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goodegrrrl · 2 years

Text

Love will tear us apart

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Words: 7,346

Warnings: This is all over the place; it's sad and angsty and I just want to say that one day I hate it and the next day I don't. It also might feels a little rushed at the end but I just needed to get it done. I might add a part two.

Also a huge THANK YOU to my favorite human being and witch @lucyintheskywithxanax. You are my light and I love you to pieces. Thank you not only for helping me with this, but with life. You are a true delight and I don't ever want to be without you again.

Taglist: @twistedpoeticjustice, @lesbianicdelia, @isle-of-earle, @sweetestberryofthebunch, @angelxsarahp, @goodeday2u, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @cordeliass, @devotedtofictionalwomen, @ka-s, @billiedeansgirl, @honeybeawhore, @talulahmae, @sisterxwinters, @stayevildarling, @paulsonsratched, @ahsfan05

If you want to be added, shoot me a message.

Nature was hardly perfect, yet perfect in the most imperfect way possible. The trees alongside the path you were running on had been slightly bend by the vicious winds having gotten to them as they were still growing. Now they stood around you - tall and proud - not bothered by the imperfections they had been marked with. On the contrary, they seemingly embraced their curved branches, hugging each other tenderly, reminding you of a lover’s gentle embrace.

You felt an energetic joy course through your body, awoken by the blooming flowers around you. Wherever you looked, all you saw were splashes of the most vibrant colors - green, red, purple, yellow, pink. And as the whole forest seemed to become alive with the sunlight piercing through the thick crowns of the trees, with the sound of each leaf blowing away in the wind and birds chirping away, you felt it’s togetherness within you.

You listened to the melody in your heart, a melody that could not be heard, but only felt, created by the tangible and blended bond of each living thing around you.

And then you started to cry.

You had to stop, had to hold on to the nearest tree. You felt the air being sucked out of your lungs as you let out a heart-wrenching sob.

It never got easier. All of your picturesque surroundings reminded you of her. You saw her everywhere - in every beautiful piece of art created by Mother Earth.

Her eyes were mirrored in the mahogany colored wood, reminding you of a leather book, promising a story of love, devotion and eternal loyalty.

In the soft red color of the honeysuckle, you saw the faint blush on her cheeks whenever you told her how beautiful she was.

You remembered all the times she had been too tired to brush her own hair, leading you to work through the knots as she had laid bare in your arms.

And the subtle purple coat of the violet hummingbird lead you to reminisce about all the times you had let your eyes roam over her thin body as she was putting on her favorite pastel suit.

In the distance, you saw a deer. Its coat was painted in a bright brown color with round, white spots all over. It must have been a young animal since its antlers had yet to grow to full bloom.

As your eyes met, it ran away.

Things have not been the same since the fateful day in April – as nature had started to come alive; her love for you had slowly started to die.

At least that is what you had thought then.

You remembered the day vividly, remembered all the words she had thrown your way – words she herself had heard a million times. They stood out in her brain like the scars on her back, having the once white canvas painted only in colors of darkness, words of disdain written all over.

On any other day you were able to just let them roll off your back, would not let her words get to you. But on this day in April you had been tired, just so tired. Work had been incredibly stressful and after hours of meetings and conversations with all the incompetent idiots surrounding you, you just couldn’t take it.

You should have known better. You knew that she had had her quarterly appointment at her doctor’s. You knew the mood she was in whenever she came back. You knew for that one day she hated you because you were healthy, because you were not in pain, because you were normal.

The words she had thrown at you, words of disdain, anger, degrading – they weren’t to tear you down. You knew that. This was her way of dealing, her way of stopping the infinite hurt in her heart, the anger towards an unknown god having inflicted so much pain on her. She didn’t mean them. You knew.

But you had been so drained. You had been hurt, had not thought about the words that had left your mouth after she had told you that it would be better to let her go, to live your life with someone who was worthy of being loved by you, who wasn’t crippled, who wasn’t a monster.

You had raised your voice at her, had watched her become smaller and smaller, had not prevented her from locking her love back into the faraway corner of her darkened soul.

After hours of fighting, crying, wailing, you had given up. Betrayed. Broken. And then you had agreed. Had agreed with every word she had said, had left your shared home to walk down the streets of Los Angeles to calm down, to stop the dark thoughts in your head, to remind yourself of all the love you felt for her.

When you had come back hours later you found Wilhemina packing your clothes, neatly folded in boxes that you had once used to get closer to her were now used to push you away.

As your eyes met hers you knew that this was it. It was over.

As you walked up the stairs to the home you once shared, you could feel a knot forming in your throat. You were wrenching your hands together, playing with the purple lavender quartz ring that she had once given to you so you would have something of hers that you could always have with you. You had not taken it off since.

You took a deep breath, counting to ten, before you rang the doorbell. A light in the living room was being turned on. You could hear her cane hitting the wooden floor of the hallway. It sounded off. Usually it reminded you of a love song she whispered only for you, but now it sounded harsh and dull at the same time. As you heard her unlocking the door, you could have sworn that your heart stopped for a second.

Wilhemina looked different. She had lost weight, making her look frail and pallid. She was wearing light purple pants with a sweater, which were hanging loosely on her small frame. Under her eyes, she wore dark circles that she had not bothered to cover with make-up. Her glasses were still perched on her delicate nose, sitting on her protruding cheekbones. Her hair looked lackluster and dull, missing its silkiness and vibrant color that you used to love so much. She was leaning on her cane more than she usually would.

A million thoughts were running through your head. All you could think of was her – she was consuming every fiber of your being, every broken piece of your soul, every blood cell running through your body. She was all that mattered to you and you wondered how you had even been able to continue to breathe, how you managed to stay alive, how you did not die as soon as there had been all these miles separating you from her.

You had to stop yourself from launching yourself into her. Standing in front of her now, you felt like an invisible thread had been wrapped around you, pulling you closer to the woman occupying every thought of every waking minute inside of you.

Yet, instead of coming closer to you, she took a step back. “What are you doing here?” you saw the hand that was not holding on to her cane tremble, her chest heaving as if she was struggling to get oxygen into her lungs. You desperately wanted to reach out, desperately wanted to pull her into your arms and whisper in her ear how everything would be fine. How you would be there and protect her from all the cruelty in the world.

“I am trying to find a way back home. A way back home… to you.” Your voice sounded small in your head, sounded weak and broken. She only huffed, almost laughing as soon as the words had forced themselves into her ears. “Are you fucking kidding me?” her eyes were glistening now. She covered the tears gathering in them with rage.

Still, you were able to look right through her, could look past the gates of hell, past the burning flames, past the anger she used to mask her pain.

“I don’t want you here. I want you to leave and never come back. You of all people should have known….” A deep breath in “You should have known what you were doing.” A tear escaped, running down her cheek. Wilhemina did not bother to wipe it away, her eyes not leaving yours. “You broke my heart.” The words produced by her vocal cords sounded wet and broken, like she was about to burst into tears and your heart shattered, leaving a million little pieces on the floor in front of you – leaving no chance of gluing them back together to form a whole again.

“I don’t even … I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” You could not help the tears from falling, could not keep your voice steady “I should have fought harder. For you. For us. I am so sorry, Mina.”

Wilhemina let her cane hit the floor, two times, hard and violent “You lost every right to be here. You are a fucking waste of space, human waste, not worthy of anything but pain.” She had pulled herself together, had put Mina away into the deepest and darkest corner of her heart. The person in front of you was not the gentle soul you fell in love with after having peeled all of her layers away, instead you were coming face to face with Ms. Venable. The soulless creature having been made a monster by society and all people who had been cruel to her. Now you were one of them.

“Mina, please. I am sorry, so sorry.” You were sobbing now, trying desperately to make her understand how sorry you were, how you would do anything to turn back time, to go back to where you once stood – next to her, loving her.

The next thing you heard was the door slamming shut.

You only realized that you had sunken down on the stairs as it started to pour down rain, the raindrops mixing together with the tears on your cheeks. You lifted yourself up, your body trembling from the cold. Infinite sadness was enveloping you, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted.

You climbed down the stairs and instead of hailing a cab, you decided to walk. You welcomed the cold, the pain, the sadness. You did not deserve anything else and somehow it made you feel closer to her. To Mina.

Walking down the streets you once strutted down hand in hand with her, blissfully in love and without any care in the world for anything that did not concern Mina, you felt the pain course through your veins like poison infiltrating your bloodstream. The jacaranda trees lining the streets, usually blooming in the prettiest purple color, had shed their gown, leaving them undressed. The old houses to your left, which Wilhemina loved so much, seemed to be mocking you – their rounded windows looking at you pitiful while the windowsills beneath them smiled at you ironically, knowing what you did to the one who always stopped to admire their expressive exterior. The chatter of the people walking down the streets pierced through your ears, turning into laughter that made you want to throw up.

As Wilhemina slammed the door shut, she methodically walked back to the living room. Her legs felt weighty, her feet barely leaving the floor. She leant heavily onto her cane, feeling weak and exhausted. She tried to keep her façade intact, even though no one was around. She would not let herself break down, would not give in to something as menial as the ever growing sadness inside of her. How could she? She knew that she would not be able to get back up once she hit the ground.

She leaned her cane with the raven skull against the coffee table. She would not use it today, would not count on its support and instead let her frail body carry its weight on its own. She knew that she would be sore tomorrow, that she would feel every muscle in her body, her back would be in great pain – yet she welcomed the thought of it, giving her something other than the pain you had caused each other for her to focus on.

The walk up the staircase felt like climbing a mountain. Every part of her body protested the unsupported movements. She entered the bathroom, picking the one adjoining the master bedroom you once shared. The room she had not once slept in since you left. Today, she did not care.

She turned on the shower before she started to undress the part of herself she hated the most, leaving her white blouse for last. She stood in front of the mirror, turning around slightly so her curved spine entered her line of sight. She hated it. She felt disgusted by it.

Thoughts she would have liked to erase from her brain flooded her. She remembered how you would have embraced her from behind, how you intertwined her hands with yours and let them rest on her flat stomach. You lips would caress her back lovingly while your thumb stroked whichever part of her skin it could reach. You would whisper words of comfort into her ears while you gently nibbled on her earlobe. She remembered how she would feel enveloped in comfort, how she would draw strength from your touch, how she had felt as if she truly was beautiful to you. That had been all that mattered.

Now she was standing in front of the mirror. Alone. No one to quieten the thoughts in her head, the words of disgust and self-loathing taking up even the smallest corners of her brain.

Wilhemina had not noticed the tears traveling down her cheeks.

She wiped them away furiously, hating how she was not able to control her emotions. The voice of her mother rung in her ears, scolding her to stop being so dramatic, to stop causing her distress, to stop being a baby and to behave like a grown woman. After all, she had brought shame over her whole family - being a disabled monster, a freak of nature.

As the ice cold water hit her body, she did not even move.

The cold water soon turned her body numb, all the pain she had felt in her tired muscles before vanished, leaving her without any feeling in her bones. She held her face to the water, desperate to let it wash away her agony. Even if she was not feeling her body anymore, the turmoil in her head continued.

She was angry. Angry at herself for letting you get to her, for making her have to face her emotions yet again. She had been good the last few months - had abandoned everyone she ever cared for, had gotten a new phone number and most importantly - she had Mina locked away safely where no one was able to get to her.

Ms. Venable had returned, more cruel and hostile than before. Her colleagues and assistants feared her, clients avoided her and Jeff and Mutt simply ignored her. She had thrown herself into her work, worked even harder than before. Her hours had increased, her reports had flourished and her heart had disappeared.

She felt her throat closing up. Again. She angrily switched the water from cold to burning hot and let out a silent scream.

Her previously numb body now hurt. She was in agony, in pain. The scars on her back were burning like flames dancing on her upper body. She could feel how her skin started to bruise, how her lungs constructed as the hot air burned them alive from the inside. Finally, she was feeling something other than the pain in her heart.

She could feel her brain shutting down, could feel how her legs were shaking from the pain she was in. They trembled as the skin gradually turned into a bright shade of red - their color matching her ever beating heart, desperate to be loved.

And without warning, her legs gave out on her. Wilhemina sank down to the floor of her shower where she cradled her head in her hands and started to sob.

She cried for you. For the love that she once was able to call her fairytale, for the one thing having her kept sane during the grueling doctors appointments, the infinite pain in her back, the days at work where she felt as if she was going to crumble underneath the pressure, the days where her body was giving up on her, making it impossible to even get out of bed. You had been with her through it all. You had shared her burden and you did it without ever complaining.

Instead, on the days where she did not have anything nice to say to you, when she treated you like you were garbage, you had loved her even harder. You loved her fearlessly. Unconditionally. You had showed her kindness when she had only brought you pain.

You were like the sun on the darkest days, had given your all to love her without boundaries. She knew she had not deserved all of your kindness, your words of comfort, your tender embrace. Yet she had let herself be loved by you. And for a while, everything was perfect.

Until she had come back to reality, realizing that no one in this world should have to deal with her, should endure a lifetime of pain and heartbreak which she unfortunately always brought upon people close to her. So she had changed, her cruelty had increased, her loving words disappeared. It only made her even more enraged that you stayed, that you stood your ground and still held her hand through everything.

Wilhemina knew that she hade made you leave, that she had pushed you over the edge by her behavior and her loveless words. She knew you would have stayed if she would only have uttered a word, had asked you to. Instead, she had only continued her torment, her war on you. Had continued until you were not able to take it anymore.

Only because she had been scared of loving you too much, of falling deeper and deeper into you without a ladder making it possible to escape the clutches of your irrevocable love for her. She had brought this pain upon herself, had broken her bruised and fragile heart, had taken pieces of her soul and thrown them to the ground so she could step on them, so she could break the remaining kindness within herself, could crush the hope she had felt when she had first met you.

In you she had found hope. Hope for someone who would love her, hold her, protect her.

Wilhemina knew it was her fault, but today, she didn’t want to hear that. Couldn’t bear the thought of having hurt the only person she ever loved.

As the heat was running out and the water started to get cold, she lifted her beaten body up agonizingly slow. She opened the door and sucked in the fresh air that entered the confides of her shower, letting herself take a couple of deep breaths before she climbed out.

Looking into the mirror now, she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were vacant, lifeless and dull. The skin covering her bones had been bruised by the hot water, leaving her feeling sweaty and too warm to be comfortable. Her face was puffy from all the tears she had cried, her skin beaten down by the evidence of her grief.

She should have called in sick. She should have stayed home. She should not even have gotten out of bed.

Every part of her body hurt, her head feeling foggy and distorted. Wilhemina was barely able to form a sentence, the letters on her computer screen dancing around, making her feel dizzy and nauseous.

She had no idea how she had managed to walk from her office to the conference room, had no idea how she had been able to walk there without passing out. Every cell in her body was screaming to her in agony, her muscles aching without even being used, her bones seemingly about to break without being strained.

“… as for the next few weeks, the company will have to focus on increasing its value without… “, Mutt’s words seemed to be blurring together, no matter how intensively she focus she could not understand what he was saying.

“Ms. Venable? Are you still with us?”, Wilhemina felt like she was underwater, felt like the words directed to her were muffled by waves crashing down on the shore. “I.. what?”, she was surprised that she even managed to form a sentence of some sort, her lungs violently constricting as she tried to get more oxygen into the vital organ.

Then everything was a blur. A blinding pain consumed her whole being, her heart first violently hammering in her chest, shooting excruciating pain down her body. Her hand flew to her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything except for the pain. She tried to get out words, tried to force her body to stay within her control, desperate to not let anyone know how much pain she was in.

As the world around her turned black, she knew she had lost the fight against herself.

The walls of the hospital seemed to be coming closer as you ran through the corridors. You could feel your lungs protest as you let your legs carry you as fast as they could. The halls seemed endlessly long, with people walking through them who were seemingly enjoying to stand in your way.

As you finally reached the desk where you’d be able to get all the information you needed, you were out of breath, sucking air into your lungs as you were desperate to know where she was.

“I’m looking for Wilhemina Venable. I got a call.” You took another deep breath, willing yourself not to cry “I am her emergency contact.”

The nurse behind the desk looked at you, raising an eyebrow in the process. “It must be you then.” She gave you a tired smile and pulled out a file which you guessed must be hers “She’s in room 4.12. 4th floor. Cardiology.”

The elevators were right across from the desk. Pressing the button harshly, you could feel the journey to the hospital catching up on you. Your legs felt tired as you leaned against the mirror on one side while you let your eyes roam over your tired looking face on the opposite one.

You looked like shit. Her voice rung in your ears “Garbage”. She had been right. The dark circles under your red rimmed eyes gave away the sleepless nights you had endured while your hollow cheeks marked days without having had any kind of food.

The elevator dinged as you reached the fourth floor. Your legs carried you to your destination. Room 4.12. As you were about to knock as the door swung open, revealing a nurse who gave you a curious look “Are you here for her?!”

You just nodded, not bothering to give her a verbal response, ducking a little bit to get past her so you’d be finally able to see her, to stop the dark thoughts occupying your brain, to stop the incessant worrying in your heart.

Relief washed over you as your eyes found hers. She was sitting in bed, upright, leaning against the pillows on the elevated head part of the hospital bed. You couldn’t help but wonder if that position wasn’t hurting her back.

For just a second you saw the relief you had felt seconds before reflect in her mahogany eyes as well, only to be replaced by sheer disgust and anger.

“Wasn’t I clear before or are you just dumb?”

You simply stood there. Right in the middle of the room as your eyes wandered over her frail form. She was still there, still with you, still talking, still breathing. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

She let out a low huff, avoiding your gaze as she looked out the window “You can leave now then. That’s what you’re good at.” Her voice had gotten softer, quiet and drenched in sadness.

“I told you - I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you push me away.”, you took a few steps towards her before she held up her hand, willing you to stop walking.

“I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you.” As you were about to start rambling on how you indeed needed her, someone who you assumed must be her doctor, entered the room.

“You must be her girlfriend.” The kind doctor gave you a smile “I’m Dr. Harding.”

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend, she’s no one.” Wilhemina sneered as she gave you a triumphant look, seemingly pleased with her indifference towards you, seemingly proud of her cruel words.

The doctor gave you an irritated look as she glanced shortly at Wilhemina, shaking her head as to gather her thoughts. “Anyway, since you’re her emergency contact I’m going to give you a short overview of everything that happened.” She took a glance at the woman in the hospital bed and as she noticed her shrinking into herself further, she looked back at you “Maybe we should go outside.”

“You know, she’s quiet intimidating” the doctor laughed nervously “I’ve never felt as incompetent and small as I do when I am with her.” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other while she opened the clipboard with Mina’s files on them. “She must really love you, you know?”

You were confused by her words. Surely your stoic and private Wilhemina had not let the doctor in on her feelings towards you. She had never even truly voiced them towards you, had rather shown her affection by her actions, by little presents she’d give to you, by the smiles she had given you first thing in the morning while you were holding her close to you.

“Ms. Venable has suffered a severe case of stress cardiomyopathie; this causes rapid and reversive heart muscle weakness.”, Dr. Harding cleared her throat, “It usually only occurs with people who are much older than her. We did find traces of burnt skin on her and believe this added to the other stress she had been feeling. She must have already been weakened.”

You looked at her quizzically, not really grasping what she was trying to say to you, not quiet sure what the meaning behind her words was. “So, like a heart attack?”, you could feel a knot forming in your throat while tears were gathering in your eyes, “She had a heart attack?”

“It seemed like it at first, but no.”, her eyes met yours over her clipboard, “It’s called broken heart syndrome.”

It felt like the world was closing in on you. A ringing in your ears, your lungs constricting, tears escaping your closed eyes. The pain you felt was consuming your whole body, every piece of your soul seemed to be being torn apart, shredded to pieces. You tried to calm yourself down, tried to take in deep breaths, slowly and calculated.

The words being uttered by the kind doctor in front of you were none you could really understand. You gathered that it wasn’t a condition that just randomly happened, usually brought upon the recipient by great distress and conditions undetected before. You could not help but feel responsible for the agony she had to endure yet again. Only because you had wavered, only because you had not been strong enough to love her the way she deserved.

As you had finally been able to get your emotions under control, having gotten some information on her condition and how to proceed after she was released from the hospital, you made your way back to her room.

Wilhemina was laying in bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling. She didn’t even turn to look at you when you entered the room. For a moment, you simply stood there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to her heartbeat on the machine, relieved that it sounded regular, beep, beep, beep, like a song you heard for the first time and immediately wanted to listen to on repeat forever.

“What are you looking at?” she still keep her eyes focused on the ceiling, but her voice somehow sounded softer, lacking the venom it had been laced with earlier.

“You.” barely a whisper. You walked towards her and sat down on the chair that had been placed next to her bed. You were about to grab her hand but thought better of it. “I am looking at you.”

“And are you enjoying this? Are you enjoying seeing the cripple become progressively more crippled? Are you basking in my misery?”

“Why would you ever think that, Mina? I told you that I made a mistake. I should have come back sooner, yes, but you made it so hard to love you sometimes.”

“Then why don’t you just go? Why did you even come back? I don’t fucking need you. I don’t need anyone. Just leave me alone and go live your fucking life.” Wilhemina turned, now looking at you with eyes full of rage, anger and pain.

You felt the tears escaping your eyes, could feel them tainting your cheeks as you did not really know what to do anymore, could not find the words to ease the turmoil in her head, to make her understand that you were not able to live without her.

“Because I love you, Mina. It’s that simple. And as hard as it is to love you on some days, it’s so much harder to not be with you. It’s so much more painful to miss your smile, your voice, your hugs. It’s so much more painful to miss being loved by you.”, you willed your voice to be strong, willed the tears away to continue, “the weeks without you were the worst of my life. There was not a single minute where I did not want to be around you, where I would not have given everything just to hear your voice, see your smile or feel your body close to mine. You are inevitable for me, you fucking moron.”

Wilhemina huffed, averting her gaze once again so you would not be able to see the wetness gathering in her eyes.

“When you are with me, I feel like I am drunk on love. I feel like miracles are about to happen whenever I see your eyes glistening in the winter snow. Whenever I am with you I can see nothing but you – everything around us disappears as if we are the only people in the world. I am sick and tired of shutting up, Mina. You need to understand that I won’t be silent anymore and I won’t let you send me away. I will stay right here with you and hold you whether you like it or not. The more you’re pushing me away the tighter I will hold on to you. And if we burn, then let it illuminate the darkness around you. My love will be the afterglow guiding us out of it.”

“You are such a fucking moron.”, she discreetly wiped at her eyes.

“Then so be it. Now would you please just… let me take you home?”

“Alright. But don’t even think for a second that I am agreeing to this because of you. I just want to get out of here.”

The drive home had been silent. You had tried to talk to her but she had just stared out the window, only giving you short responses if even. Sometimes she had just looked at you, her face unreadable.

You felt a weight being lifted of your shoulders as you reached your home. Her home. The daffodils that Wilhemina had planted a few years ago were in full bloom, signaling the end of the cold days and the arrival of spring.

“We’re here.” You glanced at the woman next to you. She had been deep in thought and flinched as she registered your voice.

You almost jumped out of the car, opening the door for her and holding out your hand for her to take. She gave you a timid smile as she took it and got out of the car.

Almost you let your hand rest in hers, but thought better of it for you knew how much she hated being perceived as if someone who required any form of help, no matter the circumstances.

You busied yourself with the small bag of her clothing as Wilhemina made her way up the stairs. Slow and calculated.

For anyone who did not know the beautiful woman it would seem completely normal. But you knew her. Knew the way she would lean on her cane a little heavier than usual, how she would think just a second longer about the placement of her feet, knew how she never held on to the banister but did now, knew how she needed to rest just for a second before continuing to move.

You wished she would accept your help, would accept the comfort you were offering, but knew better than to push her. She would come to you in her own time, so you had to be patient.

“I know that you enjoy just looking around, but I’d preferably go inside.” She tapped the floor with her cane twice to emphasize her words, making you practically run upstairs to let her in.

“I just want to make something perfectly clear with you.” Wilhemina motioned for you to close the door as she languidly walked into the kitchen to sit down on a barstool.

Your eyes found hers, desperate to convey everything you were not able to say with just a look. You willed her to understand that nothing she would say would make you leave, that you’d be by her side no matter what, no matter what cruelty and anger she would direct towards you. No matter how bad she’d hurt your heart and your weakened soul.

Wilhemina played with the ring on her finger, twisting and turning as if she was mirroring the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. She let it turn one direction only to twist it into the other. “I don’t need your pity. Your care. I don’t want you here.” she didn’t look at you, her gaze focused on the tabletop, on the structure of the wood.

“How long?” you ignored her harsh words. “How long what?” Wilhemina sneered, her eyes hard and taunting. She shifted on the stool, meeting your gaze – mocking and unrelenting “I don’t know if you just don’t want to understand what I am saying or if you’re just stupid.” she let out a laugh, pleased with herself.

“How long are we going to fight for?”, your voice was barely above a whisper. You felt drained and tired, the last few days catching up on you viciously.

Wilhemina looked at you for a moment, finally realizing how tired you looked. “You know, why don’t you just go. Go to the guestroom and rest.”

For today, you accepted it. You accepted that you had lost the battle with Ms. Venable. Mina would stay looked away in her cell right at the bottom of her heart. She would keep being restrained, the shackles unrelentingly digging into her soft skin. You could her her small voice in your head, could hear her calling out for you to stop the hurt and the pain. Could hear her whispering that she needed you, wanted you, craved you. But today you gave up. Today you lost hope. You’d try again tomorrow for only a battle was lost, but the war was still raging on.

Her smell invaded your nostrils as you had snuggled deep into the covers. You felt as if she was embracing you, her soft touch calming the raging of emotions within. You thought about all the times she had been in your arms, the times were she had let herself be consumed by your love, had felt at home, at peace.

Wilhemina let her hands be warmed by the cup of lavender tea in her hands. She felt numb, empty. Her thoughts were with you. They were always with you if she let them roam around freely. She felt torn. She wanted to be with you, wanted to turn back time and stop you from leaving, wanted to erase the disappointment she had felt when the door had closed behind you and you had left.

But she knew that it had been her fault. That she had made you leave. She told you over and over again to just go. She had been so cruel, so mean, so deprecating. She had tried to break you the same way she had been broken when all you ever did was love her.

You did not deserve this.

“Come on in.”, she hadn’t even registered that she had knocked on the door to the guest room, your voice disrupting her thoughts of self-loathing and self-deprecation.

Wilhemina hesitantly opened the door, standing in the doorway as she met your gaze. “Hi, Mina.”, you sat up in bed, looking at her curiously and even a little scared. You were afraid that she was just going to kick you out, that she would close the door in your face forever, that she would lock her heart away for eternity.

“Hey.”, she tightened the grip on her cane and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Your gaze shifted to her hands and you could see her knuckles turning white. She was nervous.

“Why don’t you come over here and sit with me?”, you put down the book you had been reading and patted the space next to you as you lifted the covers. Mina looked around nervously, as if she was afraid to be seen as anyone who could mistake her behavior for weakness. “Mina, it’s just me.”

She slowly walked over to you and sat down a few inches away. You could feel the tension vibrating off of her body, could feel the fear in the air, could feel her hesitancy in the way she fidgeted with her hands. All you wanted was to have her close to you. You just wanted to hold her, wanted to nuzzle your face into the curve of her neck while you deeply inhaled her scent.

No one you knew had ever used the word ‘loving’ to describe Wilhemina, and yet, it was the first thing that came to your mind whenever you thought of her. Surely she could be mean, cruel and enraged, but being loved by her had been the greatest gift you had ever received.

She conveyed her feelings by little touches, by gentle kisses, by tender embraces. The words she could not utter were shown in simple acts of kindness. She showed her love by always making you coffee in the morning, by putting toothpaste on your brush, by putting your coat over the heater because she knew you were always freezing. She always made sure to buy your favorite food and when you had to work longer than her, she came by and brought you your favorite dinner. She would never go to bed without you by her side, always making sure you were safely at home, in her orbit.

You let your hand reach for hers – and this time she did not pull away, instead she intertwined your fingers with hers. She looked at you and you found her gaze. “I love you, Mina. And I know that we won’t be able to fix this within a day, but I want to try. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.”

Wilhemina had averted her eyes after you had said the three words she still had not gotten used to hearing. She could feel the emotions bubbling up inside her, could feel the tears making their way to the surface and her instinct was to run or to utter words of disgust - but she willed herself to stay, willed herself to work through the turmoil in her head. Not by herself, but with you right by her side.

“I love you, too.”, her voice was barely above a whisper. You would not have been able to hear it if you had not waited for her to say something. “I am sorry, I am sorry.” she could not face you. She felt overwhelmed, unable to work through the racing thoughts in her head, the beating of her heart, the sensation of your skin on hers.

“Stay with me.”, you had knelt down in front of her, grabbing onto her other hand while you finally met her eyes. “Just… let us just rest. Let us go to our bed. Let me hold you. We will figure it out in the morning. We will start healing. Together. But today, let’s just be.”

You could see the gears turning in her head, could see her weighing out the pros and cons, could see the ongoing fight between her head and her heart.

And then she gave you a nod.

You got ready for bed without saying a word. It felt as if you were performing a dance together that you had never practiced but still somehow knew and had perfected together. You gave her space when she changed and she let you be as you tried to hide the tears in your eyes when you spotted the first post-it you had ever written to her glued to the bathroom mirror.

As you laid in bed, your eyes glued to the ceiling, afraid to move as if you could spook her, you thought of all the nights you had shared before. All the secrets that had been whispered long after the sun had gone down. Nights, when she had uttered her deepest fears with only the stars to bear witness.

You felt the mattress dip under her weight as she carefully eased herself down next to you. You felt the warmth emanating from her body, comforting you, calming you. She settled down and reached for your hand underneath the covers. “Do you remember?”, she whispered lowly.

She did not need to elaborate. You knew she was talking about the first night you had shared with her. Back in the day, when you had just gotten to know each other, when she had invited you to stay with her, when you had first seen all of her. You remembered clearly the way her eyes had sparkled, illuminated by the full moon shining through the open window, after you had made love and shared your dreams about the future.

“I missed you so much.”, you were sure she would be able to hear the strain in your voice, the tears you could not hold back as they travelled down your cheeks.

She turned around and scooted closer to you, her leg draped over yours as she embraced you gently. You let your arms encircle her waist, forming a cocoon which left no space between you and her.

Because that’s how it was supposed to be all along. You and her. Together at last and until you would take your last breath.

You let your nose roam over her face as you pulled her closer to you. She nuzzled her face in the small space between your shoulder and your jaw, deeply inhaling your scent, finally feeling like she was home again. “I missed you, too.”

The tears on her cheeks glistened in the moonlight, just like her eyes had on that very first night you shared.

#wilhemina x reader #sarah paulson #american horror story #ahs #wilhemina venable #ahs apocolaypse #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x you #wilhemina venable x reader #mina x reader

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dabi-does-cocaine-fight-me · 3 years

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Hallucinations

Dabi x Shigaraki One-Shot

Warnings: So ooc, bugs, slight gore if you squint really hard, swearing, rOmAnCe, fEeLs, omg cliché

Shigaraki strolled into the League of Villains’ bar, wiping the blood off his hands with a discarded, musty towel. His gaze swept over those present in the room, hidden by the obstructing hand on his face. Toga was sitting at one end of the bar with Spinner, giggling obnoxiously at his dramatic hero imitations. Twice perched on a barstool at the opposite end of the bar, staring sullenly into the distance while puffing leisurely on a cigarette. Meanwhile, Kurogiri stood behind the counter, polishing glasses in a dutiful, restless manner, while Dabi lounged on an old moth eaten couch. Across from him, Compress made a move on the chessboard the two shared.

All of them eyed Shigaraki as he stepped further into the room, clearing his throat to get their attention. The effect was immediate. Toga and Spinner fell silent, Twice came out of his trance, and Dabi’s posture straightened slightly.

“News, Tomura?” Mr. Compress questioned. Shigaraki’s head turned in his general direction and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Different factions of the yakuza are still at war, competing for control now that they’ve removed Overhaul. One of the factions was delivering me a shipment of illegal drugs…I was expecting to use it to create more of those quirk destroying bullets, but it was intercepted by Ryukyu, Selkie and a few U.A. brats,” he reported in a bitter tone. He clearly wasn’t happy about how events had transpired.

“And all that blood on your hands, you slip and fall into Kool-Aid, boss?” Dabi snickered. Shigaraki turned to him and flexed his fingers, the unspoken threat apparent.

“How would you like to find out?” Tomura intoned quietly. Dabi scoffed, unfazed by the hostility.

“Well, you know, if you weren’t an insufferable dick and gave us straight answers…” he shrugged maladroitly. An unsteady and tense silence had fallen over the room, and everyone present was waiting to spring into action, should the need arise. Kurogiri inched closer, recalling the volatility present in the two’s previous encounters. Shigaraki and Dabi were continuing to stare at each other, Tomura’s demeanor calm and collected, Dabi’s wary yet relaxed. As they eyed each other quietly, Dabi realized Shigaraki was balancing all his weight on one leg and holding-no, more like nursing- his right arm. His gloves were absent. Tomura detected his examination and shot Dabi a nasty glare as their eyes met, daring him to say something. Kurogiri observed this interaction and decided it was time to step in, before things went any further.

“Tomura, where did all the blood come from?” he inquired, making sure to keep his tone level and to keep from sounding interrogating so as not to anger Tomura further. Shigaraki tore his gaze away from Dabi, muttering a response.

“One of the yakuza factions at war with the one I employed recognized me. Overhaul followers…one had a paralyzing quirk,” he seethed. It had hurt his pride immensely to have been surprised so easily, pinned so effortlessly, paralyzing quirk or no, and having that scarred idiot examining him only pissed him off worse. Kurogiri’s mist blew slightly, a draft from the open door causing him to dissipate and then reform as he spoke again.

“I see,” he soothed, “why don’t you go lie down, I’ll prepare you some food.”

Tomura nodded, looking rather beaten. He began to shuffle off to his room, Spinner and Twice both averting their gaze out of respect to their boss. Dabi sat thoughtfully on the couch, sweeping a hand through his hair as he rendered Compress checkmate.

A few hours later, Dabi was sauntering to his room in the evening, but as he passed Tomura’s room he heard muffled cursing. He turned around and rapped the door. The sounds quieted, and Tomura muttered gruffly for him to enter. Dabi obeyed, leaning against the doorframe.

“You okay in here?” he interrogated, already knowing the answer. Tomura was in bad shape. His food sat untouched, his laptop shut on the desk, no online gaming visible. He was sprawled on his bed, sweatshirt hood up, panting slightly.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, his face obscured by his hair in the dark of the room.

“Cut the bullshit handyman, what’s got you sitting on tacks?” Dabi shot back. Tomura huffed.

“Why the fuck would you care? Get out,” he barked. Dabi scoffed.

“No wonder no one wants to be around you. You’re so kind,” he murmured sarcastically, turning to leave. He was halfway to the door when Tomura spoke again.

“The attack….there were three people. One paralyzed me, another rendering me mute, I’m assuming those were their quirks…”

Dabi raised an eyebrow. “The third?” he questioned.

“The third…didn’t move until the other two started leaving…as they walked away, he threw something at me….I flinched, so I didn’t see what it was but I felt it hit me…like…worms eating into my brain. I didn’t think anything of it, because there were no unusual effects but now I…”

He trailed off, glancing at his food before quickly turning his gaze elsewhere once more. “When I try to eat the food is all…full of maggots, and mold. When I try to patch up my injuries from the encounter, all I see is…blood. So much blood…gushing, squirting, blood. Bugs. Lots of…”

He shuddered. “In the mirror…my nails turn to beetles and crawl away…my eyebrows, spiders…worms for-for lips. My gloves…they’re rats…”

His voice broke slightly, and he stopped speaking. Dabi sighed, observing him quietly. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that Shigaraki was trembling, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was scared. The kind of fear that you know is irrational, but it’s bone-chilling anyway. He knew that fear, he felt it roll through his body, consuming his thoughts every time he heard his father’s footsteps near his bedroom door when he was a small child. Something inside him tugged at his consciousness, telling him to comfort the man in front of him. He gave into it, strolling over to Shigaraki and perching hesitantly next to him on the corner of the bed. He clenched his fist, opening it to reveal a small, flickering blue flame.

“Focus on it,” he suggested quietly, softly nudging Shigaraki with his shoulder. Shigaraki turned his head, hyper fixating on the fire, anxious for his mind to be anywhere but on the events of the day and their effects. After a while, he sighed softly.

“Thank you, Dabi,” he murmured, looking up at the raven-haired male. His shivering had eased, and he felt slightly calmer. Dabi noticed the hand wasn’t on his face, as usual, and was surprised by how red Shigaraki’s eyes were. He’d been crying, for a long while. Dabi nodded.

“Anything for you, boss man,” he replied truthfully. He may act abrasive towards Shigaraki, but there was a fondness for him, somewhere deep inside. Shigaraki had accepted him, however slowly, and had given him a place to stay, a family, somewhere he belonged. Maybe that platonic feeling of respect and devotion had turned into something else…something more serious. Seized by a sudden inexplicable urge, he tucked a small portion of Shigaraki’s hair behind his ear. The smaller male turned to him, a soft vulnerable in his eyes that Dabi had never seen before. It made Shigaraki seem…almost fragile. Dabi slid his thumb over a scar on the man’s cheek, frowning slightly. Two imperfect beings, two scarred, broken creatures, adapted to the circumstances of the cruelty they were subject to…so perfect. Almost poetic, how they were frozen together in anarchy, yet the world kept spinning on its axis around them. And they were safe. Safe from it all, because, all though unspoken, now, they had each other.

He never thought Shigaraki would be so soft, so fragile, so carefully built. He wanted to accept Shigaraki as a part of him, to take him in, take his bones, his flesh, his mind and make the two of them one. To protect him through anything and everything, always. He’d break himself to keep Shigaraki intact, he’d never let the world touch him again. When his thought process broke, he looked up, only to find Shigaraki’s face mere inches from his own. The blue haired male exhaled slightly through his lips and Dabi could feel it on his own. Unconsciously, his tongue darted out to wet them.

“Why are you such an ass to me?” Shigaraki questioned bluntly. The flame in Dabi’s palm flickered once, twice, and blew itself out.

“I’m…afraid of what I feel.” The hand that had been holding the flame came to rest on his upper thigh.

“What do you feel?” Shigaraki asked, a note of gentle yet earnest curiosity in his voice. Dabi licked his lips once more, swallowing heavily. Shigaraki seemed much too close…

“Tell me,” he whispered when Dabi failed to answer. Dabi hesitated, visibly struggling before leaning in to capture Tomura’s lips in a gentle, tender kiss. Shigaraki gasped softly, but didn’t pull away, instead lifting his hand to hold the back of Dabi’s neck, pulling him closer. Finally. Finally, they both thought. Shigaraki’s hand came up to brush the stubble on Dabi’s jaw gently, and they were no longer aware of the passage of time. The stars whirled, the sun rose and set, a million years passed, and it made no difference. Their souls merged, never to be torn apart. They pulled away as one, exhaled as one. Their gazes caught each other, holding each other in a silent embrace, one that said everything…and nothing. They never left that place, that space of eternal bliss, where for once, everything was right.

THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I’M SO SORRY- If you like this story, drop a request for part two, and if you like my work so far, send a request in for another story!! Remember to name the characters (or if an x reader story, who you wish to be paired with) and a situation I can build on; i.e hanging out at the mall. I love all of you, regardless of whom you are and I hope you all have a wonderful October!!

#shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki tomura #dabi #touya todoroki #shigadabi #oneshot #fluff fic #I'm so proud-

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dracosaurusrex · 3 years

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Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day.

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning.

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise.

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all.

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed.

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily.

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father.

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events.

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away.

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks.

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.”

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!”

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp.

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently.

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided.

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.”

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week.

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.”

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?”

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well.

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?”

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter.

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window.

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time.

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly.

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him.

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken.

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition.

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness.

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl.

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process.

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care.

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye.

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her.

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?”

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.”

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger.

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.”

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day.

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house.

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.”

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another.

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away.

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips.

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change.

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together.

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working.

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings?

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement.

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection.

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks.

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face.

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.”

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd.

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him.

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.”

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice.

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts.

“Draco, what are you-”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away.

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing.

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity.

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his.

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin.

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #tw depression #tw self degredation

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danicarosaline · 4 years

Text

The nightmare

𝙹𝙹 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

The anon request: Hey! Can I please request a JJ imagine with "I thought you would never hurt me". he basically had a nightmare where he hits or hurts the reader but it's all fluffy when he wakes up💕💕

Warnings: ⚠️detailed description of violence⚠️

A/N: i am sorry anon, i kind of changed the nightmare into something more heartless & it’s a tad short );hope you still like it!!

( 𝚐𝚒𝚏 𝚋𝚢 @hvitstark )

The sun had drawn to take a rest, the moon taking over its place as the nightfall began to surround him, the distant light pole being a source of light, along with an old lantern he had set on the dirt after restlessly taking a seat on a murky tree log.

JJ loves the night because it hides all of his flaws, imperfections and the scars that burned onto his flesh from his father and from time to time, Rafe and his crew. JJ also loves the feeling of the soft breeze caressing his skin. Instantly calming his raging heartbeat as he stared off into the direction he came, waiting on you to arrive.

I need you. Come meet me at our favourite spot please.

I cant come over so please meet me at our spot. I love you.

JJ anxiously rubs his hands on his cargo shorts, standing up hastily as he paces back and forth. Sniffling and holding back the tears that had threatened to race down his cheeks.

The trees always looked different in the night and it was quite chilling, almost intimidating. Goosbumps had started to pattern his skin and his thin hoodie wasn’t doing him any good with the way it easily let the brisk air slip in. He cursed himself for shrugging away the thought of wearing something warmer, what an idiot he was. Where the hell is she?!

As if on cue, he heard the crunching of twigs snap in half, causing him to turn abruptly at the direction of the sound. You stood before him in your favourite black jumper, butterfly printed black sweats to match. Your arms were crossed but you didn’t seem angry, only cold as your teeth jittered and it almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

“JJ?” Your voice sounded so soft and angelic, as if he was only hearing it for the first time because his heart soared and he became weak in the knees. JJ started to reminisce about your sweet moments together. His first kiss with you and those first ‘i love you’s’ when you stared lovingly into each other’s eyes. If only it could last a bit longer.

His eyes watched you take leisurely steps towards him, uncrossing your arms from your chest and reaching out so you could pull him into your arms. Your brows were slumped downwards in confusion, your mouth slightly agape and all he wanted to do in this moment was to have his lips on yours but he held himself back. This is not what we came here to do

A calloused hand landed on your waist while the other gently gripped the base of your neck, pulling you closer so your forehead rested on his.

“Hey baby” he murmured, tugging you closer to his chest. Your breath fanned JJ’s face and he guessed you ate a few of those salted caramel candies you love so much before coming out here to see him. If you leaned in to kiss him he’d be able to taste it too.

“You’ve been crying love? What’s wrong?”

It has been a while since the last time JJ had texted you to meet him this late at night, though the only difference was that you have only been meeting the blond at your favourite spot during the daylight, not at the hours of twelve forty-five AM. Usually at these times JJ would be sneaking inside your bedroom window so you found it a bit odd and mildly suspicious that he refused to meet you back at your place.

Nevertheless, you trust him.

He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything terrible happened to the love of his life.

“I- i’m alright, nothing to worry about” JJ removed himself from his lover’s touch, only to bend down to pick up the old lantern from the ground. His eye twitched uncomfortably and he rapidly tilted his head to the side as if he had some sort of tic. His expression was far too serious for someone like himself and his knuckles were turning white from the tight clasp on the lantern.

“Jay please talk to me..” you studied his behaviour and brought your arms back to protectively wrap them across your chest. His jaw was clenched and the way he was inspecting you caused the hairs on your arms to stand but you didn’t know why exactly. He stood unnaturally still, not even blinking once.

“Love, I can’t help you if you don’t-“

JJ shifted the lantern to his less dominant hand so he could reach for something in his back pocket, once he pulled out the object you instinctively took a step back, your eyes bulging in shock at the sight of the sharp silver kitchen knife. The dim light in his hand illuminated his entire face so beautifully but below that unmoving eyes was a cheshire grin so terrifying, that you almost couldn’t recognise your favourite boy in front of you.

You back up against a tree, bushes and all sorts of branches blocked your way from escaping. JJ moved slowly, his movements came to a halt once he was only mere inches away from you. Aside from the beat of your heart, no muscle would move and your chest was heaving. You need to get away. This isn’t JJ.

In one quick movement JJ had a hand clutched around your throat forcing the air out of you, and your breath came in ragged, shallow gasps as you squirmed in JJ’s grip, clawing at his chest. “Tell me who he is” he growled. When JJ noticed you couldn’t speak he released your throat only to yank on the hair of your scalp instead, gazing at his girlfriend with little patience when the girl took her time to catch her breath.

“Answer me you whore”

The knife met your flesh, mushy and pudgy, that made a satisfying squish as the tip of the knife sank into your stomach. JJ twisted the knife, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper inside of you. Your cry was an intense sound, husky chokes mixed with an agonized roar that caused a satisfied smile to appear on his thin lips. He pulled out the knife and let you fall to your knees, taking a few steps back to examine what he’s done.

“I’m not done with you yet princess, just you wait”

JJ jolted awake from his unfathomable nightmare. His cheeks were flushed and wet with tears whilst his body bathed in cold sweat. The sheets were twisted around his limbs and his heart pounded against his chest. JJ was trembling. A fragment of the nightmare still clung to his mind. JJ angles his neck to the side, hoping he’d spot your sleeping figure beside him but panics when he finds it empty. Bits of golden locks fall onto his forehead as he wildly searches the room as if you’d be standing there watching him cry and thrash in his sleep.

JJ storms out of the guest bedroom with heavy footsteps, making the floorboards creak with every vivid step he took and jerking the door wide open, not really caring if it made a loud thud from hitting the wall that would probably awaken John B from his well deserved sleep. “Babe where are you!” He hollers, running a ring clad hand through his disheveled hair.

You sat in the kitchen, dressed in your work clothes and a cup of warm tea in your hands that almost spewed over upon hearing JJ’s loud, boyish voice. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you gazed at your crazy boyfriend wandering aimlessly around the chateau. Not spotting you at the kitchen table yet.

“JJ you crazy loser, what are you doing? It’s 8AM in the morning?”

“Oh my god..”

He trailed off as he scampered towards you and plucked you out of the chair to squeeze you in his embrace, he sighed in relief and patted your hair down. His heart continued to pound rapidly in his chest from the dream he had and even though you are safe and sound in his arms, he still couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. You pulled away to cup his face in your small hands, using a thumb to wipe away the visible tear that slipped out of his beautiful eyes and peppered his entire face in soft, sweet kisses.

“Did you have a nightmare again Jay?” You whispered quietly, knowing how shaken up JJ seemed and coming to the conclusion that this dream he had was most definitely worse than the ones he had the nights before. The boy just nodded and planted his face in the crook of your neck for comfort. Having you close calmed his nobility.

“It’s not real JJ i promise, I’m here for you okay?”

“I would never hurt you.. you’re everything to me and i can’t imagine a life without you. I can’t imagine ever laying a hand on you, i- i just never would. I fucking love you i do, i-“

He mumbled against your neck and squeezed you tighter in his arms, sniffling ever so quietly all the while holding a breath behind pursed lips. You don’t say a word, simply attaching your lips on his chapped ones to silence the rambles and to hope it would soothe away the negative thoughts that clouded his mind. JJ would never forgive himself if he laid a hand on his girl. He knows he is not like his father but the thought still weighs heavy on his mind.

JJ would rather go through the hells of his father’s fist or anyones for the matter before he would let himself harm you. JJ would end it all before that ever happened.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj outer banks #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #jj x y/n #jj x you #fanfiction #jj maybank angst #angst #outer banks jj maybank #outer banks angst

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eivorsjawline · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8: Clean and Cut

Tw: Food, consumption of alcohol, and scarring.

You and Eivor go shopping for some more fitting clothes. After a succesful shopping spree, you head back home to relax and watch a movie with your lover. Unfortunately, you fall asleep halfway through the movie and Eivor decides she has some exploring to do. In the morning, you wake up and cook some breakfast. The chapter ends with a warm shower together.

Eivor’s POV

The reflection in the mirror stared back at me. I lifted my shirt and stared at the bandaged wound on my abdomen, every scar and pore on my body visible. I couldn’t help but feel insecure, never having seen myself from this close before. They were not pleasing to the eye but I always wore them with honor, each imperfection on my body from the large one across my cheek to the ones all over my torso. I lifted my shirt over my head, pulling the sleeves down to my elbows for a look at the ones on my back and stopped for a moment. A knock on the door startled me and I quickly readjusted myself and fixed my shirt. My hand held the door knob and slowly opened. Behind the door revealed Y/n giving me a small smile, she then asked me how I was feeling and if I found everything okay. I nodded and we walked over to her bedroom. The light peaked through the curtains and the room was tidy and kept.

“Eivor, Lay with me.”

Laying down in the large bed, I started to sink inwards. My body had never touched anything so plush and soft before. The bedding was pure white and the sheets soft. I imagine this is what resting on a cloud feels like. I turned towards Y/n and rubbed my hand across her arms, she rested in my chest and ran her fingers through my locks. She seemed to have an infatuation with my hair, I think it might be one of her favorite parts of me. When we embraced one another I never felt uncomfortable, she brought me peace. It pained me to think I almost threw everything we had away due to my selflessness, but she forgave me. Whatever feelings she held for me were always unconditional, even with my faults. Our lips met with a soft kiss, my hand holding onto the back of her neck. The kiss was short but intense until she pulled away and suggested we find some better clothes for me to wear.

Reader’s POV

I waited patiently next to the changing rooms for Eivor to reveal the outfits we picked out together, until I tapped on the door to check to see what was taking so long. When I opened the door she was almost fully dressed but needed a few tweaks from my magic touch. I grinned and helped adjust her pant zipper, which I could tell completely discombobulated her. She wore a slightly oversized gray shirt with a red flannel over it, the jeans were dark almost black and we picked out a good jacket to keep her warm. I fixed the collar of the jacket after helping her arms through the sleeve holes. Lots of pockets lined the sides reminding me that such a thing never existed in the Viking era. To finish the look, a black pair of 1460 Dr. Martens combat boots. She placed her hands in the pockets of her coat before giving a turn in the mirror, already feeling more confident. The shaved part of her head looked cut and clean from the haircut she just got, her Nordic braids falling just over her shoulder. The tattoo that covered her scar peeked through and when I stepped closer, the faint smell of a musky cologne radiated from her body. She was pleased with her new look, almost as much as I.

“Wait… I have a surprise.”

“Eivor, what are you doing?”

She had a small grin on her face when she pulled me outside and made me sit in a chair by the changing rooms. The door closed and I waited for her, “surprise”. We ended up picking a variety of sweaters, jeans, sweatpants, shoes and other fundamentals to start her new life. I noticed she stuck to darker and neutral colors, perhaps they reminded her of her armor. Time continued to pass as I heard Eivor shuffling in the dressing room in front of me. I started to count how many panels were on the floor beneath me until the door flung open and Eivor in a nice black suit stood in front of me. Her hands fiddled with her pockets as she looked down at the clean pair of dress shoes she had on. The sleeves hugged her biceps and thighs just enough and the low collar teased the skin on her chest. She looked up at me and did the cheeky smirk she always does, as if she knew just how good she looked.

“What do you think? Worthy of one of those things you call a “selfie”? I asked what I should wear if I wanted to impress someone. ”

My jaw dropped at the confident woman in front of me, whatever words I wanted to say were completely wiped from my mind. I gulped and stood in awe of her power before finally telling her how beautiful she looked. My mind just began to process that she, Eivor, asked for a selfie with me. Trying to control my laughter, I pulled out the camera on my phone. She pulled me closer and wrapped her hand around my waist, ready for the picture. The moment was so bizarre, taking a picture with a viking in real time. I snapped the photo and let her analyze it, she made a shrug before boasting about how good we looked. Suddenly, I was ready to go home and take off all the clothes we bought today.

“Alright, enough fun. Let's get out of here.”

When we arrived home, the day turned into night and I decided it was time to get comfy. I opened up a bottle of fine wine for me and Eivor, then pouring a glass for the both of us. Eivor made herself at home on the sofa while I popped in a Quentin Tarantino movie to watch. Some snacks laid on the coffee table and the smell of a lavender scented candle filled the room. Eivor opened up her arms for me to snuggle up to her chest. She wore a loose cut off tank top that exposed some of her chest. Our legs intertwined as my fingers ran over the tattooed skin on her arms and the movie began to play.

Eivor’s POV

I peeked underneath me to see Y/n eyes had closed. The film intrigued me so much I hadn’t noticed my lover fell asleep. I took a moment to think about how grateful I was that she remained in my life and admired the sleeping beauty atop of me. After readjusting myself, I placed two arms beneath her and cradled her body before lifting her up with ease. She rested her head on my shoulder and threw an arm over me, tired sounds escaping her. The door to her bedroom remained open and I pressed my back to widen the entrance. I threw the corners of her comforter to the side and laid her down gently in bed before covering her up so she wouldn’t be cold. My lips met her forehead with a soft kiss.

For an odd reason, sleep was the last thing on my mind. I closed the door behind me and made my way to the living room. She had a few books laid on the table in the middle of the room. Dozens in a bookcase nearby, some even collecting dust. Curiosity got the best of me and I turned the page open in one of her many journals. A feeling of sadness overcame me when I read the captivating yet melancholic words on the paper.

“November, 2nd 2020

The house is quiet as always. Perhaps, one day someone will find me worthy to occupy it with me. A woman to warm my bed on chilly nights like this. Suppression has only caused the deep sadness within me to grow and spread. I'm not sure what I’m doing with my life at this point, or what the purpose of this all even is. I don't believe I’ll ever be truly happy in my life at this pace. Maybe, the universe will send me an angel to guide me.

To love me…”

I rested my hand on my chin, as I read over the words repeatedly. She never told me she felt this way and I can't help but feel as if I read something I wasn’t supposed to. If she needed to speak to me about anything I know she would. I placed the journal back where it belonged and slouched on the sofa. My hand reached for the bottle of wine to pour another glass, meanwhile the window remained open and the tall lit up buildings could be seen even from afar. Mankind touched the heavens and my lips touched the brim of the wine glass. Cars raced below me and the bustling city never seemed to quiet. I began to understand how this overpopulated world is filled with so many lonely people.

I poured yet another glass of wine after finishing what I had lost count of. I flickered the light on in the bathroom before placing my hands on the sides of the sink and taking a good look at myself. Turning the faucet on, I then splashed some cold water over my face. Perhaps, it was an attempt to check if all that I’m experiencing is reality. My body let out a yawn and I made way to join my time-crossed lover in bed. I dropped the clothes I had on and laid underneath the covers. When I placed my hands over Y/n’s waist she shifted as If she woke up for a moment and shortly drifted off again. A kiss was placed on her bare shoulder before I felt my eyes begin to close.

Reader’s POV

The sunlight that peered through the window awoke me and I noticed Eivor was still sound asleep. Carefully, I stood up from the bed and tiptoed out the door. My cat meowed and pawed at the bowl on the floor next to her table. After refilling her bowl and checking her water, I started to rummage through the fridge for breakfast. After pulling out a couple skillets, I slapped a few slabs of bacon on the pan and started to cook them slowly. I gathered a bowl and started to beat an egg, adding some vanilla and cinnamon before dipping some bread in the mixture. The butter in the hot skillet started to melt and once the bread started to cook, the familiar smell of french toast filled the air. I flipped the bacon and pulled out some fresh strawberries to put on top of the toast.

Sure enough, Eivor stood by the hallway and let out a big yawn and stretch. She walked up from behind me and gave an embrace, placing kisses on the side of my neck and cheek. Eivor was always quick to run at the smell of food. She sat in a chair by the table with a silly grin on her face as I fixed a plate for her. Her eyes lit up when I placed the plate in front of her, even if it was a simple gesture. She started to scarf down her food as I sat in front of her stirring some sugar into my coffee. I passed some maple syrup towards her, a necessity in my opinion.

“Can't forget this.”

I chuckled and held my hand out across the table for hers to meet mine. The heat from the sun shined through the window and though I was unsure of how much time I had left with her, I enjoyed every second. Once we finished eating, Eivor stretched her legs out and jokingly rubbed her belly from how full she was. She had two platefuls after all. She was beautiful, even if she had just woken up and was yet to comb through her hair. Her deep and intense eyes held a certain ambiance, every scar on her body has become mesmerising to me. I stood up from my seat and onto her lap, straddling my legs around her as her tattooed hands grazed my backside. She looked up at me, a loving expression residing on her face. My eyes wandered to her right arm, examining the ancient tattoos. She held her forearm upwards, her fingers bending for me to get a closer look.

“This one here,” She pointed at the dated symbol and swallowed.

“Is in remembrance of my parents. I lost them when I was very young.”

I listened as she explained the story of her parents death, her situation became more clear to me. Though it was an old wound and whether she showed it or not, the impact was obvious in her now soft voice. Holding her arm out to the side now revealing a stitched symbol, she explained to me the meaning of the, “Aegishjalmur” symbol. Her people swore it granted protection and power to those who wield it. I listened patiently as Eivor guided me through every work of art on her body and she enjoyed telling me. My fingers ruffled her hair and I insisted on a nice hot shower, afterwards explaining how showers are better than baths.

When we entered the bathroom, Eivor pinned me in between her against the wall and we shared a passionate slow kiss. The nature of the kiss was purely romantic, rather than lustful. We undressed one another, her lifting my shirt and I hers. I undid the tie on her sweatpants and her body assisted me as they pulled down. I was only in underwear and those dropped shortly afterwards. I ran the water and adjusted the temperature to how I like it. Her hand played with the water running from the shower head, still puzzled by the small things from this time. Upon entering, the strong warrior had to jump back for a second from the water.

“How can you handle water this hot?” She exclaimed.

We laughed and I apologized before readjusting the temperature again. She let out a sigh of relief and let the water hit her naked body completely. My sinful eyes watched in pleasure as she applied soap over her body. From her broad shoulders, the muscles that poked out on them. To the water that fell upon her chest, the two hardened lumps that occupied her breasts. Finally, all the way down to the hairs on the middle of her pelvis. I applied some more soap to her body as for assistance, but I was truly worshipping the goddess in front of me.

“Turn around.”

“What?” She hesitated.

I nodded my head and gave a look as if I was demanding. Slowly, she obeyed and the deep cuts on her back from battle were exposed. It was always obvious to me that Eivor was insecure about her scars. The water fell down on her back washing the suds away, I placed my hand on her shoulder and she turned her head to the side with a concerned look. Eivor’s facial expressions relaxed when I started to place kisses from the back of her neck to the start of her waist. The mood changed completely when I pressed the front of my body to the back of hers, my arms wrapped around her sturdy abdomen.

“Eivor, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Don't you ever forget that.”

She turned around in one of the most vulnerable states I had seen her in, my words triggering something within her.

#female eivor #ac valhalla #assasinscreed #fem eivor #eivor #assasins creed valhalla #f!eivor #eivor x reader #fan fiction #fanfic

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goldenvoicedminstrel · 3 years

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realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel.

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad.

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture.

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening.

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it.

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song.

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls.

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair.

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother.

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand.

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger.

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been. Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family.

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it.

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them. They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth.

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it.

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

#today on making myself sad at 1:30 am #maglor #i love you bby i'm sorry #makalaure #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #feanor #feanorians #silmarillion #just realised it's #feanorianweek #and maglor day as well here #tis fate #golden writes

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readyplayerhann · 3 years

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King of the World.

Starring... Bang Chan & Y/N Y/L/N

Mentions... other Stray Kids

Warnings: threats of violence, prostitution, and death. explicit language

Universe: mafia!bang chan, gang!bang chan, mob!bang chan

Word Count: 1.5 K

Last week, you stole from gangster Bang Chan unknowingly. This week, he has came to your house twice, this time coming with a favor to ask.

...

"Hello, princess." Chan's voice greeted you as soon as you stepped into your dimly lit home. You remembered that you turned off your lights before going to work so the sight of the lights when you pulled up to your house in your beat up car caused dread to flood your system, stilling the movements of your body.

You could've driven away, chosen to postpone the inevitable, avoid Chan, but you knew the man would just chase after you. Whatever patient feelings he had toward you vanishing and leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a finger on the trigger. You wanted to avoid trigger happy Bang.

You don't say anything for a few moments, just shrugging your bag off, your jacket following suit. As you moved, your brain restricted most of your body's motion, moving slowly during your tasks. You could sense the heat of the gang banger's gaze on your back, but you take your time trying to collect yourself, not wanting him to see you sweat. That decision could prove faulty if the intruder in your outside became impatient. Still, you slowed yourself as you took off the over-garment.

"What? You're not going to greet me?" He taunted in a raspy deep-tone. You caught rustling over your shoulder as he moved him his seat in your dining room. The chair scrapped across the hardwood of your floor as he shoved the seat into place. You cringed at the sound before tensing up against your command as he sauntered closer.

"And you said I'm the one who doesn't have manners." He goaded before a light scoff drawled from his mouth, his body coming to invade your space from behind. Your body locked immediately, your heart rattling away in your chest as he helped you escape the confines of your jacket. He handed the fabric with such care that the juxtaposition of that and him being a harden criminal you knew him to be was apparent. Rugged, scarred fingers grazed your arm, slowly, gently before stopping on your upper arms before dropping to his side. You straightened, back becoming stiff which only pressed you closer to Chan.

If Chan noticed your reaction he doesn't say anything, he just pulled away taking your jacket along with him and throwing it on top of your tiny dining table. It grazed the table top before falling uselessly to the floor.

You turned completely towards him, no more hiding yourself away.

"Minho," His voice was stern as he spoke to the man unknown to you. You hadn't even noticed him when you walked in. He turned to the other man standing in the corner, silently, his face a mask devoid of any emotions, his eyes black and soulless, "Go take a walk. I want to talk to princess alone for a second."

The man made a grunt of agreement, his dark eyes trailing over your frame as he walked pass you. He flashed you a quick smile, a bloodied and cunning one if you had to describe it. It's only true purpose was to draw out the fear within it's desired victim and it worked, dragging the dead corpse that was once your carefully hidden fear out for them both to see. You breathe caught in your throat and you have to fight to breath again.

The male closest to you leaned forward again, allowing his lips to press against the shell of your ear. You wanted to pull back knowing it was futile, but you tried anyways but Chan caged you in against a nearby counter with his face so close, his breath ghosting over your lips.

Chan had a naturally kind face, soft eyes that might've held the world if he wasn't burned by it and a gentle smile if he allowed himself to do so. The dimples of his cheeks sat there like the perfect imperfection they were. If you both were in a different situation, where you didn't owe him money and he wasn't willing to kill you to get it back, you might've been into his advances. Or, rather his close proximity.

You turned away, thinking your eyes lingered too long on the face of the home invader.

"Look at me." Chan ordered, one his hands coming to grasp at your jaw to force you to meet his eyes. His hands are rough as he forced you to look at him and you jostled in his touch. His eyes pierce yours as you're made to take him in. Twinges of anger swirl in his dark brown, almost black eyes in the night and you shivered at the reach it has on your body.

Even with your head positioned to look at him, your eyes bounced everywhere except for the man before you. Upon your avoidance of the man, you noticed the money stacked high over your table, the one with the fallen jacket beside it. The money that you stole. He had found it or what was left of it. You wouldn't expect anything less from someone who had broken into your house twice.

"Oh," He grinned, following your line of sight to catch a glimpse of the paper bills stacked neatly, "You see the money? You see I counted it, but it's a little short. Like a hundred grand short." Chan turned back to you, dropping his hand from your face and returning to cage you in, "Have you figured out how you're going to get my money back, princess?"

"I-I-" It's the first time you try to speak and you realize immediately how fucking dry your throat his. Chan's lips twitched slightly at your hesitance and offered a mockingly encouraging brow, "I'm t-taking extra shifts at work. I'll get you your money, I just need time."

"Something tells me it'll be a while before you get that hundred grand from your job." He remarked, pulling away from you and walking towards the dining table. He took in your dingy, broken down, one story home, a note of distaste in his eyes as he inspected the place. It was rugged, yes, but it was one of the only places you could afford that was decently away from major crime hot spots. Turns out that didn't matter because crime fucking showed up anyways.

The absence of his presence allowed you to breathe for a moment, before a glint of metal on Chan's hip caught your eyes.

"You know," Chan drawled quietly, taking his seat at the head of the table like he was the king of the world. He flicked his eyes in your direction as he reached for his hip, revealing a gun dipped in sterling silver and your heart dropped to your stomach, "I usually don't do house calls. I would normally leave that for to the others. Minho for example should've been the one to visit you and your partners maybe along with Hyunjin or Changbin, but when I heard it was a single person who stole half a million bucks from me, I just had to see the fucker who was confident enough - no stupid enough to steal from me."

"Imagine my surprise when I'm told a suburban rat with no priors was bold enough to take from me."

"I needed the money." It was all you can say. It's the truth, but it didn't mean jack shit to the man in front of you. Chan's face remained unimpressed, plump lips thinning into a line as he regarded you.

"Desperation is a funny thing, princess. It can be in response to many events. Heartbreak, finical standing, the need to succeed but the result is always the same. Selling yourself. Whether that be your mind, body or soul. Something has to be exchanged for your errors to right themselves." Chan took his eyes away from you for a moment, brown eyes dragging across the paper in front of him, "Now which one are you willing to sell?" His brow was peaked again, no longer taunting, just plain questioning. It still managed to raise a bit of stress within you.

You spluttered, lips closing and opening as you try to gauge his question with a heavy heart. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stare back at the man eyeing you.

"Y'know, some are lucky enough to end up dead from the their desperate attempts to salvage their lives. Others in prisons and a few manage to come out unscathed only to realizing the mirror will remind them of the scars of their past. But you?" He left out a harsh laugh, dark eyes shining, in the pale moonlight seeping in, embracing your shivering body, "You got the worst fate of all. You're indebted to me."

Chan moved to his feet, swiftly gathering himself and calling for Minho. He stepped forward and you take a step back. His lips curled into a pleasantly cunning smirk at your frighten features.

"There's a shipment coming in at the doc five, downtown. I need you to be there at eleven pm to pick it up and drop it off as this location." He pulled a card with his chicken scratch on it and slide it in front of your face, giving your eyes a break from staring at the hauntingly handsome man in front of you.

Chan shoved the card into your hand, impatient as you just stared at him in disbelief. He turned to leave.

He paused to call your name, "And Y/N?"

"Y-yes?"

"You die the moment you're late. Don't disappointment me , princess."

#stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids au #bang chan #bang chan au #kpop #kpop au

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ilydenji · 4 years

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❝kiss it better❞

↳kageyama doesn’t understand why you’re so insecure about your body. he tries to show you that despite your imperfections, you’re still beautiful in his eyes.

characters: kageyama tobio

warnings/tw: mentions of self harm; nsfw implications;

words: 1.9k

a/n: i tried to be as vague as i could w the mentions of scars- just cause i don’t like talking about that stuff but </3 here we are ;;

the feeling of his soft lips nipping your skin was enough to drive you insane. his soft, gentle, almost hesitant touch that grazed your plush thighs made you feel butterflies in your stomach. the anxiety within you only raised tenfold when you felt kageyama's hands reach the hem of your shirt.

“tobio...” you breathed out, gently grabbing his wrist to momentarily stop him. kageyama pulled away to give you a concerned look. no matter how long you’ve been with him, the intense look in his eyes had always made you feel so small compared to him. shyly turning your head away from him, looking at anything but him.

“y/n... what’s wrong? did I go too far?” the concern woven in his tone made you feel bad for stopping him. you wanted to tell him what was on your mind. but you couldn’t exactly find the right words.

“tobio.. can we turn off the lights?” turning your attention back onto him, the look of pure confusion was blatant on his face. mentally kicking yourself for phrasing it like that, you slowly sat upon your shared bed. kageyama got the hint and backed up from you, letting you have your space. trying to find your next set of words, you played with your fingers nervously. kageyama reached over and brought your hand into his, he must’ve picked up on your nervousness. he rubbed his thumb lightly on the back of your hand and silently edged you go continue.

“I just.. don't want you to see me.” once these words left your mouth, all of his movements had paused for a while. you couldn’t help but think you were just wasting his time with your insecurities. but it wasn’t something you couldn’t help, you didn’t want to feel his lingering gaze all over your bare body. just thinking of what he would think of it made you feel uneasy. if anything, you were silently wishing he would just go along with it and not question it but of course, that wouldn’t be kageyama.

“why? I want to see you y/n... I can stop if you want me too” he shifted closer to you on the bed, making you want to shrink down into the sheets. the embarrassment you felt by just bringing it up, wishing you had kept it all to yourself and let him touch you. at this point, looking at him just made you feel bad. but you didn’t want to stop, no, you wanted him to keep going. you needed his touch. you were just scared of judgment honestly.

“it’s just that... I don't think I look good tobio.. you wouldn’t like how I look.” you tried to dance around the question as vague as you could. not once did you ever bring up what you had under your clothes. bringing it up in any context was nerve-wracking, you never knew how to properly bring up the topic. but, with the given situation, it seems perfect to do so now. the only problem is, you’re scared of what he’ll think.

kageyama didn't say anything for a while, he looked lost in thought, trying to come up with a response that didn’t sound insensitive in any way. instead of using his words, he brushed the hair from your forehead aside so he could lean in and kiss you on your forehead. the action took you by surprise a little, not expecting that from him.

“I don't get why you don't want me to see you through. do you not trust me?” kageyama's voice lowered to almost a whisper. his intentions were innocent, he didn’t mean for his words to come out the way that they did, but they just made you feel even worse. to even answer him, you needed to explain yourself. you never brought up this topic to anyone. although it’s been years since you had last done it, the evidence remains. overwhelmed with your inner conflict, you failed to realize the small tears that were collected in your eyes. kageyama noticed though. without a word, he leaned in to softly kiss you, cupping your cheeks so you had no choice but to look at him.

“y/n, I don’t understand whats going on. please tell me” his brows were knitted together in a mixture of confusion and worry. he thought he had done something to upset you, when in reality that was farther from the truth.

“tobio, I’m just scared of what you’ll think of me,” you muttered, opting to melt into his hands, seeing that there wasn’t much you could do. your hands reached up to hold onto his. kageyama could be a little dense most times, not picking up on social cues. he wasn’t sure about what to do or say, so he decided the best way to go about this was through silent physical affection. he pulled you into an embrace, his strong arms holding you lovingly. burying your face into his chest, he drew small circles on your lower back.

“y/n, you trust me right?” you heard his voice soften for you. he pulled away from you so he could get a better look at your face. you could only nod at his words.

“then please, let me show you what I think of you” kageyama simply stated. unsure of where this sudden demeanor came from your usually awkward boyfriend, you sat there a little confused. however, you didn't try to stop him when he gently laid you down back to the bed, slowly lifting your shirt. once removed, he started kissing you from your waist and slowly trailed up to your chest, between each kiss he’d mumble praises and soft ‘i love yous’. one hand on your hip, while the other intertwined with your free hand, he kissed each small scar that littered your body. he wanted to prove to you that even with the scars you’re just as beautiful in his eyes.

the feeling inside you was one you couldn’t describe. you’ve never expected for him to take it so well, let alone wordlessly be so affectionate towards you. his touch was soft, gentle, and full of all the love he had for you. he didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. with each kiss, a nonverbal “I love you” was said. it was all so overwhelming for you, you couldn’t help but let tears slip out your eyes. trying to keep quiet, you bit your lip in the hope that kageyama didn’t catch you crying. but the quiet sniffles didn’t go unheard. kageyama quickly took notice, and though he had done something wrong. he shifted on the bed to come closer to you. he then proceeded to kiss the tears that rolled down your cheeks, wrapping his hands around your waist pulling you closer to his body.

“it’s okay, I’m here”

ah,, i hope this is good? idk this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest- i kinda liked writing this?? maybe i’ll write something similar w/ other characters who knows idfk anyways thank you <3

masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x male reader #kageyama tobio fluff #kageyama tobio smut #kageyama fluff #kageyama x reader #kageyama smut #kageyama imagines #kageyama headcanons #kageyama tobio headcanons #haikyuu x reader #st.original

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akiraidraws · 3 years

Text

Imperfection AU: Beginnings Chapter 2

Summary: With the help of the ink machine and a little magic, new life is created. A new little toon in the shape of a little devil darling. But when he turns out to be riddled with imperfections can Henry save him from Joey's wrath?

Trigger Warning:Violence, light swearing

Walking into the room that housed the machine, Joey made his way over to a strange man that Henry didn't recognize. The man was taller than Joey and himself with broad shoulders and short darker blonde hair styled in a military cut. Except it was longer towards the front and curled slightly with only the back in the usual buzz cut. Inspecting the man, Henry noticed that the patch on the strange man's chest read 'Gent'.

Ah, he was one of the engineers Joey had hired to build the machine.

From what Henry could hear of the conversation, the man, Thomas Connor it seems his name was, and Joey were going over some final details of the machine.

So, this man was the head engineer from Gent that Wally had told him about. Well, more like he complained to Henry about.

Tom, correcting Joey on what to refer to himself as confirmed that everything was in place and that the machine was ready to use for whatever it is that Joey had planned.

The conversation coming to an end, Joey dismissed Tom.

Tom glanced Henry's way as he walked past him, a neutral expression plastered across his features. Henry noticed a small scar that cut across Tom's left eye, and continued up past his brow. Probably from a past work injury. Maybe military? Tom on the other hand was looking Henry up and down as if studying him before he turned away from Henry with a small exhale and walked out of the room.

Henry's brief encounter with the man left him feeling just a little intimidated and with a slight sense of unease, don't get on Tom's bad side. Duly noted.

Usually Henry wouldn't judge a book by it's cover, but something about Thomas Connor just felt... off. It's no wonder Wally had such a distaste for the man.

Turning his attention back to Joey who was now facing the large machine with his back turned to Henry, his eyes wondering to the floor at Joey's feet. It looked like there was some sort of large circle messily painted on the floor with black ink. A pentagram? Some sort of binding circle maybe? Henry wasn't sure, he didn't really know too much about Joey's... hobbies.

"Joey, what is this?"

"Oh, this? It's nothing to worry about. Just a little something to strengthen the incantation."

"After all, we don't want any mistakes now, do we?"

"I guess not..?"

Henry watched as Joey walked over to a mid sized wooden table that was along the wall to their left. He grabbed an armful of well used black candles and placed them at each point of the star within the circle. After making sure each candle was properly lit, Joey walked back to the table and grabbed a thick purple book with a black binding along the spine and a similar looking symbol to the one on the floor.

To say that Henry felt uneasy about this was an understatement, but any second thoughts he may have been having were interrupted by the sound of Joey's voice.

"Henry, if you could just stand right over there." Joey gestured across the room to the far right wall.

"And be careful not to step in the ink, please."

Henry strolled to the other end of the room and crossed his arms giving Joey a quizzical look.

"Watch the machine. You'll want to see this, trust me."

"... Okay." Henry said as he looked the machines way.

He didn't believe a word of what Joey had said but he was willing to entertain his notions. After all, Joey had plenty of experience in this type of thing so Henry trusted him enough to stop if things got dicey.

Joey flipped through the pages of his book with ease and began to chant when he landed on the desired spell.

The ink used to form the circle began to glow a harsh gold and the candles flames swelled. Henry rushed to cover his eyes, momentarily blinded by the unexpected flash of light. In his moment of blindness he failed to notice a small pastel blue orb that radiated from his chest and made its way within the pentagram. A piece of his very soul. As soon as the blue soul piece touched the ink, the harsh gold immediately faded away to a soft pastel blue.

A blue that spread upwards forming an almost invisible wall around the symbol painted on the wooden floor.

A sudden gurgling noise from the machine drew Henry's attention as he uncovered his eyes. He was still blinking away the stars in his vision when ink began to pour from the machines large nozzle with a plethora of sloshing and splashing sounds. The ink was rushing out in alarming amounts but never left the bounds of the circle.

As the last words of the chant left Joey's lips he snapped the book closed with a loud resounding 'CRACK!". Almost as if on cue, the candles flames fizzled out and the ink stopped flowing save for a few drips that lingered on the nozzle of the machine. The pool of ink on the floor began to recess and form a small figure in the middle of the circle.

Henry couldn't believe what he was seeing as a figure began to take shape within the ink puddle. It was small and it was... moving?

Henry must have taken an involuntary step forward because the next thing he knew Joey had him by the arm pulling him away from what was happening before them.

"Wait, Henry! It's not done yet!" Joey all but shouted.

"I-I cant believe it..."

"I know! Isn't it exciting!?"

Henry nodded and turned his attention back to the figure within the ink.

With the last of its little body formed, the excess ink evaporated away like it was nothing more than water in a hot skillet. The last of the ink gone, the soft blue light emanating from the circle burst like glass and faded away leaving only the newborn creature in its wake.

The creature managed to shakily prop itself up on its small arms and onto its knees. It looked from Henry to Joey then back at Henry and smiled a familiar blocky smile on its yellowed face. Its black pie cut eyes looking nervously up at the men before it, its horns twitching before going still.

"Is... is that? Bendy?" Henry asked cautiously, taking a few steps forward to get a better look.

Joey didn't respond. He made no effort to move from where he stood as Henry left his side and approached the little toon devil.

Kneeling down in front of him, he was so small, so... infant like.

Black pie cut eyes watched the man in front of him as Henry tilted his head to the side curiously. An action that Bendy mirrored.

The toon copied every movement that Henry made.

Henry smiled and let out a laugh at the way Bendy was mirroring him.

As a result, Bendy let out the cutest little giggle that Henry had ever heard.

There was no doubt that this little toon was in fact, a baby. Well, maybe not a baby per say but he was definitely in an infant like phase of his life. New, and small, and so so innocent.

"Hello, little one. My name is Henry and that-" motioning over his left shoulder "is my good friend Joey."

Bendy reached his little yellowed hands out and beamed "Henry! Hen, Hen-Henry! Henry!"

"Yes. Yes, that's right."

"Henry!" Bendy giggled as he repeated the name a number of times to Henry's amusement.

Henry reached out and placed a hand under each of Bendy's arms carefully lifting him up off the floor to get a better look at the toon. Bendy letting out a small squeak as he was lifted from where he sat. Henry was shocked to see that in place of the usual skinny legs and large shoes were a set of almost gazelle like legs minus the hooves. His legs simply petered off into rounded hooveless points. And now that he was looking closer he could see what appeared to be a little pointed tail curled slightly around the toon’s dangling legs and it was twitching slightly. The little demon whined and wriggled as he tried to free himself from Henry's grasp.

"Hey now, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be scared." Henry cooed as he pulled the toon to his chest and gently caressed the tiny demons cheek in an attempt at comfort.

He was so small. Henry could cradle him with a single arm.

Bendy looked up at Henry and then over his shoulder, his eyes going wide. He grasped Henry's shirt tightly and buried his face in Henry's chest, whimpering. His tail trying to wrap itself around the mans waist but being too short to do so.

Confused, he turned to look over his own shoulder now, coming face to face with Joey who was leaning forward just behind him. Looking rather displeased with the situation at hand. Joey was glaring at the little toon in Henry's arms.

Bringing himself to his feet, Henry turned to face Joey.

"Why are you looking at him like that?"

"This is all wrong. How could this have happened?!"

"Huh??"

Joey sneered disgustedly at the little toon. Using Henry's soul piece should have worked, should have made the perfect toon. So why didn't it?

Joey snatched the frightened newborn toon from Henry's arms, knocking him to the floor in the process. He was going to return this little abomination to the ink like he had done to the countless before him. Imperfection will not be tolerated. Bendy crying out loudly in fear as Joey made his way back to the machine. Dazed from the impact, Henry quickly collected himself and picked himself up off of the floor. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins. Bendy's wails grew more frantic sending a shockwave of alarm through Henry's core. His eyes now set on Joey. He rushed towards Joey wrapping his arms around the smaller mans shoulders in a vice grip causing him to drop the toon like a rock. Bendy hit the floor with a loud 'thud', knocking the breath out of his little inky lungs. Dazed, confused and frightened, Bendy was frozen were he lie, curled into himself with his tail wrapped tightly around his small body. Henry immediately abandoned his hold on Joey and scrambled for the newborn toon on the floor scooping him up into a protective embrace.

Angry, Joey dives at Henry shouting.

"Give it to me!! It's an abomination!"

Henry's temper flares as he bristles. His hold on the little toon growing tighter while he shields Bendy from Joey's grasp.

"He's just a baby, Joey!!"

Joey dives for the toon in Henry's arms once more. The two men joined in an intricate dance as Henry dodges Joey's prying clutches. Set on protecting the frightened whimpering bundle in his arms.

"I knew it was a mistake bringing you here for this! Of course you would try to protect an abomination! You've always been too weak for your own good!!" Joey hisses. His own temper flaring at Henry's intervention.

"Really?? Well how's this for weak?!" Henry roared back, planting his foot squarely against Joey's chest sending him reeling backward into the cold metal of the machine. Knocking the air out of the fuming man.

Henry hated doing it, but no way in hell was he going to let Joey harm the defenseless little bundle he had cradled protectively in his arms. He stood defensively, ready for Joey to make another move.

But it never came.

Joey sat up slowly, rubbing at the side of his head. A pained expression plastered across his features.

"Fine." Joey spat coldly. His gaze focused entirely on Henry.

"You want it, then you take it. But you would do well to keep that abomination away from me, Stein."

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geekydane · 4 years

Text

Talk to me - Tommy Shelby x reader - chapter 7

Masterlist

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It's was weird packing clothes in a duffle bag to bring with you out of your apartment. It suddenly reminded you of the Langstons again. They didn't let you pack your own stuff. It suddenly just appeared at your apartment one day when you got home from work.

You didn't know what you pack to this... Sleepover? What was going to happen? Tommy was standing downstairs in your living room waiting for you, but you were starting to grow uneasy. You wanted to help Tommy in every possible way because he had treated you so well, but your anxiety started to creep in on you. He was still a man and you knew for a fact that he wasn't God's best child. In the short span of time you had known him he had killed two men. Why weren't you afraid of him? You were sure he would be able to hurt you... Right? Was it wrong to let him in and help him?

"Do you have everything you need?" you jumped when Tommys voice was hears from the door. He pushed open the door to your bedroom slightly and looked quickly around until he found you sitting next to your bag which was sprawling on the bed. Your thoughts must have been easy to read on your face, because Tommy suddenly looked all shy and took of his hat.

"You don't have to do this if you don't feel comfortable with it. It was just a thought now that it worked before"

Tommy looked down and a little defeated. It must be hard for him to be a man of such power and then ask a mental woman for help. Your previous thought about him ever hurting you disappeared and you took in a deep breath and closed your bag and right a knot on the strings. As you stood, Tommy finally looked up and straightened as you neared the door.

"Ladies first." he said and stepped aside.

He led you back to the Shelby residence, but you noticed how you were walking another way than you used to walk to work. This time it was smaller streets with fewer people nodded towards Tommy and acknowledge the great Mr. Shelby of Birmingham. Still, people noticed him everywhere like he was some kind of celebrity. You didn’t realize you were already at his house, when he limped the stairs up to an unknown door. You looked up at the stone façade and realized that it must be some kind of back entrance that you didn’t know of. You were only used to seeing the house from the front. He locked up the door and let you go in first. It was an unfamiliar hallway but it had the same colours and matching interiors to the rest of the Shelby house.

You were wondering why he let you in through the backdoor. The family knew you very well but maybe this was too much to Tommy to let them know about the two of you. It wasn’t like you were lovers from two rivalling families like the infamous lovers Romeo and Juliet. You were two broken souls that help each other find a way to make every day less sufferable. At least his brothers would understand. You walked up a spiral staircase to the first floor. You remember leaving through this hall, but in the other end with the grant staircase to the ground floor. You didn’t need Tommy to lead you to which door was his. When you reached the door, you turned around to see if he was right behind you he smiled sweetly at you and opened the door for you.

The smell was familiar to you. You had spent a good 24 hours in there a few days before. The whole room was Tommy. His musky Aqua Velva aftershave, the cigarette smoke and the smell of fresh sheets. You wondered who changed the sheets, because you didn’t think Tommy to be one that changed them himself.

“Let’s not make this more awkward than it is. Get yourself ready for bed like you use to and I’ll change in the wash room.” Tommy cleared his throat before he left the room and let you alone. You shifted a little, didn’t know what to do with yourself. You walked over to the bed and sat down. The bedding was changed since your attack. You hadn’t noticed much about the colour back then, but now it was blue tartan. You would have remembered that because it was very unusual for normal people to have colours beddings. But you guessed that Tommy wasn’t really a normal man. You sighed for yourself and did as you were told. You changed into your knee long classic night dress in a pastel blue. It was very old and you were suddenly nervous to be seen in it. It was one of the only things that you from before the whole kidnapping episode. Once you were confident and wore it around the house. Your father who was a little old school called you a scoundrel when you and your friends ran past him and his business partners in your night dresses on a hunt for sweets in the kitchen. Now the dress was the only night dress you owned and you covered yourself with your arms.

What might Tommy wear for bed, you thought. Last time he slept in his clothing next to you. What if he was naked? Oh god, what if he thought you might be naked too? Last time you wore a much more modest night dress that wasn’t yours. Was he expecting that? All those thoughts went through your head when the door cracked open in the other end of the room.

“Are you dressed y/n?” The way his voice sounded went well with the shy expression he wore earlier. There was a silent following. Was he expecting you to answer? Your pulse rose as you sat there. The anxiety spotted your thought before Tommy yet again cleared his throat.

“I mean, if you aren’t dressed, then throw something at me, just not something too expensive.” He chuckled and you thought it was the first time you ever experienced that. He sounded like a young boy out on trouble. It did lighten your mood entirely and you smiled at him as he stopped around the door. He wore short legged knickers and a sleeveless undershirt in a matching colour. Of course he wouldn’t be naked. Where was your head at?

“All this anticipation makes me less tired, but I have a long day tomorrow with meeting that I hope you will attend as well, miss y/l/n. So this better work.” He didn’t hesitate when he walked to the same side of the bed as you sat, and sat down next to you. What was he doing? Was think more than just sleeping? Was he expecting you to…

“I’m sorry that I might boss you around, but I already sleep on the side of the bed. I hope you don’t mind jumping to the other side.” You blinked a few times and nodded slowly and got up. As you stood up you heard Tommy take a deep breath in. You turned to see his eyes fixed on your bare legs. Your bare legs full of scares. Scares from nylon ropes you had fought against for many days you were held captured. You hadn’t even thought about those until then. You crossed your arms over your cheats like that would help anything and hurried to the other side and sat with your back to him.

“I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.” He said. He was wringing his hands in his lap for a moment before turning to you. You watched him from the corner of your eye, but quickly turned away when he started to pulled his shirt over his head.

“Y/N, look.” He said silently. It took you a moment to reacts because you couldn’t think what might happen next. Tommy caught your eyes with a wary look through his lashes. He put his right hand over his heart and you didn’t understand before he rubbed the area over his heart and lowered the hand. There on his chest was a tattoo. Black lines forming a half-circle reminiscent of the shine, coming from the rising sun. But there in the middle was a scar, perfectly round and slightly darker then the skin surrounding it. Without asking you know it was a gunshot. He had been shot right above the heart and survived.

“I don’t think I need to tell you want it is. But I can tell you that it was damn painful. But the scar is just a memory of what happened to me in France. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s just an imperfect spot on my skin. I embraced it by getting my regiments tattoo around it. Some of the others thought it a little odd – said it was more fitting for the upper arm… Maybe I just like to do my own thing, even though I was a part of a fellowship and wanted a reminder for that.” He let his fingers run over the scared skin and your eyes was transfixed on the movement. He let out a hint of a laugh.

“What I’m trying to say is... everyone has their scars. They simply mean that we made it through something terrible. It means that we survived and it does not make you any less beautiful.” His words was beautiful but the look he send you made you look away from him and fumble with your hair to distract yourself from the reaction his word had on your entire body. You hadn’t been called beautiful since your dad made you twirl around in front of his desk, when you went and showed him a new dress.

“Lay down with me, ey? I’m not gonna cross the middle of the bed. I will not touch you unless you want me to, okay?” He continued totally unaffected by the huge compliment he just gave you but you guessed he was used to compliment women more than you were used to receive them. He lifted up the duvet on his side of the bed and settled in. You couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he didn’t put the shirt back on. You sighed and removed the duvet from under you and let your legs slide under it, letting your scars on your ankles disappear out of view. You nuzzled a bit around until you lay parallel to Tommy and looked over. Tommy caught your eyes and gave you a hint of a smile.

“You okay? Can I turn off the light?” He reached out to his bed side table on his side as you nodded and the moment after it was almost dark. Only a little light from the moon shone in through the window, but it wasn’t enough for you to be able to see Tommy. You only knew he was there because he was moving around and when he finally settled you could hear the steady breathing. It was calming to you but you still couldn’t sleep. You didn’t know if he normally would fall asleep so fast or if it was you that had the wanted effect on him.

You didn’t know how long you had been laying there awake and listening. You had closed your eyes a long time ago and just relaxed in this new strange feeling or lying next to Tommy. The fact that you could reach over and actually touch him… But a the next beat he started to twitch and turn in his sleep. His before so calm and steady breath because a heavy panting with no rhythm. He slammed his fist into the madras making you jump. Was he having a nightmare? You were supposed to chase those away! You sat up and looked at the silhouette of the struggling man and started to panic. What should you do? Should you wake him up? Wasn’t that for the best or would the nightmares go away by themselves? You sat for a moment before you couldn’t take it anymore and reach out for him. You caught his arm as it was about to slam down in the madras again. He went stiff immediately, like his body was alert but still breathing heavily. You shook his arm to see if he was awake but he was still far gone. You moved over so you could hold onto both his arms and shake him. Finally he reacted but in a way that frightened you. His hand caught your upper arm and made you release your hands on his arms. With the other hand re reached out and pulled the light cord. The unnatural yellow light fell on the whole room, making the shadows longer and the look in Tommy’s eyes wilder. He stared at you so intensely for you were about to cower away from him but it only took a beat before his eyes shifted to guilt. His iron grip on your arm immediately loosened.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just… startled. When you grabbed me I thought…” He squeezed his eyes shut like he was in pain and maybe he was, just not physical. The hand on your upper arm didn’t feel like a threat but a reassurance. It was just you and him. There was no danger. No one that wanted to harm you. Without thinking you let your hand find his cheek and you let your thumb stroke over the light stubbles that were invisible for the eye. Slowly it was like you worked out the tightness in his expression and he opened his eyes to look at you with such sadness.

“I had just hoped it worked. It worked before…” He mumbled more to himself than you, you realized but you let your hand slide to the back of his neck and gave it a little squeeze. You didn’t know how to calm him down after this and maybe he wanted you to disappear now that you found out that it didn’t work. But you let go of him and lay down again, signalling for him to do the same. Without a word he did as you. Both of you on your sides, looking at each other, not a word were spoken. An idea popped into your head as you laid there like you had done before. Something was missing from the scenario from all those night ago. You reached out your hand between you two as an invitation. Tommy caught on immediately or he just wanted to, either way he took your hand.

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It was strange how you didn’t remember what happened next. You just woke up in the exact same position. It did mean that your body was a little stiff for not moving the entire night, but that also meant that you must have been sleeping through the night without waking up and shifting. Tommy’s and your hands were still intertwined and Tommy was still fast asleep. Tommy’s Westclox alarm clock hadn’t rung yet so you just laid there and tried to not smile. You hadn’t had must to smile about since your incident and your fathers dead, but the fact that this one thing might have actually worked the way that Tommy imagined made you feel like you had yet another reason to keep going. You were actually useful for something instead of sitting in a room alone all day, like you had did for a few years at the Langstons.

Eventually the horrible sound of the alarm clock went off and Tommy almost sprung up the bed, pulling his hand from yours to make the clock silent. After a beat he turned to you.

“Good morning. Have you… slept well?” He sounded almost disoriented as he blinked a few times. You nodded as best you could with your head still deeply buried in the pillow.

“Good. I slept surprisingly well expect that… one episode.” He cleared his throat, almost sounded embarrassed. His act made you realize how comfortable you were still in his bed while he was fidgeting around. It made you feel like you should be doing that too and maybe get up and leave. You did your job and there wasn’t any more to read into it. You quickly got up and walked to the sofa where you placed your bag the day before. You pointed to the wash room before Tommy could say more. You closed the door behind you and sighed heavily. It was only as awkward as you made it, and you just made it a whole lot more awkward by hurrying out from there. You looked around and found that you had lucked yourself into Tommy’s personal wash room. It was all dark wood and musky air. You realized that you hadn’t brought any new clothing, so you had to put on the clothing from the day before and hurry home before work and change. If you came in the same clothes two days in a row, people would suspect that something was up.

You tried to brush out your hair with your fingers as you left the wash room. There in the middle of the room stood Tommy only in his knickers and with a cigarette in his hand. You could feel the heat in your cheeks as you quickly turned away. You could hear Tommy chuckle behind you.

“Well I’m sorry that I’m not dressed yet, but my clothes are in the wash room. It was momentarily occupied by someone else.” He explained himself. You nodded to the wall and felt a little stupid. Just a few hours before he had shown you his chest voluntarily, why should it be any different this time?

“If you don’t mind, then let’s not make this a one-time thing? I think it would benefit both of us and our work.” Tommy sounded like a real businessman and you couldn’t do anything but nod again. When he used that tone he was very convincing and it could be dangerous.

“Good. I will come and get you at your apartment after work until we find some other agreement. Let Lizzie or Ada follow you home as usual.” He then extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray and disappeared into the wash room. The conversation was over and you needed to leave.

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It felt weird when you walked into the office not long after. You had run through the streets of Birmingham from the Shelby resident to your apartment to quickly wash yourself and get a new dress and stockings. When you nodded to Polly that bid you good morning was all you could think about I just sneaked out of your house through the back entrance not even an hour ago. Were you paranoid or was she looking at you any different? You looked after her as she strolled into her office and closed the door. It was something you imagined. You didn’t even smell like Tommy’s room anymore. You had washed and made sure to use a real Eau de parfum to cover any scent that might linger. You got started working immediately to distract yourself from all the wandering thought.

Usually Tommy was the first in the office in the morning but even Lizzie came in before Tommy finally came thought the doors to the front room. He bid the two of you good morning and gave you a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. What was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t until midday that Tommy called on you to join him in his office.

He was leaning against the front of his desk with his hands in his pockets. You closed the doubled doors behind you and waited for him to say something. It took a moment of him just staring at you questioningly before he started.

“I have a hard time reading you now that you never speak up. I don’t know if we ended this morning on good or bad terms. You just left.” You took in a sharp breath. Was he afraid that you might be angry at him?

“I understand if you don’t want to do this. It will not affect your job here. I just need to know.” He said straightened up and walked to you and from his pocket he reviled a pen and an unused piece of notepaper. You took it from him but just stood there for a moment. How on earth would you be able to write down a sentence that would cover everything that went through your head that morning without making it seem like you were crazy? You walked around him to his desk and wrote a few things and regretted them, crossed it out and started again until you found the right word and handed him the note.

I didn’t mean to

My head is just

I think it helps me too. We’ll figure it out.

And you really meant it. Because even though you had been hyperaware on Tommy the whole time, you hadn’t had your own usual nightmares either. Tommy folded the note and put it back in his pocket.

“Glad to hear that. Now, miss y/l/n. I need you to stay put. I have a man coming in with a new business proposal. I need both your eyes and ears on that man. Your notes too of course. It would be interesting to get your view on a man’s behaviour in a tense business situation. Maybe you can gather something I can’t.” Yet again Tommy turned into the businessman he was within seconds.

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Note: Got carried away by the fluff. This chapter should have been much more than that but i ended up with 3600 words of... this... idk.

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