the dizziness was calming somewhat, and for that, you were thankful. It happens as a flash; a memory washes over you of a large hospital wing, two rows of beds and an elderly lady with fierce determination written over her face.

A single blink and it disappears. The flashes hadn’t happened for a while; the aftermath of a memory charm inflicted upon in your Sixth Year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t known who had done it; they had found you wandering the halls of Hogwarts alone and confused before realising what had happened. You had recovered fairly quickly; the only aftermath being the flashes of what could be memories.

You sigh, sinking further into the gurney as you think of the pile of marking waiting for you at home. Even a sore head couldn’t put off the inevitable.

The Healer doesn’t look up as he enters, pulling the curtain closed behind him, “I’m Healer Malfoy, how can I help you today?”

You sit straighter as you take in the healer. Blonde hair down to the nape of his neck, tied back with what seems to be a leather cord. He hasn’t looked up at you yet, but from your spot, you could tell he was handsome. A strong jaw being home to a distracting mouth. You look away, admiring the rest of him before you could be caught staring at his lips.

Healer Malfoy’s face slackens for a second as his eyes rake over your face. He collects himself after a second, but still, you noticed. He clears his throat, looking down at the chart in his hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“You hurt your head at work?”

Again, you nod, “Twice over. A pupil threw a ball at my head by accident, but I knocked my head on the playground as I fell.”

Healer Malfoy places your chart on a nearby table, pulling latex gloves out of his pocket as he does so. He smiles at you, but there’s something guarded about the expression on his face that has question after question springing up in your overworked and pained mind.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Healer Malfoy asks routinely, silently gesturing to your head, asking for permission to feel the injury.

“No,” You answer, turning your head for him to feel the bump on the side of your head.

You hear his sharp inhale as he examines the large bump there. As if seeing you hurt physically hurt him too, yet how was that possible? Thinking through your admittedly fragmented memories, you cannot find a whisper of what the blonde haired man could have looked like younger. Something niggled in the back of your mind, a feeling, a hunch. You didn’t know what, but it got stronger every time you met the grey eyes of the handsome Healer Malfoy.

“This is going to sound odd but go with me on it please?” You say, voice lilting into a question at the end. The idea of not giving this man in front of you a choice simply abhorrent to you.

Healer Malfoy smiles: it’s polite and doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back from you, needing the distance but also done with the examination of your injury. “Okay, I’ll go with it,” He states warily.

Your hands clench into fists; overcome with the urge to try and coax a smile out of him. “I don’t know how else to say it. Do we know each other? You feel familiar to me, as if I know you from somewhere.”

Whatever smile was on Healer Malfoy’s face falls the instant the words leave your mouth. His entire demeanour changes – shoulders stiff, hands gripping your chart so tight it could snap in half. Unclenching his jaw, Healer Malfoy grits out, “No. We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure?” You press, deciding desperately that you needed to know the man standing in front of you.

“Very sure,” He murmurs, scribbling your discharge notes and handing them to you. “I would remember you if we had met before.”

The blank confession leaves you speechless. Blinking in what could only be described as shock, you take the outstretched papers.

“Your prescription is there too. You show no major signs of a concussion, just rest for tonight at least and watch out for anymore footballs,” Healer Malfoy starts, “Should you have any more problems, you know where to find us.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you hurriedly grab your bag from the gurney and leave the exam room, taking extra care to hide the dejected look on your face as you pass the handsome healer.

Draco watches you go. You all but sprint out of the hospital, almost desperate in your escape to get away from him and his short words.

The threat has been gone for years; vanquished not too long after the night Draco had taken your memories, after the night that continues to haunt his nightmares.

Draco Malfoy had faced the Dark Lord and lived – he has stared death in its sallow face and was not the first to look away. Yet, Draco was ever more terrified of what you would do should your memories ever return. Your rage was entirely more terrifying than staring into the soulless eyes of the man his parents so blindly followed.

Draco releases a breath as he spies your figure finally leaving the hospital. The released breath does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest; the tightness that had been there since that fateful night in the astronomy tower.

He’s had this argument with himself countless times, always the same words and the same fight. His own justification for why he did what he did; why he took your memories of your relationship and sent you away. Deep down, Draco knows that he should have communicated better. He knows that he should have sat you down and explained to you his worries and his fears. However, at barely seventeen years old, Draco was just getting used to the idea of love. He knew what was coming; he knew that there were dark times ahead and he was unfortunately aware of how you could be used against him should the time come.

He had a decision to make, so he did. Thinking back on it now, it had almost killed him. He had never experienced a pain like it. Draco had been hit with the Sectumsempra curse and the pain that followed was nothing compared to the pain he felt when erasing your memories.

Draco turns away from the door. You’ve disappeared around the corner; your head bowed, and shoulders hunched. He has no reason to watch you now. He turns away from the door, wondering whether it was fate that had brought you back into his life after such an absence.

An absence he caused.

-------

You return to work the day after; feeling fine enough to stand in front of your class and deliver your lessons of literacy and maths but also of spellcasting and magical control for infants. You followed your lesson plans to the letter; resolutely refusing to stray from them should they let your mind wander to the handsome healer and his cold words.

The healer continues to play on your mind for the rest of the week: at work, at home. You would go over the brief conversation you had with him; wondering at which point his demeanour changed, that he became closed off and cold. He hadn’t been welcoming from the beginning, but by the end of it he had downright cold. It should have warned you off; it should have been warning enough to keep your distance and to do your best to ensure you never needed to return to the emergency room, yet there was something about him. There was something hidden within his grey eyes, a dark secret ravaging him from the inside out and you felt desperate to know what it was.

-------

As much as you adore your vocation, as much as you love coming into work and greeting the children with a smile, there was something sweet about sending them home to their parents. A sweet relief that loosens the weight on your chest somewhat.

A shock of blonde hair has you turning back to the school gates. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognise the handsome face of the healer that had treated you only a week ago. His face not one you felt like you could forget.

“Healer Malfoy?” You call out, confused at his presence.

He smiles bashfully, “Draco, please.”

“Draco,” You greet. “Do you often make home visits?” You tease, a smile crossing your face.

“Technically, I’m at your place of work so this would be a work visit,” Draco comments, laughing lightly, seeming to be in a much better mood than the last time you had met him.

Your smile grows larger at the sound of his laughter. “Okay… do you often make work visits?”

He shakes his head, “No. I do not.”

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are.”

“One, and one I thought of just now – I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the hospital the other day, I was rude, and it was out of line so I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I doubt that you get asked by many of your patients whether you know them.”

Draco smiles, “You’re right, I don’t, but nevertheless, I shouldn’t have been so rude, and I apologise.”

“Then I accept your apology, only if you accept mine.”

He goes to argue but stops himself at the last possible moment. You meet his gaze head on, watching the emotions pile up there. There’s something lingering in his grey eyes; something deeper as if he has more to apologise for but he isn’t ready to confess to what or why he even needs to say more.

“What was your second reason for being here?” You question, curiosity piqued but also wanting to move the conversation on, unable to look into his grey eyes any long for the fear that your heart may burst out of your chest.

Draco smiles, “I’m picking up my godson.”

“Your godson? Do I know who he is?”

“You might. Tobias Dawsey?”

Recognition flashes across your face as you picture the small brunette in your mind’s eye. “I do know him! I taught him last year,” You all but shout, “He’s your godson?”

Draco nods, “He is. I’ve worked with his mother from my very first day at St. Mungo’s, she asked me to be godfather when she found out she was pregnant with him.”

His words warm your heart; the care he has for his godson obvious in his voice. You go to say more, to try and coax more information out of him. Your need to know him almost choking you with its intensity, but for the life in you, you couldn’t figure out why you needed to know him. You move to speak, but you’re interrupted by the excited crow of a young child.

“Uncle Draco!” Tobias shouts, running up to his uncle on his little legs, his bookbag banging against them with every step.

“Hey kiddo,” Draco greets, picking up the child making grabby arms for him.

“Do you know Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Draco nods. “Miss (Y/L/N) came into work the other week,” He states, thankfully not exaggerating further.

Tobias frowns, turning his attention to you, concerned about his favourite teacher, “Are you okay though?”

You smile at the young brunette, “I’m all better. Your Uncle Draco fixed me up.”

Tobias nods seriously, “He’s the best Healer ever.”

You laugh; the love Tobias has for his godfather so clear within his voice, it only warms your heart further. “I have no doubt in that, Tobias. Off you go anyway, I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting home.”

Tobias and Draco wave at you as they leave the school grounds. The smile on your face doesn’t fade as you watch them walk away, the young boy chattering the ear off his devoted uncle.

Deep down, where you would only admit to yourself and no-one else, you hoped that you would get to see the handsome blonde healer again.

-------

Over the following weeks you spy Draco’s presence more by the school gates. Tobias clearly adores him, sprinting into his uncle’s arms the moment he sees him waiting for him. Crossing your arms across your chest, you comment, “You must be a very devoted godfather to volunteer to pick up Tobias this often.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly as if the task of reorganising his shifts was nothing of a chore, “I enjoy spending time with him and…”

“And?”

Draco ducks his head, feeling the familiar heat of blush creep up his neck, “I like talking to you.”

He feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. If he had an ounce of human decency within him, he would turn away from you the moment Tobias arrives. He would walk away from you, never to come back into your life again. What he did all those years ago was unforgivable despite having your permission. Draco knows he shouldn’t be back in your life, but now that he had seen you once or twice, he had to see you more.

He felt like an addict. He couldn’t leave you alone. Draco didn’t want to if he was honest with himself especially when you grin at him so widely his heart pounds in his chest.

You duck your head, your hair hiding your face. “I like talking to you too even if it is only at the school gate,” You shyly admit.

“Then we should change that,” Draco stutters out before he backs down. He wants to kick himself; he should turn away from you now and leave you alone for good, but that one selfish part of him that powers his heart tells him to stay put.

If possible, your smile grows larger, “Then we should change that.”

------

The friendship feels so natural once it starts; once the both of you get past the initial awkwardness that seemed to loiter from Draco’s cold words earlier in the year. It started with longer conversations at the school gate, but then he would come with Tobias’ mother and wait for you as Tobias would reluctantly leave with his mother. From there, it grew into a timid friendship that slowly grew more surer of itself as you invited Draco out for food or to museums or to spend the weekend with you, walking around the city when he wasn’t working.

However, as the friendship became more solid, you could not ignore the way your heart sped up with every smile and every laugh. You could not ignore the way your face heated each time he winked at you; a private joke shared between you. It didn’t feel like a passing fancy. It felt like something deeper, as if the feelings had been there before and had been dormant until now. You felt as if you were always meant to feel this way about Draco – the feelings tugging on memories you weren’t even sure were yours. Flashes of blonde hair and the powerful scent of jasmine all tied in with late nights in a tower you could barely recognise. Draco made you feel like the only person in the world; he was supportive and kind and funny. He was everything you could want and more – how could you not fall for him?

There was still the remaining secret though. It haunted him; his eyes clouded over whenever it was on his mind as if he was returning to the very memory itself. He would return shier, unsure of himself as if the friendship he had forged with you was about to implode and leave him shattered once more.

You ask him about it once. The two of you sat on your couch; you introducing Draco the wonders of muggle films and showing him your favourites when you catch him zone out. Your finger reaches out, pokes his cheek. “Where did you just go?” You question, a smile in your voice.

Draco reaches out, grabbing your finger, “Nowhere of importance.”

You frown, pulling your finger out of his grip, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?”

“Disappear on me. It’s like you have something big to tell me, but you just aren’t ready yet.”

Draco feels certain his heart stops in his chest. He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled; choked by the worry creeping up from his gut. Draco opens his mouth to reply but you beat him to it. “I’m not saying you have to tell me what it is now,” You start, “I just want you to know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Draco closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of your couch. You had so graciously opened your home to him, opened your life and offered friendship to him, and he felt awful. As he should, he thinks to himself. He had taken memories of importance from you, and here you sat, unaware of the crime and sitting with the criminal himself.

It felt like there was a countdown ticking over his head. It felt like he only had a certain amount of time until he had to come clean and he had to tell you about that night in the astronomy tower.

Yet for all that was in him, for all that created his moral compass, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you and ruin whatever was blossoming between the two of you. Draco supposes he is a coward. He probably is, he tells himself, but he cannot bring himself to care about his cowardice when you smile at him like he holds the sun and stars for you.

Does he regret that night? With everything within him. Would he do it again knowing the outcome? Of course he would. He would sacrifice himself and his happiness a thousand times over to ensure your safety.

---------

Draco tells himself he’ll confess the next time he sees you which is both all too soon and not soon enough. His love for you had never faded; he hadn’t been the one to forget the short relationship you had. The intensity that accompanied teenage love and infatuation had never left the forefront of his mind. After all, how could they? Now that you were back in his life, he felt the teenager again – utterly drawn to you and unwilling to let you go.

He confesses late on a Tuesday night. The shift at St. Mungo’s had been long and arduous, but he got through it with the single thought of you. He knew that at the end of it, he would get to knock on your door. He only hoped that you wouldn’t turn him away once you found out the truth. Your hatred of him could never rival the hatred he feels for himself, but he finds himself hoping for your forgiveness.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco states, plain and simple.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before answering, “You can tell me anything.”

“You had a memory charm used on you in Sixth Year, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?” You demand. Despite the friendship grown between the both of you, you hadn’t told him that. You had given him bits and pieces, alluded to the fact that there were gaps in your memories, but you hadn’t told him the truth. Just like he hadn’t told you what made him disappear inside his mind like he so often does.

“I took your memories. It was me.” Draco confesses, his voice clear in the quiet room.

“What?” You shout, anger shooting through you.

“I took your memories. I used a memory charm on you in the middle of Sixth Year when things started to take a turn for the worst.”

“What gave you the right?” You cry, tears building out of upset and anger.

“You did,” Draco states plainly, “You didn’t want to at first, but you came round to my way of thinking when you saw how bad things were getting at home.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because once upon a time, you were in love with me.”

You shake your head, pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to get to grips with the piles of information only just dumped on you. Draco watches you pace; his grey eyes following each step intently as you work through everything in your head.

Worry shines bright in his eyes when you stop pacing. He goes to take a step towards you, but you step back. The small space between you feels like a great chasm, a gaping void that Draco is desperate to fill, to patch up.

“Tell me everything,” You state before adding on, “Please.”

Draco releases a shuddering breath before starting: “We were friends through school. I don’t remember how the friendship started, but it did and for years we were really good, close friends. Then along the way, the friendship changed. We fell in love, or whatever it is at sixteen/seventeen years old. We had less than a year together when things started to change; when whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return were strengthened by continued attacks on the Ministry.

“You argued with me for hours,” Draco pauses, laughing as he remembers what you clearly couldn’t, “I had never seen you so angry or so stubborn. You were adamant, you didn’t want to but then you went quiet and I knew you saw what I had seen. You agreed after a minutes silence; told me yes even though it broke the both of us to do so.

Draco’s grey eyes are lined with unshed tears as he murmurs, “I couldn’t let them have you. My family was working with the darkest wizard there had ever been in the last century, if he had gotten a whiff of what you meant to me, you would be used in ways that not even I could imagine. My aunt would have taken great pleasure in ensuring that you would be a bargaining chip for me to fulfil whatever mission they handed me. That was something I couldn’t allow.

“It broke me to do it. To watch your eyes go blank as the memories of what we shared disappeared. Selfishly, I asked you to wait for me, not knowing that they would be tied to you afterwards. I just… I couldn’t let you go. As a teenager and an adult. There’s no real excuse for what I did, but know it was out of love for you that I did it.”

Draco falls silent. His heavy words adding to the growing tension in the room. Draco’s mind runs a thousand miles a minute; his eyes don’t leave you as he watches you work through every emotion coursing through your body. He sees the anger, the sadness, the frustration, but he also sees the relief at having an answer for those gaps that you had only recently confessed to him.

You break the loaded silence, “I forgot the relationship, but on some level I don’t think I ever forgot you.”

“What?” Draco asks, the air rushing out of him in one fell swoop.

A smile creeps across your face; relishing somewhat at having caught him off-guard. “I have glimpses of what I always assumed was a past life. The memories were always fuzzy around the edges, but they were clear enough for me to catch glimpses of blonde hair or to spy the pattern of a ring much like the one on your signet ring.”

Draco remains silent; he doesn’t dare talk; he doesn’t dare breathe. Nothing prepares him for your next words.

“I waited for you… like you asked.”

Those words. Those foolish words that he had absolutely no right to whisper to you. Draco had been so overwhelmed in that moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the small kernel of hope that despite the strength of the memory charm, a part of you would remember him and would wait for him.

But you had.

You had waited for him. You barely knew who he was, but you had waited for him, hoping that one day he would cross your path.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, running a hand through his growing hair, starting to pace the length of your living room.

“When I woke after my memories had been taken, I clearly didn’t remember a single thing, but I had the echoes of three words ringing in my ears. A beg, a plea of someone – a boy asking for me to wait for them. I didn’t know completely who I was waiting for, I didn’t know it was you until I saw you at the hospital that first time and then again so soon after leaving. My memories haven’t returned, and I doubt they will, but I just know that it was you who I was waiting for.”

Draco falls silent, letting your words fall over him and sink into his skin, settling deep within his bones.

Years. It had been years since that night in the astronomy tower where he took your memories. It had been years since he felt the longing and love; there had been no-one lese and there would be no-one else. For Draco, there was only ever you… and you had waited.

You had waited for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, hands continuing to run through his hair in frustration as he paces the room. He faces you; grey eyes wild with emotion, “How are you not angry with me?”

“I am angry with you! I’m furious with you, Draco! You took my memories, but if you say I agreed to it, I’m just as angry with myself for allowing myself to forget you.”

“What do we do?” He asks, a hand running down his face as he tries to figure out the next step.

“Forgiveness,” You state simply, “We try to move on.”

Draco’s hands drop limply at his side as he gasps, “Forgiveness?”

“What happened after you erased my memories, Draco?”

“There was a war. I was on the wrong side,” is all he says. He isn’t ready to go into too much detail. That’s another story for another day.

“Was that what you were trying to protect me from? The wrong side?”

Draco nods wordlessly. He saw things going south so quickly but his parents hadn’t. They pushed and they pushed; inducting him into the same pureblood fanaticism they relished. “How can you even think of forgiving me? I took your memories. I stole them from you, and you won’t ever get them back,” He argues, wanting to know whether you truly understood what you were doing by forgiving him.

“Let me ask you something, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you plan on leaving again?”

He shakes his head immediately. He doesn’t think he could leave you even if he tried.

You shrug your shoulders, “That’s how I can think of forgiving you.”

“I don’t understand,” He whispers; his own self-hatred confused by your words.

“The wizarding war was about to descend into war. We were confused, scared teenagers who didn’t see another option. You asked my permission, Draco, and I granted it clearly.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No buts. I said yes. I gave permission and we cannot change the past, Draco but we can control our future. It’s going to require work on both sides, but you can tell me about what I’m missing and at the same time we can forge something new.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile shyly, taking that all important step towards him, “Make some new memories with me, Draco.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @just-a-belgian-girl @aspiringsloth20 @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

274 notes · View notes

lilydalexf · 3 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with bugs

bugs has 40 stories at Gossamer. They mostly focus on Mulder and Scully, but there are also some goodies featuring Reyes and Doggett. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her fics here before, including The Link. She also co-ran WhyIncision, a fun, smart X-Files mailing list that dissected fics like a book club. Big thanks to bugs for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Not really. While I was still in high school, I started watching the then 20 year old OG Star Trek and became a Trekkie of a sort. Starlog magazine, James Blish novels and the other novelizations, and while I was working as a library page, I found fanfiction one day among the periodicals. Who knows how fanfiction ended up as part of a library's materials, but there it was, this tattered mimeographed collection. The fic that had the most impact on me was one where Nurse Chapel wrestled a giant alien snake to save Spock's life.

So when I got into XF, one of the first things I did was look for fanfic, knowing somewhere out there, Scully was wrestling a big snake for Mulder.

That experience showed me the power of fandom, that even without the internet, how the second generation of Trekkies joined the original group to advocate for the franchise to be revived. I remember sitting in the theater for that first awful Star Trek movie, choked up with what we'd done.

Tragic backstory way to say, no I'm not surprised that a well-produced show like XF would beget future generations of fans, and that they'd be chewing their way through the fanfic archives still being maintained.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I'm so grateful to the fandom. Literally formed the life I have today through the confidence it gave me. Many of my friends to this day are 'pocket friends' from the various fandoms I've been in, and the longest friendships were formed in XF. I learned how to write, both technically and finding my voice. I learned how to think analytically, more than any college courses.

The two most important things I took away were, write for yourself first and always, and shit ain't that damn important. In the end, it's a TV show.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

YIKES. I came in at the Fight the Future summer hiatus, so the waning days of ATXC, then we moved to mailing lists, right? Yahoo Groups was in there somewhere. Finally message boards. Live Journal rose up at the end of the run which began to fragment the fandom even before the show ended, along with the migration off our individual websites to Archive of Our Own, fanfiction.net and such. We went from group discussion platforms to 'come look at my blog for my thoughts'. It was different and I didn't particularly like it, but in the end, when I came back to fandom for a new show....I had to get a Live Journal. That's the most interesting part of fandom, that a platform doesn't mold a fandom; we use the platform and when it's no longer useful to us, we abandon it en mass.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I've touched on that a bit, but to elaborate, I'm glad I started in the XF fandom. It had such high standards and I hope that I maintain those standards for myself to this day. These days, I don't usually have a beta reader, but that took a couple hundred posted fics to get to that point.

Having seen the same exact flamewars and divides and squabbles over and over, seen how the taste of 'fame' can drive someone to be rather unpleasant, has given me a much more 'whatever' attitude. It's sort of comforting when joining a new fandom to know what's going to happen next in its natural progression.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

There's a meme "I have a type," and XF definitely had that type, but it just took me a while to get there. I was away at college then working on the road when the show started, and wasn't home on Friday nights most of the year. My mother has always been a big sci-fi fan, so she actually was watching before me. I don't like scary things, and would leave the room if it was on when I'd visit her. I was home for Christmas when Christmas Carol/Emily aired and I remember standing tentatively just inside the room so I could flee if necessary, and watched Scully go through the wringer, and ranting, "What the hell is this? Why are they putting that poor woman through this!?" I also saw how the show was doing the big ship tease, and I was like, uh, I don't have time for this. Even by my 20's, I'd been done wrong by so many shows that I'd become bitter. But the first film trailers suggested they were actually going from UST to RST, so I figured I could give 2 hours of my time for that. And yeah...but I was hooked, and WENT TO BLOCKBUSTER AND RENTED THE VHS TAPES TO CATCH UP....this interview is making me feel very old.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I've always been a shipper and have no shame in that, as I think forming and maintaining a relationship is the most conflict-ridden enterprise humans can attempt, and thus is the most challenging thing to write about. Like many fanfic writers, I'd 'told stories in my head' ever since I can remember about the characters from books, shows and movies. It was just a matter of then writing it down for the first time.

After I was sucked into the show and it was still the summer hiatus, I got on my first computer, dialed up that screeching modem, and went on Netscape to search for that fanfic I knew had to be out there from my Trek experience a decade ago. Like many people, after inhaling much of the delicious fics out there, I decided I can do that. I'm someone who's very methodical on my approach to something new, so I studied what worked/what didn't, the expected formatting, got a sense of the culture I was entering, acquired a critical beta reader, so when I actually submitted the first chapter to AXTC, I was calm and confident.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I watch from the sidelines, with a vague little smile on my lips.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Yes, I have. Battlestar Galactica had a lot of Philes, but it was still a big step away from the very organized fandom in X-Files. Plus, with so many characters, there could be lots of little groups focused on their favorites. Same in the Downton Abbey fandom. Just a different dynamic.

On the other end of the spectrum, one of my most popular fics is in the Silence of the Lambs fandom which I've never been involved with any other fans or their fandom, if it exists. It just sits out there on fanfiction.net and chugs along with the reads. My current fandom is The Doctor Blake Mysteries which is tiny but mighty--the saying is, we're six people and a shoelace. It's shown me that it's not the size, not the 'fame' possible, but the passion that makes a fandom.

Sadly, at least at this time, I don't think there will ever be an experience like The X-Files heyday. It was such a golden moment of the rise of internet and home computer use by the general public, a large generation of educated women having the time to participate in fandom, and there wasn't the amount of 'noise' that is distracting us all now. I'm so glad that you're doing this exercise to record our thoughts. We've already lost so many of the OG folks. My first beta, Janet Caires-Lesgold; Trixie, way too young; Shari, also too young; Brandon D Ray, leaving his family too soon; and many more.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 9, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #bugs

82 notes · View notes

guqin-and-flute · 3 years

Text

In Your Hands--Ch. 3 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

“...A-Jie?”

“Mm?” Yanli opens her eyes, going from the deep red-orange of the sun on her eyelids to the fresh blue of the world. She cranes her neck around to look over at A-Cheng.

And finds that he’s no longer basking beside her and is instead sitting up, elbows on his knees, hands fiddling with something on the ground in front of him.

It had taken some convincing to get him to actually lay down in the grass with her as A-Xian and A-Yao man the kites for target practice below them in the waterfall grotto--he is so concerned with being proper and respectable that he hardly lets himself relax anymore. He isn’t even relaxing now. While his gaze is on the disciples playing and training below their bluff-top vantage point, his lips are tight, his face troubled. Sitting up, she scoots closer to him and nudges her shoulder up against him, playfully. “What is it, A-di?”

The wind dances over the dewy spots the sun-warmed grass had left on her robes, lifting up the fresh and living scent of plants and water as she waits for his jaw to work over the words before they come out. For all that he blurts out whatever he wants about (or at) Xianxian, he is always careful when it comes to something regarding her. So she waits, gentling her energy and leaning closer to rest her temple against his hunched shoulder, rubbing her thumb along the tough leather of his bracer.

“Are you...happy?”

She smiles, even though he can’t see it. “Of course I am, A-Cheng. It’s a beautiful day and we’re spending time together. Why?”

“I mean, are you happy...in general? With….” As he pauses, she follows his still stuck gaze and finds it on A-Yao in the shade holding a kite string, listening to something a shimei is saying with a patient smile. “I didn’t...we didn’t force you, did we? You really seemed to like that peac--well, you know. Wei Wuxian and I were wondering…” He looks back to his hands, twisting grass between them fitfully, but she sees his gaze dart to her sideways from underneath his eyebrows. “Are you happy?”

Sweet, romantic boys; the ones who had planned her wedding in full when they were only 8. Both still haunted by the wounds left by her parents’ relationship in their own way. Who had both been more than unimpressed with Jin Guangshan’s attempt at what he clearly saw was a hand-me-down marriage--a marriage they were apparently forgetting that, had she not insisted on for the good of the Clan, wouldn’t have even happened. “With you all taking such good care of me, how could I be anything but?” she teases, but his anxiety stays on his face, so she pets down his hair.

As for Jin Zixuan…. Yanli hadn’t flinched when A-Cheng had said his name, but that familiar drain had opened up in her chest, pulling her down and in until she’s a little smaller, a little sadder, a little...less. Yes. She had wanted to become worthy of that match, for her Clan, for her mother, who had promised her to it since she was just a girl. She had tried.

She just hadn’t been enough.

“Is he good to you?”

Yanli shakes herself from her thoughts and sits up. She laces her fingers together and cushions her chin on the back of them with a faux thoughtful air. “Hmmm, is he good to me? Well, let’s see. I think I’ve received about 4 more gifts from him this week alone and he practically waits on me hand and foot.” She grins despite herself, that familiar giddy curling in her belly. “I would certainly say so.”

At this easy reply, he slants a curious, self conscious look that fits the round faced child she can still remember better than a would-be-stern Clan Leader and hesitantly asks, “Are you...in love?” while waggling his finger back and forth, as if indicating the space between her and her husband.

She covers an unlady-like snort of laughter that threatens to escape before she bites her lip against its persistent aftershocks and lowers the hand. “Why do you ask that like you’re going to get in trouble?” Something about the way he asks it just seems so young.

Flushing, he squirms and looks back down the bluff, but she sees the smile trying to fight its way onto his compressed lips. “I’m just curious!” When she continues to grin, he shoots her a look of reproach and complains, “A-jie, don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not, I would never!” She laughs and rubs his shoulder to lessen the sting of the tease. “You’re so funny. But...I think...I don’t honestly know. I love talking with him and learning about him; I love...making him happy and seeing him smile. I get excited to spend time with him. I was always under the impression that being in love is something huge and earth shaking--from all the legends and epics--and when you know you know, but…” Yanli takes a deep breath of the clean, full air and looks back down, catching her eyes on the lovely, now-familiar shape of A-Yao in profile. Now, he’s looking up at the kites while shading his eyes, a small smile still on his lips. “But I’m just...happy. It’s lovely, with him, and honestly, I would be completely content if this is all it is.” It would be enough.

She searches this thought, a little, pushing at its edges. For a family? For children? To want? The answer within herself doesn’t feel nearly as urgent as it used to when it comes back with ‘Maybe. There’s no rush.’ She marvels a little at how much she actually believes it.

Watching her watch A-Yao, A-Cheng smiles tentatively in the side of her vision. “That sounds really nice, A-jie.”

“It really is. He’s very...doting.”

At this, A-Cheng snorts. “Unsurprising, considering how he was with Nie-xiong.”

“Oh? Were they close, A-Yao and Nie-er-gongzi?”

“He definitely was devastated when Jin-xiong was kicked out of the Unclean Realm. I always got the feeling that he was something in between a shixiong and a babysitter, but they always got along well, from what I saw. Actually,” he furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully, tilting his head as he watches the disciples milling about, joyful fragments of shouts drifting up with the breeze. “Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’s seen him since….They weren’t in contact during the Sunshot Campaign, we know that much. Maybe they got to talk at the banquet?” His face darkens at the memory--where Jin Zixuan had officially called off the engagement, but he doesn’t speak on it. “I wonder what Nie-xiong thinks of him being here.” His scowl lightens to mere irritation and he scoffs, voice testy, now, as he adds, “Hasn’t bothered to visit.”

Hmm. She plucks this blossoming idea like a little flower to keep for later. Perhaps this is something else she could give her husband.

And oh, that distant past, when she had first seen A-Yao in the classroom of the Cloud Recesses, standing humbly beside Nie Huaisang with his head down. A whole lifetime ago, when her family and Clan still lived and her biggest worry was Jin Zixuan’s aversion; it felt like an entire version of her had lived and died since. If she set herself to it, she could even remember the specifics, like how she had been impressed by his eloquence and the competence of his bearing--even when his parentage had been publicly mocked. In truth, she had been more focused on Wei Wuxian behaving at the time--to her shame. She had known it was wrong even while it happened, could have said something, anything at all.

At least she would, now.

Turning to smooth her hand down his cheek to soothe his ruffled feathers over Nie Huaisang’s neglect and difficult memories, she catches sight of A-Xian charging up the hill with fiendish purpose under the rolling shadow of a cloud. He canons into A-Cheng like a vaguely sweaty firework without slowing.

A-Cheng squawks in disgust as it bowls them both over into the grass and the two of them begin to scuffle about it. A-Xian pants, “Shijie, I don’t think your husband has ever shot a bow before! Ow! You shit!”

A-Cheng sits, grinning and triumphant, on the back of Xianxian’s shoulders, digging his brother’s face into the grass and dirt. But just for a second or two, before he is flipped off and pinned, until he is shoved over and on and on, growling insults and play threats at each other like wrestling puppies. Eventually, laughing, Yanli stands and tugs A-Xian’s arm from the writhing pile, more of a hint than actually physically intervening. But he obediently heaves himself up, sweating, panting, and grinning, all harder than before. A-Cheng gives him a faux-surly punch in the side in retaliation and it very nearly starts the whole thing over again until Yanli firmly puts herself between them with a grin, brushing grass clumps from their hair and clothes. “Honestly, you two! I don’t envy the laundry women, just look what you’ve done to your robes. I should make you two clean them!” A-Cheng at least pretends to look halfway chastised while smiling, but A-Xian just looks proud. That is, until she continues, “And I hope you didn’t embarrass A-Yao about it. You know he wasn’t raised with the same training we were.”

At this, he cocks her an half pout, tucking his chin down and sticking his lip out. “Shijieee, all I said was that he must be worried he couldn’t beat our youngest shidi because he wouldn’t even try. Then he started ignoring me!”

A-Cheng rolls his eyes and tuts, loudly, before saying, “You asshole,” just as Yanli sighs.

Shaking her head, she tilts it in gentle scolding. “Maybe because you compared him to an 8 year old? Xianxian. You have to be careful; you know what people say about him. He needs to be safe, here. Where did you leave him?”

“Oh, he’s still down there, organizing clean up. He wasn’t offended--unlike some people,” here, he shoves at A-Cheng’s shoulder, who elbows him back. “Just the usual smiley Lianfang-zun. You know how he is, shijie, he doesn’t get upset over stuff like that.”

He’s always smiling, that doesn’t mean anything, Xianxian. You of all people would understand that. Yanli raises an eyebrow, gentle but not smiling. His childish act mellows behind his dirt smudged face and he looks away, pouting for real and rubbing his nose. “Sorry, shijie,” he mutters.

“Mm, it’s not me you have to apologize to, A-Xian. It’s about time for you to organize cleanup now, don’t you think?”

He heaves a dramatic sigh, but grudgingly nods before perching on the edge of the bluff, shouting down through cupped hands. “Jin-gege-e-e, your wife wants you!” When he turns around, he points at A-Cheng nonchalantly. “You’re helping.”

“Oh, am I?” A-Cheng smirks, folding his arms and puffing up, very clearly preparing to pull rank.

“Uh, yeah, if you want this back!” Suddenly, A-Xian spins and sprints down the hill, holding his fist up over his shoulder.

“Wei Wuxian! What’d you take?! Hey! Stop!”

As he pelts down the hill after him, Yanli has to laugh because, in the second before he had run, A-Xian had had nothing in his hands at all. For a moment, in this new peace, she closes her eyes and folds her hands over her belly, savoring the sun shining warm--almost hot--on the top of her head and the playful shouts of her brothers and the disciples below. Then, she hears footsteps. When she opens her eyes, she sees A-Yao making his steady way up the hill, his face pleasantly blank. The closer he gets, however, his eyes warm and the edges of him soften until he is here, reaching out and taking her hands. “A-Li? What do you need?” He smells like grass and water and sun.

“Was A-Xian being terrible again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no, he’s just being Wei Wuxian. You look flushed--shall I walk you back?”

But day by day she is learning each of his little lies and she recognizes this as one of them. Strangely, as the weeks go by, the masks he wears have been bothering her less and less; partially because she is beginning to understand that they are protection for him. Like armor or clothing--he would feel naked without them. If she can still tell what he wants, if she can still peek under them, she is more than happy not to pry them from him when he still needs their safety. (Of course she wishes he didn’t feel like he needs them in their home, with the people who would be his family, if he let them. But, like growing seeds or proving dough, these things take time and that, they certainly have.) He is becoming less of an impenetrable fortress and more of a foreign land that she can more easily navigate as she learns the language. It allows her to leave these smiles hung up like beautiful paintings she can name. Underneath this, he is tense and displeased; his smile-curved eyes opaque, his jaw holding tension. This one is Humiliation.

Twining her arms around his trim waist, she thrills in that wanted way she does every time he lets her hold him before she tucks her cheek to his to murmur, “I told him not to tease like that. I know it hurts you.” While she may have become more inclined to leave him his shields when he puts them up against her, she can’t help but talk around it, just a little. She cares less about the hiding and more about the fact that he suffers.

“...It’s fine.” He says nothing more, but his hands move to hold her back, one smoothing up between her shoulder blades as his face tips down against her neck, nose and eyelashes pressing. Not a talking problem, then. So she rocks, a bit, from her ankles to her hips, swaying them both slowly together in the rustling breeze with something like playfulness and something like comfort. “What are you doing, this afternoon?” She asks the air behind him, eyes cast to the wisping clouds passing slowly across the sky.

“Mm, I had planned to organize a list of new merchants in the area for Jiang Wanyin. Is there something you need me to do instead?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Not that I saw. Why, A-Li?"

"I was going to make dumplings tonight and I would love it if you joined me. If you want," she adds, diffidently. “I made the dough this morning.”

He startles, a little, and draws back, looking genuinely surprised. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then smiles warmly. “I’d be delighted.”

The sincerity of that smile makes her grin and she bounces a little on her toes--and he laughs. Clearly, he's pleased she wants to spend time with him. And she's pleased that he's pleased. And he seems to be pleased that she's pleased that he's pleased and around and around they go--it might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fun.

It turns out that he’s as quick a study at being a kitchen hand as he is at anything else he does; he absorbs her instructions thoughtfully and works diligently, his noon-sky blue sleeves patterned with little whirls of teal tied back with a simple strip of cloth as he chops up the chives and garlic and ginger. His knife strokes are as rhythmic and sure as the kitchen is hot, with little wisps of breeze edging around the wet billows of spices and green and cooking pork. “You are so much easier to work with than Xianxian,” she tells him from down the smooth, sunbathed counter where she’s perched on a stool, rolling out the rounds of dough. “I love him dearly, but he tries to put absolutely everything in his mouth, even now.”

A tiny smile picks at the corner of his concentration tight lips. Then, with a flick of an eye to see if she’s watching, he wordlessly pops a little shred of ginger into his mouth from the neat pile he has made. “You!” Yanli gasps in delighted outrage at his audacity and leans over to ineffectually tap at the counter near his elbow--she can’t quite reach him, sitting down.

At this, he laughs outright and offers his wrist out, knife blade carefully angled away . She gives the back of his wrist a playful little swipe with her fingertips, leaving streaks of flour. “I thought I would make it a little more familiar for you,” he says, by way of excuse. “More what you’re used to.”

“Absolutely incorrigible,” she replies, fondly, righting herself again.

Here in the kitchen, where she has history and proficiency--where she is master--it’s as easy as anything to tease and tend with absolutely no worry at all. She isn’t agonizing if she is providing enough or saying the right things, because she knows exactly what must be done when, and he is masterful at following directions the very first time she gives them. Conversation is light and inconsequential around her instructions, and she is able to conserve her energy staying seated on the stool, maneuvering him about the kitchen as her arms with little guilt at all.

In what feels like no time, they sit beside each other at the floured, bowl littered counter; bowls of filling, of water, of flour. Their shoulders brush. “So you wet the edge like this, because the dough isn’t completely fresh anymore--”

“Mn.”

“And you spoon in about this much--not much more or it will burst in the pan.”

“This much?”

“A little more, I think. Perfect! Then, like this. Then you fold the sides.”

“Too much?”

“Mmn, next time it can be a little tighter, but that’s good for your first one! Pinch it and--beautiful!” She pauses a moment to savor the look of her husband with flour speckling his quick, capable hands and lean forearms, seriously contemplating the dumpling. “You’re a natural.”

The withdrawing he had done behind his shields that morning is nowhere in sight when he looks over at her with unmistakable pride in his bright eyes. “Well, I have a wonderful teacher.”

She bites her grin back and waves the compliments away, laying out the next wrapper in front of her. “Oh, you.”

“Where did you learn the art of food?”

“Liu-popo, one of our cooks! I think I first got interested because I was sick for a lot of my childhood and she always made me the most wonderful meals. And when we found out about my heart and my health...well….” Mother stopped pushing once she realized Yanli would never be able to keep up with the training of the other disciples because there was no way for her to improve. No way for her to contribute to the Clan in a meaningful way. “I had a lot more free time. My room was by the kitchens, and I have always loved the smells and the bustle of it all. The more I was there, the more Liu-popo would let me mix things, tell me how they worked and what flavors went together. At dinner, seeing people eat what I made...knowing I did that, knowing I made them happy and full…it felt good.” She gives a little smile and glances at him. “And there's so many things you can do once you understand the basics, too. You can experiment and make new dishes!”

He wets the edge of his next dough wrapper and says, conversationally, “Like Wei Wuxian and his talisman inventions.”

This startles a laugh out of her and sparks from her dangling earrings in the sun dance off the warm gold glow reflected from their bodies onto the wall around the window. “Oh, no, it’s nothing special.”

“Really? I think it’s very similar. You’re perfecting something and helping people. Bringing them together and taking care of them, feeding their bodies and keeping them strong? That’s just as important.”

She hesitates and looks out the window. She never thought of it that way. The lotuses are pearly and bobbing in the bright breeze, their heady scent sneaking in light and fragrant under the punch of the spices. Their brilliance under the sun leaves dazzling green after images when she blinks. “Do you think so?” Assigning that much importance to it seems borderline ridiculous--what she does and what her brothers do is hardly comparable at all. She struggles to make herself useful while they blaze their way through the world, changing it with their will and sword edges. They are proper cultivators, proper warriors.

There is a pause, then a gentle hand lays over her wrist, slightly gritty from the flour coating his palm. “If you had asked me what I would have preferred when I was in the Scorching Sun Palace--a talisman or a warm meal from someone who--” it feels like he swallows a word back here, smoothly substituting, “cares, I know which I would have chosen. Without question.”

Even this feels like a kind exaggeration designed to make her feel better--soup instead of life saving magic? But this little rare little bauble of personal experience he was handing her was something more important than soothing her pride, so she smiles over at him. “You’re very sweet. But what about you? You’re a natural! Did your niang teach you how to cook?”

At this, his face slides from serious earnest to pleasant veneer and, with a spike of cold anxiety, she fears she has put her hand on a door that she thought she was being invited into, only to find it forbidden. But he merely turns back to spooning in the pork filling and says, lightly. “I’m sure she knew how--she was well educated in most things. But we didn’t tend to frequent the kitchens.” There is a silence she fears is the end of this particularly enticing thread. But then, eyes still on the pre-dumpling, he says, “She taught me other things, though. How to read and write. Proper etiquette. The basics of a guqin….”

There is a pause, and this feels almost uncertain, him tilting on his toes on the precipice of a step she desperately wants him to take, so she hazards, “Like Lan-zongzhu.”

A smile, small and fond, before he forces it brighter at his hands, efficiently twisting the little peaks. “Just like. He’s had more formal training, of course, but she was able to play quite well.”

Yanli knows some of this, of course. His mother had been famous for how educated she was despite her occupation--the refined courtesan of Yunping. But that’s not who she had been to A-Yao. She had been his mother. “She was a very talented woman.”

“Yes.”

“You loved her very much.”

Softer, smile greying; “Yes.”

A silence stretches, a bird outside trilling to accentuate it, so she says, quietly. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about her, A-Yao. I didn’t mean to pry.”

That smile hikes wider and he looks over at her, where she can see in full the raw tension that hides just barely underneath and she wants to shower him with praise and thanks for the gift that it is. “You’re my wife, A-Li. There’s no prying; you can ask me anything you want to know.”

Mmhm, she thinks, I can ask, but you won't necessarily answer. What clever wording; sneaky. No need to push. Just like with A-Xian, she will let him take the time he needs to tell her what's wrong. As long as he knows she is always there to listen. “Well, I love hearing about her….” Then shyly, she adds. “Would she have liked me?

When his face softens completely, there is something in the corners of his mouth that makes her think of tears, though there’s no trace of it anywhere else. His voice is low when he says, “She would have adored you.”

She reaches out and touches his cheek with her flour coated hand, crumbling a swath of white up to his cheekbone. The way he’s looking at her is almost like yearning in his eyes, searching and wanting, even though she is right here, right with him, staying. A warmth rushes in her chest. “I would have loved to have met her, A-Yao. She must have been amazing--and you honor her so well.” It's truth. Nothing but.

Little lines pierce where his dimples should lie and he swallows, blinks. “...I try,” he says in a voice she has never heard from him before; it’s small. Clotted and uncertain. His eyes widen and he stiffens, and she feels him tightening, receding--so she pretends she doesn’t see it, pretends that she doesn’t know that that had been a slip of vulnerability that scares him.

She takes away all pressure--her hand from his cheek, her gaze from his face--and turns away to fuss over another circle of dough. Sprinkling more flour on the counter, arranging everything just so in front of her as she smiles. “Well, you’ve proven to be a wonderful kitchen hand, so you should help me make dumplings for all the holidays, since you’re so good at it. New Years and Dongzhi and--oh, I should teach you the dances we do for the Dragon Boat Festival! I perform one every year for Lotus Pier, when I can. Or,” she straightens with realization. “Oh!” When she turns to him, he’s considering the dumpling he’s pinching with far more concentration than is warranted. “Oh, you grew up in Yunping! Do you know any?”

He clears his throat without looking up, smile uncomfortable. “I know a few. Quite a few. My mother taught me to dance because she didn’t know any martial arts to prepare me for cultivation outside some of the books she managed to find. But she knew starting me in a physical discipline young would help. I’m...adequate.”

Even more corners of her life she could tuck him into! More things she could share with him! A way to draw him from the shell he’s desperately trying to retreat back into! Excitedly, she twists on her stool, swiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, show me, please, I want to see!”

The tips of his ears redden adorably, and he winces. “I don’t...A-Li--”

There are not many things she will push him on, except on matters where he paints himself as unworthy, but this! This she absolutely has to see, here, just them, sharing the things that make them who they are under the kitchen counter in private. “Please, oh, please! I’ll even dance with you, if you don’t want to do it alone! We’ll go together!” She stands and shrugs her shoulders to free her arms some mobility from where her apron captures the joining of her sleeves, letting her hands rest on the air in delicate anticipation.

He’s startled into looking up at her, eyebrows pinching. His face is colored in embarrassed alarm. “I only ever performed alone, my partner dances aren’t--”

Performed! She could crow. And she will get that story in time, oh yes she will. “Then you choose! Whatever you want, I’ll follow you! Whatever you want, whatever!”

At this insistence, reluctantly, slowly, he stands, dusting off his hands before untying the cloth that keeps his sleeves back. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, to her utter rising delight he shrugs out of his heavier blue outer robe entirely to drape over the edge of the rack of unpeeled vegetables. It leaves him in 2 lighter, tighter layers of shades of plum and navy. The lack of patterns on the fabric simplifies his lines, rendering him limber and neat as he places his feet just so.

Immediately it is clear that he is not merely adequate, as he claimed. When he lifts his hands, the intent behind them shows someone who has had control of their body’s movements from a very young age and knows where every square inch of it is at all times--no less talented or powerful than those lifelong cultivators that she knows. He is watching her. She glows with the trust of it all and follows his first step.

There is no music, and so she sees his quick tempo and meets it with a wordless, half remembered song, all ‘da da’s and breathless notes as they move. And they dance, wheeling tight in the modest space of the kitchen floor. The dance he chooses is, as he said, not usually a couple dance, but she knows it and mirrors him, light and lilting, stepping quick and smooth. Some of the sweeps of his arms and legs are the masculinized version of what she knows, so she reflects in compliment when she can--when the counters and bulbs of hanging garlic and strings of peppers don’t block her path. It’s amazing, it’s easy, it’s fun.

She watches his face flash pass during a turn--once, concentration; twice, surprise; thrice, realization. When he faces front, he looks tentatively pleased.

She arches her back and kicks up her foot in a sharp arc in improvisation, grinning cheekily and that real, crooked grin of his is back, with something different, something--is that teasing? Arms spread like wings for balance, he responds in kind, but the arc of it is wider, higher, until, for a single moment, the billow of his robes is a flower blossom on the impossibly straight line of his legs, up and down. She whoops in undignified awe in the middle of a measure, abandoning the tune.

In the end, she bumps the corner table with her hip and teeters a moment, arms wheeling for balance even as she laughs. When he catches her wrist and pulls her back, Yanli collapses onto him, arms around his neck as she giggles, helplessly elated. Struggling back upright, she grabs his face in her palms and plants a quick, hard kiss on his lips.

His fast breath tastes like ginger.

They are both flushed and panting in the heat of the kitchen, wisps of humidity frazzled hair escaping their respective guan and pin. And they are both grinning. “You must perform with me,” she wheezes.

Breathlessly, he lets out a short laugh, smile going wryer but not disappearing. “Ah, I doubt anyone wants to see me.”

“I do!”

Again, he chuckles. “Then I’ll dance for you.”

He’ll dance for her! That golden bubbling is back in her chest, permeating the whole of her until she feels like sunlight. “Think about it at least?”

With an air of extreme indulgence that tells her that he has thought and has already decided, he nods, one dimple pressed in deep. She lets it go. Oh well, next year.

He helps her sit because her lungs are tight and her legs going to jelly, but she is so helplessly pleased by him and the gifts he keeps giving her. So she kisses him again, because she likes to and she can, and feels his palms press her closer by her shoulder blades and feels so very very wanted.

#my fic #my stuff #peony to lotus #AT LAST. I CAN WRITE. Hopefully I'm going to write more tonight

56 notes · View notes

firelxdykatara · 3 years

Note

kitty i can't wait for your thoughts of Shadow and Bone asdfasfaw

Ok well I just finished and I have so many fucking thoughts. Most good! Some, less so. Part of it may just be my bias because I’ve only read the Six of Crows duology and have little interest in actually reading the original trilogy, because I know how it ends and Leigh clearly hates me personally and doesn’t want me to be happy (/j), so I was already predisposed to be far more invested in the Crows and Darkling/Darklina segments (genuinely, the Mal/Malina scenes/storyline bored me to tears, and while I appreciate that the show went out of its way to change Mal’s character to make him much less of a toxic douchebag [I’ve read enough excerpts and explanations of his actions in the books to really loathe book!Malina], it isn’t enough to make me ship them when Darklina is right there), but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the Crows absolutely stole the show.

It’s actually kind of funny, because I’d assumed they were only being so heavily marketed to hype the show up even more, since while there’s a lot of TGT/SoC fandom overlap they are also two fundamentally different genres and I’d wager there are a lot of people who are massive fans of one but not so enthused with the other, while remaining fairly insignificant to the overall plot. Turns out, they make up fully half of the show’s runtime (much to my delight). Which is part of what I think will help this series stand on its own, both as a book adaptation and simply as a fantasy TV series.

I’ll put more of my story-specific thoughts under a cut, so there’s lots of show spoilers to follow!

I know that a lot of early reviewers were saying that Alina’s motivations and storyline revolved too much around Mal, and that really held true for me. It made sense in the beginning--he was the only constant in her life, she was thrust into something new, terrifying, and completely unfamiliar, and they’d developed an unhealthy codependence as a coping mechanism for their childhoods and the traumas they faced, the lives they lead growing up in a war-torn country. But she started coming into her power, falling for the General--not just his power and charisma, but what she felt when she was with him. The way he helped her summon the sun, the way she felt free in a way she never had before.

Until it all went to shit--but the Darklina make-out scene in episode 5? Fucking iconic. Poetic fucking cinema. The way they were quite literally about to have sex on that wartable (and someone better write fic of that moment, what if they hadn’t gotten interrupted), and the General left, but then he ran back just to kiss her one more time... this is what OTPs are made of ok.

I think what really bothers me overall is that Alina ultimately lacked agency in her one storyline, pretty much the entire way through. She did make a few choices, but they were mostly incidental, and a lot of it was Alina desperately trying to get back to Mal rather than seizing her own power and destiny and running with it. The most prominent example is the end of episode 5--Alina is having happy make-outs and almost bones the General in his own war room, and then he leaves, and Baghra comes in and infodumps to her about how evil he is and how he’s only using her and she needs to escape.

I recognize that a lot of this is probably because that’s essentially what happened in the book and Leigh is an executive producer for the show so she has a lot of shot-calling power. However, I really think that even in the book this plotline would’ve been better-served by having Alina make these discoveries on her own.

For example, imagine that the letters which were used as framing devices for episodes 2 and 3 were vitally important to the plot, rather than being one-offs that are mentioned a few times but not really affecting much of anything. Alina begins to get suspicious when she doesn’t receive word from Mal, and she starts wondering if her letters are even reaching him--so she starts snooping. She finds ashes in the war room hearth, late at night,, and recognizes a fragment of Mal’s signature and larger piece of her own. She now knows that someone--possibly the General, but maybe that creepy priest guy, or someone else in the palace--is keeping her and Mal from contacting one another. So she starts snooping around even more. She asks the General leading questions, trying to figure out what the truth is of his intentions. She still feels this pull--this connection to him, and she hopes she’s wrong, but she’s not willing to just sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop.

The Winter Fete still happens, she still gets the hot make-out session with the General, and then when he’s called away, she snoops through his papers, looking for anything that can tell her the truth. She finds a hidden compartment filled with journals.

She reads about Aleksander’s past (and, incidentally, wasn’t that supposed to be a huge moment in the books, him revealing his true name to her in private? kinda wish it had been kept that way in the show but who knows where they’ll go with it in the future)--that leads to the flashbacks in episode 6. She feels for him, but she also reads further--she gets a firsthand look at his desire for power, something that began as a noble desire to save his people, but was twisted by a lust for vengeance (for his lost love and all the Grisha who were killed) and shot through with greed, the realization that if he found the Sun Summoner he could control the Fold, rather than just destroy it. He could create a new world where Grisha could live without fear--where Grisha could rule.

Alina is terrified. Whoever the General used to be--whatever humanity she saw flickering in his eyes, the way his heart fluttered when they kissed--she can’t trust that it’ll be enough to save her from plans centuries in the making. So she goes to Baghra, the woman who helped her discover her power, learn to channel it--the woman who always seemed to know much more than she ever let on. Baghra gives her side of the story--Alina got it from the General’s perspective first, now Baghra is telling her something framed much differently. She isn’t sure what or who to trust, but she knows that Baghra seems willing to help her escape--but rather than trusting her ‘loyal Grisha’, she makes the choice she made in the show, to choose the other path, and winds up with the Crows.

Idk how Mal and the Stag thing would fit into this (if it isn’t obvious by now, Mal just... doesn’t interest me), but Alina’s story and her character arc would be so much stronger for it. And she’s supposed to be the central character, so her story being weak and her agency so frequently being compromised ultimately hurts the show as a whole.

I know I’ve gone on and on about Alina and the Darkling (look, I’m a slut for enemies-to-lovers, and also lovers-to-enemies-and-back, so Darklina and Helnik are where so much of my investment is rooted--plus Kanej, but that almost goes without saying), but the true standouts of the series were the Crows. Inej, Kaz, and Jesper, and Nina and Matthias in their episodes, stole the show (along with the Darkling, Ben is far and away the best actor in the cast and I love that for him, but Freddy, Amita, and Kit are also amazing, and Danielle&Calahan were fucking phenomenal as Nina and Matthias--I do have to say, though, that the whole cast is really solid and has amazing chemistry).

They worked together so perfectly--Freddy and Amita communicated so much with their eyes alone, especially together, and a whole lot of their relationship dynamic is rooted in how they exist together, which really came through. The show altered the Crows timeline considerably (I’m pretty sure Kaz would’ve been 14 during the original trilogy lol), so Inej is still at the Menagerie, but things like Kaz putting up the Crow Club for Inej’s freedom, the way Kaz needed her but could never bring himself to say it (until the end of the season dklhfgdkjfgh i SCREAMED)--the way Jesper played off the both of them, and it’s so obvious they all love each other even though they’re criminals and thieves and murderers, and Kaz would never admit it (out loud--which actually feeds into my theory that his love language is acts of service; Kaz does things for the people he cares about, he never announces it and he will almost always try to downplay it, but the way you know he cares is if, for example, he puts his entire life, everything he built, up as collateral for your freedom), but they’re a family.

One thing that I was kind of iffy about was Inej’s refusal to kill--but I thought it might be something they were planning to work into her overall character arc, and they did. It was the one line she hadn’t crossed--in the books, I’d imagine that it took a while for Inej to wind up at that point, being willing to kill on top of everything else. So I actually like that they worked that into the Crows plotline, and Inej killing for the first time was to save Kaz’s life.

Just like Kaz’s first selfless act was to save her.

(He’d deny it, of course. He protects his investments. He needed her for the job. But the truth is, he did it for her. And he’d do it again. Even if he’d never admit it.)

Meanwhile, Nina and Matthias’ storyline was pretty much note-for-note according to their backstory as it was revealed in Six of Crows, and I loved every second of it. Their chemistry was perfect, their journey from enemies to begrudging allies to friends to maybe something more (Matthias’ stomach cockblocking them when they were about to kiss had me fucking SCREAMING AT THE TV, and then of course the whole ‘betraying him to save him’ thing happened and I sobbed), and then suddenly right back to enemies.

Because from Matthias’ perspective, he trusted a witch--believed in her, liked her, wanted her--and she turned on him. He has no idea that she wasn’t the one who knocked him out in the first place, and no reason to believe her, because as far as he knows, she just confirmed everything he’d ever been told about Grisha. That they are deceitful and treacherous, would turn on you as soon as look at you, that they are dangerous and not to be trusted. It wasn’t revealed in-show but I imagine Matthias’ backstory is largely the same, which means that his entire family was slaughtered by Grisha when he was a young boy, and then he was turned into a brainwashed child soldier by the witch hunters and never knew anything else.

They are perfectly primed for their SoC arc next season and I, for one, am so stoked to see the rest of their journey. And if I slip Netflix a couple twenties, maybe they’ll let Helnik have a happy ending please please please.

Anyway, yeah! I have a lot of thoughts but things are still percolating in my head so I’ll probably float around the tags for a bit and let things settle. This is just a preliminary overview of my thoughts in the immediate aftermath of bingeing the entire show in one night kldfjghdkjfhgkjgf

EDIT TO ADD: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT ABOUT THE TRUE STAR OF THE SHOW, M I L O

MILO BEST BOY. MILO THE MVP. MILO DESERVES ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD AND I HOPE HE LIVES A HAPPY AND HEALTHY AND FULL LITTLE GOAT LIFE.

#shadow and bone #kanej #helnik #darklina #sab spoilers #alina starkov #the darkling #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #malina salt #asked #cobraonthecob

45 notes · View notes

moosoobi · 3 years

Text

Revelation

In the night: Chapter 1

T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical

Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They say every girl’s another mystery, but definitely not like this. Buckle your seatbelt Tommy, you’re in for a ride

Finally finished the first part of ITN (which is ironic since the moment I wrote this message I still haven’t finished it). I really hope I’m able to bring this story to life the way I want to and I hope y’all enjoy 😔💕. Here’s some stuff to expect:

Told from Thomas’s POV

Modern Au

College talk even though I’m literally in my second year of high school (so please bear with me)

Ruh roh moments

Sorta weird POV/storytelling (I’m new to writing fics and stuff so this is definitely a learning opportunity) Also excuse my English errors: Though this is my only language, my school system seemed to fail in teaching me how to write

Word count: 6.7k (including separators)

2 DISCLAIMERS:

TW: itty bitty angst, themes of injury/blood, etc.

I’m not the best story writer, so after reading this chapter you may have many questions. Please keep in mind that this is one chapter out of (about) 10. Things that you may not understand in this chapter will most likely be explained in future chapters.

-Now Playing: In The Night by The Weeknd-

My God, she’s perfect

The way the sunlight reflects off of her glass skin. The sincerity in every word, every letter that she writes with her only pencil. To be that flawless, it’s a mystery to me. She takes a glance at me. Did she feel me staring? I duck down my head in embarrassment.

“Jefferson, you oughta put that scholarship to good use”

Professor Washington boomed to the entire class. I hear a fragment of her giggle. Her laugh is soft and naïve. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of her happiness.

Washington is right, though. It's my first semester after I came back from my student exchange program over in France and I can already feel my sanity slipping. France was a beauty to visit, so many customs and cultures I wish I could be flourished in right now.

But there was one thing great about going to school in New York: I get to sit in a classroom with Y/N L/N.

I’ve never talked to her formally, at least not yet. She’s always sitting alone, never answers any questions, but Professor Washington makes the class acknowledge her perfect test scores and fascinating interpretations

As the bell rings I watch her stand swiftly. Is she in a rush? I can't help but watch as her hair is flung over her shoulder. She stuffs her notebooks and singular pencil into her burgundy-magenta backpack. Hey, at least she has good taste in color.

I don’t think you understand

She sits alone everyday during lunch, yet she never looks bothered. Her energy is so compelling to me. A feeling about her that I cannot comprehend, something that feels greater than my existence. I just got to know.

“Thomas, you gotta work on staring at people less noticeable” James catches my attention by pointing his fork a little too close to my face.

I was staring? Again?

I shake my head to snap back to reality

“The great Thomas Jefferson is interested in someone for longer than 30 seconds. I gonna be honest with you Thom, that’s impressing”

I hear James laugh as he violently stabs a few pieces of pasta onto his fork.

James has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went to the same middle and high school down in Virginia, and just coincidentally ended up going to the same college in New York.

We’re always there for each other. I remember cheering for him at a high school assembly after he won a story writing challenge, he’s such a nerd. Then again, he had to drive me home a couple of times after I failed multiple driving tests.

Back in high school, James was the Chess Club Champion, a title he always shoved down my throat. It’s no secret why, though. He’s really good at thinking things through, While I on the other hand tend to dive headfirst into the abyss.

“Shut it James” I sarcastically retort, taking a sip of the expensive chocolate milk which my scholarship supposedly pays for

Hey, can I sit here?

I talked to her during class. Her voice is angelic: Now, I’m not one to be religious and all, but that voice could get me on my knees praying for forgiveness. My ego couldn’t get me anywhere at all, as if she already knew my tactics, she knew my flirts, and how? I guess it just adds to her mystery.

“C'mon! that one works every time!” I whine

“Don't be so full of yourself Jefferson, I’ve heard them all before” A smile danced across her face

She did, however, laugh at some of my remarks. It's good to know that she has a sense of humor. My jokes of Professor Washington’s shiny, bald head. The jokes of Professor Washington’s assistant, John Adams, who’s suspiciously absent considering he signed up for this job.

Heck, I would even make fun of myself if it meant I got to hear that graceful laugh one more time- actually, that might be a little too far.

Many days of giggling in class came after that day. I can see her starting to open up to my friends and I, like she’s spreading her wings and showing us the greatness that lies behind the social wall that she put up years ago. Even when we got in trouble for a little too much giggling in the back of the class, I sacrificed my own pride so she didn’t have to. Yes, I, Thee Thomas Jefferson, did that.

---

Even though I could see the social wall she put up, I knew one day Y/n would fall for my charming pick up lines, or maybe I just happened to have a lucky day:

“Y/N I need some a some help with my math homework”

Y/N glances over to me in concern. I fake a scared expression.

“Quick!” I swiftly grab her shoulder and shake her “What’s your phone number?”

She playfully smacks my arm

---

Obtaining her number felt like a rite of passage, like I’m important to her, like she wants me in her life. I couldn’t stop smiling that day, and of course James just had to make a comment on it.

“Thomas, if you keep smiling like that I’m going to start thinking that your sick or something”

James said as he shut my laptop, tired of waiting for me to pack my things.

“Now that's REAL ironic coming from you, James”

I raised an eyebrow as my laugh begins to come up my throat. I take my closed laptop and shove it somewhere into my backpack.

“Okay, leaving for a month in sophomore year just because of a little fever doesn’t make ‘being sick’ as part of my trade mark”

James playfully smacked the back of my head. Thankfully, my curls serve as protection, not just to make me sinfully handsome. James and I walk out of the freezing lecture hall and were hit with the crisp-coldness of New York.

To the right of me I catch a glimpse of that eye catching burgundy-magenta backpack as it’s thrown into the trunk of a shiny, expensive car. My feet keep its motion as my head turns to see Y/N standing at the door of the car.

“Yo, is that Y/N?” I hear James whisper behind me “and who’s that?”

My attention is suddenly drawn to the tall man walking around the car to open her door. His curly hair is pulled into a small bun and the smile he had on his face broke apart the stubble on his jaw. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m just as clueless as you are”

Keeping my glance on Y/N and the man, I watch as the man opens the door for her. My stomach turns as I watch Y/N smile back at him as she sits in the car.

For a split second, I swear I saw her shoot a soft glance at me. My feet almost stop in their tracks before I feel James’ hand yank me onto another pathway.

“I’m all for you being head over heels, but we’re gonna be late to our study session with Angie”

Reality starts to set back into my head.

“Right, lets dip.”

---

“So little Tommy is Infatuated with this woman?”

Angie’s eyes are piercing, and her luscious hair frames her face in a saintly manner. She slips off her baby pink coat to ease into her library seat. Her eyebrow raises as she takes a sip of her steaming coffee

Of course James wouldn’t shut his mouth, especially around the notorious Angelica Schuyler.

Angie’s pretty popular here, I find myself wondering why she has so many connections, yet it’s not just any reason(s) why she seems to be in the spotlight.

1: She’s the oldest Schuyler. Her last name definitely got her places, not like I’m one to talk. Everyone seems to know her, not just at school, but all around New York City, and with her 5,000 Instagram followers, her first name’s starting to catch up with her last name in popularity

2: Angie’s Daddy has money money. And that’s no secret when she decides to walk around campus with her designer handbags and shoes. I tend to think she always gets what she wants, but I know deep down, she’s never gonna be satisfied. Maybe it’s just a side effect of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth

And finally,

3: Miss Schuyler here is Bold. She’s never afraid to put both me and James in our place. It’s almost as if she can’t be touched by anyone’s thoughts of her, then again the gossip in NYC is terribly insidious. With such grace and respect, Angelica is not afraid to throw your opinion into the ground.

“Yeah I swear, Jefferson would’ve gotten run over if I didn’t pull him onto the pathway” James attempted to tone down his laugh so the librarian wouldn’t stab him with those old, sharp eyes

“She-...”

For the first time, I didn’t know how to recoil

“..Just caught me off guard.”. In an attempt to change the topic, I flipped through the pages of his textbook.

Angelica and James shared an astonished glance at Thomas before looking at each other. I could hear James shrug and flipping open his textbook. I lift my head as I hear Angelica dig through her bag

“Alright let’s get started” Angie claps her hands together with determination

—-

It’s been 2 hours of studying in the ghostly library. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid the talk forever.

“Hey Thomas, why don’t you invite her to our next study session?”

Angelica smirked as she rudely shut my laptop. I desperately imagine the day where both James and Angelica leave me alone. I angrily glare up at her, but she has a good idea

“Actually, that’s not to bad of an idea” I ponder for a moment before retrieving my phone from my pocket

Thomas: Hey Y/N, u free this week?

Hmm. Is this okay? Nah it’s too straight forward. I sigh as I deleted and retyped the message

Thomas: Greetings Ms. L/N, this is Mr. Jefferson from class. Would you delight me by partaking in a study session?

What the heck Jefferson? I began to get frustrated from this nonsense. It’s just a text, why am I getting so anal over it?

Thomas: Hey Y/N, ds@insdas/19z7dnesdc-

Angelica, who was watching me the entire time, snatched the phone from my hands. I attempted to protest, yet Angelica Schuyler knows how to hold her ground.

“Angie wh-”

“I’ll do you a favor, Jefferson.” She said sternly. There was no way I was getting that phone back, heck, I would be lucky if I got it back in one piece

“Aaaaand sent!” I heard her squeal

��Angelica suddenly tossed the phone to me and I fumbled it between my hands before I held it stably. I check to see the text that Angelica sent from my phone

Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?

Oh. It was that easy.

“Thanks Angie”

I shove my phone back in my pocket. Part of me was excited to have an excuse to text Y/N, yet I do wonder how awkward it would be if she rejected the offer. I mean, she already has the perfect grades, why would she need the extra help?

I start to rethink my decision.

—-

It wasn’t until 11 pm at night until I got a reply from Y/N. Beforehand, I arrived at my apartment around 8 pm. As soon as my door shut, the room was filled with growls indicating my current problem: hunger. That could only be solved with one solution: microwavable mac and cheese.

My phone dinged while I was laying motionless on my bed. My apartment was right next to the street, and all I could hear was the busy streets of New York City.

My eyes opened as I turned to my charging phone.

Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way

I was filled with joy, so much that I couldn’t wait another second to reply.

Thomas: Alright, we meet at the library after our class. Can you make it?

Seeing the three dots jump melodically made my stomach feel as if two fairies were dancing throughout my body. Any second now, any second. ding!

Y/N: sounds good!

I guess it’s settled, I get to hang out with the puzzling Y/N L/N, and maybe I’ll get to learn a bit more about her. But just because it’s a study session doesn’t mean I can’t show her what a southern gentleman looks like, and for the first time, I’m so excited to study

---

James, Y/N, and I walk out of professor Washington’s class, laughing our asses off over some stupid joke. Everyone around us appears to be annoyed, especially with having to sit through almost two hours of my friends and I laughing in the back of the class, but it’s not like I care.

Once we’re hit by the bitter cold of New York, my eyes are immediately drawn to that expensive car. So familiar and so faint in head, the memory of Y/N smiling as she hopped into his car replays in my brain.

“I’ll be back guys”

Y/N excuses herself from the group before lightly jogging to the car. Her hair was graceful in the wind, and her burgundy-magenta backpack didn’t seem to weigh her down at all. For a split second, my brain acknowledges that mysterious man in the driver’s seat. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with him, his cold eyes pierced through me before my attention was drawn back to Y/N. She fixes her hair and jacket.

That was cute.

What?

James and I watch Y/N before turning to each other. I suggest to James that we wait for her, show a little southern hospitality. Even though Y/N seems to be fond of this man, he gives off a mysterious vibe similar to Y/N’s, but I do not want to unravel that mystery at all.

Seeing him throw a smirk at Y/N causes discomfort in my stomach.

Y/N comes prancing back to us, an embarrassed smile on her face. Behind her, that shiny, expensive car begins to drive away.

“My bad, I forgot to tell my roommate that I would be out late”

“That’s your roommate?” James asks, attempting to hide his curiosity and shock

“and he takes you home after class?” I interrupt briefly

Y/N nervously laughs before nodding “something like that, he just..”

That pause was a little too long

“..doesn’t like me out of the house too late so he volunteers to drive me home all the time”

I shrug it off before jumping at the feeling of James’ warm hands pulling Y/N and I to the direction of the library. Y/N and I look at him with confusion

“What? Angie doesn’t like when we’re late, remember?” James says, practically dragging us to the Library

—-

“Nice to meet you”

Angelica and Y/N got along pretty well. I can tell Angie was happy to finally have a girl to hangout with rather than having to deal with me and James only. She’s already starting to resemble a sisterly figure to Y/N, then again, growing up with two sisters must’ve prepared Angie for this moment.

I don’t hear much about the other Schuylers, but I am familiar with them. Angelica is the oldest, as we know. Her first sister, Eliza Sch- I’m pretty sure she got married, is the nicest person you’ll meet. Whoever won her surely must be worthy, because we all know people like me wouldn’t get anywhere near Eliza thanks to her older sister. Her youngest sister, Margarita Peggy Schuyler, is just like Angelica.

Stubborn. As. Fuck.

I’m confident that Angelica has taught her that philosophy since she was born. Anyway, Peggy is currently living her dreams in Southern California. Not sure what she does, but I’m sure she’s financially stable, she is a Schuyler after all.

All of us struggle to not annoy the librarian, let alone the entire library. I watch as Y/N opens up, just a little more, to Angelica, James, and I.

Hours pass as we clown around in the library. From actually completing class work to a small drawing competition between James and I, I was certainly having a good time, and so was everyone else.

It was pleasing to see Y/N more laid back rather than how she acts in class. In front of Professor Washington she’s so ‘put together’ and organized, but surrounded by her friends she’s such an amazing person, her range in professionalism and humor is astounding.

I can’t seem to ignore the fact that Angelica notices the way I look at Y/N. It’s definitely not in my strong suit to be ‘low key’, I’m known for dramatic entrances and stealing the spotlight. She smiles when I make eye contact with her, and I’m pretty sure it’s just her way of annoying me, but I can’t help the way I look at Y/N. She really is an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a college student, and I’m just lucky enough to be her friend.

I’m blind to her flaws. When I see her, I feel like a tourist glancing at the Mona Lisa, memorizing every curve of her face, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the way the library lighting reflects off of her glowing skin.

What felt like a sledgehammer breaking a slab of fragile glass, I see Y/N’s phone light up. Even across the table I can read the word “Lafayette” off of her phone. I can’t lie, it surely sounds familiar.

When she finally noticed her phone flash on, I feel her ease turn into worry, and it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by James, Angie, and I. She starts to pack away her books

“My bad guys, I really gotta go”

Y/N said notably panicking. Her phone flashes once again, yet the only thing that seems to catch my eyes is the bold “7:30” spread across the top of her phone.

“Are you okay by yourself?” I asked, trying my best not to pry into her business

“Yeah, my roommates here to pick me up, I don’t want to make him wait” she tried to play it off, but I’m learning to see right through her

“Alright, see you next time Y/N” I shrug it off

She sends my friends and I a quick smile before replying

“for sure”

Angelica and James got back to work without saying a word, and I could tell they were waiting until she was gone to start teasing me. I eased back into my chair before flipping the pages of my notebook

I watched as she shoved open the library door and disappeared into the darkness. She’s such a mystery, when I feel like she’s opening up, she just shuts the door and we’re back at square one. Though I do claim to love a good challenge, Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

—-

And that’s when it started. It wasn’t just one time where 7:30 was Y/N magic number, oh no, it was oddly consistent. I’m convinced that Y/N is some variation of Cinderella; her polite attitude and the beautiful little things she does without acknowledging it all vanish when the clock strikes 8:00, but that’s just one of many theories made by James.

Another study session with James and Angelica, and Y/N’s flashing screen still compelled Y/N to leave the library without a trace. On some occasions we don’t even notice her escape, we just turn to see her seat empty and feel the faint wind from outside as the library door slowly closes.

One day Angie bought us all tickets to see the preview to the newest, scariest movie I’ve ever watched. I was accompanied by Y/N, James, and Angie, yet their presences made it worse. Halfway through the bucket of popcorn and the movie, Y/N suddenly stood up and left after saying those 5 words. Before she left, I felt the warmth of her hands leave the place on my arm.

I never knew how addicting her warmth would be until it was already gone.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go” The weak smile on her face instantly resonated feelings of sympathy and understanding.

From then on, Y/N and I grew closer as friends. We’d fool around at a local park before heading to campus, obviously sparking a few observations and remarks from James. I’d invite her to fancy dinners, or maybe even a small festival down the road from my apartment, yet her response would always be proven false at the moment she’d leave me and my thoughts at 7:30.

But that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to hang out with her. Even on the days I wouldn’t have class with her we’d go out and get ice cream, study at the park, I guess you can say we’ve gone on a few ‘dates’ since our initial study session.

Whenever we’re apart, I can feel every second expanding to its maximum capacity of time. I wouldn’t see her for a day and it will already feel like years since I’ve seen her. The days I do see her, time seems to maneuver a little too fast. When I recall hanging out with Y/N, all I can imagine is the feeling of floating above the clouds every time she and I made physical contact. Like a rock being dropped into still water, ever touch ripples throughout my body, sending shivers down my spine.

Truly incredible.

—-

She doesn’t like to talk about her personal life, and I find that quite odd. I’m usually one to continue rambling every detail of every trait of mine, yet I find myself yearning to learn more about her.

We text every now and then when we’re outside of class, a little more to be considered ‘just friends’. There’s always a story which unravels just a little more of Y/N’s past, and she’s left me on my own to connect the dots. I must say, she’s definitely an interesting gal, but I know there’s more to discover.

She’s a native New Yorker, born and raised, surviving by splitting an intense rent with her mysterious room mate. Y/N doesn’t talk much of her family, other than faint memories of her mother single handedly raising her and her little brother, who I’m fairly unaware of.

Going into college undecided, Y/N describes her want to learn more about herself before she’s able to make any life determining choices. I’ve noticed that her schedule seems like a labyrinth avoiding life problems and obstacles, so perhaps being placed in the same class coincidentally was just fate playing its part.

Y/N loves to explain her dream for workless weekends, moments in the week where she just gets to sit back, close her eyes, and breathe a little. With finals starting to appear from thin air, I can’t blame her for a dream so far from reality.

Even with the knowledge I hold of her, something never seems to change: her disappearances at 7:30.

It’s always that damn 7:30.

7:30--the cliffhanger your favorite show leaves you desiring for more

the end of a fun night of laughter and glee, wishing it lasted just a little longer

the off-set energy in a room when those around you know something you don’t.

As days, weeks, and months pass since my first text proposal to hang out at the library, Y/N and I become a little closer than just friends. It’s been obvious, especially to James and Angie, that Y/N is more than capable of holding my attention.

Though James is worried that Y/N will just become ‘another girl’ to me, concerning my tomcat nature in the past, he can see the potential I see in her. I find myself wishing I did spend more time with her, maybe I just need to make a better effort.

I’ll prove James and Angie wrong.

Filled with determination and confidence, in the midst of my silent room, I whip out my phone and direct my attention towards forming a text message for Y/N

Thomas: let’s get coffee sometime?

Jefferson charm, don’t fail me now.

---

Before I knew it, Y/N and I were feasting on exotic cheeses and aged wine in my New York apartment. I hit play on a random romcom which helps to fill the emptiness in my apartment and ironically the thin space between Y/N and I.

I have no idea how to make my move. Though I’m not aware of my competition, I imagine if Y/N could attract someone of My caliber, I should be well aware of the things she’s capable of. Originally I planned to court her-- I know, I know, I’m a man of tradition--yet after James caught on to my recognizable frustration, He suggested I go for it.

This is surprising on multiple occasions, especially since James possesses the ‘brains’ between the both of us. Being the chess club champion, ‘talk’ won’t aid you when you're struggling in a chess match. Just like how he meticulously plays chess, he examines my situation and provides his Virginian insight, or so he prefers to call it, and they always proceed the way his scheme describes.

I’ve adhered his advice to my life ever since we were kids, and when I didn’t, he’d simply reply with:

“I told you so”

His smug smirk accompanied with a finger pointing to his temple would soon transform from clever to annoying.

I feel a vibration come from my pocket. Well, of course it’s not Y/N texting so must I really answer it? I pull out my phone despite my doubts and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

James: 👍

Speak of the Devil.

But enough about James. I understand that both Y/N and I are mature college students, yet I still fear the disruption in our friendship I can provoke just by making my move. I’ve gotten this far; If she wasn’t interesting I’m sure she would’ve rejected me sooner.

She’s different, she’s unique, something about her that I just can’t place, but also something missing. Anyway, this is probably my best chance at shooting my shot at Y/N, and it’s too late now to back down.

As my lips part in an attempt to speak and make a move, Y/N’s motionless phone (currently laying undisturbed on my coffee table) suddenly brightens with the most obnoxious ringtone I’ve ever heard. The words “It’s 7:30!” flash on her screen, almost as if it was warning her rather than reminding her.

“Y/N—” my eyes follow her body as she swiftly stands up

“I gotta g—” I watch as she attempts to grab her purse, yet her body is limited when I firmly grab her arm. She looks back to me with tiredness in her eyes.

Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, Cinderella here wouldn’t have a curfew. That I somehow would be the exemption to this consistent confusion . But you can only daydream so far into the day until you’re pulled back into your reality

Her entire demeanor seems like it was reconstructed after her alarm went off. Moments ago she was just enjoying tasty cheese and cheesy movies, and the worst part is, I have no idea why.

“Let me speak, darlin’”

I stand up to avoid the way her eyes look down on me. I can’t stand that pitiful glare; she looks at me as if I’m a child incapable of understanding her situation, but she’s too stubborn to let me know. I’d be wise to use this time to make a move on different circumstances.

“Now, you’re always leaving at seven thirty..”

Her sigh is almost enough to interrupt me

“..why’s that? Talk to me.”

I maintain my eye contact before it’s abruptly broken. She looks everywhere but my eyes, and I wonder where in my apartment she would find an excuse, yet still manages to dodge the question.

“..you wouldn’t understand..” she scoffs almost intentionally, honestly scratching a part of my ego. I hate to admit she’s right, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

I cock my head to the side. Where’s this coming from?

“Darlin’, I’m sure I’m a very understanding person—”

“—I need to leave”

I could tell by the look of her face that she wasn’t trying to argue, but it’s inevitable.

“Why can’t you just tell me?..” I put my hands up as a sign of defeat, but I’m not giving up yet. “We’ve been friends for a while and you’re always leavin’ at seven—”

“I know! I know..” she removes my hand from her arm, clearly refusing to look up at me.

“Let’s just say..I got a job..?”

Oh. That’s what this is all about? A job? She couldn’t spare at least an explanation for a part time gig?

“See? That wasn’t so hard”

“It’s..really embarrassing..” The glance she takes around the room makes me wonder if she’s really telling the truth. it’s not really my place to speculate, there’s no going back from this.

“It’s alright, it’s just a job after all” I claim, trying to get this conversation back on track

“This is exactly what I meant but ‘you wouldn’t understand’”

Huh?

“You don’t know what it feels like to have your life rely on minimum wage—” she sounds like she’s holding something back.

“Y/N wher—”

“A-and here you are makin’ me late for work” her eyes appear on the verge of crying.

“darlin’ look..”

“God, you’ve never had to work for anything in your life!”

Silence.

Both of us refuse to speak. Y/N phone, still on the table, chimes again. “7:35” it said on its bright screen.

“Is that really how you feel?..” I take a step back to give her space. She still refuses to look at me.

There’s no way she’d cause all this chaos just because of a job. And even if she believes I’ve piggy backed off of my name for my entire life, why would it matter to her?

“I..I should leave” before I could process what just happened, she swiftly tosses her phone into her bag and heads for the door.

“Y’know, I had a nice time..” was all I heard before the harsh shutting of my apartment door.

And that was the end of it.

My first thought after the door shut wasn’t to whip out my phone and attempt to text her, it certainly wasn’t to call James and inform him of his miscalculation, but instead to attend to the matter at hand. This cheese and wine won’t clean itself.

And the night continued normally, as if nothing had ever taken place. I couldn’t help but microwave another cup of Mac and cheese to cope with what Y/N said. Nothin’ like a good meal to divert your attention away from your problems. But even a good cup of cheese and pasta can’t stop me from thinking’:

Is that all I am to her?

A southern snob incapable of functioning without their father’s last name?

After an introspective shower, and a few episodes of a random Netflix show, I’m finally alone with my thoughts and feelings. I lie in darkness, tussling and turning at every occasion, unable to extract her words from my mind.

If there’s someone whose opinion I care about the most, it’s Y/N L/N. I consider texting her at this very moment, yet I’m sure that I’m the last person she wants to talk to. The weight of my actions falls heavily onto my shoulders every minute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Give her space, Jefferson, and maybe you’ll be able to fix this tragedy.

---

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocks on my apartment door were enough to jerk my body back to consciousness. Sadly pulled from the warmth of my dreams, I’m hit with the cold, noisy reality of an average night here in New York.

Can my day get any worse?

Coming straight from the depths of slumber, I take a few minutes to process reality. Maybe the knocks were in my head. Did I dream about someone knocking on my door? Perhaps it’s

The sun’s still not up yet, why am I?

Groggily sitting up, I decide to check the time, yet it takes me multiple attempts to grab my phone in the dark before I catch a sight of the time.

2 am?!

Who is so out of their minds so show up to my apartment at this time? Who do I know that would show up at this time?

James is too sensible for that,

Angie would never waste her time on me, for whatever reason,

And Y/N—

well.

I don’t know our circumstances right now.

I debate whether or not I should answer the door. Perhaps it’s just rock that happened to hit the door of my apartment, and even if it is a person, I’m not aware of anyone so mad to show up in the middle of the night. it’s not worth my time.

...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

So much for ‘Not worth my time’. A groan is all my body can respond with while I gradually stand from the comfort of my bed. I grab the nearest shirt, which was draped over my desk chair, and scramble to put it on. Passing my cramped kitchen, my hands subconsciously flip on the nearest light switches, while my eyes struggle to comprehend the sudden light.

Before I reach the door, I couldn’t help but attempt to fix my hair. Just because someone happens to show up outside unannounced doesn’t mean I can’t present my best rendition of a southern gentleman.

And finally, through my fatigue and irritation, I’m finally urged to grab the doorknob and twist it open in one motion.

“Uh, it’s two a.m. so I hope--”

I nervously scratch the back of my head, attempting to add spice to this awkward encounter. It wasn’t until my eyes caught sight of the blood dripping down her glass skin and the meeting of our eyes did I have any words

“Y/N?!?”

Her cold, pale, and hurt body would’ve hit the concrete floor if I had answered the door any later.

---

And there she layed half colorless on my bed. Her smile was full of embarrassment and gratitude as I sat beside her, tending to the evident cuts and Injured areas of her body. “I hope I’m being a great house guest” she joked, causing her to laugh, yet hurting herself in the process.

“Hey, Hey, Take it easy..” Y/N’s presence usually fills me with carefreeness, or perhaps stability, but for the first time I can’t help but react seriously. Her demeanor changed as she saw my retaliation to her joke.

“I guess…” she looked down to her fragile body, a sigh released, seeming to be an attempt to calm down. “...I owe you an explanation for earlier. And especially for showing up at your place at 2 in the damn morning. ”

Thomas’ hands, full of wipes and hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton balls, froze in their tracks before he looked up at her, eager to listen and visibly confused. Y/N visibly winced as the cotton balls stuck to her cuts for longer than they should’ve, yet with Thomas’ reflexes at their all-time-max, he pulled them away with a worried expression.

“Explanation? You said you got a job, and I’m sorry for not respecting it..” I continued to clean her up, consensually of course, how could I call myself a gentleman if I were to act upon improper motives?

“Again..” I utter quietly “..I didn’t know you felt that way, and I’m ashamed you feel that way”

I attach an ivory-colored band aid to her glass skin, careful not to damage it any further. I look up to her watching, pitiful eyes. “You were saying?” I reciprocate the attention to her, awaiting a so-called answer to come out of her mouth

“I didn’t know where else to run to..” she attempted to sit up, lifting her weight off of my satin-covered sheets, yet quickly stopped when being hit with a wave of pain from her right shoulder

Though my first thought would’ve been ‘Damn it, my darn sheets are ruined’, it was quickly drawn to Y/N and her current problem

“Y’know, I think an apology and explanation can wait, Y/N. you need a little sleep, it’s already three in the mornin’ for god’s sake” a small laugh erupts from her

I sent her an assuring smile, trying to remind her that everything is always going to be okay in a Jefferson household. And surprisingly I received a smile in return, a smile of trust and security that I’ve never felt so glad to see. Of course, I wish I could’ve seen that smile under different circumstances, but I’ll work with what I got.

I stood from my beautiful satin sheets and reached for a hoodie on my swivel chair. (everything but your closet is a closet, change my mind) I braced for a cold night on my apartment couch while Y/N enjoys the warmth of my bed, but Y/N had other plans.

“Wait- Thomas.” She said firmly

I turned tiredly to her direction, my arm already extended for the door, yet frozen in place as I awaited a response

“Can you just..” she scoot herself over, as much as possible with her frail body “..hold me?” She watches me anxiously

“I mean— you don’t have to b—” I didn’t hesitate at all to gently slide under the sheets of the bed. As soon as I turn to her direction, I can’t help but feel scared to touch her in fear of hurting her; my hands don’t know where to reside. “Where do I..” I’m truly perplexed

She giggled at my confusion and shyly grabbed my hand “I’m not so fragile you know”

She brought my hand up to the side of her head, and all I could process was the texture of the bandages under my fingertips. I don’t know what's going on, but I couldn’t just leave her out there.

“..Right..” I wait for her eyes to close before I can even think about closing mine, and soon the texture of the bandages seem to melt onto my fingertips as I’m finally able to return to my slumber.

“See you in the mornin’..”

---

I didn’t wake up until I felt the sun rays kissing my back through my so-called ‘blackout curtains’. Such a scam. The room seemed a little too quiet; I gently turned onto my other side just to find an empty bed. I consider the possibility of last night’s encounter with Y/N was all just some messed up dream, but when I saw the faint stains of blood on my sheets, I knew I was far from dreaming.

My body doesn’t want to move, and I’m stuck sitting up in my bed for another ten minutes. What the heck is going on? One minute she yells at me, then next thing I know she’s outside my apartment at 2 am.

And that explanation.

I guess I was such a fool to think she wouldn’t continue to run away from this matter. My thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone. I know for sure that it’s not Y/N hittin up my phone right about now.

James: Let’s try that new coffee place a few blocks from your apartment?

He really read my mind, or maybe it’s a response made from calculating my failure yesterday. But a distraction sounds tremendous.

Thomas: bet.

I throw on a cleaner, more professional jacket, if such a thing exists, and swiftly get my feet out the door. Everything seems the same, as if nothing had taken place last night. The world still spins and I’m expected to spin with it.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near capable of unraveling your mystery.

Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

#thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson #Daveed Diggs #daveed x reader #thomas x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltonau #Angelica Schuyler #james madison #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette #george washington #washington #John Laurens #hercules mulligan #thomas jefferson x reader

82 notes · View notes