#been holding onto this one for months as i often do with my poems. something about self censors indeed. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

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Hayloft p.3

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, death, abuse, and sexual assault (depictions of none, though)

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this took to publish! Work and school have been CRAZY!

Citation: (This is absolutely cited incorrectly but the poem included was found at this link!) https://rememberingthesixties.wordpress.com/2014/11/15/love-poems

Read the Previous Chapters!

Part 1 Part 2

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“No! No! No! I ain’t got time for this today!” You groaned, twisting your key in the ignition only to hear the engine struggle to turn over. You were already running late to work, thanks to you misplacing your shoes, purse, and keys all on the same morning. When it was really only just you, your dad, and Arvin living in your home, it was ridiculous to be losing things as often as you did. It’s not like they were touching them. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was some gremlin that lived in the linen closet and hid your things to make life more difficult.

Of course, your car wouldn’t work either. What a fantastic beginning to the day.

You weren’t even sure what could be wrong with the car. It had worked just fine yesterday. There was no reason for it to suddenly fall apart on you. But alas, after several minutes of trying to start the car and checking what basic things you knew about under the hood to no avail, you gave out a groan of anger, “Damnit!”

With an angry kick of your old tire, you stomped back into the house. “Everythin' okay?” Arvin asked from the dining room table, where he sat eating a plate of toast and eggs.

“I was already running late this morning and now my stupid car won’t start,” you grumbled, throwing your purse onto the open chair and taking the phone off the receiver on the wall with more aggression than you intended. You were spinning the dial and putting in the phone number to the diner you worked at.

Arvin leaned forward in his seat, “I can take a look at it for you, if you’d like.”

“That would be great if you’re willing to but-” You began to answer but you stopped abruptly and held up a finger to him when a voice answered on the phone.

“Molly’s Diner. How can I help ya?” A woman’s voice that you recognized as your coworker Charlene asked from the other side.

“Hey, Charlene?” You asked, shooting Arvin an apologetic look for the sudden interruption. She sounded surprised to hear your greeting on the other end.

“Where you at, girl?” She questioned, the ambient wound of the busy diner in the background.

You leaned against the wall, gripping the phone with both hands, “I know I’m late! I’m sorry! My car broke down and I don’t think I can make it-”

“I can give you a ride if you need.” Arvin offered quiet enough for Charlene to not hear him on the other end but you perked up.

“Wait, hang on-” You interrupted Charlene just as she began to respond, “I can actually get a ride in.” You mouthed a sincere thank you to Arvin while holding onto the phone with both hands, feeling a slight glimmer of hope in your otherwise crappy day.

“You know what? Don’t even worry about it. You’re already so late just take the day off and get your car fixed. Just be here tomorrow, alright?” You could almost hear the way Charlene’s hand was waving dismissively from the other end of the phone.

You sighed in relief, “Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you!” After a few brief goodbyes, you hung the phone up on the receiver.

Arvin stood up and placed his plate in the sink, “So are you needin’ a ride to work?”

You shook your head, “No, Charlene said to just take the day off ‘n get the car fixed. Thank you, though. It really is sweet of you to offer.”

Arvin only shrugged, “C’mon, after all you done for me, givin’ you a ride into town really ain’t much at all. I’d still be more than happy to take a look under your hood if you’d like.”

You blushed and tried to suppress the immature giggles that threatened to slip out at the way he worded his offer. His face visibly paled and began to stumble over his words, “‘m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to come out like that! I didn’t mean take a look under your… erm. I ain’t too good with my words sometimes. Forgive me.”

You laughed outright now, stepping forward and trying to pull his nervously fidgeting arms down, “It’s okay! You’re fine! You’re fine! I would love it if you looked under my hood.” You teased, overexaggerating the way you emphasized his words, throwing them back at him.

He rolled his eyes at you, an embarrassed smile pulling the corner of his lips upwards, before looking back down at you. It was then that you realized just how close you and Arvin were, your fingers still loosely touching his forearms where they had fallen. You looked up into his eyes - those soulful brown eyes - and found yourself wanting to know everything that they’d seen.

That familiar heat rose to your cheeks and you pulled your hands back, running them up and down the white apron you wore over teal uniform, “Well, um, I’m gonna go get changed outta this if I ain’t gotta wear it for work and then I can help you out with the car?”

Arvin’s hands found their way to his pockets and he nodded in understanding.

You had changed into a pair of jeans with a buttoned up blouse before jogging out front to find Arvin already bent over the exposed inner workings of your car. “How’s it lookin’?” You asked, slowing to a pace until you reached the car. You landed beside him, hands falling on the dirty metal as you leaned over to see the mechanics. He fiddled with a few things here and there, things that you didn’t quite understand. You were good with the basics of fixing your car. You could change the oil and fix a flat but when it came to the more complicated stuff, you were a little less well-versed.

He leaned back and wiped his greasy hands on each other, “I think I have the problem pinpointed. ‘M gonna need to head into town and get a part but it’s not a hard fix at all.”

“Thank you so much for doin’ this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You took a few steps back as Arvin lowered the hood, letting it fall the last few inches with a heavy thud.

“Yeah, well I’m happy I can finally be some help ‘round here to you.”

You rolled your eyes, following Arvin back to the house, “Please, you are plenty of help ‘round here. More help than I’ve gotten in years.”

Arvin gave you a knowing tight-lipped smile and nodded once the two of you made it through the front door. He didn’t say anything for a moment but there was a silent understanding. “You need anything while I’m out?” He asked, changing the subject.

You shook your head, “No, I’m alright. Thank you though.”

It was rare that you actually had time to yourself. While Arvin was gone, you found yourself wandering around confused for a short while until the buzzing silence wore on your ears. You sat on the couch and pulled the radio over closer to you on the coffee table, looking over your shoulder as if someone would catch you at any moment.

This was one of your secrets that you held close to you, knowing your father would make fun of you if he ever found out. Moon River had been a favorite radio program of yours since you discovered it while tuning through the stations a year back. It was full of romantic poetry and slow beautiful music. Everything you dreamt about but knew you could never have, not while you were stuck here at least. But a girl could dream.

“Tonight’s love poem is written by Betty Hayes Albright. We hope you enjoy.

They tell me not to write of love

but what else can I write –

when love is in my heart and soul

and mind both day and night?

“You’re just too young and you can’t know

of love,” (does anyone?)

“you can’t profess such knowledge –

stick to verse and pun.”

They tell me that, and say love poems

are worn out through and through

but I can’t agree with them,

for me love is brand new.

Feelings in me can’t stay down,

my love for him I can’t ignore,

somehow it’s got to be expressed,

“I’ve got no lock upon my door.”

To those who stick to subjects

of the sky and stars, of joy and pain

I write my poems of love because

my heart’s love-blood shall never drain.

Perhaps they too shall love again.”

You sighed as it came to an end and you couldn’t help but see Arvin’s face in your mind’s eye. Love had always felt like something you could only dream of. It was a “one day when I get out of here” thought, not something you saw yourself obtaining for a long time, if ever. Now with Arvin… well you weren’t sure if you could call it love but it sure as hell was the closest thing to it you’d experienced.

Since the words were spoken, they kept swirling around your head: “When love is in my heart and soul; and mind both day and night.” Since his arrival two months ago, Arvin had been that very subject on your mind almost constantly. He was the first face you hoped to see every morning and the last one you wanted to see before bed. Your entire mood lit up every time he walked into the room, even when you were stressed from work or your father. It hadn’t been hard for you to realize that he became the lighthouse in the rocky ocean, promising solace and providing light in the storm that could be your life at times. It was hard to not fall for that.

"Never heard that one before." You whipped around in a panicked start to see Arvin standing in the foyer. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

You shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ears, "No, no, you're fine. You read a lot of poetry?" You watched Arvin shake his head and walk into the room. He stopped on the other side of the couch and you climbed up, placing your knees on the cushions and leaning over the back of the couch to look up at him.

"I don't like poetry all that much, at least the ones we read in high school… but I like that one." He looked down at where his hand gripped the back of the couch and his weight shifted on his feet.

Your eyes fell to his hands in an attempt to hide the blush that crept up on your cheeks that really had no place being there. "Yeah… me too. It reminds me that there is real love out there in the world."

A silence settled over the room as your eyes anxiously dragged up Arvin’s body till they settled on his eyes but you found yourself unable to hold his gaze. "I, erm, I got the part I need for your car." He took a step back and lifted the hand that wasn't on the couch, tossing the metal mechanism in his hand.

"Oh," you pressed yourself away from the couch and moved back to stand, "thank you for runnin’ all the way out into town."

He gave you a small smile and a nod, “It’s my pleasure. I’m gonna go see if this fixes the problem.”

***

"That should be it," Arvin slammed the hood back down and wiped his hands on his jeans. "We should take her for a drive to see if she's runnin' alright now."

You nodded, "Alright. Hop in." You took the keys from your pocket and gestured to the passenger seat. Arvin climbed in and you slid into the driver's seat, turning the key. This time, the engine started up without a problem. A big smile spread across your face, "You're a miracle worker, you know that?"

Arvin shook his head, "I ain't no miracle worker. Just good with fixin' things I s'pose."

Your feet were on the brake and the clutch when you shifted into first gear and began to peel out down the long dirt driveway. You stopped at the road and looked both ways, trying to decide which way to go. You looked to your right, the road into town, and then to the left, the way to that field that was oh so special to you. You began to gnaw at your lower lip.

Did you want to show Arvin? That little clearing by the creek had been your secret getaway since you’d discovered it three years ago. You never told anybody about it and you’d never seen anyone else there when you went so, as far as you were concerned, it was yours. Your special hide away, your paradise, your escape. But since his arrival, Arvin had become just that as well.

“You alright?” He questioned, looking over at you with a vaguely concerned expression.

You looked over at him, a nervous twist to your lips, “Can I show you somewhere special?” Perhaps it was an odd question to ask, though you hadn’t thought it was until you saw the curious and somewhat confused look dawn on Arvin’s face. Nevertheless, he nodded and, with a smile, you turned left towards the field.

It was a short but otherwise successful, trouble-free drive. You slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road into the dirt shoulder. “Where are we?” Arvin asked, looking around and seeing nothing but tall grass and trees.

With an impish smile, you turned off the ignition and looked towards him, “You’ll see. C’mon!” You threw your door open and walked around the front of the car towards the passenger’s side, hanging on the passenger door when Arvin finally opened the door to exit the vehicle.

He followed you to the edge of the brush where you walked as if you knew it like home. With minimal effort, you found the overgrown path and pulled him along behind you. The road disappeared behind the two of you as you wandered beyond the tree line, tall birch trees creating a maze that you knew by heart. The path was short and you navigated it with a sixth sense until you led Arvin to a small field. There was an imperfect circle of wild grasses beside a stream that seemingly appeared from nowhere but you knew it was that time of year when the snow started melting off the mountains. Bundles of wildflowers grew mixed in the grass. Just along the bank of the crystal clear creek water was a large dogwood tree with vibrant white flowers.

“Wow…” Arvin breathed out in amazement as he tried to take in the beauty of the place.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” You asked with a smile, the wonder in his brown eyes warming your heart. You were glad that he seemed to appreciate it as much as you did.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as your heart welled with happiness at his stunned reaction. He stepped in a slow circle, taking in the beautiful scenery. “It’s beautiful.”

“This is sorta my… escape from reality, I guess you could call it. I come here and I’m suddenly in a different world away from all the bullshit of life.” You reached down to run your fingers through the soft blades of grass. Arvin smirked and you looked up at him with a short breathy laugh, “What?”

He shook his head and looked down, hands buried in his pockets as always, “I think that’s the first time I ever heard you curse.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t do it very often. My daddy would always yell at me tellin’ me how un-ladylike it was to say bad words. Told me it made me sound ugly. I think his exact words were ‘a dirty mouth makes a dirty woman.’” Your voice dropped to mock your father.

Arvin spoke plainly, “Your pa needs to treat you better.”

You gave him a sad knowing smile and looked down at the ground, “It wasn’t always like this, y’know? I think that’s the saddest part.”

“What you mean?” Arvin asked.

You sat down on the grass, feeling the soft blades press against your skin as you sat back on your hands. Arvin followed suit, finding a comfortable spot beside you and waiting for you to continue. “When my momma was alive, he hardly ever drank. Wasn’t nothing like he is now. I think that’s the only reason I’ve put up with as much as I have. I hate seeing this miserable shell of the man I once knew but I also know that a real father wouldn’t have let himself fall into this pit - or at least stay down there long enough to practically leave his daughter to fend for herself. I just always hoped that maybe one day he’d pull through and… y’know… be my dad again.”

You laid back on the ground and stared up at the sky. The clouds passed by, white and weightless, pure and unaffected by the troubles of this world. You envied them. The way they floated along, either bringing shade and beauty to the sky or raging unapologetic storms, with no constraints as to where they could float and how they could behave… it made you wish you could be a cloud.

Arvin was silent, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to offer words of support and encouragement but he never had been too good with words. He hadn’t really been taught to talk about problems. His daddy had taught him to finish them with his fists. Finally, he sighed, looking out across the field, “I understand. I felt the same way ‘bout my daddy.”

You perched up on your elbows, “Really?”

He nodded and looked down at his leg, which he was slowly rolling side to side just to keep fidgeting in some way, “Yeah… he, uh, he changed into a totally different man after my mama died.”

You looked up at him but you could see he was trying to avoid your eyes. You rested a gentle hand on his knee, “‘M sorry, Arvin. I had no idea.”

He shook his head, “Nah, don’t be. It’s been a long time.”

“D-do you mind if I ask what happened?” You cautiously inquired but quickly added, “Of course, it’s fine if not. You just… you don’t talk much ‘bout yourself.”

Arvin took a deep breath in, “My mama died when I was ‘bout ten. Cancer took her. My daddy tried everythin’ to keep her alive but when it didn’t work… he killed ‘imself too.”

This time you were unsure of how to respond, stunned by the new information you’d just learned. “I-I’m so sorry,” you breathed out in disbelief. For some reason, you had never thought that perhaps Arvin could have had a similar childhood experience to you, like losing your mothers, but your heart went out to him.

“It took a long time for me to understand why he did what he did but I finally realized that he just loved my mama so much that he couldn’t bear to be away from her.”

“He should’ve loved you enough to stay for you.” Before you could stop yourself, the stunning but honest words slipped from your lips. You damn near stopped breathing when you realized what you said, “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright.” Arvin had been stunned by the words that came out of your mouth but he knew damn well they were only a vocalization of a thought he had had almost every day since the day his father put a bullet in his head. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t thought the same thing before.”

A heavy silence weighed over the two of you that was only relieved by a cool breeze. “So what happened to your mama?” Arvin asked.

Your face twisted, “Labor complications. She was pregnant with my little sister. When she went into labor, things just went really wrong. She lost too much blood ‘n died. The baby died too. I think it was just too much loss at once for my daddy to handle.”

“That’s too much loss to make a child deal with on her own,” Arvin commented the same way you had earlier.

You shrugged, wavering your head from side to side. Like he’d said, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t had the same thought. “Looks like we got a lot in common.” You chuckled sadly, “I feel like I lost everyone who ever loved me. My mom, my sister, my grandparents, my dad...” Another silence settled and you waved the thought away, pushing yourself to sit up, “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to make this all sad.”

Arvin shook his head, “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for.” He paused, hesitant to continue. He hadn’t talked to anybody about what happened back in Coal Creek and Knockemstiff but something was strongly compelling him to. Maybe it was a bad idea to continue but he did, “I had a sister once too.”

Your mouth fell slightly in surprise and you let out a heavy breath, “You did?” The use of the words had and did instead are have and do were not lost on you and you couldn’t help but wonder what had happened.

Arvin swallowed hard and nodded, “Yeah… she, uh, she got into some trouble with this no good preacher that came into town. She was just so lonely, reminds me a lot o' you, but when he saw that and he took advantage of her. Took everythin’ he wanted and when she got into trouble he just told her she was crazy.” He paused for a moment, the memories of his sister flowing through his head, “Found her hangin’ in the shed.”

You were dumbfounded by the story you’d just been told. Anger and sadness were clear in Arvin’s voice despite his attempt to hold on, though you had a feeling that just the way he had been telling you about it meant that he had shared more of himself than he ever intended to . You struggled to wrap your brain around the tragedy he had just shared. “What’s her name?” You finally asked after a few moments of silence.

Arvin looked out across the field again and then back at you, “Lenora.”

“Lenora,” you repeated, “That’s a pretty name.” Arvin only nodded wordlessly. Again, another pause before you continued, “You said it was some preacher that got her in trouble? What happened with that? I mean, you knew? Didn’t anyone else? Is he in jail or somethin’?”

The man tensed up next to you and shot a look towards you that was sharper than one he’d ever given you before. You shrank back ever so slightly, taken off guard by his response to your seemingly simple question. “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to-”

“Ain’t nobody woulda believed my Lenora if she told ‘em. You know how people see women who got babies ‘n no husband. Especially since he was the preacher…” he trailed off and you were desperate to see the memories that played behind his big brown eyes, “He ain’t gonna hurt nobody no more.”

Your brows knitted together, trying to decipher what that meant. Did he go to jail? Was he fired? Was his reputation ruined? You prayed whatever justice he got was fit for something so atrocious.

"I'm sorry you lost your sister."

"I'm sorry you lost yours too."

After a long silence, Arvin laid back beside you, his body grazing your arm as he lowered himself. The two of you rested beside each other in this new understanding of each other. As you struggled to keep your attention on the sky, your eyes frequently straying from the vast blue expanse overhead to the beautiful man to your right, you couldn't help but wonder if by some insane fantasy maybe he'd be struggling to keep his eyes off of you in the same way.

"Let's talk about somethin' less depressing," you prompted, "How 'bout girlfriends? You ever had one of those?"

Arvin’s chest rose and fell heavily as he sighed, "I ain't never had much time for a girlfriend. Didn't much like anybody in my hometown anyways. Don't think nobody liked me much neither."

You rolled your eyes and audibly scoffed, "I find it hard to believe you didn't have girls bangin' down your door for a date. You're tellin' me you ain't never went out on a single date?"

He shook his head, "Nope. I mean I kissed a girl or two back when I was younger but I never had no time for datin'. Always workin' or helpin' my grandma or keepin' Lenora safe."

You rolled over onto your side and looked down at him curiously, "Where you from anyways?"

Arvin was hesitant to answer, you could see it plain as day, though you couldn't figure why. Finally, he answered, "Lived with my mama and daddy in Knockemstiff but moved to Coal Creek with my grandma after they died."

Mentally, you wracked your mental map for any memory of those towns but found none. "I don't think I ever heard of those," you commented, lying back down.

Arvin stretched his arm up and readjusted his cap, "Not many people have unless you're from near there. Just some small towns you'd drive right through and never even notice. Knockemstiff is near Meade, Ohio."

"Oh!" You exclaimed in realization, "I heard of that one!" You giggled. You didn't live anywhere near there but you'd heard the name at least from a friend whose family was from Meade.

"What about you?" He asked.

You began tracing light patterns on your stomach with your finger, "What about me? You know where I'm from."

"You ever had a boyfriend?"

You kept your eyes staring straight up. “I tried datin’ a few boys back in high school but nothing too serious. They didn’t seem to like me much,” you admitted with a shrug. At the time, it had bothered you a little that you seemed to have a hard time finding a boyfriend but now you saw that it was better this way. Younger you had spent night after night praying for a knight in shining armor that would come and whisk you away to some beautiful new life. All they had done was run for the hills because they didn’t want to deal with your daddy… not that you could blame them. You’d learned not to depend on anybody for anything, certainly not some boy to make your life better. You’d have to do that yourself.

“I think it would be impossible for somebody not to like you.” Arvin said quietly but with no ounce of dishonesty.

You rolled your eyes and rolled over to look at him, “Your just sayin’ that.” Despite the fact you swore to yourself he was only joking, blood rushed to your cheeks.

Arvin’s head turned in the crook of his arm to make eye contact with you, “I like you.”

The sweetly joking smile you had on your face fell in shock. “W-what?” You stuttered less than gracefully.

“I mean it. I like you… a lot.” After your pause, his heart fell but he didn’t need you knowing that, “You ain’t gotta say it back.”

“I like you too,” you admitted quickly before Arvin could continue to doubt himself anymore but when you looked over at him, you could see that momentary flash of doubt in his eyes. You could almost hear his thoughts behind those big brown orbs: Nah, you’re just sayin’ that. So you decided to beat him to it, “I really do.”

A warm breeze couldn’t dispel the thickness that had been created in the air between you two as you both looked at each other, trying to decipher what the other was thinking and what on Earth you were supposed to do next. Neither of you were well experienced when it came to love or romance or whatnot but experience wasn’t needed to feel some higher power, call it God or the universe, pulling the two of you together.

You weren’t quite sure when you and Arvin had started to inch your lips closer to each others’ but when they finally met in a gentle experimental kiss, it was as if fireworks had gone off. Your heart swelled with an emotion that could only be described as longing. Breathing stopped as if the feather-light touch of his lips on yours had knocked the air out of your lungs and you found yourself unable to catch it.

Both you and Arvin were hesitant to pull back and neither of you did until there was no air left in your lungs. It was one of those kisses that left you less. Breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Just less. And yet somehow more. A part of you that you had denied being empty for so long felt like it was now filled by Arvin and, perhaps that was too much credit to give for simply saying he liked you and sharing a mindblowing kiss with you, but damn.

“I-I-I uh…” You tried to stammer out something that would be fitting but there were no words.

“You ain’t gotta say nothin’.” Arvin reached over and gently brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, “But I’ll be damned if I let you go without tellin’ you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You reached up and covered his large hand with your own, twisting your wrist so that your fingers would interlock with his, “Who ever said you gotta let me go?

__________________

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author-morgan · 3 years

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Title: Picnics and Flowers Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: With the help of your little sister and her band of rogues, Eivor and you finally have to face the feelings you’ve kept from one another. Plot idea by @angstygunslinger. just took me six months to write it.

A FRUSTRATED SIGH escapes your lips as your little sister dashes off with the piece of parchment you were using for a letter —now half-written. Rising from one of the tables in the longhouse, you start after her. “Helga!” You shout, catching her disappearing toward the granary. “Come back here!” You round the corner of the longhouse in haste, colliding with a wall of warm muscle, the both of you falling at the sudden impact. A warm and familiar laugh fills your ears from beneath you. “Eivor!” You gasp, eyes wide in shock —he was not due back to Ravensthorpe for some time. He smiles at the flush of color creeping up to your cheeks. “Sorry, I was–”

“Chasing after Helga,” he finishes, laughing again, “as always.” Much had changed since leaving Norway, but Helga’s antics for mischief had not —you swear she must be one of Loki’s spawns with how often you have to chase after her and keep her from getting into serious trouble. You roll off Eivor, and he’s quick to rise, offering his hand —calloused from battle— to help you up.

Eivor smiles as he brushes the dirt from your shoulders and the smudge on your cheek. “It is good to see you,” he notes, the amusement gone from his voice. Of all the people in Ravensthorpe, he always finds himself missing you the most. Your gaze flicks away from Eivor, unable to meet his clear blue eyes and the soft smile hiding behind his golden beard without making a fool of yourself. “But weren’t you chasing after your sister?” Eyes widening, you dart off after Helga again. Eivor shakes his head, laughing to himself as he conducts his rounds.

EIVOR CALLS FOR a feast to celebrate the Raven Clan’s new allies in the north and his return to the Ravensthorpe. For now, he has no intention of leaving —at least not until the time comes to secure another alliance with the lords of England or Sigurd summons him away. It is a good feeling, knowing you will see Eivor more often —like the days before you fled Norway. You watch as he makes rounds, speaking to Gunnar and Wallace, among others who call this growing settlement home. He may not wear the title of Jarl, but Eivor is a good leader with the love and respect of his people.

Helga stumbles to where you sit, hiccupping with every other step and trying her best to hide the cup of mead behind her back. Part of you wants to laugh; you’d gotten into similar trouble as a young girl —Eivor and Sigurd your accomplices— but Helga is all you have in this world, and despite calling you sister, you’re the only mother she’s really known, too. “You are too young to be sipping on Tekla’s mead,” you tell her, giving her a cup of watered ale instead. She opens her mouth to protest, but you shake your head. “I won’t hear anymore on it, Helga.”

Pouting, she clambers onto the bench next to you, reaching for the last remaining piece of a berry tart at the table. If she can’t have any more mead and fun, then she’ll eat enough sweets to make you stay up all night to hear her complaints. Helga follows your gaze as she bites into the sweet raspberry tart Tarben made. You’re watching Eivor as he speaks to Mayda and Bertham —young lovers in a predicament with disapproving parents. Helga can’t say she’s surprised to find you staring at him. You seem to do that a lot. With the glances you and Eivor have exchanged all evening from across the longhouse, and after snatching a half-written poem from your desk a few days ago, she decides it’s time for her greatest plan yet. “Do you like Eivor?” She asks —words slurring together.

“Of course,” you answer, unsure why she would even ask a question like that. Helga knows how close you and Eivor are and how he oft comes in the late hours of the night seeking counsel, especially if he and Sigurd were at odds over something. “He’s one of my dearest friends.” Nigh every story worth telling from your childhood features Eivor.

Your little sister rolls her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “No” —she shakes her head, whole body squirming on the bench— “not like that. Like how,” she pauses, trying to find the right way to describe it, “Gudmund and Gudrun like each other?”

Skimming the hall, you find the two shipwrights —having sent Eira to bed, Gudrun sits on Gudmund’s knee, sharing laughs and exchanging quick kisses. You ignore the way your stomach and heart seize at the thought of having something like that with Eivor and decide not to respond to Helga’s drunken question, but she thinks silence is just as good as a yes or no. You narrow your eyes, seeing her struggling to keep hers open after drinking all that mead and stuffing her belly with meat, bread, and sweets. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” The question perks Helga up. Across the table, Hytham hides his laughter behind a cup of ale.

“We are celebrating,” Eivor notes, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he sits next to you with a tankard of mead in hand —he winks at Helga.

IN THE WEEK following the feast, Helga tells the other children in Ravensthorpe to meet her behind the stables. Sylvi, Knud, and Eira all appear after their morning chores are done, looking to Helga for what their next adventure entails. Last time, they put a cowpie in Osbert’s slipper and spent the rest of the day hiding and running from the collector as he chased them about the settlement with his hammer and chisel, threatening to carve off their noses while they slept. The empty threats made for an amusing afternoon.

But this time, Helga’s plan is not nearly as nefarious. No, she likes to think she’ll be doing you a favor since you seem oblivious to the obvious. “He’s always staring at her,” Sylvi says, peeking over the stable fence to see Eivor watching you pick raspberries to help Valka with her elixirs and salves. “You know, they both smile more around each other too,” Eira whispers. All of Ravensthorpe seemed brighter when you and Eivor reunite.

“I have a plan,” Helga announces to her cohort of merry troublemakers, motioning the three of them closer.

HELGA FINDS EIVOR fishing off the docks, a woven basket next to his feet almost filled with eels and trout —a successful morning, which means he’ll be done by the time you finish with the stew and her plan can come to fruition. “Eivor!” Helga shouts, skipping onto the wharf and stopping next to him, peering down into the murky water of the river Nene. “Will you come to our picnic?”

He regards Helga and the sweet smile on her round face —she’s up to something. “I think I can make time,” Eivor tells her, what few duties he had could wait until the evening hours. Besides, whatever your sister is plotting will undoubtedly be far more entertaining than writing correspondences to the Raven Clan’s allies.

“Can we pick flowers first?” Helga asks —she made sure to find a patch of wildflowers nearby where your favorite wildflowers in England grew. With you tending to a pot of stew in your shared cabin, she knew this plan would work out just dandy. Eivor agrees, pulling in the last of his catch for the day —a good size bullhead. Taking the basket of fish and eels to Merton, Eivor follows Helga as she leads him to the eastern part of the settlement, where there’s a dense patch of wildflowers growing atop a small knoll, knowing she’s up to something but saying nothing of it. He’s always found Helga’s antics to be amusing, but not quite as amusing as your exasperation after catching her getting into mischief.

“Those are–” Helga starts, looking at the handful of purple vetch and cornflowers “–your sister’s favorite,” Eivor finishes with a smile. He kneels, offering one of the flowers to Helga, tucking the stalk of vetch behind her ear. “Can you keep a secret?” Eivor asks, already knowing she couldn’t —the quickest way for Ravensthorpe, and even Fornburg, to learn of something was to tell Helga and tell her it was a secret too. Leaning closer, he whispers at her ear, smiling as her eyes and smile widen. Eivor rises, looking down at your sister with a glint of mischief in his eyes too. “Where should I meet you and your friends, Helga?” He asks.“

“Under the tree near the waterfall by Valka’s,” she answers, scurrying back to find her friends and tell them the good news.

SIGHING, YOU SIT down a small pot of stew under the tree where Helga said to come —only your sister and her friends are nowhere in sight. You pinch the bridge of your nose, not believing you’d fallen victim to another one of her ploys. You’d been up since the crack of dawn to make a pot of pork and leek stew to pair with a loaf of Tarben’s brown bread and apple preserves. Hands on your hips, you glance around, searching for Helga and her friends up in the tree, or hiding in the bushes, but it’s just you, birdsong, and the soothing calm of the waterfall.

The low croak of a raven perching on a branch above startles you —Sýnin. The raven looks down at you, croaking again, but this time it sounds as though he’s laughing at your folly. You scowl at Sýnin, jumping when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Eivor standing behind you, holding a bouquet of wildflowers with an oddly bashful look about him as he rubs the scar on his neck. “Eivor?” You ask, heart racing and stomach-churning with butterflies —you hadn’t expected to see him so early in the day, especially in your current state. Eivor doesn’t care if your hair isn’t plaited or the apron you wear has a few stains. To him, you’re just as beautiful now as you are dolled up for feasts.

Remembering the flowers, he pushes them forward. Smiling, you take the bouquet. Vetches and cornflowers are among your favorite, but Eivor already knows that. You inhale the peppery sweet scent of both flowers —smile widening and mood improving after being caught up in another of Helga’s games. “Be a pity to let this go to waste,” Eivor remarks, gesturing to the pot of stew.

In agreement with that, you and Eivor sit beneath the great tree. You ladle out two bowls of stew while Eivor slices into the loaf of brown bread. “I think we’ve both been deceived,” you mutter, still glancing around the pool and bushes —expecting to see Helga hiding somewhere.

Eivor laughs, knowing it to be the truth. Helga had orchestrated the perfect moment —the perfect opportunity— for him to confront and confess the feelings he’d kept locked away for years now. Eivor decided quite some time ago he’d prefer to love you in secret to protect the precious friendship you shared, then speak of his heart’s desires and risk everything. He sets aside his bowl, shifting. “I don’t mind if it means time with you,” he smiles, reaching for one of your hands. It’s instinct to curl your fingers around his —thumb running over his scarred knuckles. Eivor whispers your name, leaning toward you.

He kisses you —without warning or permission— lips brushing against yours, only just. A chance for you to pull back, but you don’t. Smiling, you press your lips against his, chasing away any doubt he could have harbored of if his sentiments are returned. You lift a hand to his scarred cheek, loosely combing through his golden beard. There’s a pause, where you both draw back, just barely, letting out shaky breaths. Eivor slips his hand from yours, cradling the back of your head as he takes another kiss, this one firmer —confident— taking the breath from your lungs yet calming the racing of your heart. “Eivor,” you breathe upon parting, still cupping his cheek. His smile is wide, and his eyes clearer than you have ever seen before. He leans back in, kissing the corner of your lips and then your cheek, knowing these kisses are just the first of many more.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eivor sees Helga and her accomplices peeking out from behind Valka’s hut. “You can all come out now,” he calls, laughing. Your sister and her friends come forward, unable to hide their victorious grins. You wish to scold Helga for the deception, but you cannot find it within yourself to be upset with her, especially not when Eivor takes your hand, kissing your knuckles before he begins ladling out stew into the remaining bowls for the children with a smile. No, this time, you may even have to thank her for her antics, for she had just brought you together with the man you love.

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its-toasted · 3 years

Text

July 12, 2013

I snap to sitting straight. Ooow.

I'm up. Oh, I'm in bed. Good bye.

No. I need to write down the dream.

Can't remember. It's hot. I'm shleep. I'm sweating. Some haunted version of grandma's house, again, I hate it.

It still felt like bad wallpaper and tomato eggs and saturday cartoons until June. Now I never want to think about it. I'm not even scared of witches, I don't think, but it's different in the dream. I'm always alone. It's like I'm being hunted.

Chased by some raggedy hag who looks like she could be Hansel and Gretel OG. She's never quite the same, but the skin is gray and the eyes are black. There's just nothing there, fuck that.

She's been getting closer lately. The garden or windows were bad enough. One time, I open the door and she's crouched on top of the fridge. One time, she has no legs and just lunges. One time, she crawls fast over creaking wood and it sounds like more than four limbs. One time, I hide behind the master bedroom door, holding my breath, and she waddles heavy through the hall with a lamp, and the hurried rhythm makes me shiver.

There it is. I write it down. That's how you do that.

Not that the scrawling is very legible anyways. I started recording dreams to remember the good ones, but I figure it doesn't make sense to stop just because they suck. There's something nice about writing as soon as you wake up, though.

Phone at 8%. Almost 6:30 AM. Why do I do this to myself? Sometimes it's like I'm averse to putting myself in a position to live normally.

I put down the bane of my existence, and for a minute just breathe. Just a dude in bed. It's mid-summertime. Things are good. I got a car last month, a maroon Subaru sedan. I try to focus on that. This witch has been ruining my mornings. I've never been prey.

My door nudges open and I legit jump.

Tsuni's head peeks through. Motherfuckin' dog. She's all smiles.

Tsuni is a middle-aged mutt now. She's a Yorkie-Schnoodle, two-toned deep brown and cream like a wolf, but with big droopy ears. A barker, of course. She's our lil bougie genius. You can often find her in some tasteful sweater, we treat her well.

Her last owners didn't, and it showed for a long time. I remember the first day mom was waiting at the bus stop with a puppy in her arms. Home changed after that.

II.

The first night Tsuni came home, she messed up the floors bad. I guess more like the first couple years.

Anytime a grown man towered over her, she shrunk into fear and started to leak. One night in December, her eyes went buck wild instead, and she bit pa's hand so hard that umma had to sew him stitches. I haven't seen blood in the foyer otherwise.

It took us a while to grasp her defensive reactions. If you want her to be comfortable, approach honest. Always come correct.

So don't shout. Or hide shit in your hands. And your laugh might startle her. She doesn't like to be touched while resting. She hates a camera in her face. Don't give her anything you want back. Just don't be on any bullshit, she'll suss you out quick.

Tsuni vaults onto my bed, all grace. I sit up and snap once. I thought she wanted a rub down, but she puts her paws on my chest and stretches low like she does. Then her snout's grody in my face, tail brushing my shin.

I know she wants out. Fine, fine. Git offa me.

We got her at one year old, and she knew no tricks. By year two, she knew everything in the book. The smoothest criminal finessing us for treats. Always so clever, we could never say no.

How to explain her smarts...

Once, after bringing her back inside, I wash her feet, take off her sweater, and go upstairs to clean up. Few minutes later, I'm at the sink and she comes to my feet with a different sweater and sits proper patient. She must've pulled it from the cubby. I mean, c'mon. I am puddle.

I guess a lot of pet owners can understand, but she is truly family. If we can't find her for five minutes, then hell is absolutely upon us. I wrote a poem about this once.

We speak the same language. She's basically a bumbling toddler, but too fast. And sharp, I think she can read a room as good as anyone.

Her trauma didn't fade for mad years, because things take time. But these days you couldn't tell. She falls asleep on my lap and lets Mac throw hands. She adores umma most, no doubt. And pops pretends like she's such a burden, but might treasure her company more than all of us. When I see him play with her, I remember how good he was with us when little.

She moves like a yung queen 90% of the time. I swear, she mirrors umma's mannerisms. I only see echoes of her in pain when we raise our voices, or it's storming something fierce outside.

Thunder really gets her down. I used to think she got shook, but now I know she just gets sad. Like a person might when it rains. I'm glad to have a thunderbuddy when it's brisk.

I know the father of the family friend we got her from. There's no way it's the mother. I see him across the pews in church. I haven't smiled at him in years. Sometimes I bet I'm glaring because I want to destroy him. Mac gets me. Our gut says his kids wouldn't mind.

III.

I'm not ready to get out of bed. I didn't see Jay had texted me late last night until now.

"Yo mom gone batshit. Lemme slide"

Sent at 2:36 AM. Fuck. Jay's a clown, I know she's sleeping somewhere in her car right now. It's humid as hell. I wish she'd just use our basement key, she doesn't have to ask but insists she's imposing.

Jay (not to be confused with J) is my neighbor. Well, four doors down. We didn't really get to know each other until we started high-school, but we've been close ever since mid-freshman year.

Jay's pretty enigma. South-type gorgeous. Sunkissed, maybe 5'10. Super athletic, got a strong second gear. I think I'm tryna keep up if we running a 400.

Kind as a baseline, but really hard on herself, like you wouldn't believe. Her therapist put her on benzos, and she went under for a minute. But she was in rehab half of sophomore year, and we wrote each other letters every week. Junior year was mostly good. I'm hella proud of her.

I'm not sure I've had many anchors before her. I always have my brother Mac. I have my boys, and even if we don't talk about everything, we know what we mean to each other. Everything else that seems good cracks under enough pressure. It's true that most people can't be trusted, but I try not to look at them that way.

But I never worry about me and Jay. Doubt I'll ever need to.

And don't get it twisted -- she has an objectively fantastic mother. And she she gets it. Any kid would be so lucky, I do envy her. Like, if I was in jail, I'd call Mama Smurf before umma. Not that I'll ever get caught.

But family is family and it's different, I can get that. I text Smurf that Jay's here so she stops worrying, only because I know where to find her. I think.

I don't know where dog went. Oi! Where you at. One dipping whistle and she jingles to my feet. I grab my earbuds and keys and her leash, and we slip out the open garage.

IV.

I can't even remember what life was like before dog. What did I do all day? Read books, play gamecube, play ball. I guess a lot of novels, and more cello and piano.

I guess this summer is when I really stopped practicing every day. I haven't thought about it much, it just happened, and umma for once has said nothing.

I'm taking Tsuni to the farm park. It's the closest non-residential place to home. We used to run the wood trails, but this summer we've only been cruising the half-mile loop. We usually lap twice, she's getting old-ish.

Sometimes I don't think I treat her well enough. Like when I know she's jonesing for a massage off the lates because she nuzzles my calf, but I'm too busy writing or texting or watching or playing. So I try to make it up to her like this. She doesn't get my full attention, but I think anywhere outside home is pretty swell to her.

Country radio on low, as it goes. Her head is a hazard out the window. She'll only come in if the car stops or I call her name.

It's a brisk 6-minute drive to the farm park. They host bluegrass festivals here a few times a year, and corn maze and pumpkin picking in the fall. This place is such a labyrinthical gem, and very few come here on a normal day. I didn't know places like this existed still. Everything good always seems so, taken.

After pulling into the park's long winding road, we ride toward Ellie's faded truck and a bump. I don't know much aside from her name, but she looks really sweet. It's mostly the same faces around here. She smiles and waves, and Tsuni looks down Jojo and Bonnie (or Donna?) in the backseat.

It's all big sky and foliage until we pass the three red barns. We pull up to the first big lot. I'm scanning for a gold RAV4. I see Vic with his pitbull, about to enter Sycamore.

At first I think Jay's not here, but then I catch her tucked at the far corner of the clubhouse, under the shadiest tree. I can see she's still asleep, with the windows quarter-rolled and a bright orange Clemson cap over her face. 60% odds there's a lit citronella candle in there, because I saw her do that once.

I pull up next to her hella quiet. There is a candle, but near the right window. I reconsider. I put the car in park. Big Green Tractor by Jason Aldean is crooning quiet like a lullaby, absolute classic. One of her faves.

I crank it all the way up in one twist.

My eardrums erupt. Jay's body shoots awake, I bet worse than mine did this morning. So sudden her boob hits the horn. Tsuni barks like an alarm, and I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.

The candle is fine. She blows it out.

Her voice is smooth and light, like a blackbird. "Fuck you, dude."

After I recover, Jay steps out, stretches, and yawns wide as wheat field. She falls into my passenger seat. Tsuni starts to smother her cheeks with checkup vibes, but doesn’t like citronella. Jay wants to spark, but I say after I walk and drop off dog. Then we can grab brunch.

"Can't complain about a good-ass plan."

"So what happened with Smurf?" Her eyes stay locked on fur.

"You know. She doesn't want me to have anything good in my life."

AKA she still can't work at the pool bar with us, I assume. Her parents are members of the country club, so I guess that might be weird. I wonder if Smurf knows we drink on the job.

Some new chick finally quit after Tony went ape-shit on her for mixing terrible cocktails. He overdid it, which is in-character. I think savagery is a legitimate career path in most industries. Honestly, I'm not sure what the fuck he expected from a 16-year-old homeschooler.

I really thought this was an easy dub for Jay, but her mom must've said no. "Whaaat? Why. What's the move now?"

"You could've just asked one of those. Ionno, don't wanna go home. Her face is gonna piss me off. Let's smook. Tsuni wants some too!" Jay tries on soft puppy eyes.

I look at dog. Dog looks at me.

"No she don't. Come walk with us."

She scowls but grins. "Y'all are fuckin' weirdos. Nah I wanna sleep more, I got here at like 3. Come find me in your basement later."

Word. I kiss her on the cheek and kinda taste dog before she steps back onto the concrete. I think people think it's weird, but it's just been a thing of ours since she came home last year. It's nice having things of ours.

We never talked about it, it just felt right the first time, and still does. Don't entire European countries do this anyways? I could dig it.

There are some stables with historic exhibits and equipment, and a large fenced "shade garden" where I like to light up occasionally when no one's in sight. I've learned so many flower names there, whoever wrote them all is my hero.

There are three marked trails, but seven total if you know where to look. We're hitting the Belgian farm loop again, it's most convenient anyways. We repark next to nobody and hike up the old oak stairs.

I look back and Jay's SUV is slinking out of the shade. I raise three fingers high, I guess as a gun. She wipes her windshield back.

VI.

Why didn't I charge my phone? What's wrong with me? I was in my car for like 20 minutes. I wanna use my earbuds, but my phone down to 4%.

The walk up to the trail crossroads feels strangely like the trek from gym to sanctuary at Seacroft retreats, both in terms of distance and elevation scaling. I cherish Seacroft, it's just a big vacation with some of my faves and hyungs and nunas. I think those cabin sleepovers made me love church. I might've had a couple firsts there.

I like worship music too. Judge me less. Still love gospel from a 5-piece band. Their fifth is actually a violist, that does not say violinist, and my girl Liza (lie not lee) can play. She stays perfect in the background. The music means more to me than praise these days. I think worship feels pretty empty now, but it doesn't really bother me anymore.

We did kiss right once. Jay, not Liza, she's too pure. Keeping her off my mind can be hard. It was just a few stretched seconds outside a house party. I don't remember what we were talking about before it.

Bliss until the door swung open and we left trance and cooled into laughs. Now every time we get that close we just smile.

She blushes damn good. Sometimes I kind of ache for her.

I have to stop thinking about her this way. I'm talking to someone else! Why does this happen. Tsuni zigzags in front, rarely dipping into the tall grass on the edges. I'm on autopilot. I love getting into grooves like this, no matter what for. That's why I like weed.

I think I only go to church for the people, and for Mac and umma. I think she goes for the people too. Even Jay has a blast when she joins for outings. If you can find a place that looks past antiquated bullshit and focuses on accepting people, it's not bad. Even if it's run like a dirty business.

I wonder if I should feel bad for not feeling any divine experience there. Or for how much time I spend chasing what parents and pastors and pricks label as sin. But exploring only feels sinister when an adult says so. Otherwise, why would weed be wrong? How is it worse than liquor? Or coffee? Or cigs? Or soda? I don't think it is, I think it's always what you make of it.

I'm still thinking about Jay's mouth. I don't think we should, and she'd probably regret if we did. I guess that makes sense. We need each other too much like this, so we'll call it a one-time thing.

This is how I feel on a good day. It's deep July, and right now I could be a canvas. All I see are lush greens and golden rows and open blues. I wish I brought my notebook. Tsuni stretches the leash 'til there's no slack.

There's one scarecrow, standing high in the heart of the wheat field. He has a ragged cape and a pointed black hat. I could never believe that shit works. How could a bird in flight fall for something like that.

#spilled ink #alt lit #prose #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #writings #v1 #i fear writing long things #good mornin <3

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

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It's been a long time comiiiing down this rooaaddd. I haven't updated this foreverrr, but I'm doing it nooooooowww! 🎤🎵🎶

Part 23: Movement

"I hope I don't have to jump up here," you sigh gripping the pole to test its sturdiness. It seems strong enough, but then so does the hardwood floor. "I don't have the upper body strength to hold myself up and I definitely don't need to bust my ass in these slippery socks--what," you smile watching Toni bite her lip at your skepticism from Ava's other side.

"Nothing. You have a lot of cushion, you'll bounce back," she gestures eyeing your rear. She's joking but you're serious.

"I'm just saying socks on hardwood with jumping if you're uncoordinated seems like a recipe for disaster."

"You get used to it, stick with us," Ava comforts. Stick with us.. It echoes in your mind. They actually want you there.. continuously.

A small group of women in variety of shapes and sizes, mostly black, gradually takes the remaining poles as the mingling conversations rise. It's a comfortable environment. The sun streams in through the windows bringing in nice natural light. Adjusting the band on your sports bra, you hop but neglect to wrap the pole with your legs. Toni chuckles in good humor.

"Ugh.. I don't know about this you guys."

"It's just a workout, girl, you'll be fine," she waves. "Besides, your NOT sugar daddy will love it when you show him all that assss in motion."

"Oh my God, he's NOT a sugar daddy," you whisper as she mocks you. "Y'all are so aggravating."

"That smile says different.. Just remember to tell me all the nasty gritty details when you throw it back with these moves. Yo' ass got handled before," her nude nails clink against the pole judgingly. They'd lost their minds when you told them about that night in the hotel. You had to tell the story twice because they wanted to visualize it. "He did whatever he wanted to do to that kitty, beat it to high hell. Now YOU are gonna have the power to put it on him. That fatass bunda gone kill him, just wait on it."

Watching your wagon in the full length studio wall mirror you grip the pole to make it wiggle watching it move on your reflection. "I don't know, see, I can move it I just can't move it seductively. I'm kinda stiff."

"She ain't ready for all that yet, Toni, let her take it slow. She can't just jump out there, class ain't even start yet," Ava laughs. "She need the basics."

"I need to learn how to dance," you interject. "Like lap dance and all that jazz.."

"That's simple," a woman's voice cuts in demanding the focus of the room of women who seem to recognize her on entry. Casually, you spin to meet a pair of long toned legs like a gazelle building up to a slender curved shape to be envied.. covered in glowing rich brown skin..

This can't be real, you blink as your mind whisks you back to the fateful day of your meeting each other. The memory is fresh as if it were yesterday.

“What’s your name,” she murmurs, voice as addictive as Erik's. You glance at him and he shrugs leaving the decision of how to respond up to you. When you answer, she recites your name like a poem and you smile. She has a calming effect that puts you at ease and she’s so, so beautiful. She tells you you’re the beautiful one and it makes your face heat. Her fingers lightly brush the warmth of your cheek before moving to her own erect nipples tweaking the silver bars.

“You wanna touch them?” She asks while stepping closer and she reaches out for your hand to pull it to her breast. Your eyes nervously flit to Erik’s and he doesn’t intervene. Not knowing quite what to do you tweak the silver bar and she sighs in pleasure. She moves your other hand to her other breast encouraging you to do the same. Her fingers find your chin again and then she’s close, lips coming in hot. You close your eyes.

Those eyes..

Her black lined cat eyes lock onto yours echoing your shock with a thick and strange energy. She's just as shook seeing you yet she never loses the graceful glide in her step to her teaching pole, glancing evenly from you and squaring her gaze to cover the class.

"Well damn," Ava blurts reading the thoughts of the room as the instructor flips her long high pony of burgundy locs. An exhale is all you muster as your brain thinks of several ways this could end badly.

"Hello my SugarDoll Fitness family," Shay waves to the group in a motion ending with her hand perched cutely nder her chin. It gains an equal positive return from the class.

Smiling just to fit in you look around and nod politely wondering what excuse you could make to Toni and Ava if you leave, especially after Ava just invited you to 'stick with' them. Would the truth suffice or would it bring more unnecessary drama and questions?

Toni and Ava would have a field day if they knew the real nature of your relationship with Erik and Ms. Shay. Last you remember, Shay's pierced nipples were in your between your fingertips. She wanted to devour you whole according to Erik. You haven't even told them you were in the BDSM life yet. They don't even know about the submission thing between you and Erik, they're still stuck on sugar daddy.. It's not something you wanted to share.

That's not something to bring up in this setting..

The way Shay looked at you back then made you feel like she was a starved tigress and you were the live prey, but somehow you were comfortable. She was intense but not intimidating... unlike Erik who initially made you so nervous you couldn't relax. No, she wasn't like that.. It felt more like she was wise beyond her years, but very playful and mischievous.. You'd liked her energy.

Then Erik went and cut her off because of his insane jealousy which was great in the sense that it was one step closer to being his only partner, but dumb in the way that it came about. It's one of his flaws. Erik needs to put his jealousy in check before he does something too impulsive to reverse or gets his feelings hurt.

If he'd never taken you to her home, they'd still have their BDSM dynamic, which brings up the issue of blame. Was it your fault? Does she blame you? Does she even care or miss the man?They seemed to pair well despite his gripes that she was troublesome.

Funny... You'd think he'd love a troublesome woman. He say he like spice and Shay had that with the experience to match, so then why choose you? Why not her over you or her and you? He could've made it work. Something about her being too dominant seems like a copout for him, looking back..

"I see some familiar faces. Faith.. Nicki.. Lynn.. Janell.." Her ruby red lips part in a smile and there's something about the simplest of her motions. Everything is a subtle demand for power.. "I see a lot of new faces too," her eyes roll down the line to yours, lingering briefly like she wants to say much more. Her eyes lower for the briefest of moments and where you anticipated malice, there seems to be none. There's something on her mind instead.

"You good," Ava nudges your side in question. You flinch slightly but nod. There's something Shay wants to get out but she can't with everyone else present.

"I want us to get to know each other in here as women. We all have our reasons for being here.. Let's go around the room. I'll start," Shay announces with a slow walk to her right, a natural sway to her hips. "As some of you may know, my name is Shayla Berry, Shay for short aka SugarDoll. Yes, I am an exotic dancer. Yes, I am a dominatrix," her eyes roll playfully. "I also paint by trade and teach pole fitness. I am a multifaceted business woman with a flare for the artistic," her black painted fingers flare. "I meditated on having my own successful studio and then I manifested it to reality when I rented this place a few months ago and baby when I tell you the law of attraction works, I am flourishing."

She gestures to her right and the introductions begin from the repeat students as well as the new. There's a teacher and a nurse present. Everyone's common goal seems to boil down to exploring their sensuality while having fun with dance and getting in a good workout. Then there's Toni. She's a traveler, which you knew. She likes to shop and eat. What you didn't know was that she is also a pilot and works 100 hours a week max. As for Ava, you knew she was originally from the ATL and lived a sugar baby life, but you did not know that she was raised amongst strippers and that she's also an audiologist. She had to explain to the class what an audiologist was.

"And you?" Shay's fiery eyes focus in as she takes a half step towards you.

"Y/N," you say as if she doesn't already know. She knows more than Toni and Ava, she saw your whole coochie for the sake of giving you a biology lesson. Embarrassing.. "I'm from Cali.. born and raised. I don't travel that often, but I'd love to go to Europe.. I love movies, it's really all I do.. watch movies, sleep, and work.. I work in cybersecurity."

"You prevent hackers?" Ava's neck cranes and you nod as she gives a look of approval.

"This is probably messed up," you pause as she and Toni both look up, "But I don't know why I assumed you two were spending men's money in the mall when we met," you whisper feeling superficial. Just because they're universally gorgeous like celebrities doesn't mean they aren't successful outside of that and able to afford the finer things on their own accord. You can do both.

"..We were," Ava shrugs simply. "My money stay in my savings.. I haven't paid a bill with my own money in two years."

"Work smarter not harder babe," Toni smirks. "You oughtta know."

"That's just it, I don't know because that's not something I've experienced because Erik and I are friends with benefits..," you sigh. "A lot of benefits..."

When introductions wrap up, the lesson starts and Shay jumps right into it with terminology foreign to you.

"This is a mixed pole fitness class.. So go ahead and face your poles, we're going to start with some body rolls. Hands low on the pole like so," she demonstrates. "Roll it out." Her body waves in a fluid S motion. "Chest, abs, hips... Chest, abs, hips.. Let it roll, smoothly down to the floor and up. Y/N, get on your tiptoes, baby. Lexi, get your arms involved. Stick that ass out, don't be scared.. Perfect. I'm watching all of y'all," she says pointedly. "..Again."

You watch and try your best to duplicate, your S moreso a stiff Z and she switches her hand position to the top of her pole.

"Now we're gonna walk around and this helps loosen the joints. Think tight and tall as you stride around the pole on those toes. I don't want any flat feet. Keep on your imaginary heels, Y/N," he blinks your way. "Now stop on the side and circle those hips." Her hips rotate as though they're on a swivel.

When you look to Toni and Ava, they're already moving like pros which tells you they do this often. They travel together, shop together, share life, and take classes like this together. They're already extremely close. It's surprising they'd think to invite you into their circle..

"Outside arm and leg sweeps back, across the floor, sweep out and back."

"Like you're swimming," someone adds.

"Exactly, like you're swimming. Next move, grab that knee, pull it up and out, soft hands, open that chest, roll it back... same leg flick the toe and kick forward."

"I can't go that high," the same woman from before says."

"That's fine, go to where you're comfortable. Lunge back same leg.. and we're going to repeat the process with the other leg."

The routine goes on minutes more until she gets to a pirouette which is a more familiar term. Unfortunately, that's followed by slow pushups which, of course, doesn't happen. Toni uses her knees, but Ava does the full set of pushups. She's the only one.

"Showoff," Toni mutters.

The next moves require a lot of knee pivoting and borderline twerking in slow motion. You feel the workout in your thighs, your knees, your abs, and your back. It's only been fifteen minutes out of the hour and you're stopping for water. Some of the motions have been easy to grasp, but some have been frustrating. It's only my first time, you remind yourself.

Thirty minutes in, you've developed an idea of how to move and what to incorporate into your sex life.. when it revives. Putting the moves together into a routine is the current issue.

"I could do some of this," you say to Ava. "I just wish I could borrow some of your core strength."

"You'll get it with time, stay consistent. I'm holding you to it."

"Y/N," Shay calls out as she body rolls and raises her leg high. "What's this about you not knowing how to dance, mama?"

"Huh," I pause standing straight. She remembered. "Well I can dance. I can do the nae nae and the little tiktok dances, but this..," I gesture to the pole. "This is a different story. I guess I'm not the seductive type."

"Have you ever had sex?"

The question cuts and you feel all eyes glued on you. She must know that you and Erik have already.. on multiple occasions...

"....Of course."

"Then... you're the seductive type," she says simply. "Dance is a style of communication. It's about movement and seduction." She comes close and her finger gently snakes your collarbone as she circles you, standing directly behind, her slim hands on your waist.

"We really need to talk.. later," she whispers quietly in your ear. Her hips line up with yours, her center against your ass, and she winds. "If you can walk, you can dance, Y/N. If you can dance, the seduction is that much easier.." This time her words are addressed to the class. Her hips guide yours against the pole as she grinds against it through you. "Follow my rhythm."

You move exactly as you feel her move, in a groove, and after a few moments when you've perfected the body roll she backs up. When you do it on your own in the mirror, you have the S shape down pact.

"That's it, I'm coming back," you smile at the pole. At the end of class you're sore and tired but excited to have picked up some tricks. Meeting Shay's eye, you excuse yourself briefly from Ava and Tony with the excuse of asking about her paintings. "Shay," you whisper once you're close and she leads you out of the space.. far.. all the way outside before she looks around. There's no one standing out nearby, only well groomed trees and sidewalk with some grass and a parking lot.

"How have you been," is the first thing she asks as if she's truly concerned. Her eyes convey a lot.

"Why?.. I'm good," you stare echoing her strange expression. She's having a tough time saying what she wants to say.. she's pausing a lot, hesitating.

"Shay, what's wrong.. I get the feeling you want to tell me something but you're conflicted. I swear I won't run tell Erik.. whatever it is.."

"You're still with him," her brows rise in shock. "Okay so he was serious.. Did he ever mention.. anything about, um.. our last meeting together?"

"You guys had sex one last time, I know about it."

She takes a deep unsteady breath and instantly I know there's more to the story than what he said. She looks around again as if she's nervous.

"He didn't mention anything about.. himself?... As far as what he does...?"

"Hm? Well, yeah, he told me he does the video game thing. We just went to Texas-"

"That's-," she pauses with her mouth wide as if she's deeply confused. "Um.. you know what. Just... be careful okay? Take care of yourself."

"What?" Of all the random things to say. "What are you talking about? Wait," you grab her shoulder as she's walking off. "I feel like you're trying to tell me something about him and I wish you'd just spit it out.."

"Well look at you, definitely got bolder," her eyes flick up and down you. "Actually, it's nothing.. I just wanted to check on you.. make sure you were doing alright, that's all," she smiles, but it doesn't touch her eyes. "I'm going back inside to make sure no one has any further questions for me."

Letting her go, you watch her and something doesn't sit right. She wasn't telling you something and you don't know what that something is, but it's making your mind spin. Ava and Toni come out and walk toward you.

"She showed me one of the paintings in her car," you lie though you're not sure why, it just comes out and they accept it moving on. They have plans to get massages and you're invited there too. The three of you get the full body massage and it's relaxing after all that exercise. When you finally leave them and get to Erik's you OD on water, eat, shower, and watch TV upstairs until you pass out sleep.

The next day, they contact you on your lunch break and actually meet you for brunch, happy to see where you work. You have to apologize to Tanner for canceling lunch plans with him. He's so used to eating with you and vice versa. You've gotten used to looking into his pretty blue eyes. At least he gets to meet Toni and Ava briefly and they call him white chocolate which he eats up. You throw subliminals that maybe he and Toni should hook up but neither seem truly interested outside of surface good- natured flirting.

The following day after work is the beach. The three of you sunbathe while sharing stories about family and teen years. "This is the life," you jest laid back on your towel with your sunglasses on feeling warm and toasty. "I've been missing this. I need to meet more people to do things like this with, I get tired of sitting home alone."

"Aww. I don't wanna leave you here by yourself. I wish we didn't have to leave Cali or maybe you could come south with us," Toni says, but it's not realistic. They can afford to travel all the time but you have to work. When they do leave, you see them off.

-----

"I asked for chocolate," Erik grumbled laid out in his hospital bed six weeks into bed rest. They'd given him vanilla snack pack and he hated vanilla.

"Here you go," his nurse teased, used to his temper. "Stubborn ass.. I will personally bring you your chocolate pudding."

"Two.. and take this nasty one with you," he hudged it toward her. She laughed.

"Baby you can eat all the chocolate pudding you want when you up outta here. You finally got the go ahead as long as you stay the fuck off that damn leg.. Don't kiss your teeth, you've been doing everything short of p90x up in here."

"I wasn't on my leg though, those were upper body workouts.."

"You still need to relax."

"Hell yeah.. soon as I get my pudding.."

She shook her head, amused. Erik knew that once he left she'd think of him still. She was pretty nice though, so maybe he'd think of her too.. just maybe. He thought of telling her the truth before leaving... Perhaps he'd be there if she ever needed someone permanently removed from her life at a discounted rate..

@soufcakmistress @itsiesha @ju5tp34chy @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @blackpantherimagines @blackpinup22 @muse-of-mbaku @goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @purplehairgawdess @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent-blog

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #house rules

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panda-noosh · 3 years

Text

lost in translation {draco malfoy x reader}

words: 11.8k

summary: draco finds a notebook filled with beautiful, painful words. he keeps it for himself. he promises he’ll give it back to the rightful owner when he eventually finds them.

genre: angst

notes: support my writing or ask about commissions! - masterlist - i literally don’t know what plot is any more okay. also i listened to i love you by billie eilish on loop whilst writing this so feel free to put that on if you want.

---

draco sees the words every time he closes his eyes.

repeated stanzas, never leaving him alone. a mouthful of words no mind should ever be able to conjure. a haunting imagination capable of driving even the sanest people out of sanity.

he found the book on a winters day at hogwarts. christmas time was just round the corner, meaning most of his friends had already fled the castle in favour of homes, somewhere out in the muggle world, where they could spend the holidays with families who cared for them as families often cared for each other.

draco decided to stay at hogwarts.

he didn’t want to - not really. his father was just being difficult, and he wanted to face the man even less than he wanted to spend the holidays with people like potter and teachers who didn’t like him because of his family name.

he is entirely on his own this holiday season, and it depresses him more than he would ever be willing to let on.

because, you see, the thing with draco malfoy is, weakness has been a taboo subject amongst his family for as long as he can remember. his father drilled into his conscience that malfoys always have their heads held high, that they must be able to cope entirely on their own in any circumstance, because that’s what strength is. needing no one. fending only for yourself. living life to get what you want without worrying about anybody else.

this is why draco doesn’t sit with the other students during the christmas feast. instead, he finds himself traipsing through the library, poking at spines of books so old the writing has been smudged and worn, the contents made up of words once spoken in england, now lost to time.

the place smells dusty. it makes him sneeze, and he grimaces when he pulls his finger away from a shelf to see it coated in a thick layer of dust which he hastily wipes on his already gravy-stained robes. his stomach grumbles with the reminder of the christmas feast waiting downstairs for him - all he needs to do is pull a chair up and dig in. none of the teachers will mind. the students might be a bit iffy, but when has draco ever cared about what they think?

instead, he slumps against the wall, pulls a book into his lap and starts to read.

he’s so engrossed in the old text that he doesn’t hear the library door opening. he doesn’t hear peeve’s taunting cackles until they’re right over his head, peeves pointed toes very nearly scraping his slicked back hair.

draco’s head snaps up. above him, the poltergeist laughs, throwing his head back.

“peeves!” draco scrambles to his feet, swatting at the poltergeist. “oh, for christ’s sake, do you ever give it a rest?”

“all alone for christmas, are you, malfoy?” the poltergeist taunts. “surely daddy can afford you a way home with all that money the dark lord’s been shovelling into his pockets!”

draco’s face burns. “go away, you annoying little roach, before i get the hoover!”

peeves only laughs harder. “what a threat that was! wait till i tell the headmaster about that one.” and before draco can say anything else, peeves has grabbed a single, tiny book from the edge of a bookshelf and dropped it on draco’s head.

it crashes against the crown of his skull and bounces to the floor unceremoniously, flipping open upon the carpet. draco makes to yell, his fury bubbling over, but his voice is lost to the sudden emptiness of the room as peeves does what peeves does best and disappears.

draco groans through gritted teeth, rubbing the spot the book bounced from. it aches a little bit, which is surprising considering the size of the book. not a textbook. not really anything any of his teachers would ask him to check out of the library. instead, it’s spiral bound, the words not typed, but handwritten in sloppy scrawl, like the author was in a rush when transferring their thoughts onto paper.

draco frowns; why should a book such as this be in the schools library?

he picks it up by the corner, as if afraid the book might bite him - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. the book, however, makes no strange movements. draco feels no strange, magical pull coming from the pages. in fact, if he were to use his common sense, he would believe the book to be straight from the muggle world.

that alone should have been enough to deter him, but his father isn’t here, so he opens it and starts reading.

the first few pages are awkward poetry. awkward essays, a person’s thoughts and opinions filtered with the fear of someone reading over their shoulder, perhaps. draco can tell the author was holding back, but the further he flips, the looser said author seems to become. they start using words. just words, so beautiful and magical and heartfelt that draco finds himself enraptured with every one. he struggles to put the book down, curling into his tiny corner in the library, enamoured by such language. he wonders for the brief moment he is able to take his eyes off the page if perhaps the book has been cast under a spell, if perhaps there is a spell in this world that puts heaven and hell into words and has transferred it to the very book he holds in his hands.

draco has spent so long getting lost in the talents of wizards that he sometimes forgets muggles have talents and hobbies, too. there are creatives in the world who can create emotions from such small things. there are people outside the world of magic and wizardry who can do magical things, too.

he has the evidence in his hand.

---

he keeps the evidence in his hand all throughout the year.

he comes back to it after particularly stressful classes to remind himself that not all is bad; that’s the magic these poems and essays have on him. he could probably recite each one word for word, but he never does, because they belong to him now. he’s claimed them as a comfort blanket, something he needs to get through the day. he’s found an addiction within these words that he can’t let go of, not just yet, not until he figures out who wrote them.

and that’s really all it boils down to - he wants to put a face to the mind that created the world he so desperately wants to share.

it’s a tuesday afternoon in feburary when blaise asks him about the book.

“are you ever gonna share what’s in that notebook you keep carrying around?”

the question startles draco. he thought he was being so subtle. he hardly ever brings the notebook out to face the light of day, only ever reading it behind the curtains of his poster bed in the dorms.

nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it’s existence. he doesn’t want to sound stupid.

he pokes at the vegetables on his plate and, without looking up, mumbles, “not really any of your business, is it?”

blaise scoffs. “alright, be like that then. you carry that thing around like a little girl and her secret diary.”

“are you trying to tease me, blaise? because you just sound stupid.”

blaise rolls his eyes; he’s one of the few people that don’t get properly offended when malfoy fails to bite his tongue.

“and anyway,” draco continues, “i don’t carry it around. it stays in my bed.”

“oh, really?”

“yes, and that’s where it’s staying.”

“so is it yours, or did you take it from someone?”

draco pauses. “it’s mine.”

“i’ve never seen you write in a notebook before. not even in class.”

draco shrugs; he hasn’t got a very good answer to that, because the statement is true. he tends to get others to write his notes for him when he can get away with it.

blaise sighs. he leans back in his seat, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “so are you a poet now? some kind of shakespeare?”

draco raises a brow. “some kind of what?”

blaise waves a dismissive hand. “it’s a muggle thing. just answer the part you understood.”

“i’m not a poet,” draco grumbles. “the poems in the book aren’t even mine. i found it when i was in the library a few months back, and thought it was interesting.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like this notebook has always just been a background prop in his everyday life. “it’s stupid, really. muggle stuff.”

“so why are you so obsessed with it?”

“i’m not obsessed!” draco’s grip tightens on the edge of his chair; he’s tired after a long day of quidditch practice, and honestly, he doesn’t want to deal with his friends bullshit any longer than he has to. “now, blaise, can you start minding your own business before we have some issues?”

that shuts blaise right up. together, they eat the remainders of their dinners before draco excuses himself and leaves the table. his mind is reeling, heart thumping both with embarrassment and annoyance; he knows he’s popular amongst the slytherins. in a way, he asked to be centre of attention when he started mouthing off about the importance of the malfoy household all those years back, but it’s frustrating that he can’t even do a bit of light reading without getting asked about it. he thought he was being so subtle, keeping the curtains closed every time he read, never taking the notebook from the confines of the dorms, never uttering a word about it to-

his shoulder crashes into yours.

“shit.”

draco stumbles back, catching himself on the wall. he’s too dazed to say anything, but his anger is rising, and he’s prepared to start yelling-

but then he opens his eyes and sees you there, fumbling with a pile of posters that have spilled across the glossy corridor floor. draco blinks, glancing from you to the posters and back again.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble. “so sorry. i knew the pile was too high, but hermione had to go to-”

“why don’t you just-” draco flicks his wand. immediately, the posters gather in a whirlwind and fly into his outstretched arms, a neat little stack, good as new.

you look up, dazed. your eyes are gorgeous, plagued with evidence of exhaustion, but riveting nonetheless. draco recognises you only vaguely, and the few memories he has of these quick glimpses have never left him dissatisfied.

“oh,” you say after a moment. “right. spells. magic. i forgot about that.”

draco narrows his eyes.

you stumble to your feet, wiping trembling hands on your robes. it leaves a streak of dirt against the black, and that’s when draco sees the red and gold lining of house gryffindor.

“sorry,” you repeat. “i mean, thank you, for - like - helping me. i completely forgot i could just-” you swish your hands in a mock gesture of wand-movement before laughing awkwardly. “weird, right? that i would - uh - forget that in a school of magic. when i’m a wizard. ha ha.”

draco nods, because he really has nothing to say. he can’t keep his eyes off you, your awkward movements, the way you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. most gryffindor’s would be hurling insults at him by now - hell, he would be hurling insults at the gryffindor’s, too, but his words are caught in his throat and he can’t even properly function.

so he looks down at the pile of posters in his arms.

“CREATIVE WRITING 101!”

you snatch the first poster off the pile as if that will stop draco from reading it. “it’s nothing. something stupid, really.”

he looks at you again. “you like creative writing?”

you shrug.

“that’s such a muggle hobby to have. where’s the fun in it?”

and for the first time this entire meeting, you scowl. you hastily snatch the posters out of draco’s arms, struggling to keep them neat and tidy in your own, but when draco raises his wand to help you out a second time, you swat his hand away and say, “i don’t need your help.”

“you’re going to drop them again-”

you’re already backing away. “you don’t need to come, you know. me dropping these in front of you wasn’t a bloody invite.”

draco blinks. “i didn’t mean it like-”

you run a hand through your hair, nearly stumbling over your own shoes yet again. draco lunges forward in his attempts to catch you, but you yell something incoherent in his direction, apologise profusely to a first year you nearly elbow in the nose before you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

draco stares at your retreating form, unable to fully comprehend what he did wrong. he doesn’t think he said anything offensive, let alone anything that would prompt you to nearly wipe yourself out in your attempts to get away.

but then again, he isn’t really sure why he cares.

----

it’s weird how - after one brief meeting - you suddenly appear at every corner draco takes.

he never noticed you in his potion’s class before, but now he can’t avoid you. you sit at the back, a pen lodged between your teeth, brows furrowed together; despite your eventful meeting with draco only a few days prior, you don’t seem to have nearly as much interest in his sudden presence as he has with yours. he keeps glancing at you, not-so-subtly turning in his chair every now and then just to make sure you’re not some kind of illusion. nobody in the classroom is acting like anything is out of place, so maybe you have been his classmate for a while, and he just never noticed.

he finds that a little hard to believe, but he has to take reality as it comes to him, or else he’ll go insane.

he doesn’t talk to you for nearly a week, because he’s a little afraid of what you’ll have to say. he’s a little afraid you’ll say nothing at all, that you might have forgotten who he is entirely.

it’s you who makes the first move.

it startles draco nearly out of his skin. he’s packing up his stuff, ignoring goyle’s ramblings to his left, when you slip your hand in his robe pocket. he jumps, spinning around just enough to dislodge your grappling fingers, and he’s seconds away from whipping out his wand to hex you when he freezes, eyes meeting your own, heart immediately plummeting into his stomach.

you smile, wide and polite. “hello, old friend.”

“can you get out of my pockets?” draco hisses, swatting your hand away when you make another attempt to dive into his robes. “what do you want?”

“a pen,” you reply. “i broke mine.”

“i don’t have a pen.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his quill. “i have a quill.”

“aaaah, my bad.” you snatch the instrument from him before grabbing his hand. he yelps, stumbling a little bit. he beams bright red when the noise he just made actually registers in his head, and he makes a mental note to scold goyle for snickering behind him.

“what are you doing?” draco demands. he tries not to get too flustered at the height difference between you - your head could very easily rest in the crook of his neck, and he hates that he kind of wants to experience what that feels like.

you scribble words into his palm. “this is the time and place for the creative writing clubs first meeting.”

draco blinks. “what?”

“time and place for the-”

“why do you want me to go?”

you scowl, not once looking up from the jagged lines of draco’s palm. “i don’t, but hermione’s asked me to gather as many people as i can find, and i think you kind of owe me one after being so rude the other day in the hallway.”

draco falters; so you remember.

“i wasn’t being rude at all,” he grumbles. “you’re just sensitive.”

“maybe.” you drop his palm and shove his quill back in his pocket. “if you want to come, be my guest; it’s going to be a lot of fun. lots of - uh - writing and stuff, i can assure you.”

draco scowls. “i won’t be going.”

“okay.”

“so this entire conversation was pointless.”

you fold your arms over your chest, as if challenging him. “okay, draco. i’m not forcing you to come if you don’t want to, but - you know - i’ll save you a seat or whatever.”

and draco doesn’t understand why that is the promise that tears him down, why that is the thing that makes his mind up for him. even as he gives you no solid answer, he knows he now has plans automatically built into his schedule to see you again, no matter how much he dreads the thought of it.

he looks down at the writing on his palm, and his heart stops.

just for a second. a brief moment of death, before life is pushed back into him when his brain kicks into overdrive and he’s certain he’s going to pass away for real with how fast his heart is suddenly beating.

he blinks rapidly. goyle is saying something, and the students are filtering out, but draco is lost, lost, spiralling as he recognises the messy scrawl, smudged even though it shouldn’t be, messy but coherent, familiar and amazing.

he’s read heaven written in this exact same handwriting. he’s read heaven, and hell, and earth, and space, and the moon, and the stars, and he’s experienced an entire new existence written in this very handwriting. it’s the same handwriting that covers every single page of his sacred notebook, hidden in his pillow case back at the dorms. it’s the same handwriting that gives a form to the aches and pains and anxieties of the person who has just walked away from him, the person who’s brain draco has lived in since christmas.

----

“you’re actually going?”

“it’s the least i can do.” draco fixes the collar of his robes, ruffles his hair a little bit. “i did nearly wipe them out in the hallway a few days ago.”

“that was an accident.” pansy throws herself across draco’s bed, as she often does when she wants the attention he has never given her. he simply glares at her reflection through the mirror, silently willing her to get up and leave so he can set off for the history of magic classroom in which the creative writing club is meeting tonight.

pansy, however, doesn’t take the hint.

“i just think this y/n person is trying to get in your head,” she continues. “your head, your bed, all of the above...”

draco’s face warms. “you can think whatever you want, pansy, but i’m going whether you like it or not. in case you’ve forgotten, you have absolutely no say in the way i live my life.”

pansy rolls onto her stomach, tugs on the back of draco’s robes. “oh, you’ve made that very clear, malfoy. don’t come running back to me when you show up to this stupid muggle club and get ostracised for being who you are.”

draco clenches his jaw, stepping out of pansy’s reach all without turning round. he knows she’s right, of course - there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to show up tonight, only to be met by the usual hostile glares he gets from everybody outside the slytherin house. he brought it upon himself, and he knows that - but he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to prove himself as a good person to you.

to the world. not just you.

he swallows and turns. pansy stares up at him, hands curled beneath her chin, that sleezy little smile on her face. draco grimaces, points to the door and says, “the girls dorms are up the other staircase.”

pansy’s smile falls. she scowls, stands up and leaves without another word. draco doesn’t care that he’s pissed her off - pansy, in recent months, has become a little bit too much. he’s given her the most wiggle room he can provide, and she has done nothing but bombard him further.

he shakes the thought of his friend from his mind as he walks over to his bed and digs around in his pillow case. inside, he finds the poetry book he so desperately cares for, flicking to a page he has marked; he’s highlighted a few passages, and he reads them over as he steadies his breathing. this is such new territory for him. if his father finds out what he’s up to right now, he’ll be getting a very stern speaking to, possibly even a back-hand to the face if his father is in a particularly bad mood.

but then draco remembers your expression, your hand digging around in his pocket, your stumbled words that somehow manage to pull together so beautifully when you want to express yourself.

he has to see you tonight, whether it’s in a creative writing club or not. he’ll take just running into you in the hallway again, but to reach that point, he has to actually leave the dorms.

he stuffs the book back into his pillow case, flattens a particularly frustrating strand of hair, and walks out the door.

---

the history of magic classroom is dimly lit.

draco has seen pictures of muggle poetry readings before; they kind of remind him a little bit of exorcisms, and the set-up he’s currently walking into is no exception.

there’s candles lit upon every desk, the lights dimmed to create some kind of ambience that draco doesn’t understand. people are sat in a circle - people in every colour of robe, though draco is the only slytherin, it seems. this makes him a little nervous, and he hovers in the doorway, eyes tracing the scene in desperate search of you.

he spots you in a matter of seconds. you’re leaning over a candle, frowning into the flame like you can’t quite understand why it’s flickering like that.

draco makes a b-line for you.

you look up only when he’s by your side, and immediately your expression brightens. those eyes of yours widen a little bit, a smile adorning your face. you straighten up, grab draco’s arm, and he’s certain he’s going to explode.

“you made it!” you exclaim. “i can’t believe you actually came, mate; full of surprises, you are.”

draco frowns, feigning frustration, like this is something he went out of his way to attend. “why are you staring at the flame so intensely?”

“i’m staring at the flame so intensely-” you put on a pompous british accent, just to tease him, and draco doesn’t mind, “-because apparently you can turn the flames a different colour with the right spell, but it’s not working for me. watch.”

you elbow draco in the side, prompting him to shuffle over and give you more room. draco folds his arms over his chest, watching as you kneel down until your cheek is very nearly pressed against the desk. you point your wand at the flames and wave it, just once, but nothing happens. the flames barely even flicker.

you blow it out in frustration. “fuck that.”

draco laughs. he doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s bursting out of him at the sight of your furrowed brows, and your pouting lips. you scowl at him, and it startles him how unsurprised you are to hear such a noise escape a man like draco malfoy.

draco shakes his head and nudges you to the side. “watch.”

you grab his wrist. “no. nope. absolutely not.”

“what? i’m gonna-”

“you’re gonna show me up, is what you’re gonna do, and i didn’t ask for it.” you pluck his wand from his fingers and stuff it back in his robes. draco has to fight the urge to shudder, your fingertips tracing across his ribcage as you fumble for his inside pocket.

you pull away then, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even matter, anyway; you show me up in every other class we have together.”

draco scoffs. “and i can assume you’re going to show me up tonight, so we’re even.”

you grin, because draco is right, and you both know he is right.

you make a bit more idle chat before the final people make an appearance, and you’re finally asked to sit down. draco is confused to see hermione granger being the leader of this group of creatives, as he’s almost certain he’s never read anything more beautiful than your work; surely you should be up at the front, guiding people through the craft of writing, a craft you have so brilliantly perfected.

draco sits beside you and says nothing. he fiddles with his fingers, coughing into his fist, rolling his eyes anytime someone makes a stupid suggestion. honestly, granger can talk forever, and draco is starting to get bored within the first ten minutes. all he wants is to hear you recite something, or for you to just. . . say anything about any of your pieces; draco could probably do it for you if that didn’t look creepy and uncalled for. he could stand at the front of this group and recite whatever piece of poetry he wanted from the notebook he took so long ago, and then maybe you’d get the recognition you deserve. maybe then you’d be able to share your potential instead of just sitting by draco’s side in a circle of poet-wanna-be’s.

finally, hermione turns her attention on you, however.

“y/n,” granger chirps. you jump, fumble with your wand, let it drop on the floor to roll beneath draco’s chair. he rolls his eyes and picks it up for you as you struggle to respond to hermione’s summons.

“uh, y-yeah? yes? did you ask me something?”

hermione’s brows furrow. “do you ever pay attention to anything i’m saying?”

“sometimes,” you reply, sheepishly. “definitely sometimes.”

hermione rolls her eyes. “anyway - i was just wondering if you’ve done any writing recently that you’d like to share.”

draco tenses. he flicks his eyes to his left to see you awkwardly ringing your hands in your lap, biting your lower lip.

“uh....”

“none?” hermione demands, eyes popping. “but i thought-”

“i’ve been a bit busy,” you grumble. “it’s not that big of a bloody deal, hermione, goodness me.”

“well, yes, i - i know that, but-” hermione gestures vaguely. “this is a creative writing club. i asked all of you to bring something with you. do you not even have an old piece of writing you could share with us?”

“nope.”

draco’s heart leaps. “what?”

and suddenly, all eyes are on him.

he slouches in his seat, but keeps his gaze on you. you stare back at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked at his contribution.

“you’ve got nothing?” he prompts.

you can’t even reply. you just stare, and draco knows he’s being confusing, is aware that maybe he should just shut his mouth. or, better yet, do everyone a favour and walk out before he says any more stupid things that will do nothing but embarrass both you and him.

“okay,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, fine. that’s fine.” he looks up, meets hermione’s eyes. “you know what, granger, i don’t think this little club is my cup of tea. i’m going to head back to bed.”

hermione blinks. no one says anything when draco stands and walks out, but he expected nothing less. he wasn’t welcome there in the first place. he should never have even made an appearance. he should have stayed in bed and let his feelings fester until he fell asleep.

feelings are stupid anyway.

----

he ignores you.

in fact, he starts treating you how he treats everybody else - like they’re beneath him. a habit he once wanted to escape from has yet again become his comfort blanket, the thing shielding him from talking to you. every time you try making conversation, he sneers and walks off, barely even giving you the time of day.

in truth, he knows what happened is no big deal. everyone probably forgot about it as soon as he left the room, getting absorbed in their own works of poetry. however, draco knows you want to discuss it, that you probably want answers he is far too afraid to give you. if he starts explaining why he said what he said, he’ll have to talk about the notebook, and then you might ask for it back, and draco is selfish because he doesn’t think he can give it back just yet. it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

and so, he just ignores you.

he sits in potions and pretends you don’t exist. he walks past you at lunch and doesn’t even give you a smile. he looks over your head every time you stand to wave at him. he doesn’t want to risk any inkling of conversation trickling in between you.

pansy notices this, of course, but draco isn’t surprised. with how closely pansy has taken to watching over you and him, it would be more surprising to think she hadn’t caught on to the situation.

she sits beside him at lunch, slamming her tray of greens down just loud enough that a few heads turn - including your own. draco quickly snaps his eyes down to his plate, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at the back of your head.

“so,” pansy begins.

draco licks the stuffing from his fork.

pansy leans in, elbow hitting against his. “so. how did it go?”

“how did what go?”

“your little date with y/n! you never updated me on it!”

draco scowls. “that was days ago, pansy.”

“exactly. so now that i’ve got you trapped, you can fill me in on all the details.” she leans even closer, if that is possible. draco can smell the old woman’s perfume wafting from her robes and has to take a glass of water to quell the itch it summons to his throat. “y/n doesn’t look too happy with you, i’ll say that much. i sit behind them in care of magical creatures, and they’ve been awfully quiet since the club meeting; care to explain?”

“why is it any of your business?”

pansy grins. “because i told you someone like y/n wasn’t worth the trouble; a gryffindor, draco, really? were the robes not a big enough red flag for you?”

draco scowls. “first of all, pansy, y/n and i are just friends, and have always been just friends. i’m not doing anything to impress them.”

pansy scoffs, finally moving away to start spearing at her dinner with her fork. “how stupid do you think i am? how stupid do you think we all are? goyle doesn’t keep your little infatuation a secret, you know. he told us all about how close you and y/n get in potions together.”

draco’s grip tightens on his fork. “close isn’t really the right word.”

“the bickering? the way they make you laugh? the way you help them with their potions when they’re struggling so snape won’t tell them off? that sounds awful close to me, draco.”

he has no answer to that. his chest aches, memories of such delightful times flooding his mind and making him crave it all again. he remembers those times when he would glance over his shoulder to see you running your hands through your hair, struggling to comprehend what on earth snape has just ordered you to do; if it was anyone else, draco wouldn’t have given them the light of day, but seeing the fear in your eyes every time snape gave you even the briefest flicker of attention saw draco abandoning goyle to come save the day at your desk.

“so what went wrong?” pansy continues. “a lovers tiff?”

draco closes his eyes. “it was nothing, pansy; just me being an idiot again.”

pansy gasps, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “you? being an idiot? and you’re openly admitting to it! goodness me, y/n must be a lot more skilled at magic than they let on, huh?”

“i don’t know what to do.”

it’s a plea. draco knows it’s a plea. in his heart, the cracks are beginning to form, and he can’t pretend any longer. he watches the back of your head - has been watching the back of your head since the meeting, because that’s the only glimpse of you he will let himself have. it hurts to see you laughing, smiling, slapping ron weasley on the arm. it shows you’re healing, moving on from your attempts to get draco to listen.

he’s ruined everything.

pansy leans forward. her voice is softer now, surprisingly kind. “draco, are you serious about this? i know i’ve been teasing, but do you actually like y/n in that way?”

draco bites the inside of his cheek. he remembers the times he had with you, how he used to laugh so freely with little care as to who heard. you teased him and made him feel normal, and he isn’t sure when his appreciation for you went past the poetry you wrote and emerged into you as a human being, but it’s happened, and he’s nodding to pansy’s question before he can think better of it.

pansy draws back, letting out a shaky breath. “wow, okay. . . this is definitely new territory for me. for you. i’m not sure how to go about it.”

“i took their notebook from them,” he mumbles.

pansy raises a brow. “their - their notebook?”

“y/n writes,” he explains. “beautiful things. addictive things, and i found their notebook in the library over christmas and i kept it for myself. i only found out it was theirs a few days ago, but. . . i never told them i have it. i got scared to.”

pansy pauses. draco’s never used that word in a sentence before. it sounds fake, like he’s made it up and just thrown it at the end of his sentence for the fun of it.

“well, that would be a good place to start, i think.”

his eyes snap up. “what?”

“give them their notebook back.” she says this like it’s obvious, raising her brows. “it’s a good way to start a conversation, and once the conversation’s been breached, you can go on to explain everything else - it’s pretty simple when you get your head around it, draco.”

he blinks. it does make sense, but again, there comes that burning protectiveness he can’t seem to shake.

selfish, selfish, selfish.

he glances over at the gryffindor table. you’ve got your head thrown back again, laughing so loudly and so carefree that draco’s heart trembles because he isn’t the one making you laugh like that. it’s ron. it’s harry. it’s everyone who thinks he’s an awful human being, bringing joy to the one person who’s ever seen him as decent. they’ve probably told you a joke about how draco’s scum, how he’ll never amount of anything, how he claimed his spot at the top purely because of his father.

fury pools in the pit of draco’s stomach. he spears his food with his fork, pushes away from the table and walks out of the dining hall before giving pansy an answer as to whether he simple plan is one he’ll actually take into consideration.

but now that he’s storming through the halls towards the slytherin common room, he knows it’s not something he can just consider. he can never move on with you with your notebook stuffed in his pillow case. he needs to be honest, and he needs to apologise, and these are all things he struggles with greatly, but all things he needs to learn before he loses you for good.

---

the notebook hasn’t seen the light of day past draco’s dorm since christmas.

it feels weird carrying it so freely now, slowly making his way through the halls with it pressed against his chest, the spirals digging into his lower arm. people look at him, but nobody bats an eye at the notebook, and why would they? it’s not suspicious. most of them probably think it’s nothing more than a school notebook, used for taking notes in classes.

still, his anxiety runs at a million miles per hour. he wants to yell at anyone who even glimpses the tiny square peeking from over his arms. he wants to tell them it’s none of their business.

but he doesn’t. he keeps walking until he’s reached the gryffindor common room.

it’s just his luck that ron weasley is the one stood outside. the ginger lad spots draco immediately, and it’s reflex when draco scowls and says, “got nothing better to do, weasley?”

ron glares. “what are you doing here, malfoy? the slytherin common room is back the way you came.”

“good thing i’m not going to the slytherin common room.” he nods towards the portrait hole. “is y/n in there?”

ron pauses. “what do you want with y/n?”

“i need to talk to them.” he swallows before gently unravelling the notebook from his arms. “i accidentally grabbed this in potions - i need to give it to them.”

“right, give it here then.” ron reaches for it, and draco stumbles back. he stumbles, not even bothering to swat ron’s hand away as pure panic seizes him. ron pulls back hastily, eyes widening at draco’s response.

draco, through gritted teeth, says, “just go get y/n for me, will you?”

ron stares at him a second longer before turning on his heel and walking back into the gryffindor common room. draco tries calming himself down in the minutes it takes for ron to reappear with you at his side.

the attempts are futile.

the minute he lays eyes on you, his heart starts thundering in a way that confuses him to no ends; he shouldn’t feel like this over someone so ordinary, and in truth, that’s what you are. you’re a student, just like him, struggling through school life, just like him. you go about your day in almost the exact same way as he does, and yet he’s never before felt so intrigued by another individual.

when your eyes meet his, you don’t smile. you don’t even look surprised. you grip the front of your night gown, glaring at him, not saying a word in greeting; draco’s mouth has gone dry, however, and saying anything is the absolute last thing on his mind when you’re standing in front of him, hair a mess, more beautiful and casual than he’s ever seen you.

ron is the one who has to break the silence. “he said he’s got a notebook for you.”

draco inhales sharply, suddenly remembering the artefact clutched in his hands. your eyes drift to it, and for a moment, you look puzzled. your eyebrows scrunch together, head tilting a little before you say, “that’s mine?”

draco thrusts it in your direction. “please take it.” he turns to ron. “and you - please leave.”

ron looks offended, looking at you for back-up, but your eyes are peeled on the notebook, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to ron. in the end, the weasley man rolls his eyes and stalks back into the gryffindor common room, leaving the corridor empty besides you and draco.

and draco feels every sliver of tension like it’s been injected into his bone marrow. flashes of his behaviour play on loop in his brain, the way he ignored you, the amount of times he scowled at you every time you tried speaking to him; he never meant any of it, of course, considering you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever come across, but he did it anyway, and that’s what he has to patch up.

somehow, he has to patch this up.

he looks to the floor, tucking the notebook back against his chest when you don’t take it from his hands. the silence is crushing, but draco has absolutely no idea what to say to fill it in - pansy made this all sound so easy; he would hand you the notebook, and a conversation would immediately stem from that.

but no. draco’s mind has gone completely blank, and you still look furious, and neither of you are doing anything to resolve the mess he has made.

finally, however, draco can’t take it any more. “i found your notebook.”

“yeah. ron said.” you pluck it out of his arms. “where did you even find this? it’s so old.”

“in the library.”

“the library? what was it doing there?”

draco shrugs. “how would i know that?”

“considering you’re the one who stole it-”

“i didn’t steal it. i just didn’t know who it belonged to.” a lie. he shouldn’t be lying. that’s a bad way to go about things. “i mean, i took it back to my dorm with me, kept it safe, but - like - i was of course going to give it back once i figured out who the owner was.”

you hum. “i’m sure you were.” you flick open the pages, immediately spotting a passage draco has highlighted in bright orange pen. “you tabbed it?”

he shrugs. “sometimes i read it when i got bored.”

“i should be angry at you for that, you know - that’s a big invasion of privacy.”

“yeah. you should be.” he looks up sheepishly. “are you?”

you pause, eyes continuing to drift over the pages of your own work, work you haven’t seen or reread since at least christmas time. you don’t look impressed, or angry, or anything at all, really. you just read the lines and nod, as if taking inventory.

then, you look up and say, “i’m more angry at the way you’ve been treating me this past week.”

draco wilts. he knew it was coming, that this was the main source of hostility for the both of you, but he really thought the presence of the notebook would somehow buy him some time, maybe make this conversation a bit easier.

you snap the notebook closed, shoving it into the pocket of your night gown. “you didn’t even tell me what i did wrong!”

“you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“then why were you acting like that? why couldn’t you just talk to me?”

draco squeezes his eyes closed, trails his hands through his hair, tries to calm down before he says something he’ll immediately regret. “you know, it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

you pull back, puzzled. “how is it complicated? you’re nearly eighteen years old, draco! it shouldn’t be complicated to talk to someone when you’re mad at them!”

“ i wasn’t mad at you! i thought you were mad at me!”

you throw your head back and laugh, and this is the very noise draco has been craving for days, but he doesn’t want to hear it now, not here, not in this context. you’re not taking him seriously. you’re not listening.

“this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” you cackle. “is this about the fucking club meeting? you think i gave a shit about what you said?”

draco shakes his head. “again, love, it’s not as simple as that.”

“then explain it to me. explain to me what the hell was going through your head to make that switch flip so suddenly.”

something inside draco snaps, a string he didn’t even realise was being pulled so taut.

“do you wanna know what’s been going through my head recently?” his voice drops, your expression faltering. “it’s that fucking notebook of yours. it’s been all i can think about for weeks, because i can’t wrap my head around the idea of you being the author of those poems.”

you blink. “w-what?”

“you’re so carefree. you’re so. . . so you, y/n, and it seems impossible to me - unfathomable! - that you could be thinking such harrowing thoughts and not a single person has picked up on it besides me - and i’ve only done so by complete accident.” he inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ve read your poems a thousand times over, and even though i know they came from you, i still can’t put your face to the words. i still can’t figure out how on earth you and that notebook are related in any way, and it’s been driving me insane. i want to help you, and it’s driving me insane.”

again, you blink. the corridor goes quiet. draco’s breathing slows, stabilises, and he has no idea what he’s just said, or if any of it makes sense, but there is a weight off his chest that provides such a great amount of relief he wants to cry.

finally, you swallow. your knuckles protrude from your hand with how tight your grip on the notebook is. your eyes stray to the ground, throat bobbing, mouth opening for just a second before you seem to think better of it and go silent again.

draco takes a step back. “look, you can have it back,” he says. “i don’t want it any more. i don’t - i don’t need it any more. but i just want you to know i’m sorry, and i never wanted to hurt your feelings. i was just. . . feeling things, and it wasn’t normal for me, and i got scared.” he raises his hands in mock surrender, taking another step back. “feel free to never talk to me again. i’ll understand.”

he waits for another second. hope springs to his chest, hope that you will tell him not to go, that you’ll forgive him on the spot and the two of you can live happily ever after, but it doesn’t work that way. you meet his eyes and nod, before turning on your heel and heading back into the gryffindor common room.

---

“how did you mess that up again?”

draco presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if pushing goyle’s words out of his brain. he should never have told the other slytherin about his encounter with you, but goyle was the first person on the scene, and malfoy just lost control; he needed to rant to someone. he needed to get it off his chest.

and it seems now goyle has suddenly developed a perfect memory, as two days after the meeting in the corridor, he has not let the subject drop.

the two sit together in defence against the dark arts; their teacher has long since left the classroom in search of some more work sheets for them to get cracking with, and the class has erupted into an expected chorus of conversations. draco wants nothing more than to put his head on the table and ignore the world, take this break as a chance to catch up on some of the sleep he has been robbed of these past few weeks, but goyle doesn’t let him go that easily.

the bigger boy leans over and taps draco on the back of the head. “come on, man, talk to me. there’s got to be something we can do.”

“there is nothing,” draco barks through gritted teeth. “and i’m sick of repeating myself, goyle, so shut your trap before i shut it for you.”

goyle sighs, leaning back in his seat. “so y/n just. . . didn’t even say anything? they just walked off without a word?”

“they did, which i took as a clear sign they never want to see me again.”

“do you not think you might be looking too deeply into that reaction?”

draco glares, eyes bloodshot, probably more terrifying than they have ever been. “tell me where on earth i could have looked too deeply.”

goyle shrugs. “well, you did admit to spilling this massive, emotional speech over them in the middle of the night - maybe they just didn’t know what to say at the time. i bet if you go up to them now and ask for a follow-up conversation, they’d be more than willing to sit down and discuss everything.”

“there’s nothing to discuss. i said everything i wanted to say, and y/n rejected me - i’m man enough to take it at face value and move on.”

a lie, of course, but draco just wants goyle to shut up. he wants to continue sulking on his own, because that’s what he does best. he doesn’t need friends patting him on the back, trying to cheer him up. he knows he’s messed up, and he’s willing to suffer in solitude for his stupidity.

“i’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

draco’s head snaps up. “what do you mean?”

but he knows exactly what goyle means, because goyle is telling the truth. nobody has ever made draco this stupid. nobody has ever plagued his mind like this, and it’s driving him insane.

goyle folds his beefy arms across his chest. “i’m not saying it’s a bad thing, draco; sometimes it’s nice to see you unravel a little bit. god knows you’ve had a stick rammed up your ass for long enough.”

draco rolls his eyes. “well, there’s no point in dwelling on it; nothing is going to happen. whatever friendship y/n and i had is gone, and i’m just gonna have to accept it.”

goyle scowls, but draco pays him no attention. instead, he goes back to idly tapping his pen against his bottom lip, trying desperately to put his own words into play. he just needs to get over you. he needs to go back to the cold hearted, uncaring wizard he was raised to be, because that was the only version of himself that never got hurt. he never let himself get hurt. it’s strange how you walk into his life, and suddenly that entire side of him is being stripped away, replaced by this oversensitive, overthinking, annoying piece of shit who suddenly relies on someone else to get them through the day.

draco hates it, but he hates the idea of not having that even more.

----

“so are you going to tell me why y/n won’t talk about you?”

draco looks up, his scowl a reflex when he makes eye contact with ron weasley. he stands over him, arms folded over his chest, wearing a set of school robes with little burn marks pecked into the material; draco has half a mind to tease him for it, before finding he has absolutely no energy to do such a thing right now.

instead, he leans back against the tree he has been sat under, gazing at the sky as mountains of homework piles up in his dormitory - piles of homework he has yet to touch, because every time he tries focusing his mind on a single task, it veers off and he can’t do anything.

ron raises a brow at draco’s silence. “no? you’re both gonna keep your mouths shut?”

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“no, of course you don’t.” and then, ron does the most surprising thing - he slumps down next to draco, their shoulders clicking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you fucked things up again.”

draco swallows, closing his eyes. “again, none of your business, weasley.”

“good answer. it makes perfect sense now.” ron nudges his arm. “what happened?”

and draco knows it’s out of character. of all the people he could rant to, ron weasley should - and always has been - the absolute last on his list, but he looks at ron and he’s reminded that he is your friend, that ron makes you laugh, and he’s probably cheered you on during this uncomfortable time with draco. with that knowledge comes a sense of warmth, a gratefulness he’s never felt before, one he doesn’t completely understand.

but he leans into it, because he’s too tired to fight it off. with his cheek pressed against his knees, he tells ron the whole story, from start to finish. he goes back as far as christmas, that god-forsaken day in the library when he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a nice bit of light reading whilst he ignored the rest of the students downstairs, how peeves had dropped that notebook on his head, and he’d grown attached to it, rereading the poems every day until the day he had to surrender it back to you.

“sounds quite stalkerish,” ron comments.

draco scoffs. “it does, doesn’t it?”

ron sighs, shifting slightly. in the distance, a group of first years run screaming away from the whomping willow. a stone gargoyle shakes its winds atop the astronomy tower. such beautiful sights, and yet draco can’t feel a thing.

“okay, look,” ron says. “don’t get any of this twisted, alright? i still hate you. more than i thought humanly possible.”

“cheers.”

“but, i care about y/n. a whole lot. they’re like family to me. they’ve been miserable these past few days, and it’s starting to take a toll on me. so, i’m here to give you a bit of advice.” he turns, leans in, lowers his voice. “don’t give up so easily.”

draco jerks away. ron snickers, leaning back against the tree, gazing out at the green grass without a care in the world; draco, however, is stunned, heart racing though he doesn’t even know why. those words just hold so much hope, a hope he hasn’t let himself feel since it happened. he was slowly coming to terms with the idea of never talking to you again, and here ron weasley walks into the scene, ruining everything - like always.

draco splutters, swallows, pulls himself together. “w-why do you say that?”

“i thought it was obvious, mate,” ron replies. “y/n clearly has a soft spot for you. god only knows why, but that’s neither here nor there. all i care about right now is the fact they’ve been moping around for days, not even laughing at my jokes or anything. it’s getting exhausting when all you need to do is talk, and this entire thing could be resolved.”

“it’s not as easy as that.”

ron raises a brow. “oh? and why not?”

draco opens his mouth to respond, because he’s certain he has one. however, when he thinks about it, there really isn’t a decent answer to that question; he’s young, dumb, embarrassed. he stole your notebook, gave it back, confessed his feelings and then fled the scene - the only reason he hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day is because he doesn’t want to bring up his own embarrassing gestures ever again. the quicker he buries them, the better.

but at the cost of you? maybe he should rethink it.

ron laughs. he stares at the side of draco’s face, pure amusement dancing across his features. draco scowls, because that’s what draco always does when he sees even the slightest flicker of joy on the weasley boys face; it’s become routine by now, even if he doesn’t feel the same contempt he’s so used to.

“it’s bizarre, isn’t it, that i’d be the one giving you relationship advice,” he says.

“it’s bizarre you’re helping me out at all, to be honest.”

“i’m not as heartless as you like to think i am, malfoy.” he stands, wiping his hands down his robes, smearing muck on the already dirty cloth. “if anyone asks, we were arguing and i won.”

draco blinks. “thank you, weasley. i mean it.”

ron rolls his eyes. “i’m sure you do. now never speak to me again.” he turns on his heel and strolls back down the hill without a second glance in draco’s direction.

----

draco’s heart is going to burst from his chest.

he’s been in this state far too often these past few weeks. he wants it to stop. he wants to go back to a life where he didn’t have a care in the world, where he owned this school, where he had the confidence that has carried his family name for decades.

the only way he’s going to reach that point again is by sorting things out with you.

or at least letting you know how he feels, because he can’t deny any of it any more. he can’t go around pretending you mean nothing to him. no, he still can’t explain where these feelings came from, if they started with the poetry and grew, or if they started that very day he laid eyes on you in first year and thought you were the prettiest one of his lousy classmates. he can’t explain any of it, but he doesn’t need to try. he doesn’t need to go as far back at that. all he needs to do is talk to you, let you know that you have changed him in very scary ways, and then he can move on. no matter your reaction, he can move on.

at least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks through the school corridors in search of you. it’s already getting dark, the january days lasting what seems like only a handful of minutes. students are flooding from their last classes of the day, and it’s only when draco spots a gryffindor bustling through the crowd does he stop.

he grabs the unsuspecting student by the arm, not even surprised nor offended by his look of pure disgust. draco simply grins, because that’s reflex for him, before saying, “have you seen y/n l/n anywhere?”

the boy furrows his brows. “i saw them talking to filch when i was walking to class. what do you want with them?”

draco raises a brow; talking to filch? what could you possibly want with argus filch of all people?

draco shoves the gryffindor away, thanking him with a nod before he turns and starts towards the caretakers office. he’s never been there before, mainly because he’s never wasted his time trying to hold a decent conversation with the caretaker, but he finds it in good enough time - an ordinary brown door, decorated only with the name ‘argus filch’ written across it in what looks like normal, muggle sharpie pen.

draco racks his knuckles against it, uncertain if he’s doing any of this right. in all his years at hogwarts, he’s seen filch in his office only a handful of times, and even if he just happens to be in his office now, what will draco even ask him? what he was talking to you about? if he somehow knows where you went after the conversation was over?

he waits there, however, because he has no other leads, and he needs to talk to you. he needs to get this over with, or else he won’t be able to sleep, and he can’t afford to be groggy during quiddith practice; he’s been performing bad enough these past few weeks, and if he can just get this off his chest-

the door swings open.

it isn’t filch.

“argus, i promise i’ll be done in-”

you pause. your eyes widen. your mouth snaps closed, grip tightening on the door frame, and draco is certain he’s going to explode at any moment.

“y/n.”

your name is a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his racing heartbeat. he doesn’t even know if he said it, or maybe it was just a thought. at this moment in time, the two things are interchangeable.

“draco.” you swallow, shuffle awkwardly, look to the floor in a rare look of timidity. “w-what are you doing here?”

“i was looking for you.” he speaks fast, like he’s running out of time, and maybe he is. maybe you’re only giving him a few seconds before the memories flood back and you slam the door on his face, ruining his chances once and for all. maybe you think his attempts are idiotic, embarrassing, and you’re only letting him talk out of pity.

but you don’t slam the door on his face. not at all. you stand there, looking more beautiful than draco has ever seen you, even though nothing has really changed.

draco swallows, curling his fingers into fists. “someone told me you - you were in here.”

your eyes snap up. “i didn’t tell anyone where i was. that was kind of the whole point.”

draco nods like he understands, because part of him kind of does - hiding away, pretending you are the only person to exist. it’s a comfort sometimes.

“what do you want, draco?”

and just like that, everything he wanted to say is swept from his brain.

you fold your arms over your chest, one foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “d-did you have anything to say to me?”

you almost sound hopeful.

“ron told me not to give up so easily.”

you pause.

draco rushes on, because he knows he hasn’t done this right. he’s gone so far off script, and he hasn’t even got to the main point of his argument.

“i don’t listen to weasley - ever. quite frankly, his advice is usually more detrimental than helpful, but - but he told me earlier to come find you. he told me you weren’t doing so good-”

“ron-”

“and i don’t know if that’s true on your end, but it’s true for me.”

you blink.

draco exhales shakily, running a ringed hand through his hair. “i’m not doing so good, y/n. i don’t like the way we left things. i don’t like the fact that we left things at all. i should have explained myself a bit better, or come to you sooner, but you know how i am. god, you know how i am better than anyone else in the world, so please, please understand that i’m trying so hard to put my dignity aside to let you know how much i care about you.”

there is a silence. a silence so heavy that draco feels crippled beneath it, unable to do anything but wait in anticipation for a response he might not even deserve. he’s done so many things wrong - not just with you, but with life in general. he is a bad person, and he knows this, and he’s trying to change, because you don’t deserve a bad person.

you swallow. he watches your throat bob.

“i don’t know if i believe you.”

your words are a whisper, but they shatter everything around him like they were screamed at the top of your lungs.

he shakes his head dumbly, like that is answer enough. he wants to say something to argue his case, but his tongue feels heavy and a cloud has passed over his brain.

“draco, i don’t know if i believe you,” you correct, sounding almost desperate. “y-you treated me like shit for no reason. you took my notebook and didn’t give it back. you’re a dick to my friends-”

“i know,” he bursts through gritted teeth, like he is in physical pain. “y/n, i know. i know, and i’ve been beating myself up over it for weeks. but that’s what i do - that’s what i’ve always done. i play the victim card and blame everybody else for my wrongdoings, and it’s childish. i’m trying to stop. i’m really, really trying.”

you open your mouth to respond, but draco takes one look at the tears in your eyes and barrels on, suddenly desperate to dig himself further into the dirt.

“you know what? i don’t even know why i’m here. i’m sorry. i should just - i should just leave you alone and let you get on with your life. you and i were never meant to be together, and i just need to accept that and move on.” he can’t stop talking. he can’t stop hating himself. “i’m sorry, though. for everything i did to upset you. for every stupid thing i said or did - know i didn’t mean it. from the bottom of my heart, y/n, i would never hurt you. never. so that’s why i’m gonna go. i’m gonna leave you alone. i’m g-gonna support you in whatever you want to do in the future. as long as you’re happy.”

he tries for a smile, because that’s the way you’re meant to end these things, isn’t it? you smile, and you shake their hand or something, but draco can’t bring himself to do that, so he turns on his heel instead. he turns away from you, knowing this will be the last time, that there is absolutely no going back, no matter what horrible advice ron weasley gives him. he needs to get over you. he needs to let you go once and-

“draco.”

you grab his wrist and he stumbles. he stumbles because of your grip, but he stumbles, too, because his name on your lips will never get old. it’s music to him, music he never listens to because his father always said it was a waste of time. he basks in it, spinning around to meet your eyes, and his heart crumbles at the tears now rolling down your cheeks.

his own eyes widen. “y/n-”

“you’re so stupid,” you sob. “so fucking stupid, do you know that?” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate hug. you sob into his shoulder, and draco is frozen, hands hovering over the small of your back, unsure how to take this reaction. “you’re literally the most idiotic person i’ve ever met in my life. how is it you? how is it always you?”

draco blinks. “how is what always me?”

“everything!” you wail, hugging him tighter. “it’s just always you, draco. always.”

and draco still has no idea what you mean, but he’s learning to understand that maybe he doesn’t need to know what you mean all the time. maybe he just needs to be there for you to yell and cry and make no sense, and that will be enough.

he wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. he’s never been any good at hugs, but he’s melting into this one.

“idiot,” you whisper into his neck. “thinking i’m just gonna let you leave like that. . . thinking i don’t like you back. . . thinking i’ve stopped thinking about you for even a second these past few days. . .”

draco holds you tighter.

you pull away after a moment, quickly swiping your hand beneath your eyes. they are puffy now, red-rimmed, and draco knows he will have to explain this to ron in some way or the other without giving ron the benefit of knowing his advice might have actually been beneficial for once.

“i think we both messed up a little bit,” you mumble through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “my reaction wasn’t exactly very helpful, was it?”

“well. . . no, but-” draco exhales. “i meant what i said, y/n; i never meant to hurt you. i would never do that.”

your smile trembles. draco has only a second to smile back before you’re throwing your arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug that he is getting strangely fond of.

----

your pen scratches against the paper. draco can’t sleep; he doesn’t really want to sleep, despite the hours of classes and quiddith practice he has to endure in a few hours time.

you never sleep. not really. draco is convinced you live entirely off caffeine and words, staying up into the early hours of the morning with that notebook of yours, your muggle pen darting back and forth over the pages. he scolds you for it sometimes, but he’s always smiling, and you always roll your eyes in response.

now, however, he has one arm thrown over your shoulders, watching you work. it’s already three in the morning, but he’s too enamoured to bother falling asleep; he’d rather stay up and watch you work.

“bic,” he says out of nowhere, shattering the hours of silence the two of you had collected.

you pause, looking up. your eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. draco smiles.

“what?”

“bic.” he nods at the pen in your hand. “that’s the name of your fancy muggle quill, isn’t it?”

you frown, taking another second to catch onto what he means, despite the clear explanation he has just given. however, it eventually dawns on you, and you frown even more.

“oh, right. yeah. bic. that’s the brand name.” you place it in draco’s hand. he holds it close to his face, squinting to read the tiny letters written in the plastic. “the best pens in the world, i’d say; much more practical than those bloody quills we have to use in class.”

“nothing wrong with our quills,” draco says, tilting the pen back and forth, examining every inch of it. “mine cost me a good lot of money.”

you scoff, snatching the pen back. “i’m sure it did. waste of a good lot of money, too, when you could have just bought a pack of twelve bic pens for a fiver.”

draco furrows his brows. “a fiver? what’s that in real money?”

you roll your eyes, smiling fondly, and it’s that very smile that has draco leaning forward to peck you on the lips. it takes you out of your work, which he knows will frustrate you in the morning when you wake up to see you didn’t get as much done as you might have liked, but for now, he doesn’t really care. not when you’re melting against him, dropping your dumb bic pen into the crease of your notebook so you can cling to him with both hands.

there are some days when draco thinks you love him only out of pity. he was the boy who lost himself to his feelings for you. he was the boy who came crawling back, the boy who was lost when he didn’t have you by his side. some days, draco has to ask you if you really want to be part of this relationship.

but then you go and kiss him like this, and he is left with no doubt that you’ve meant every single “i love you.” then you go and hold his hand at the gryffindor table, smile fondly at him as he bickers with your friends, and he knows this relationship is not a chore for you. maybe, if he lets himself hope, he can convince himself that you love him as much as he loves you.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #malfoy #malfoy fic #malfoy fanfic #malfoy fanfiction #draco fic #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #draco #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic

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thesibfiles · 3 years

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Courtney going on tour right after?

Theres a misconception that after Kurts death, Courtney went straight on tour right away. This is false. The album was already set to release a few days after and they couldnt change that on such a short notice. Promotion for the album was cancelled and she pushed back the tour 4 months.

“Live Through This was supposed to provide Love an opportunity to step out from her famous husband’s shadow. “It’s annoying now, and it’s been annoying for nine years, Love said in a 1999 Jane Magazine interview of always being connected to Cobain. Released four days after Cobain’s body was found, the album’s promotion was put on hold. Rather than retreat from the public eye, Love openly mourned and helped fans of Cobain and Nirvana make sense of the singer’s death. She sat with grieving teenagers gathered outside the couple’s Seattle home and recorded a reading of parts of his suicide note that was played at the singer’s memorial that gathered near the Space Needle. In the days following his death, Love showed a very raw and emotional side and admitted that, like many fans, she didn’t have all the answers.

It was, and still is, impossible for people to discuss Live Through This without noting the irony of the album’s title. Love has said the name was not a prediction at all, but instead a reflection of all she had endured in the months leading up to its release, including a very public custody fight with the Los Angeles Department of Family Services over daughter Frances Bean. Rumors suggested that Cobain had written much of Live Through This (it’s Miss World, not Mister, just FYI). “I’d be proud as hell to say that he wrote something on it, but I wouldn’t let him. It was too Yoko for me. It’s like, ‘No fucking way, man! I’ve got a good band, I don’t fucking need your help,’” was Love’s response to critics in Spin’s oral history of Live Through This. Love and Cobain often shared notebooks and lyrics with each other, and while there is talk of Cobain’s influence on Love’s work, or the writing of all of it, less is mentioned in the press of her impact on his lyrics and music. Rather than sucking all the life out of Nirvana or threatening the success of the band, like many assumed she would do, she inspired Cobain. Fun fact: In Utero, Nirvana’s last album, was named after a line from one of Love’s poems.

Sadly, songwriting rumors would be replaced by other rumors. Women are often vilified and condemned for the deaths of their male partners. Love, like all women, was supposed to save her partner from death and addiction. Fans of Cobain projected all their anger and resentment over the loss of the Nirvana front man onto Love, and soon she was blamed for not only his addiction but also his death. There are even two movies devoted to the theory that Courtney killed Kurt: the awful Soaked in Bleach (2015) and the equally awful Kurt & Courtney (1998). If you think we’ve come a long way, baby, sadly we haven’t.

One year after Anthony Bourdain’s death, Asia Argento is still being blamed, and in September 2018, Ariana Grande had to take a break from social media after fans blamed her for the death of her ex Mac Miller. A few months later, she would be blamed for new beau Pete Davidson’s mental health and addiction issues. It’s amazing she finds the time to write hit songs what with all the dude destruction she has going on. When women are not being blamed for the deaths of the men in their lives, they are being attacked for not grieving properly. “She wasn’t crying. She’s got $30 million coming to her. Do you blame her for being so cool?” a hospital staffer said of Yoko Ono following John Lennon’s murder in 1980.

About four months after Cobain’s death, Love went on tour to promote her new album. Some questioned and judged why she would go on tour so soon, but Love has said it was a necessity. She had a young daughter to support. She needed to work. She also, sadly, still needed to prove herself. “I would like to think that I’m not getting the sympathy vote, and the only way to do that is to prove that what I’ve got is real,” Love told Rolling Stone in 1994.

Twenty-five years later, Cobain’s death still hangs over Live Through This. In the days leading up to the anniversary of Cobain’s death, former Hole bassist Melissa Auf der Maur wrote an open letter to music magazine Kerrang saying she “would not stand for Kurt’s death overshadowing the life and work of the women he left behind this year.”

“We were extremely well designed for each other,” Love has said of her relationship with Cobain. In a letter reprinted in Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love, she calls him “my everything. the top half on my fraction.” The two had similar upbringings, both came from broken homes and spent childhoods shuttling between relatives and friends. They both grew up longing for love and acceptance. When we tell the story of Kurt and Courtney we talk about drugs and destruction, but we don’t talk enough about love.

The two also shared an intense drive and ambition. “I didn’t want to marry a rock star, I wanted to be one,” Love said in a 1992 Sassy interview. Evidence of her drive can be found in the many notes and to-do lists she kept, some of which are collected in Dirty Blonde. There are reminders to send her acting résumé to agencies, to write three to four new songs a week, to “achieve L.A. visibility.” A scene in the documentary Kurt & Courtney features an ex of Love’s reading from one of her to-do lists, which has “become friends with Michael Stipe” as the number one task to complete (not only did Love do this, but he is her daughter’s godfather). This ambition is not surprising from a woman who, when she was younger, mailed a tape of herself singing to Neil Sedaka in hopes of getting signed. Love knew what she wanted at an early age, and what she wanted was fame.

She was certainly living by the “do not hurt yourself, destroy yourself, mangle yourself to get the football captain. Be the football captain!” motto she championed in the 1995 documentary Not Bad for a Girl. Ambition is often a dirty word when it is used to describe women and Love is no exception. She has been repeatedly described as calculating and controlling when she should be rewarded for her blond ambition and viewed as an inspiration. Critics and the press often call her a gold digger who only married Cobain for fame and money. They fail to mention that when the two met Pretty on the Inside was actually selling more copies than Bleach, Nirvana’s debut album. Even post-Kurt, Love’s intentions were always under scrutiny. On the Today Show to do press for The People vs. Larry Flynt, Love refused to talk about her past drug use, despite the host’s repeated questions, saying the topic was not an appropriate fit for the show’s demographic. She was right, but it didn’t stop a writer from describing the move as “calculating” in a 1998 Spin piece.

Cobain was ambitious too; he was just much slyer and more secretive about it. He was known to call his manager and complain when MTV didn’t play Nirvana’s videos enough, and he would correct journalists who misquoted the band’s sales figures in interviews. While success is typically celebrated and rewarded for men and it certainly was for Cobain, he also had to be mindful of the slacker generation that loved Nirvana and greeted success — and especially mainstream success —

While female celebrities like Love are criticized for their rebellion, male celebrities, like Cobain for example, are celebrated and mythologized for it. Cobain and Love both struggled with addiction, but it is Love who is repeatedly vilified for her drug use. “She was vilified for being a mess, for being a drug addict, for not being a great parent — in other words, all of the things we expect in a male rock star,” said Bust magazine in a piece in the magazine’s 20th anniversary issue, which featured Love on the cover.

We make jokes about the drug antics of male celebrities from Keith Richards to Charlie Sheen, idolizing their debauchery and depravity. The new Netflix/Lifetime movie by Jack Daniels, The Dirt, about Mötley Crüe, takes the band’s excesses to almost comic levels. Check out crazy tourmate Ozzy Osbourne snorting a line of ants by a hotel pool! Such zany antics! I would love to see Lindsay Lohan try to get away with that. We never allow women to live down their arrests and their addictions, but we repeatedly allow men to have a redemption arc. Robert Downey Jr. was in and out of jail and on and off drugs for much of the mid to late ’90s, but we rarely, if ever, talk about his past.

When Love isn’t being attacked for her addiction issues, she is being judged for her parenting. Love’s first unflattering press was “Strange Love,” the much publicized 1992 Vanity Fair profile by Lynn Hirschberg. While the piece talks at length about Love’s drug use and constantly questions her parenting ability, it doesn’t paint Cobain in the same light. “It is appalling to think that she would be taking drugs when she knew she was pregnant,” says one close friend in the piece. Hirschberg relies on many unnamed sources and focuses often on the tabloid-like aspects of Love’s life and addictions. “Courtney has a long history with drugs. She loves Percodans (‘They make me vacuum’), and has dabbled with heroin off and on since she was eighteen, once even snorting it in Room 101 of the Chelsea Hotel, where Nancy Spungen died,” she writes. “Reportedly, Kurt didn’t do much more than drink until he met Courtney.” (Even when it is reported by Kurt and Krist that Kurt tried heroin in 1989, way before Courtney, It was also known that he smoked weed and used caugh syrup to get high in 1989 and 1990.)

This double standard was common in coverage of the couple. In Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck, the 2015 documentary by Brett Morgen, Love asks her husband, “Why does everyone think you’re the good one and I’m the bad one?” Later in the film we see a scene of Frances Bean’s first haircut. The child sits on Cobain’s lap while Love searches for a comb and scissors. The camera shows Cobain nodding off, and while he maintains that he is just tired, it’s clear he’s not. The scene is painful to watch, especially because those around Cobain carry on like nothing in wrong, giving the feeling this is just like any other day in the Love-Cobain household. The scene is a reminder of how the press treated Cobain’s addiction when he was alive. They just carried on like nothing was wrong, instead directing all their judgement at Love.

#courtneylove #courtney love #hole #grunge #nirvana #kurt cobain #kurtcobain #90s

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chimtaesty · 3 years

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Moonlit Destiny Part One

pairing: princess!reader x king!jin / 2.8k words

warnings: angst, violence, anxiety, strong language, trauma

plot: marrying a king of a far away country seemed to be your biggest problem, but gradually falling in love with a man who is deeply hurt and isn't able to control his rage turns out to be more troublesome.

A/N: hi! I'm really sorry that the first part of this series wasn't uploaded at the planned date. I had to replan and arrange thigs because my exams were delayed and moved and everything was a mess. I hope you enjoy this opener and you'll stay tuned for more of this series.

comment down below if you want to be added to the taglist!

masterlist / story masterlist / PROLOGUE

“His first wife, Eunbi, was a traitor....”

“W-What do you mean?” The information he’s giving you doesn’t seem to get processed. His wife betrayed him, causing him pain. “She tried to poison him, almost killing his youngest brother in the process. She aimed for his crown, she wanted to be the sole ruler. The emperor had her hung publicly” Your brain doesn’t work.

Your mouth opens to question Yonghee further, but in that very moment Seokjin walks towards you two, aiming for you. “I’m sorry for breaking up the conversation between you two, but i would like to talk to my fiance” He states with a small smile, making you question what Yonghee said a minute ago. How on earth was the man that stands in front of you able to hang his wife. To execute the woman he loved, or maybe he didn’t. It may have been easier to kill her for treason because he didn’t actually love her. Would he be able to execute you when you made a mistake? Would he ever be able to kill you?

“Y/N, I wanted to elaborate the cause of my anger towards you. I realised that it was unfair to be angry at you for mentioning my first wife without actually knowing what happened.” You don’t say anything while he sways on the heels of his feet. You know what happened, yet you let him explain to see things through his perspective.

“My first wife, Eunbi, was a wonderful woman. We loved each other truly and I would've given her everything. I made her queen because she desired to be my wife. I allowed her to learn whatever she wanted, because I loved her. She made me the happiest man alive. But she betrayed me, she used me, tried to kill me for her biggest desire. She wanted to be in my position, be king. She tried to kill me, but she poisoned my youngest brother, Jungkook, instead. It was an accident since the poisoned cup of wine was meant for me. My brother survived, barely, he still has problems with speaking. When it was revealed that she had poisoned my brother's drink she showed her real face.

She admitted that what I had given her wasn’t enough. She wanted to be the sole ruler of my kingdom and she was ready to do whatever it took to accomplish that. Although I loved her, dearly, I had to execute her. I would’ve forgiven her, I would've let her go because I loved her. My brother, Yoongi, took care of her execution. I couldn’t be present. I couldn’t watch the woman I loved being hung like a criminal.” he finishes with tears in his eyes.

His eyes are red and his cheeks pink. You can’t even imagine what he felt, the pain that must torture him every single day. “How many brothers do you have?” you don’t realise what leaves your mouth until it’s too late. A small chuckle leaves his plump lips. “That’s what busies your mind? How many brothers I have?” you chuckle as well. “I’m curious, I now know what happened to Eunbi and I understand that it must be unimaginably painful to execute someone you love but since you don’t want to talk about it too much, I won’t bring it up again. Thank you for telling me” you nudge his arm slightly “Now tell me how many brothers you have”

xxxxx

He has six brothers, Namjoon, the army commander of the south. He takes care of the safety in the kingdoms south. He’s very tall and likes to read, in his free time he likes to take care of the animals which live at the royal court. Yoongi, who takes care of the local prisons. He is excellent at getting people to talk, through torture, to your displeasure. He’s smaller than his brothers and likes to listen to concerts on his free evenings.

Hoseok is the army commander of the north. He shares his work with his brother, Namjoon, and takes care of the safety in the kingdom's north. He is a ray of sunshine. Seokjin said he was surprised when Hoseok asked to be a commander since he imagined him to become an artist like Taehyung, but he assured his brother of his professionalism. He likes to help Jimin with the local orphanages in his free time, remarkable.

Jimin is the third youngest of the bunch. He is a famous warrior, known as the white shadow. He fought in several great wars and always came back as the winner. Even though he’s a scary and very skilled warrior, he has a very sensible personality. He likes to help out at the local orphanages, showing the children how to defend themselves. A secret ,Seokjin pleaded with me to never ever talk about, is that Jimin likes to be read to. He often asks his older Brother, Namjoon, to read to him.

Taehyung is the second youngest, making him the second family's baby. He’s the only one who strayed from the genre of professions among the brothers. He decided to become an artist, painting the most beautiful paintings and writing the loveliest poems, having quite the clan of female admirers. He does know how to fight, though. Growing up with six brothers who like to train for future purposes made him learn how to fight as well. He might not be as skilled as Jimin or Jungkook, but he would survive in war.

Jungkook is the youngest of them all. He’s a warrior like Jimin, known as black shadow. He is the best fighter out of the seven, no one has ever succeeded in having him land on his back. He seems really scary, almost terrifying, said Seokjin. But he’s a nice boy, kind and cautious. He told Seokjin that he would like an older sister in law because Eunbi was younger than him, calling him Oppa, which he strongly disliked.

When he was poisoned, he lost almost all possibility to speak, he has trouble eating and dislikes having to talk to people. He’s embarrassed people would feel disgusted by his raspy and rough sounding voice.

His family sounds fun, complicated but fun.

xxxxx

The maids helped you put the traditional clothes on called “Hanbok”. “Ow!” you shout, startling the maids in the process. “We are deeply sorry, your majesty. We have to tighten this part a slight bit.” Moving in this big thing seems impossible as there’s so much fabric. “You’re almost done, your majesty.” you can’t believe that Seokjin wants you to wear such a hideous amount of clothing.

“You’re done, your majesty! The only thing you will have to put on is the head piece” the smaller girl in front of you instructs. She holds a big golden something in her hands. You’ve never seen something as astonishing and beautiful as this golden thing.

She places the headpiece on your head, securing it in your hair. It’s heavy, feels like they’ve placed a child on top of your head, yet you like it. “You look beautiful, your majesty” you smile at her “Thank you very-“Is she done yet?” An impatient voice wanders through the walls. “Yes, your majesty. Your fiancé is done being dressed” a maid informs him.

“Good, come outside, my dear. Let me have a look at you” he pushes. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to get up. There’s jewelry as heavy as a newborn on your head and ridiculous big clothing on your body. “I’ll try my best.” he chuckles.

The maid helps you up, you’re sure she’s trying to not laugh herself. If the women in his country wear this stuff without a problem?

“Wow, Y/N. You look stunning. Come here, my love” he opens his arms wide. You let go of the maid, focused on making your way over to him. The headpiece weighs down on your already exhausted neck. “Thank you, the headpiece is quite heavy though” your nose crunches up at your small complaint.

He stifles a laugh “That’s alright, you won’t have to wear it all the time. Such big jewelry should only be worn at special occasions” you nod your head, or at least you try to. “Y/N, could you do me a favor?” you hum “Of course” “Please take care of Jungkook, he needs someone to talk to. His brothers don’t seem fit for that job” you nod. “I’ll try”

xxxxx

So here you are, in front of his parents and his six brothers, well not all six. Two are missing. All of them are way taller than you imagined them to be. His mother is the smallest, smaller than you. And his father is a tad bit smaller than the boys behind him, yet he looks like a king. The posture and the way he introduces himself to you makes it obvious that he was king a while ago.

“My name is Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, your majesty” you bow lowly, as low as Yonghee had shown you. “Oh dear, you don’t have to bow to us. I’m not king anymore” you shake your head in disagreement. “I have to, you are Seokjin's family.” You try in their language.

Yonghee taught you the best he could during your months-long trip back to Seokjin’s land. “That’s very kind of you, Y/N. This is my wife Juhyun, and my name is Hyunsuk. I’m pleased to take you in as my daughter-in-law” you bow once again, making sure to bow to his mother once again. You catch her look, the hatred in her eyes.

His brothers introduce themselves as well before Seokjin snatches you away, taking you to his bedchambers. “She hates me” you sigh. “What are you talking about?” You sit yourself on the bed, trying to wiggle the big head piece out of your hair. “Your mother, she despises me and I can’t get this thing out of my hair” you cry out in frustration.

“Don’t think about her too much. She’s just cautious, after what happened with Eunbi. Let me help you” he tries to calm you. “But you didn’t see her eyes. She would’ve stabbed me right then and there if she had the chance to” you sigh.

His big hand finds its way onto your cheek. “Y/N, stop. She won’t ever hurt you. As long as you’ll stay loyal to me, you won’t be in danger.” His words calm you, to some extent.The fact that he’s willing to protect you even though he’s not in love with you is nice, it feels very nice.

xxxxx

“Why do I have to meet her?” You sigh as a maid helps you into a lighter piece of clothing. “Because she wants to get to know her daughter-in-law. Just drink some tea, answer her questions and you’re good to go.” Your nose crunches up in displeasure. Meeting his mother for tea or rather for interrogation is the cherry on top. She might just kill you and call it an accident.

“You won’t have to stay too long, I want you to meet my youngest brothers. Jimin and Jungkook are coming home from war and Taehyung will present his newest paintings tonight. I want you to be on good terms with them.” You nod and squeeze his hand.

He rubs your palm “You’ll be fine”

Two very friendly guards escort you to the small pavilion on the other side of the palace.

“There you are, take a seat” his mother, Juhyun smiles at you. It’s a fake smile, you’re sure. “I prepared some green tea, it helps your metabolism. You should slim down a little, right” you blink in irritation.

It’s not even been two minutes and this woman is testing your patience. “You won’t want Seokjin to fall back on his concubines, right?” She smiles, once again making you puke deep inside. “Ah, yes.” You huff.

Why is she so keen on making you upset, god. “How old are you, child?” She asks after she pours you some tea. “I’m twenty one” she nods her head, her eyebrows twitching slightly “You’re quite young, dear. You’ll have to give birth to a lot of sons.” You nod your head. “I’ll try my best to reward Seokjin with sons”

She gives you a small smile “Of course you will” she mumbles, clear for your ears to hear. “So, how much do you know about our disappointment of a former queen?” your head shoots up. “Seokjin told me about her, tragic.” her eyebrows furrow and she places the cup of tea down. “He told you himself?” you nod, trying not to chuckle because of her obvious irritation. “He did, he wanted me to know what happened to her.” she hums, making you more uncomfortable than before.

“I’m really sorry about what happened. Having to lose someone a part of the family is horrible.” you place your cup down as well. “Oh don’t act like you care, Eunbi has always been and would have always been the wrong pick for my son. I’m quite glad she got herself killed. I would have hung her myself if my youngest son wouldn’t have survived.” she chuckles and you divert your gaze from the woman in front of you. The water lilies swim peacefully in the crystal clear water, wanting you to be a part of them. Having all the time in the world to relax and be left alone. You would like this woman to leave you alone.

“Child, did you hear me?” your eyes wander to her again. Of course you didn’t hear her. “Excuse me, I didn’t, I’m sorry” you sigh. This tea party is taking way too long, where are you, Seokjin? In your mind you plead for Seokjin to show up and snatch you away. “Great, you aren’t a good listener either. You know, when you want to be the queen of this land, you have to be good at listening to peopl-”Mother, excuse me”

Your eyes widen at the voice you waited so patiently to fill this pavilion. “I’m sorry that i have to break your conversation apart, but i would like to take my fiance with me” he smiles at his mother and you’re quick to get up. A quick bow and you almost drag Seokjin with you.

“Slow down, my love. You look as if you’re trying to escape something” he chuckles. He’s playing with you. Of course he knows that you wanted to escape from his mother as soon as possible. “Oh you don’t know, she’s horrible.” he frowns slightly as he takes your hand in his.

“I know, she didn’t treat Eunbi nice either. I’m sorry that she criticised you. Meeting her has to happen out of decency.” you nod and lower your head. “What did she say?” he asks.

His face looks concerned, your cheeks heat up. “Well, nothing serious” you mumble. He stops walking, pulling you towards him. You look up at him as his features grow angry “As my wife you have to be honest with me, weather i like what you have to tell me or not”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you flutter your eyelashes. “She told me to lose weight or you’ll leave me for one of your concubines.” “What else?” You can’t meet his eyes, you’re too embarrassed. “She doubted my ability to give birth to sons. She acted dismissive as i assured her that i’ll try my best to give birth to your sons.” now it is his turn to sigh.

His big hand finds its way to the back of your neck. “Listen to me, you aren’t too heavy in any way. You’re the right size, you match me perfectly. And you don’t have to worry about not being able to give birth to sons. I’m very much able to put perfect children in there” his hand rests on your stomach. “Don’t doubt me, Y/N” he breathes.

You feel hot, so damn hot you might melt. “I would never” you mumble. His lips are so close. Your eyes move from his lips to his eyes as he moves closer. And in a matter of seconds your lips meet his, igniting a firework in the pits of your stomach. They are so soft as your lips move against his, something you never felt.

“Emper-excuse me” a guard stumbles back around the corner as he sees what is happening. Seokjin pulls away, making you close your eyes and replaying the moment he kissed you. “What, I can't have a moment of peace in this palace.” he grasps your waist as the guard comes back around. “Prince Jimin and Prince Jungkook have arrived-”Good, tell them to come to the crown hall.” he bows his head once more. “That’s the issue, Emperor. Prince Jungkook is greatly injured. Prince Jimin brought him to the nobel healer.” Seokjin tenses up and you are quick to grasp his hand.

“He fights in my war and comes home half dead, this boy.” Seokjin squeezes your hand and sighs once more as he pulls you along.

“Let’s meet my brothers”

taglist: @teamtardis-notdead @little7bitchh

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twiistedgalaxies · 3 years

Text

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

“Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

Geralt blinked, “What?” This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

“You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

“...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill.

“I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

“You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

“Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

“Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

“The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

“Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius.

He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain.

Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him.

A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

“Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade.

Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

“Hm?”

“I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

“She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

“Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

“You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

“I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

“It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

“Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

“No,” Geralt said resolutely.

“Huh?”

“I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

#The Witcher #The Witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #fic #ao3 #ff.net #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher!jaskier #feral jaskier #yennefer #dandelion #netflix #non-human jaskier

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all-that-tmnt-jazz · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day Challenge [14/14]

Warnings: None

Incarnation: Bayverse

Extra Info: Day 14 out of 14. None of the prompts/scenarios are related. This is the last post of my Valentine’s Day Challenge- I hope you all enjoyed it.

Posting: 3:30 PM Each Day

Prompt: Their First Valentine’s Day with Their S/O

Leo:

He had wanted to make you a gift

He didn’t want to have April/Casey/Vern get him a cheap card to give to you and call it a day

No, not this lad

He wrote out many drafts of a letter

Then drafted at least 4 sonnets

Then drafted at least 6 poems

He gave up, then trying to make an actual gift instead of something written

He tried to make a few different things

He borrowed some wood from Raph’s woodworking station to make a couple of carved trinkets

He borrowed some of Donnie’s vinyl mesh to make a messenger bag so you could carry your school books easier

He borrowed some spray paint and a small canvas from Mikey to try to make you a small portrait

All of these didn’t turn out as he planned, so he gave up on them

Valentine’s Day was creeping closer, and he had a blank slate

Nothing

No ideas

“Useless, empty brain!” he would often tell himself

“Wow, washed up. So sad,” Donnie said to him, sipping a cup of coffee

“I’ve got nothing! I’m done!” he groaned

“Hey, you got this. Shake it up, find a new angle.”

Leo chuckled dryly

“And what does that mean?”

“Look around, use anything to your advantage. I’m not giving up on you.”

With that, Donnie left Leo’s room

Leo just scoffed

“‘Use anything to your advantage,’” he imitated. “I’ve got nothing that’s inspiring…”

He looked around his room to confirm his theory

But then, something caught his eye

He saw something on the corner of his desk, and he had a thought

He knew right then and there what to do

Then, Valentine’s Day came

He arrived at your apartment and was quick to join you in making dinner

You had also gotten a small cake, which you two shared after dinner

You then gave him what you had gotten

You got him a bonsai sapling and a new blade sharpener- he had mentioned recently that his current one was becoming dull

He kissed you gently

He hesitated before pulling out what he had brought for you

But then, he placed his journal in front of you

“I… I know that I have trouble opening up about my emotions, but I’ve always written them down… I trust you with my heart, Y/n.”

You saw the look in his eyes

He was nervous, and you could see how much it took for him to do this

You hugged him, placing kisses all over his face

He flustered

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Raph:

This guy has everything planned out

He had never been as someone who is a romantic, but boy is he

He’s a sucker for romance

For six months before Valentine’s Day, he found out your favorite dish

He had never told you his plan, of course

He also found a way to figure out your favorite love songs

And your favorite flowers

(Red Peruvian Lilies- image Here)

So, when he texted you to go to the roof of your apartment building, you were pretty shocked with what he pulled together

He had a speaker playing a playlist of purely love songs that he heard you say “I love this one” about

He figured out how to make your favorite dish from scratch and had it set up on a small table with two chairs

On the center of the table, he had a small bouquet of Red Peruvian Lilies

You were so flustered when you saw everything

“You really did this?”

“Well, I didn’t want to not do something,” he said a bit nervously

You couldn’t help but smile

“I cannot believe you…” you whisper

You approach him and wrap your arms around his torso

He wraps his arms around your shoulders

“I love you, Y/n.”

You just hold him a bit tighter

“I love you, too.”

Donnie:

He had every fine detail planned out

Every tiny thing that one normally wouldn’t find important

(he’s a perfectionist, cut him some slack)

He had turned your rooftop into a place that was equivalent to a movie set

He had his brothers help to install a “ceiling” and four “walls” that were painted to mimic a restaurant, but made sure there was still plenty of airflows

(it would get really warm in there if there wasn’t, despite the cold weather)

He made sure everything was perfect

He convinced Mikey to borrow a record player, then had Casey get your favorite albums

When you got home from work, you texted Donnie to let him know

He responded quickly, letting you know that he was already ready

You quickly got into a different outfit- one ready for a date

You made sure to grab the gift you had gotten him

It was a piece he absolutely needed for a gadget he had been talking non-stop about

When you got to the rooftop, you were shocked

Your jaw dropped, and you smiled

“Hey,” he said

His voice was shaking

“Hey,” you said, still looking around. “This is amazing, Donnie…”

He smiled.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, Donnie. Your mind never ceases to amaze me…”

He gently took the box from your hand and put it down, then taking your hands

You look up at him

He placed one of your hands onto his shoulder, then placed his onto your waist

You two just slow danced around the “rooftop restaurant”

(as he called it in his mind)

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

You place your head into his plastron

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He kissed the top of your head, grateful to have you in his arms

Mikey:

He is the only one of his brothers who invited you to the Lair

He was able to convince Splinter to let him use the dojo

He set up several strings of multi-colored fairy lights around the dojo

He had printed out every picture you two took together and clipped them to the fairy lights

There were hundreds, so this took him several days

His brothers were almost uncomfortable with the silence in the rest of the Lair because of how much time he spent in the dojo

(Raph would actually go in there to “train.” In actuality, he just wanted to hear Mikey’s voice as he talked to himself- and occasionally to Raph)

Not only did Mikey do that, but he also spray-painted a portrait of the first picture you two took together

And he convinced April to get him a bouquet of roses to give to you

He was actually incredibly nervous before you arrived

He started pacing

He checked your location often, just to make sure you were safe as you walked over

His brothers had never seen him so high-strung

When you arrived, his eyes turned into hearts

You were wearing orange

His color

His heart would not stop pounding

When he showed you his setup, your heart swelled

And then when you saw the portrait he made, you could have married him right there

That night, his brothers had never heard him laugh so much

Neither of you could be happier.

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unrequitedloveletter · 3 years

Text

Page Eighty-Three- Kaz Brekker

Real (Page Eighty-Three series, part 3)

And thus, here we arrive at the end of the Page Eighty-Three series! I’ve been working on it almost a week now, and had the idea brewing in my brain for two weeks beforehand, so, considering the way that I’ve chosen to publish all the parts, it’s not gonna be a very emotional goodbye for you guys, but for me, oddly enough, it is?

Its the first fic I’ve done that’s been more than two parts, and I guess that adds to it? I don’t know! But, anyways, on with it!

Also, a gentle reminder, I only have Kaz being a little on the touchier side because this is a bit of an AU of sorts, and they’re around twenty four in this last part, which gave him time to work on his trauma more and get comfortable with touch!

Fic type- fluffy as fuck

Warnings- a very brief mention of the flashback in the first chapter (to be specific, nina says ‘stopped you from getting hatecrimed’) and a brief sexual innuendo

T H R E E Y E A R S L A T E R

You knocked out after you’d killed your father, and went home completely unconscious on Inej’s boat, tucked onto a cot with Kaz at your side. Genya had decided to spend a little time around Ketterdam, get to know the ins and outs and provide intel for Nikolai when he asked for it, and Nina had decided that her home could be Ketterdam for four months of every year.

Inej did her thing, catching and killing slavers all around the globe, but her visits to Ketterdam became more frequent after you’d gotten back.

Jesper took your amplifier and made it a project for himself, removing the claw from the obsidian and instead using his fabrikator abilities to turn it into a bracelet that you wore on your right hand, made of gold, with the claw dulled out so that it didn’t poke you when you moved your wrist.

A year after you’d returned home, when yourself and Kaz had gone into his office one morning, book clutched in one of your hands, the other interlaced with Kaz’s fingers, you found a box sitting on his desk.

A note from Zoya was taped to the top of it.

A top tier bitch deserves a top tier amplifier, it read. Bracelet. Wear it on your right wrist. It’ll go with the bear claw wrapped in gold.

You kept the note, reading it to yourself whenever you needed a laugh, giggling about it with Nina when she needed a laugh, too.

All of those small moments ended up leading to a much bigger one, though. The day that Kaz proposed.

It was a pretty simple proposal, but you loved it.

“I had to get advice from Jes about this,” was how he started it, even before he’d gotten down onto one knee. “He proposed to Wylan in the fall, and I know that the Winter makes Ketterdam look absolutely stunning, and I know that you like the scenery, so, well, here we are.”

You’d been walking around Ketterdam, the clicking of Kaz’s cane against the pavement a soothing sound for the both of you.

You’d managed to make it near the outskirts of Ketterdam just by walking, as Kaz’s leg was being decent to him and he wanted to walk until you’d arrived at one of the more scenic spots. You indulged him for the sake of it, making sure you took breaks and that he got water when he was tired.

It’d been snowing, and the sky had yet to darken beyond a light grey. You and Kaz both had snow in your hair, but to one another, it just added to handsomeness, so neither of you moved to brush the snow out of your hair or off your faces.

“When we were seventeen,” he began, feeling for the box in his pocket. The one with a ring inside, cushioned by red, velvety fabric. “You read me a quote from the book I’d gotten you that day. You’ve memorized just about every poem in it since, and I happen to have done the same thing.”

“The quote that you read to me was from The Sun and Her Flowers. It was on page eighty three,” he grinned at you, a fully fledged smile. Something he saved for you and you exclusively.

“I’m going to change the wording a bit, because it’s in the past tense, and we’re not past tense. The quote was ‘you were mine, and my life was full,’,” he said. “I’m changing it to ‘you are mine, and my life is full.’ Because thats how I feel.”

“Kaz?” You asked. “Do you have something planned?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he clutched the box.

“I suck at words, so, from Rupi Kaurs book Milk and Honey, I offer you this,” he carefully got down onto a knee, using his cane to keep him steady for a few quiet moments as you realized what was happening.

“‘You are every hope and dream I’ve ever had, in human form.” He pulled out the ring, opening the box and holding it out to you. “That’s page forty nine, love.”

“If you can’t think of an answer, please, just-- anything works,” if Jesper had told sixteen year old Kaz Brekker that he’d end up on his knees, begging you for a response to his proposal at just twenty two, he’d have called Jesper crazy.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Yes, Kaz Brekker. If you’re asking me to marry you, it’s an immediate yes.” He used his cane to get himself up to standing again, slipping the ring onto your ring finger and accepting the hug that you pulled him into.

You were going to marry Kaz Brekker, the love of your life, and you couldn’t wait for it.

The day seemed to come at you quickly, even though you’d not set the date until Winter of year that you turned twenty four.

First, it was calling Nikolai and asking if you could cash in the reward for killing your father and doing him and the world a justice that they deserved, then it was finding suitable tuxedos and sending out invitations and planning a million different things at once.

But, eventually, you, Jesper, Wylan, Genya, and Nina, were all on Inejs boat, headed toward the Little Palace.

Then, all of the sudden, you were in the last stretch of time before the wedding. Alina, Mal, Genya, Zoya, and Nina were talking as Genya tailored you, getting rid of some of the blemishes and fixing up little things about your face that you’d asked her to tailor until the end of the ceremony.

“It’s weird,” Alina said, pressing a kiss to Mals cheek as she glanced at her own wedding ring. “I remember you as this fourteen year old boy who used to gawk at the attractive guys in the Second Army, the boy who resented his powers and swore at his father at any chance that he got, and now you’re and you’re completely different.”

“Different how?”

“Kaz Brekker,” Genya said, running her finger under one of your eyes gently, as to get rid of your eyebags. “He’s good for you.”

“And you don’t resent your powers anymore,” Zoya adds. “You don’t use them often, but you don’t resent them.”

“You use them, don’t you, mate?” Mal quipped. “Or were my eyes tricking me when I went to wake you and Brekker up this morning, only to find you keeping light out of your room with a flick of your bloody wrist?”

“I was tired,” you pouted. “Kaz and I both were!”

“Ah, newlyweds,” Nina joked.

“It’s not like that!” You shouted. “Zoya, help me out!”

“He’s able to kiss you now,” she said. “Like, with tongue and stuff. Theres no reason he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a fun little tumble with you here and there!”

“’Tongue, and stuff,’” Mal repeated. “Yes, Zoya, because, as a twenty six year old woman, that’s totally adult phrasing.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to describe it any better,” Nina quipped. Genya and Alina hummed their agreement as Genya moved to your hair, fluffing it and styling it so it that it looked nice as you adjusted the cuffs on your dress shirt.

“Wheres my blazer?” You asked, grabbing your tie from Genyas lap, tying it as she evened out some of the color near your roots.

“Closet,” Alina answered. “I’ll get it for you!” Mal checked his watch.

“We’ve got three minutes to get down there,” he said. “Lets make the most of Y/Ns remaining 180 seconds unmarried.” You laughed, rolling your eyes as Genya stood, helping you up after.

Nina shot Genya a glance, and she took the hint, ushering Alina, Mal and Zoya out of the room and passing Nina your blazer as she left.

Nina helped you into your blazer, running her thumb along your cheek with a smile.

“I never thought I’d see Kaz Brekker married,” she said. “But hey, I guess stopping you from getting hatecrimed had it’s benefits, didn’t it?”

You laughed, shrugging.

“I think that we’ll rebuild some of the Slat,” you said. “Make the rooms bigger. Get plaques declaring whos room is whos.”

“A golden plaque with Nina Zenik emblazoned on it?”

“Bolted to your bedroom door, Neens.”

“I love you, Morozova.” She said, trapping you into a tight hug.

“I love you back, Zenik.” You said. “Now, c’mon. I don’t think anyone would take too kindly to me being late for my own bloody wedding, would they?”

The wedding was small, taking place close to the entrance of the Little Palace. There were no chairs to sit on, but the few guests you’d invited didn’t mind it whatsoever.

The guest list was fairly small, considering your tight knit little family. Wylan was Kaz’s best man, Your best woman was Nina. The people standing in the small crowd were all familiar faces.

Wylans mother, Marya Hendriks, and Jespers father, Colm Fahey were the oldest there. Among them were Nikolai, Alina, Mal, Genya, Rotty and Specht, and the two members of the Dregs who’d originated the King of the Barrel nicknames. Their names were Terrowin and Kira, and when you caught their eyes, they were beaming at you both.

Jesper was officiating, and as you met his gaze, you remembered how he was practically bouncing off the walls the day that you’d asked him to officiate.

“Okay, now that they’re both here, we can begin!” Jesper couldn’t hide his excitement.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper laughed through the words. He’d not called Kaz ‘Mr. Brekker’ unless he was doing so in a jokey context. You knew that, had it been anyone elses wedding, they’d probably have gotten angry at Jesper for giggling through the words, but for you and Kaz, it just added to an already perfect day. “Do you take Y/N as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” he said.

“Mr. Morozova,” Jesper glanced at you, and you met his gaze, having to stifle laughter when you realized just how wide his grin was. How happy he seemed. He looked like he was about to start bouncing off the walls and screaming with joy. “Do you take Kaz as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Hells yes,” you said, giggling slightly. For a moment, Kaz let his lips lift into a grin. You matched it with your own smile and took his hand into yours.

“You’ve prepared your own vows, so, Mr. Brekker, sir, you go first!” Kaz glanced at Jesper inquisitively, grin still on his face as he started talking and met your eye.

“I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you,” he said. “And when my heart says something, I’ve learned to listen to it. I love you with my entire heart and so much more, and I hate that I’m not good with words, because that’s all I can say. Nothing else accurately cultivates the feelings I’ve felt for you since that night, when you were broken and bruised underneath that saintsforsaken lamplight. I promise to love you every minute of every day, Brekker.” You’d agreed to change your last name to his. You’d be Y/N Brekker by the end of the night.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper said. “Since you’ll be married in a few minutes and I have to get used to that last name on you, you may say your vows!”

“When I was fifteen, I was caught and beat broken by a group of eight eighteen year olds,” you began. “But you saved my ass before I was killed, and it seems as though our relationship has been a series of saves ever since. Kaz Brekker, with the ring I’m about to put on your finger, I’m promising that I’ll do that forever. Please, though, try to avoid getting yourself kidnapped too often, okay?” His chest shook in silent laughter as he nodded.

“The rings, gentlepeople?” Jesper asked, Nina passed you the ring you’d slip into Kaz’s finger, and Wylan passed Kaz the one he’d put onto yours.

“Put them on,” Jesper said. You and Kaz both glanced at him once more, meeting each others eye thereafter, grinning and shaking your heads. It’d become very clear to you that the twenty four year old who you’d recruited to officiate your wedding was damn near close to letting out an excited squeal.

Kaz put the ring onto your ring finger and you did the same for him, waiting for Jespers next words as you took a half a step closer to Kaz.

“Kiss, you idiots!” Jesper said. Kaz laughed, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He’d kiss you like nothing else later in the evening, when the only thing to bug you was a lamp that you’d left on, but you both agreed that a forehead kiss would be as far as you’d go in front of others. Kisses, to Kaz, were personal, and you respected and loved that about him.

“Saints, bless this fuckin’ union!” Jesper shouted. You glanced at Alina, who shot you a thumbs up and a nod as the party part of the wedding kicked off.

Terrowin and Kira were the first people that you and Kaz talked to.

“Did you secure it?” He asked.

“The property?” Terrowin was a Zemeni boy, with skin dark as night and eyes as warm as the sun.

“Or the trip?” Asked Kira, a girl from Shu Han with hair black as the feathers on a crow and blue eyes as cold as the Fjerdan ice.

“The property, first and foremost,” he said. “Did you get it? Did you give it the name I asked you to?”

“Yes, and yes,” said Terrowin. “Beside The Silver Six is a bookstore called Page Eighty-Three. It’s scheduled to open in the fall.” Your eyes widened as you made the connection.

“Page eighty-three?” You asked, smirk on your lips. Kaz shrugged.

“And the request?”

“The line from the poem will be put on the wall behind the clerks counter,” Kira said. “Just as you requested.”

“And the trip?”

“Your boat for Novyi Zem leaves in two days, Boss,” Kira said. “Two bells in the afternoon. It’s directly routed to Coftons docks.” Kaz nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll see you when Page Eighty-Three opens.”

“Damn right we will,” you said. Terrowin and Kira laughed as they walked away.

You glanced around the room, spotting Jesper and Wylan perched at a piano, playing the music that everyone was dancing to. Marya and Colm dancing close to them. Nina and Zoya dancing like idiots and laughing throughout. Mal and Inej making conversation and Genya and Alina heading your way.

“Congrats, you two,” Genya said. “Can I expect to see you both tanned and rested up when you get back from Novyi Zem?”

“You’ll be in Ketterdam?” You asked. Genya nodded.

“For a couple of months, to make sure that your Jesper friend doesn’t colossally fuck things up while your friend Inej is doing her thing on the open ocean,” Alina said. “I’m there to visit for a bit, under the radar.”

“Thank you, Alina,” he said. “Thank you both. For everything that you’ve done in these past years.”

“No biggie, Brekker,” Alina said. “I don’t know you that well, but I see how happy you make Y/N, and he’s like a little brother. I care about his happiness.”

“You two are absolutely bloody adorable,” Genya said. “Now, back to my question, will you be tan, or at the very least, well rested, upon your return?”

“Kaz is pale,” you said. “He’ll burn like a crisp. Me? I don’t really know. I guess it depends.”

“We’ll be well rested,” Kaz said. “He’s a darkling. He can create shadow. I fully intend to use that to keep the sun out in the mornings.”

“I won’t do whatever you ask of me!” You quipped.

“You had no issue with that last night,” he said, raising a teasing eyebrow. “Or this morning!”

“Mal was right!” Alina shouted, her and Genya bursting into giggles. “Damn it, I hate it when that happens!” You laughed.

You took another glance around you, spotting your friends.

No, wait. Scratch that.

Not your friends.

Your family.

Your family was having a good time, eating, talking, dancing, laughing. They were enjoying themselves and congratulating you as you talked to Alina and Genya.

Kaz had an arm around your waist, his cheek pressed against the side of your head as his other hand gently turned your wedding ring around on your finger. He was talking to people without arguing with them. He was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Your life was perfect.

Kaz was yours, you were his, and your life was full.

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