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bimrsadler · 1 year

Note

could you do an f!reader who is wealthy and actually decides to become patron to the gang, letting them stay at their manor on the outskirts of Saint Denis? she asks for a personal guard in turn, which she asks High Honor Arthur to fill the role of. She's tiny, petite even (like 4'9"-ish) and very femme but with a sharp, elegant tongue.

she likes to hang out with Arthur and show him the wealthy side of life while he shows her the lifestyle of being out in the country. All the tensions and staring of a rich, unmarried lady out with a rugged outlaw of man? Perfect bait. 👀

Fluffy or NSFW or just sexual tension is okay! Feel free to go all kinds of ways with this if you do take the rq, ty!! Love your work!!

Fortune Favors the Bold

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Word count: 4,600

Warnings/tags: nsft, use of guns/light violence, high honor Arthur, fluff, mutual pining, unprotected piv, dirty talk, size difference, use of pet names

Notes: you gave me a lot to work with anon so I decided to just have fun and make this a longer one, sorry it took a bit but I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Walking around Saint Denis it was hard not to feel eyes on you wherever you went, you were an odd couple after all.

Couple. It wasn’t a word you ever thought you’d use to describe you and Arthur Morgan. Truthfully you weren’t an actual couple; not in the literal sense anyway, but you did enjoy a partnership of sorts and it felt comfortable enough to call him your friend.

As you explored the streets together your differences could not be any clearer, the sun glinted off the gold around your neck while the only gleam on Arthur was off the cold steel of his revolver.

An air of grace and elegance followed you wherever you went, wealth represented in your high end dresses.

The man at your side the complete opposite.

An air of intimidation and ruggedness followed Arthur, worn clothing indicative of his rough lifestyle.

And of everything about him you found yourself inexplicably drawn to, it was the fact that he towered over you that was most alluring.

Being of high status and short stature — you were an easy target. Meeting the Van der Linde gang for the first time was nerve wracking to say the least, knowing that if they wanted to harm you they could in no time.

But the man who introduced himself as Arthur Callahan with the badge on his vest was clearly not a real deputy, and knowing of the Grays and Braithwaites; you weren’t particularly upset at their scheming.

Before Arthur and Dutch could warn you not to tell anyone — you proposed working together instead.

While they were no doubt dangerous criminals, they were more understanding than you expected and most of the gang fun to be around. Leery of you at first, they knew it was advantageous to have someone of your status on their side, and found there was more to you than how you presented on the outside.

While your family was away, you offered the manor as a safe-house for the gang and they gave you Arthur in return. It would take a lot of bold stupidity to make an attempt on you when a man like him was by your side.

It wasn’t unusual to get curious men asking what a woman like you was doing with a man like Arthur, to which you would warn them to mind their own business. And if they were more brash than curious? Well it didn’t take long for them to learn their mistake when Arthur came over.

Not everyone looked at Arthur like he didn’t belong though. Outlaw or not, he was arrestingly attractive; pulling in wandering eyes from the upper and lower class alike.

People always seemed pleasantly surprised at how well mannered he was as well, greeting passerby’s with a hat tip and a “ma’am,” listening to strangers stories and stopping to pet street dogs. Really since you’d met — he was primarily only a threat to those who were a threat to you.

The two of you grew curious about each other, with your lifestyles and upbringings being so different. Everything about the gang was exciting to you and you cautiously wanted to explore it. Arthur had a harder time admitting he was interested in what your side of life had to offer and felt uncomfortable with how foreign it felt.

But you caught him eyeing the beautiful things in your home, letting his fingertips glide along the piano keys, smirking at the expensive weapons mounted and fine whiskies.

It was the art that he took a particular interest in however. He was shy about it at first, gazing at the framed paintings on the walls wanting to know more about them but too nervous to inquire.

So you would stand beside him and tell him the history of it, of the artist, as he stood scratching his beard intently listening.

“Hmm,” he’d mumble dryly — trying to downplay his curiosity but giving himself away by quickly pointing to the one beside it, “and how ’bout this one?”

Arthur never felt fully comfortable in fancier settings but you loved bringing him to dinners and plays with you. When he lost himself in the dishes and dramas meant for the higher class, he fully enjoyed himself.

You never felt at ease in those situations either though, always needing to show a performative smile and appear proper was exhausting. So after the parties you would surprise Arthur by asking him to take you to a saloon or maybe just a stroll in the woods, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Arthur was hesitant when you asked to take trips with him however; worried you didn’t understand what you were getting into.

“No offense Miss but I don’t think ya know what yer askin’.”

“I may be rich but I’m not dumb — Mister.” You said with a sarcastic hiss. “I’d like to learn.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and agreed reluctantly, clearly assuming you would just be deadweight.

But you were a quick learner, and you enjoyed it.

It was exhilarating learning to shoot and skin, and much to Arthur’s surprise you had no qualms about looting with him or being the lookout on a job.

Your favorite nights however were the ones under the stars and beside the crackling fire. You would take the sounds of the slow moving river and rustling pines over the ramblings of relatives whose only talking points were property prices and fine China, any day.

A truth you were anxiously coming to terms with was the fact that you also loved all of this because of Arthur. You could spend hours listening to the husky timbre of his voice excitedly tell you the stories that only a Hell-raising outlaw could.

And yet he was just as enrapturing while sketching quietly or baby-talking his horse as he brushed and fed it.

This evening in Saint Denis was the culmination of all of those nights of curiosity and company.

You had woken up early that morning, Arthur journaling on the couch as you approached him.

“I have an idea cowboy.”

He closed his journal and raised an eyebrow.

“You guys still need money right? Well you and I could make a killing in Saint Denis…”

Arthur sighed and closed his journal, “meanin’?”

“Without you on my arm I’m an easy target in the wrong part of town. You could hang back and I could just draw them out,” you raised your eyebrows excitedly.

Arthur stood up waving his arms in the air, “absolutely not. You crazy woman?!”

“First of all, we would make a good team. Second, do not call me ‘woman’.”

Arthur seemed to take your scolding to heart, shoulders slumping slightly. “Sorry…”

Walking over to you with a softer tone he continued, “just wouldn’t forgive myself if somethin’ happened to ya. I know yer capable but…these things can be unpredictable.”

“Maybe so, but I trust you. Now c’mon Arthur, live a little,” you teased with a wink.

That was all it took, though he continued complaining about going against his better judgment.

Dolling yourself up in your finest that evening, you stood in front of the mirror — scared and excited.

Arthur came in slowly after a delicate knock. In the reflection you caught him pausing at the sight of you, eyes roaming and expression softening.

“You uh…ya ready?”

“Almost, I just…can’t get this necklace to clasp,” you laughed nervously.

“Oh uh…well lemme help then…”

Arthur’s boots were heavy on the floor but his approach was slow and considerate. Handing him the necklace, he draped it around your front, cold metal brushing against you.

The combination of his warm and broad chest hovering against your back with his calloused fingertips ghosting along the skin of your neck, brought forth goosebumps you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Watching in the reflection, a slight tremble kept him from joining the two sides of the necklace. “Damn fingers are too big,” he chuckled bashfully.

“It’s okay,” you spoke quietly with a reassuring smile.

Finally it clasped together, the emerald jewel coming to a rest at the swell of your cleavage. Before Arthur stepped back, his knuckles lingered on the nape of your neck as he dragged a fingertip along the golden filigree.

“So…would you steal this from me Arthur?”

“Well, you’d definitely catch my attention,” he said warmly before stepping back.

Trying not to read into Arthur’s response, you absentmindedly adjusted in front of the mirror. “Haven’t worn this dress yet, wasn’t sure if I liked it…”

“Why? Y’look beautiful,” Arthur stated.

You felt a flutter spread in your chest and stomach while watching him fumble with his gunbelt in the mirror.

“I uh,” he cleared his throat and motioned toward the door, “we should get goin’.”

All eyes were on you as your large bodyguard walked protectively by your side. You meandered through the city waiting for nightfall, listening to the street performers and perusing the shop windows.

As the sun dipped below the horizon you and Arthur made your way behind the saloon.

“Now you catch someone’s eye ‘n bring ‘em out here,” Arthur pointed to the dark of the alleyway, “I’ll be right down there.”

Clasping your shoulder with his bear paw of a hand he implored, “please be careful.”

“Always am Mr. Morgan,” you winked with a confident smile though your heart was racing.

You watched as he concealed the lower half of his face with a black bandana, leaving only his eyes to be seen under the wide brim of his hat.

Only in the faint light of the streetlamp did you realize that Arthur’s eyes were the same shade as the jewel around your neck. Your heart was pounding for more reasons than one.

The night wore on with the usual bothering from drunk and foolish men — mostly harmless, buying you drinks (that you only pretended to sip) and asking why you were alone.

You fiddled with your necklace and purse, making sure to draw any attention from types you wouldn’t want noticing.

And it did. A dirty and angry looking man in the corner caught your eye. He wasn’t drunk and he had been watching you closely for most of the night.

As the music and clamoring picked up in pace and volume you headed toward the swinging doors in the back; sure enough he followed in your peripheral.

Each second as you made your way into the alley became more and more urgent, heart pounding and sweat dripping while you kept your hand close to your purse — should you need to use the knife Arthur gifted you.

The man closed in quickly, not touching you yet but attempting to intimidate with his presence. “Better stop right there girl…”

Turning around slowly you looked at your mark. He was big — but not as big as Arthur.

“Ain’t anyone teach you not to be alone in places like this?” He sneered with an air of superiority.

You watched Arthur’s bulky frame come into view from behind the shadows, “who says I’m alone?”

The gun in Arthur’s hand pressed to the man’s temple, “ain’t anyone ever teach you to be a gentleman?”

Arthur chuckled darkly, “now…I’m gonna hand that gun in yer holster to the fine lady,” he pressed the revolver harder into the man’s head, making him flinch. “— an’ if ya try anything I’ll blow yer goddamn head off.”

Arthur’s voice was deep and dark and almost made you feel bad for the man, but mostly it stirred something within you.

After the gun was given to you, Arthur began rummaging through the pockets to find money and trinkets.

You knew what the two of you were doing wasn’t right either and Arthur was a bad man, but he was good to you and there was goodness inside of him.

And at that moment? Electricity surged through every inch of your body with exhilaration and you had trouble finding sympathy for a man who would corner a woman by herself.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The reality of the situation hit hard as a police officer stopped at the end of the alleyway — clearly seeing that it was Arthur robbing the man.

“Oh thank God you’re here officer!” You threw a shaking hand up to play the victim, “please help us!”

You felt terrible for the brief panic in Arthur’s darting eyes as he seemed unsure if you were betraying him.

It didn’t last though. Using your other hand you quickly pointed the gun you kept hidden from view and fired above the officers head.

Arthur understanding that it was a way to buy time, hit the man with the butt of his gun in an attempt to knock him out.

Swiftly grabbing your wrist he pulled you through the saloon, the drunk and confused patrons slowing down the cop in pursuit.

“The hell was that?!” Arthur demanded under his breath.

“Me trying to save our skins — you’re welcome!”

“I’ll thank ya if we make it outta here alive,” Arthur taunted as he found the closest horse to steal. He pulled you with no effort at all, your feet leaving the ground in the blink of an eye.

You wrapped an arm around Arthur’s tight core and pointed the gun behind you with the other, the galloping horse keeping you from a steady aim.

“Arthur where are we going?!”

“Jus’ hold on I’ll figure it out!”

Approaching a bridge you noticed that the view was partly obscured by willow trees, making it a good time as any to throw off the lawman.

Aiming to the best of your ability you shot behind you again, hoping to stall and not harm him. At that moment Arthur took a hard right into the grass and through the trees.

A proper lady’s place was not on the back of a horse with a wanted man, nor was it in a seedy alleyway with bad intentions. But there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

Nestling the gun in the saddlebag, you clung tightly to Arthur’s midsection and buried your face between his shoulder blades.

He was warm and strong and the wind in your hair cooler now, every sense heightened from the rush surging through you.

Slowing to a trot Arthur pulled to a grassy clearing and stopped. “Think we made it…”

He dismounted and grabbed you by the waist to help you do the same, bodies flush as your feet hit the ground.

“Wasn’t exactly a perfect heist but…you handled yerself well sweetheart.”

Arthur’s arms still hovered around you loosely as he spoke beneath his bandanna. His eyes searched yours as you brought your fingertips to his face.

Slowly, you removed what kept his lips from you and ran your thumb along his stubbled cheek. You admired the chestnut locks that fell carelessly along his brow and the way his broad chest heaved at your touch. All you wanted to do was kiss him and never stop kissing him.

“I feel like I could do anything right now Arthur…”

A smirk formed at the corner of his lips with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. Standing on your tiptoes your brought his face to yours for a slow, delicate kiss.

Though he looked dumbstruck and returned the gesture, he pulled back for a moment. “I want this but…I’m no good for ya girl. I’m only good at fightin’ and robbin’…you know that.”

“Bullshit Arthur.” The look on his face was priceless, seemingly more shocked to hear you swear despite just seeing you shoot at the law.

“Bullshit. You have goodness in you too and I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants.” Arthur watched you in disbelief.

“You’re good at protecting me and the way you touch me is kind and it makes me feel safe. I want you to keep touching me like that Arthur…”

A flicker of pride flashed on his face. The only time you could tell Arthur felt good about himself was when he helped others and he especially took a shine to helping you. Being a protector let him realize he was capable of being good at more than just robbing and fighting.

“Fair enough,” he said bringing you back in his embrace. “But I need to hear ya say it.”

“I want this Arthur, you have no idea,” your words were breathy and impatient.

His grip on you was tender but somehow still powerful despite not using any of his real strength. You felt positively tiny in his arms.

His mouth opened more for you, allowing curious flicks of your tongue on his; light whimpers combining. Hands began moving more hungrily — yours down his chest and his up your thigh.

Months prior you might have felt shame at the ache between your legs and the desire urging your hips forward; but now all you cared about was Arthur dousing that fire.

“Sweetheart it shouldn’t be like this…”

Your heart dropped, unsure of where he was going with that statement. “Wh— what do you mean?”

“Well I—look…” Arthur stuttered, trying to find the right words with a reddening face. “You deserve better’n layin’ in some grass in the woods like this.”

He paused to think and fiddle with his suspenders before continuing, “least lemme take ya back to the manor. Wanna make it, y’know…proper.”

You considered telling Arthur that you wanted it here, still riding the high of the night; being outside after barely escaping would only add to the thrill.

But Arthur didn’t want that. He wanted to treat you special and give you comfort and patience. He didn’t need to be the rugged outlaw anymore that night, he just needed to be your suitor.

You already got to play cops and robbers, maybe it was his turn to play the gentleman.

Sighing with relief you took Arthur’s hand, “well just so you know, here would be just fine with me.” Planting a reassuring kiss on his cheek you headed toward the horse, “but you can take me home.”

Arthur took a longer, more secluded route through the woods in case someone was still looking for you.

It wasn’t easy being patient, the tension palpable and the anticipation exquisite.

As you lurched forward with the horses gait you replayed the kiss and wandering hands in your mind.

You couldn’t wait to unbutton his shirt, to feel the curve of his muscle, to make him whine with the touch of your fingertips, and God you couldn’t wait to feel his on you.

You wanted him to squeeze you and mark you in every intimate place that was usually kept hidden. To thrust and curl and fill all of you.

Positioning yourself higher on the saddle you let your hands roam along his waistline and kissed the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

Arthur leaned his head, allowing you to kiss and nip at more of his sensitive skin. He responded with his rough hand grasping your calf. Ever so slowly it pushed up your dress and glided along your thigh.

Your hips instinctively rolled forward to the small of his back, Arthur kneading the fat of your thigh as your wetness grew.

It really wasn’t easy being patient.

You keened, “how much longer baby?”

“Jesus,” Arthur sighed while rolling his own hips at the air. “Gonna be there soon.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do to me Arthur…”

“’M’gonna take off that dress you look so goddamn gorgeous in and feel how soft y’are.”

“Gonna feel how soft I am everywhere?” You teased with a light bite to his ear.

Arthur grunted a yes, “gonna part them pretty legs and make ya feel good darlin’. You gonna be good’n wet for me?”

“Oh you could sink into me right this second Arthur.”

“My God girl,” Arthur said taken aback. “Never thought I’d hear ya talkin’ like that…”

“I’m full of surprises.” You snaked your hand down to his lap, lightly ghosting over his straining manhood. “And I see you’re ready for me.”

Arthur shuddered with a groan, “painfully so.”

Laughing together you continued teasing touches and lustful whispers until the manor came into view.

Arthur sent the horse off and though it was late, the two of you snuck in should any of the gang still be up.

As the doors of the bedroom closed behind you, Arthur lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. Gently pressing you to a wall your kisses were passionate and rutting slow.

Carrying you over to the bed, Arthur sat you at the edge and positioned himself behind.

Though they trembled slightly with nerves, he moved with unhurried and adept hands; carefully untying and undoing each bit of your dress and corset.

Despite the prior buildup and desperation, Arthur worked with incredible consideration and care — making sure not to harm your dress and kissing and caressing all newly exposed skin.

As the last of the confines on your upper body fell down your shoulders, Arthur massaged a breast in each hand from behind, kissing your neck and whispering praises in your ears.

Moving to the floor he knelt in front of you, slowly rolling your stockings off each leg and kissing down your inner thighs as he did.

Bare before him you felt vulnerable and exposed in a way you never had been. But Arthur wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with.

Standing up he took you in with an awestruck smile, “how the hell did I get so lucky?”

Moving to unbutton his shirt you mused, “I could ask you the same question.”

Giving him the same affection and attention, your lips and hands explored with purpose — making sure he understood you loved his scars and the hair that dusted his chest and trailed down his abdomen.

You watched as he stepped out of his pants, eager to take his throbbing length in your hand. But before you could, Arthur gently layed you down, moving the pillow under your head as he did.

Running his hand through your hair he gazed sweetly, “feelin’ okay beautiful?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling him down. Settling beside you his hand dipped down to your heat, sliding along your wet folds before pushing a finger in.

A drawn out whine escaped from your lungs, finally getting the touch you needed.

Arthur let out an amused chuckle before bringing his mouth to your breast, twirling his tongue along the stiff peak and sucking it in his mouth. All while working your inner walls.

“Arthur,” you mewled, suddenly overwhelmed at all of the wonderful sensation.

“S’okay sweet girl,” sitting up slightly Arthur used his free hand to move one of yours to your mound. “Show me how ya touch yerself.”

You rubbed circles on your swollen nub, slick with the arousal from Arthur’s pleasuring. Even just the featherlight touch was enough to push you closer as you clenched around his large digits.

Arthur observed you with lust blown eyes, “that’s right sweetheart, let’s getcha there.” His breath was hot against your neck as he cooed in your ear, “be a good girl for me…”

That was all it took for your gut to tighten as Arthur made his way back down to your breast, eagerly sucking between praises while you came around his fingers.

He didn’t remove himself from you until the last of the quivers left your legs and your panting settled. “That’s my girl…”

Gathering your senses and coming back to reality, you gently urged Arthur onto his back and moved to get on top. Straddling his much wider lap was almost a strain.

But the feeling of the underside of his cock as your wet folds glided over the twitching hardness, quickly made any strain forgotten.

Arthur’s hands grasped your hips as you sunk onto him, taking him into your core with needy moans.

He let out a shaky exhale and a whisper of your name while stilling your hips from moving, “jus’…stay like this for a second.”

Reaching up to run his thumb over your lip he smiled warmly, “this has to be the closest to heaven I’ll ever get.”

“Quite the smooth talker there Mr. Morgan.”

He laughed sweetly in response, “nah I ain’t smooth. Jus’ sayin’ what’s true.”

“Well either way,” you writhed slightly, “I think I can get you a little closer to heaven tonight…”

Placing your hands on Arthur’s sturdy chest you began bouncing on his cock, watching as he became a beautiful, whimpering mess beneath you.

There was a pride and thrill in making a tough, some would say brutish man like Arthur melt for you.

“C’mere princess,” Arthur pulled you down flush to him, your breasts pressed tightly to his upper chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

Kissing you with fervor he bucked up into your heat, his much bigger frame completely enveloping you.

“How’s this darlin’?”

“So—fuck, so good.”

“Love hearin’ you swear fer me…”

“Maybe,” you choked out between thrusts, “you should fuck me harder then.”

A primal groan expelled hot breath against your ear as Arthur picked up pace, his hand palming the swell of your ass as it shook with impact.

His substantial hand moved to cover the back of your head, lightly pulling your hair. “You take me so well sweetheart — God, so warm ’n tight.”

Every pump of Arthur’s cock hit a spot that had scarcely been stimulated before, slick dripping down your thighs as he did.

Arthur placed his fingers around your soaked opening, feeling as he pistoned in and out. “We’re makin’ a mess outta these expensive sheets.”

He tenderly placed his hand on your jaw to move your face towards his, “but you like that…dont’cha?”

His gravelly drawl was sex and sin.

Taking his thumb into your mouth you simply moaned a response as your pussy clenched around him.

“Yeah you do…good girl…”

Talking himself into a frenzy, taut muscle twitched and stiffened as he grew closer, legs kicking slightly with shallow breaths.

“Christ m’close,” Arthur choked out as his grip on you trembled.

Swiftly sitting up you hopped off and pumped his pulsing cock as he swore and gasped and gathered the sheets in his tight fists.

“That’s it handsome,” you stroked his flexing thigh while hot spend dripped down your knuckles and shot onto his tight stomach.

Arthur made a good call coming back to the manor; the comfort of the soft linens and silks certainly felt heavenly to your spent bodies.

The sight of him nude and blissful in your bed was something you’d carry with you as well, and you hoped he enjoyed the rare indulgence of comfort.

Propping himself on his elbow, Arthur eyed you with admiration. “Hell of a night.”

“Oh? That’s not just a regular night for you?” You joked with a light giggle.

“Robbin’ an idiot in an alleyway? Sometimes,” he shrugged playfully. “But this?” He leaned down to press his lips tightly to yours. “This ain’t.”

“Ya know darlin’, you ain’t gonna be able to show yer face around them lawmen again,” he realized with a laugh.

“To be honest, I think I’m growing weary of Saint Denis. Was actually hoping I might explore a little more of the world,” you paused to look at Arthur with a coy smile, “ya know?”

“Hmm, I might be able to help ya with that.”

Whether you really could leave and whether Arthur would trust your judgment in making that choice remained to be seen.

But he was happy in that moment and so were you. The two of you together was a paradox, and despite this — or maybe because of, it worked.

All that mattered was Arthur’s strong presence above you as he played with your necklace; the only thing left on your body.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #nsft #fluff #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption

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notnctu · 3 years

Text

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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byunmyeon · 3 years

Text

Philophobia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: in a world where a red string connects soulmates, everyone knows who they belong with. except you, who hasn’t been able to see your string since you were a kid.

↳ warnings: language (like one word), a copious amount of angst and heartbreak

— note: there’s a serious lack of suho fics out there so I decided to write my own. lmk if you guys want me to write a second part!

There was something inexplicably eerie about being the new girl in a school that was twice the size of your old one. Not because it was an unfamiliar setting, nor was it because you were painfully shy and terrible at making friends. It wasn’t even your disparaging insecurities that had you feeling so shook. No, it was something you couldn’t put your finger on, something you couldn’t begin to name. A discomfort you could feel all the way down to your bones.

Your inordinate unease swelled into full blown panic with every step you took toward your new classroom. Somewhere in your unorganized mind, you could hear your mom’s reassuring voice. Everything will be okay. You didn’t know if her words held any truth, but you really, really, really hoped she was right. You were being stupid, honestly. There was nothing to fear, but you couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling from your stature. Despite all the undesirable emotions you felt, your breathing was normal and your heartbeat was steady.

It took you a minute to gather yourself. You could do this.

After a very ineffectual pep talk, you finally got your feet to move. Your eyes were cast down as you entered the classroom. The rowdy classroom went silent once your presence became known. You swallowed the nerves and chanced a glance at your new classmates. The reactions were a mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

When your teacher introduced you to the class, you decided to really look at your new classmates. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stuck out. An unnaturally attractive face belonging to an unfamiliar boy. His stare was strange. It was full of an intensity you couldn’t comprehend. You kept staring, in spite of yourself. Fuck. Was it possible for someone to be so attractive?

The clapping of your classmates pulled you back into reality. You were quick to look elsewhere, unable to understand the sudden lurch of your heart.

Suho couldn’t take his eyes off the new girl, more specifically, the string neatly wrapped around her index finger. He watched her carefully. The shy smile she wore was annoyingly adorable, and it made a foreign warmth spread across his chest and along his entire body. The new girl didn’t spare him another glance as she took her seat next to Jugyeong.

Lim Jugyeong.

He wasn’t her soulmate and she wasn’t his, but she was the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart. That wasn’t about to change because some stranger who he was supposedly meant to be with came into his life with no warning.

Suho looked back to the front of the classroom without looking at the new girl again.

The first time it happened, you wrote it off as fatigue. After all, you had just started middle school and trying to keep up with your new workload as well as your budding social life was exhausting. That day, the color of your string had faded a bit, but it was still visible. By the time you were on your way home it disappeared for a mere second before regaining its color. Days later, it was completely gone.

When your mom first found out you could no longer see your string, she became extremely distraught. It had affected her more than it did you, honestly. She wasted no time in taking you to see countless specialists and psychologists. Anything to keep you from becoming a freak that didn’t know who they were meant to be with. She unknowingly made you feel exactly like that.

Apparently, you were a rare case because every person you went to for help wanted to conduct a study on you and your condition. Fortunately for you, your mom didn’t want you becoming a lab rat and decided to stop seeking out help from strangers. Left with no other option, you went to one person who she believed could help you. An old friend of hers.

He wasn’t a specialist, just a regular doctor who came to the conclusion that a deep, scarring trauma had caused you to no longer see your string. You could remember the heartbreak on your mom’s face because you both knew what that trauma was.

Your mom did her best to help you. Spending more time together and countless hours of therapy did nothing for your condition. Nothing worked. You became convinced that trying to see your string again was futile.

And you were right.

As time went on, you grew used to the unease that had latched itself onto you on that first day. The feeling in your bones settled in like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. No matter what you did, you couldn’t shake the feeling. Eventually, you gave up trying.

However, something shifted when you crossed paths with Lee Suho.

You two had been put in the same group for a science lab. His attention had been solely on Lim Jugyeong, but there were times when your eyes would meet. Those milliseconds were just that, but to you they felt like an eternity. He rarely addressed you, but when he did, you could feel the pressure weighing on your bones fade bit by bit. That familiar feeling soon shifted into a more comfortable presence that you yearned to feel forever.

It was subtle, but at some point, Suho’s emotionless face changed. The change would last for no more than a second, but it always did when he looked at you. That change had your entire stature seeping with warmth. You vaguely recognized the feeling as something akin to infatuation.

It scared you.

Of course, the possibility that he might be your soulmate crossed your mind, but you quickly dismissed that thought.

Too many times had you gotten in trouble for insisting someone was your soulmate when they really weren’t. Any special bond or feelings that grew between you and someone else couldn’t always be interpreted as the ones between soulmates. You learned that the hard way.

Besides, your soulmate would make it clear to name themselves as such even if you couldn’t see the string.

At least, you hoped they would.

Philophobia.

Before you went into high school, your mom insisted you see one last psychologist with the promise that the one she found was different. Reluctantly, you went to see this woman who diagnosed you with this absurd illness. You felt like it was made up, but your mother was adamant that you did have it.

You knew she only thought that because you had told her you no longer had any interest in finding your soulmate. Her panic was unrivaled after hearing those words come out of your mouth. You wrote off her panic because your disinterest in soulmates was only natural. How could it not when—at the time—it was all your friends could talk about? Talk about being the odd man out.

Okay, and maybe you also weren’t keen on meeting new people because of the fear that they could easily ignore the string you couldn’t see. There was also the fear that if you ever did meet someone you wanted to spend your life with, they could end up not being your soulmate and vice versa.

But those feelings would all fade with time, you were sure.

Hanging out near the back of the school where no one ever went became a regular thing for you. It was the one spot where you didn’t have to worry about your soulmate or anything related to that—a safe place. Until it wasn’t.

“You can’t just ignore the bond you have with her.”

The angry voice was one you vaguely recognized. You peeked around the corner, eyes widening when you saw Han Seojun and Lee Suho in the middle of what appeared to be an argument.

“Why are you bringing that up?” Suho’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still like Jugyeong?”

Seojun’s gaze hardened. “It’s not about that.”

It was wrong to listen on what was clearly meant to be a private conversation, but your feet wouldn’t move. You could see Suho’s anger and irritation from your hiding place, and for some reason seeing him that way made a blistering discomfort latch itself onto your chest.

“You’re being unfair to Jugyeong and Y/N.”

The mention of your name had your insides twisting into an uncomfortable knot. You didn’t understand why or how you had anything to do with the discussion, but you had a feeling the reason wasn’t anything good.

“Just because she’s my soulmate doesn’t mean I owe her anything.”

There was a sharp pain in your chest, one that grew into a searing pain as the seconds ticked by. You might’ve cried out in pain had it not been for the shock that consumed you. In a sudden instant, your vision became blurred with tears as you staggered back. His words were the worst form of torture, like a piece of barbed wire that wrapped itself around your heart.

Your fate was a cruel one, forever bound to someone who refused to acknowledge the bond between you two. Lee Suho was your soulmate, but he didn’t want to be.

It was a cruel reality to have your worst nightmare come to life.

“Is it true?”

Suho raised an eyebrow at you. His gaze didn’t soften like it once did. Now it just remained impassive, almost annoyed. The cold look he was giving you was making you regret even coming to him in the first place.

“Are you really my soulmate?”

“Why are you acting like you don’t know?” Suho’s unaffected stare unsettled you. “You’ve known since the first time we saw each other.”

But you hadn’t known. This entire time you had been driving yourself crazy thinking you were only imagining the connection between you two like you had done countless times after you first lost the sight of your string. Despite wanting to tell him that, you settled for a question.

“What about Jugyeong? Don’t you think she—?”

“Are you going to tell her?” He interrupted you.

You could literally hear your heart crack. Of course that’s all he cared about. He didn’t care whether or not you were hurt and upset, hell, he probably thought you had no interest in your soulmate. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

“Why?” He demanded. “You don’t want me as your soulmate either. You’ve been ignoring the bond, too.”

I can’t see my string! You nearly yelled. The words were clawing at your throat, eager to be released. But you found yourself unable to tell him the truth.

“My soul chose yours,” you said, close to tears. “And a soul just doesn’t forget that.”

For a moment, one that was so quick you thought you imagined it, Suho looked remorseful. Stupidly, it made you hope that he would accept you and the bond that bounded you together.

“Don’t tell her.” His voice didn’t sound like a plea, but you knew what he was asking you to do was clearly important to him. “I can’t loose her.”

And so, you agreed. Even if it meant that your own heart would be left in tatters.

#lee suho x reader #true beauty fanfic #lee suho imagine #lee suho fanfic #true beauty imagine #cha eunwoo #cha eunwoo imagine #cha eunwoo x reader #true beauty tvn

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rreyie · 3 years

Text

k. (eren j. x reader)

summary; you're well aware by now that your feelings of eren have blossomed into something more than a fuckbuddy. but you're not quite sure if he'll agree.

content warnings; smut (18+), fingering, oral (f. receiving), vaginal, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, degrading, use of pet names, creampie, slight dumbification, hurt at the end i’m sorry.

word count; 2.2k

a/n; the fic that has been sitting in my drafts for 2 months has been completed! anyways i’m sorry i’m advance

you're well aware by now that eren jaeger isn't just a one night stand you had a week ago. you couldn't quite call it a friendship now, but perhaps fuckbuddies- or people who banged on the low with no strings attached.

well, you wouldn't say you didn't have feelings for him by now. you couldn't tell if it was his mischievous personality or his nine inch long dick, but there were certainly more than platonic feelings on your end.

you two had met when armin, mikasa and eren bought a house to rent out for college. you were a friend of mikasa's and had nowhere to go except to the house they rented, so you moved in. you and eren clicked almost instantaneously, as if you were best friends your whole life.

the sexual tension between you two was inexplicable. and you both knew it. and that's why one day, eren chose to make his move when you two were watching "finding nemo: blu-ray dvd edition" on the couch in the living room.

you two fucked during the scene when the little red-headed girl was terrorizing the other fish. but you two don't talk about it. all that mattered was that it was good sex- and by good, you meant really. fucking. good. you had no clue how he gained all this experience, but that didn't matter either.

now you were here, nearing the end of your sophomore year. this little rendezvous with eren had lasted five months now. you two definitely fucked often- sometimes sucking him off while he was studying for is psychology course, other times bending you over the bathroom counter with a death grip on your asscheeks.

this time he had walked into your room while you were clicking away at your laptop while you sat on your bed, doing your best to study for the exam you had next week. he didn't say a word, just laid down on the bed next to you and stared up at the ceiling.

you tried your hardest to ignore him, but your train of thought was lost when he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly as if you couldn't already tell that he was right next to you.

you shut your laptop in defeat, and turned your head over to eren, a smile ever so slightly curling on his lips. you were unamused at his behavior.

"yes, eren?" you ask, eyes locking with his jade orbs. he clearly hasn't slept in a while, telling from the dark circles under his eyes, contrasting his somewhat tan skin. his brown hair was in its messy bun like normal, tied up sloppily with some baby hairs poking out here and there.

"dunno", he responded. "just seeing what you're up to."

"mhm? well, that sounds like bullshit to me, mister jaeger", you scoff. "you always come in here and make yourself at home when you're horny."

eren sighed, and sat up from his position. "fine, you caught me red handed. but i know you're as horny as i am."

"...you're right", you admit, before he flips over so he's on all fours and crawls over so he's in front of you. the several rings that adorned his fingers glistened in the ceiling light above, his grey sweatshirt hanging loosely around his body. though what he always wore was so simple, he never failed to look breathtaking in it.

tugging at the waist of your sweatpants, eren growled a "take it off" before you slid your hands down to your waist and did as he told you, leaving you in your panties. you didn't wear nice ones today assuming you weren't going to be fucking somebody, but here you were.

the rest was done by him as he pulled down your panties, breath hitching at the sight of your wet cunt. eren licked his lips hungrily.

"wet? already? what are you, some kind of whore?"

when you only looked at him with doe eyes, he rose his voice. "well? give me an answer, slut."

his very words made something awaken in your core, and you responded with a "y-your whore, eren."

eren nodded in satisfaction, content with your answer. "you're learning."

in past experiences, you had been quite a brat to him- as he would say. constantly going up against what he wanted, trying to dominate him. but every single time he ended up pushing you back down and pounding you into the nearest surface, making you state exactly who you belonged to. but since you were being good this time, he relented.

dipping a cold finger into your folds, he collected the juices that wetted the outer lips of your cunt, savoring the warmth it provided him in contrast to his hand. in response, you jolted at the cold temperature, only for eren to hold you down by the waist to prevent too much movement.

working his fingers inside your impossibly tight cunt, he pushed in one, swirling it around in an attempt to find your sweet spot- in which he succeeded. with a hum of approval, he pushed through another finger past the bit of muscle and into your walls, placing it in the same spot the other finger was. curling his digits around that spongy spot and placing the gentlest pressure upon it. letting a pathetic whimper escape your lips, eren is quick to stop what he's doing and reach for your panties.

"w-what are you doing?" you croak, voice weak from the recent stimulation.

"shutting you the fuck up", he snapped back in response. balling up your pair of soaked panties, he stuffed them in your mouth, making you gag a little. he only smirked at the fact you were struggling. "you're just too fuckin' loud. if armin and mikasa weren't downstairs i would let you have at it, but we've gotta keep this a secret baby."

resuming what he was doing a minute ago, he moves his mouth closer to your cunt, ever so gently wrapping his lips around your delicate little clit. your hips bucked upwards as he put his two fingers in their previous spot, pumping slowly in and out.

you're only able to mumble in approval as his pumping turns languid and rough, and before you know it you're already feeling that knot that's all too familiar in your stomach. you yelp into your balled up panties that occupied your little mouth, the sound coming out muffled. erens brow raises as he removes his fingers from your fluttering cunt.

you're about to mutter something in disapproval, but eren starts talking before you. "i told you to stay quitet, princess. what don't you get about that? are you that stupid whore i thought you were? yeah, i thought so."

"'m not a stupid whore", you say, making your statement clear even though there was a piece of fabric in your mouth.

"then show it", eren demands as he slides his fingers back in, his thrusting become too quick for you to resist an orgasm, but still staying quiet so he would let you cum.

you gush all over his fingers, creamy white liquid coating his fingers as he pulls out, and places his fingers in his mouth, licking off the substance. you're reduced to a panting mess on your bed.

"that tired, are ya?" eren mocks you. "too bad. i still've got a hard cock and you're gonna take care of it." he isn't wrong. his print is easily visible in his grey sweats, at its full length and glory.

"more", you pant out. "want your cock, can handle it, eren..."

"i know you can, princess", he coos as he practically rips down his pants and boxers at the same time, exposing his hardened and flushed cock. the tip was tinted red, a few veins protruding through the skin on the side. he had a pretty cock indeed.

"bend over", he commands. shakily, you comply and get on all fours so that your head is near a pillow in case your legs give out. "that's'a girl."

you can feel him come up from behind you, and rub his warm tip over your cunt, making a shiver run down your spine. his size never failed to make you at least just a little bit nervous, it always hurt a bit when it went in but he prepped you well enough that it would slide in easily.

with his right hand, he grabbed the sturdy frame of the headboard, and with his left, started to push his cockhead into your tight little hole. you squealed as you felt his flesh enter you slowly, but soon sheathed his whole self in with one thrust.

"fuck- you're tight", he grunted, and removed his left hand so it was now gripping your ass. you could feel his fingernails digging into the supple skin, likely leaving red crescent marks. after eren took a deep breath or two, he started his movements. and he didn't relent.

the pace he was moving at was almost dizzying, making you let out a few high-pitched wails. his balls slapped up against your behind, lewd noises of skin on skin filling the room. he held onto the headboard, making the bed shake and creak with every new thrust he took.

"eren, eren, eren", you mumbled, completely cockdrunk by him. "more, more please".

eren smirked, his hair starting to fall out of his bun. "liking that? i knew it, you're just a whore. begging for my cock like always, just like the slut i've always known."

his words were mean, but they made you clamp around his dick, making him release a stuttered moan. were you perhaps sick for liking the way he degraded you? you didn't know and didn't care.

"s' good, 'ren", you gasped, wanting him to keep calling you these names and degrading you down to the bone. you would never let any man talk to you like that- only eren could, he did it the right way.

"i know baby, i know", he purred. "m' gonna cum, you gonna cum with me?"

"y-yes!" you shriek, feeling your second orgasm creep up on you, making your stomach do a somersault. "please 'ren! make me cum! need you filling me up!"

eren gave a dark chuckle, and threw his head back into a moan. your orgasm hit you like a truck, the pleasure taking over your entire body and making you shake uncontrollably, squealing into your pillow as your legs gave out. eren knew this was coming, so he removed his right hand from his headboard and put both of his hands under your legs to hold you out as he rode out his high. he jackhammered into you, balls tightening as the knot in his stomach finally snapped, making his cum spurt out of his tip and into your cunt. you were left immobile and speechless, drooling into your pillow as he pulled himself out and let his semen leak out from your hole and all over your sheets.

after he finished panting, he looked over to you. "you good?"

"mmph", you mumble, eren barely hearing you. you meant for that to be an affirmation.

he flipped you over so you were on your back, your sweatshirt still on your body. he cursed himself for not removing it, but there was always a next time. he smiled at your state, knowing he fucked you that good.

“you did good, princess”, he grinned, and pulled up his boxers again, and searched for his phone which he left somewhere in the room.

“eren”, you ask. “where are you going?”

“there’s a party at jeans dorm tonight. you going?”

you sigh. “no, studying for the exam. i need to pass it, maybe i’ll go next time.”

eren nodded, and walked out the door. “thanks again.”

staring up at the ceiling, you wondered how eren could always treat the fact you two fucked on the regular so casually. he always went around and flirted with other girls at parties, but never took them home.

well, it was now or never that you were going to make your move.

you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and unlocked it, your home screen being a photo of you, eren, armin and mikasa all huddled around the couch for a movie night. you opened your messaging app, and clicked on erens contact. this is where you began drafting your message.

| You: um okay hi eren! so thanks for today, it felt really good as always. but i was wondering if maybe you would want to take things further? we can go out to dinner thursday night if you’re free :)

reading it over once before sending, you pressed the blue button that sent the message to him. it took two minutes for him to read if.

the three dots in a bubble popped up on his end of the conversation. you internally panicked, wondering if this was the right choice.

| erennn: i mean don’t we fuck? don’t get me wrong u cool but i mean idk man

your heart quite literally froze at the sight of his message. the dots popped up again, and you held your breath waiting for an answer.

| erennn: so like fuckbuddies basically, that’s all i want rn so uhhhh yeah 💀

this was the exact moment you felt your heart physically sink. fuck, now you’ve embarrassed yourself. would he think your weird?

wanting to act calm and unaffected by his answer, all you wrote was one letter.

| You: k.

315 notes · View notes

wordsablaze · 3 years

Text

13/13 - goat string of fate

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: what we've all been waiting for... undeniable red string of fate, but with goats for eskel's sake ;) @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier’s heart breaks.

He knows that Geralt isn’t lying because the words don’t show up on his skin and he knows that Geralt isn’t just saying that for the sake of it because his pulse is as steady as ever under his wrist and he knows that Geralt isn’t thinking with a clouded mind because he can’t feel any intense emotions at the back of his mind.

The only logical conclusion to make is that Geralt really means it.

“See you round,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s had his heart broken but somehow this time hurts so much more than every other time, probably something to do with the fact that he’s leaving his very soulmate behind as he walks away with blurred vision and wobbly steps.

He doesn’t walk very far, though; he just can’t bring himself to.

There is a building on fire.

And there is a witcher trying to help.

Nobody asked him to help and yet he runs into the building because he can hear the panicked heartbeats of four humans inside.

He hands over a frightened child to their mother and runs back in.

He hands over a man to his grateful sister and runs back in.

He hands over a crying girl to her father and runs back in.

There’s one more racing heartbeat inside the building but he can’t find it, it doesn’t belong to anyone he can see, and even though he tries his best because he can’t let anyone die - he just can’t - he has no choice but to leave when the roof caves in and smoke fills the air.

It’s only once he can breathe again that he realises the heartbeat has followed him out.

The last person wasn’t in the fire after all; they’re under his skin.

Jaskier doesn’t get the rest of the story from the others in the end.

He wants to - he’s a bard so of course he wants to - but he knows that his own story having just found such a bitter end means that he won’t do the dragon hunt any justice so he leaves its tale to the dwarves.

He’s tired and he kind of wants to cry and he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go so he doesn’t even try to subtly follow the others back down the mountain. Instead, he walks and walks and walks and hopes he doesn’t fall to his death.

And he doesn’t. But he does stumble over nothing in particular and end up rolling over himself until he hits a tree, gasping for breath and curling around his lute because he doesn’t have any other source of comfort.

The last thought he manages before he drifts off - read: passes out - is that he’s incredibly glad his lute hasn't broken the same way his heart has.

There is a funeral.

And there is a witcher trying to mourn.

But there is something giddy in the back of his throat and something bright behind his eyes and something exciting at his fingertips and he cannot focus his emotions.

There is a fight.

And there is a witcher trying to concentrate.

But there is a puzzle in his lungs and a question on the tip of his tongue and a mystery in his every bone and he cannot tell if he knows what move to make next.

There is a festival.

And there is a witcher watching quietly.

But there is a heavy grief in his stomach and a heavy doubt inside his mind and a heavy pain within his blood and he has no idea why his body is telling him to be upset.

Jaskier wakes to the taste of oranges.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry.

“We are not dying on some godsforsaken mountain,” Jaskier mutters to his lute but also to himself because if he is to die, it will not be at the hands of heartbreak.

A lot easier said than done, though, because he ends up lost. Horribly lost. So lost that he wonders if someone had moved him while he was sleeping because there’s no way he could end up so clueless when he’d been pretty close to their original path the day before.

And he’s not unfit but he must have bruised himself more than he can tell while tumbling because he doesn’t get further than the duration of half a dozen ballads before both his muscles and his lungs force him to stop and rest in danger of retiring altogether.

Still, he keeps going. He can’t find anything edible but he hangs onto the taste of oranges from his stolen dream as he pushes forwards, begrudgingly thanking Destiny for giving him at least that from his soulmate.

There is a town with a contract.

And there is a witcher who almost regrets accepting it.

The monster is easy enough to defeat, nothing that takes more than a day. No, the monster isn’t the reason he chooses to disappear for almost a month afterwards - that would be the mirror.

Or more specifically, what he sees in the mirror: one of his eyes is the wrong colour.

He thinks he’s delirious at first but one potion and two hours’ worth of meditating later, his eyes are still inexplicably mismatched.

His left eye is the colour of the sky. The colour of the ocean. The colour of a privilege that he was never allowed to have. And he’s read just about enough poetry to know how that means he has a soulmate out there somewhere.

All that does is drown him in a blue hue of guilt.

Jaskier has just started playing his third song on the lute when something crashes into his legs.

He yelps, springing to his feet and almost tripping over whatever it is that’d crashed into him, which turns out to be a goat. A goat, of all things.

“Right, well, if you could not do that whole attacking thing again, that’d be great. You have rather pointy horns,” Jaskier huffs, settling on the rock once again.

To its credit, the goat seems to listen, munching on grass instead of stepping on his toes as Jaskier starts playing again. Confused but not entirely against the company, he continues singing about whatever comes to mind until the sky begins to darken and the air turns cold.

He sighs, putting the lute away and gently reaching out to stroke the goat, smiling when it doesn’t just headbutt him and bleats happily before settling in his lap. “At least you seem to want to stick around,” he mumbles.

Too tired to find anywhere more sheltered, Jaskier pulls his doublet tighter around himself and hugs his new best friend as tightly as he dares. For a moment, the goat lifts its head and stares at him and he fears he’s about to have his eye poked out, but then it just burps and settles again.

This time, he falls asleep laughing.

There is a hearth.

And there is a witcher sat beside three other witchers.

And despite the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his family, he is cold.

He is colder than he ever is, colder than when he is submerged underwater during a fight or when he is caught unawares in a storm or when he is kicked out of a tavern because he brings down the mood.

There is no explanation for why he is cold because he is home and he is safe and he should be warm but for some reason, he is not.

He is rarely warm.

And if he is warm, he doesn’t understand why.

There is no explanation for why he is warm when passing ruins he’s never seen before or when camping in the middle of nowhere just to be away from people or when being told the last copy of the book he’d been looking for was just sold to someone else.

Eventually, he gets used to the confusion, pulls on a cloak, and moves on.

Jaskier is probably losing a few of his marbles.

With nothing better to do, he follows the goat as it travels along a seemingly random path to find nothing in particular, stopping every so often to munch on something or the other.

“I can’t believe I’m following a goat,” he mutters to himself as he brushes grass off his arms, “and it’s not even a cute little baby- what’s a baby goat called? Hmm, I should really know that… Or should I? It’s not like I’ve met any farmers lately. Or anyone, for who am I meant to meet atop a mountain? Well, a goat, apparently.”

Said goat bleats at him as if asking him to hurry up.

“Yes yes, I’m hurrying. Some of us don’t eat grass, you know? Oh, but how would you know when all you can think about is the next patch of moss you’re going to eat? Is that what life is to be, travelling from patch to patch and-? Hey, that could be a wonderful name. I dub thee Patchy, my dearest goat friend,” Jaskier declares, grinning.

Patchy bleats again and headbutts his shin but it’s okay because it doesn’t hurt in the slightest and he only wobbles a little bit.

“I’m taking that as your approval!”

There is a woman.

And there is a witcher lying in bed next to her.

They are both tired and not quite awake and she is gently running her nails along his arms because she has never seen anyone with so many scars.

He is waiting for her to fall asleep but she sits up and frowns, pointing out the words that have appeared on his skin: but I didn’t take any honey.

She must be able to tell he’s just as confused as she is because she gives him a funny look but doesn’t pry, though he leaves in the dead of night while she’s still asleep to avoid any chances of her asking questions.

But the words keep appearing and he ends up with plenty of his own questions anyway.

When he’s mending his armour: it doesn’t even hurt anymore; when he’s hunting: I love you more than I love getting drunk; when he’s brushing his horse: I assure you I have a perfectly good explanation; when he’s buying new gloves: I’m afraid I don’t know you; when he’s stitching up a wound: of course I was given permission to be here.

And on and on and on.

He wonders if this person is even human at times because they seem to lie more in a week than he even talks in a month.

Jaskier is exhausted.

“Hey, Patchy, it’s been lovely to know you but I think the time has come to part ways because I simply cannot take another step,” he mutters, leaning against the closest tree and sliding to the floor.

Patchy leaps into his lap with an oddly angry bleat.

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up a bit of grass and letting her eat it off his hand before sighing. “I fear it is indeed my fate to perish here. Perhaps life does grant blessings after all, hmm?”

His stomach rumbles and Patchy seems to take offence, startling and jerking sideways, the goat’s horns catching on his sleeve and causing a panic that leads to a large tear in his doublet and a mercifully smaller tear in his skin.

Still, he winces, pressing a hand onto the cut and half-heartedly glaring at Patchy. “Really? You’re lucky the material is red anyway, you menace.”

He regrets his words when the goat stands, spins on the spot, and makes a strange noise before sprinting away. Somehow, that abrupt departure stings far more than his actual injury.

There is an ocean.

And there is a witcher who has never been to the coast for a good reason, and still hasn’t.

He doesn’t belong in this scene, he’s borrowing it from someone else without even knowing how, but he can’t look away from the waves as they brush over the sand and over his toes before retreating once more.

There is a cane.

And there is a witcher who has never suffered this kind of punishment, and still hasn’t.

Although the injuries are not his and the crime - if it even exists - has nothing to do with him, he can’t escape the burning pain and the sharp throbbing as someone makes sure the wood meets its mark, again and again.

There is a cat.

And there is a witcher who has never been able to see one up close, and still hasn’t.

He’s not the one touching the tiny ball of fluff that curls up in his palms, he seems to be experiencing someone else’s amazement, but the feeling of soft fur and quiet purring stays with him for no less than a week.

Jaskier is ready to give up.

He truly has no idea where he is or how he’s meant to get back to flat land. The berries he’d found in the morning have done very little to provide him with energy and he’s about to declare himself as food for the wolves or something when he hears bleating.

“Patchy!”

And it is.

The goat barrels into him hard enough to knock him over but he’s too busy trying to hug his horned friend to care. He’s also too busy hugging his horned friend to notice that he’s being watched. That is, until someone clears their throat.

He freezes, looking up.

There’s a very long moment in which his heart drops about a mile into his stomach as he catches sight of a wolf medallion but then he sees the amber eyes and the spiked armour and the hesitant smile and his lungs remember how to work once again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jaskier says, grinning.

The witcher frowns at that, glancing over him in clear concern. Before he can reply, Jaskier looks away to tug his sleeve out of Patchy’s mouth and winces as he pulls on the not quite scab that had developed over the goat-inflicted wound.

“Oh, is he yours?” the witcher asks after a minute, and gods is his voice deep enough to sink into forever.

Jaskier blinks, pulling himself back to the matter at hand before he spirals into a daydream and shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was a he, to be honest. Thank you for that, by the way, at least I can sing him a more accurate song of gratitude now.”

The witcher chuckles and steps to the side, revealing another, smaller goat that immediately bounds over and settles on his leg; Jaskier has never been so innocently afraid to accidentally move in his life.

“She’s called Lil Bleater,” the witcher says, promptly cursing when said goat starts nibbling on the sleeve Jaskier had just saved from being eaten by Patchy.

“It’s not like I was planning on wearing this doublet again anyway,” Jaskier says, but he still feels incredibly guilty for letting such fine tailoring end up as food for a pair of goats.

Eskel has never been so confused.

He feels like he recognises this stranger from somewhere but he can’t place it, the knowledge is almost like smoke slipping between his fingers before he can grasp it properly.

“It looks like it’s seen better days anyway,” he says, immediately regretting it when the other man blinks at him.

But then he laughs - perhaps the nicest laugh Eskel has ever had the pleasure of hearing - and holds out a hand, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eskel leans forwards to shake his hand but Lil Bleater chooses that moment to get up and charge at him so he steps back and picks her up instead, offering the man an apologetic look.

“Not to worry, my hand will live a little longer without the honour of yours in it. I’m Jaskier, and you have my eternal gratitude for appearing out of nowhere when I was about a day away from forgetting what other people’s voices sound like,” the man says sincerely.

“Jaskier?” Eskel echoes.

He knows Geralt has mentioned this bard in the past and he’d have to be living under a rock not to know of him at all, what with the songs that are sung his way whenever he ventures into more populated towns, but he can’t fathom why someone so famous would be spending his time with a mountain goat.

Jaskier grins up at him. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me! I wish I could say the same but I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Eskel shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t do… crowds.”

“You and every other witcher, it seems,” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to insult anyone. If anything, he seems almost sad.

“The crowds seem more like your style, bardling. What are you doing up here?”

The bard opens his mouth to say something before closing it again, then sighs. “I got lost and ended up following a goat until I got even more lost?”

Eskel chuckles, then puts Lil Bleater back on the ground before leaning down and offering Jaskier his hand because it feels odd to continue the conversation while he’s still sitting down. This time, the goats don’t get in the way and he manages to pull them both upright.

Jaskier gets about five seconds of being upright before he keels over.

Everything hurts.

The world blurs around him.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything really hurts.

There’s something under his skin.

His body is on fire.

Everything hurts so very much and he has no idea what’s happening and the sky has disappeared altogether and there’s water rushing past his ears and he’s in so much pain and he’s going to die without even having learnt this gorgeous witcher’s name and he can’t feel his hands at all and it’s way too dark and-

“Breathe, Jaskier!”

He already is.

Or maybe he’s not.

He unclenches his jaw and gasps desperately.

“That’s it, just breathe, you’re okay.”

But he’s not.

Or maybe he will be.

He groans and reluctantly peels open his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” the witcher murmurs, and he has; his arms are practically cradled around Jaskier and the two of them are kneeling in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Jaskier exhales.

“You’re not going to die, I promise. And my name’s Eskel,” the witcher whispers, at which point Jaskier mortifyingly realises he must have been panicking out loud.

Slowly, Jaskier uncurls his limbs.

He stretches his fingers out from where they’d been squeezed into fists and waits for a moment before accepting that whatever the blinding pain had been is over before looking up, intending to thank Eskel.

But Eskel gasps before he can say anything.

And Jaskier immediately panics again, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He doesn’t need to ask though, because Eskel lifts a hand to ever so lightly tracing his finger down the right side of Jaskier’s face and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what he can see.

“No no no no no,” Jaskier breathes frantically, “this cannot be happening.”

He pulls himself out of Eskel’s arms and shakes his head but his gaze lands on his hands as he uses them to balance and his breath hitches. Without wasting a second, he shrugs off his doublet and rolls his sleeves up, eyes widening at the sight of silvery scars he’s never earned, silvery scars he’d once had and once lost.

“No, I- I already know my- Geralt was- is- no, no, no no no no, wait. Wait. This can’t be right, it can’t- it- you can’t- I mean, we can’t be- nope, no no...” Jaskier’s words can’t seem to form themselves properly as he struggles to breathe.

Eskel has no idea what’s happening.

Except he does.

There’s only really one explanation for why the marks that had suddenly revealed themselves on Jaskier’s skin are an exact copy of his own scars, there’s only really one explanation for why the colour of Jaskier’s eyes had seemed so familiar, and there’s only really explanation for why he feels like someone has cast igni inside his heart.

Unfortunately, Jaskier doesn’t seem to like that one explanation.

He waits, though. He waits until Jaskier remembers how to inhale and exhale properly before offering the bard a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier looks confused at that. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I don’t blame you for preferring, uh, Geralt. Or anyone else, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

Even more surprisingly, Jaskier shuffles closer and punches his arm with a surprising amount of strength, his confusion having been entirely replaced by anger. “I don’t know what in Melitele’s name you think you mean by that but I demand that you stop… thinking it. I’m not- I- I just thought- I’ve spent years, so many years, thinking that I knew and I- I don’t know… I can’t-”

He cuts himself off, his chin wobbling, and Eskel has the inexplicable urge to hug him.

So he does.

Jaskier stiffens for half a second before he seems to forget that he has bones and all but melts into the embrace, burying his head into the crook of Eskel’s neck and throwing his arms around him as if his life depends on it.

Eskel has never felt so pleasantly warm in his life.

He wraps his arms around Jaskier in return and pulls him close, pretending that he can’t hear the sobs the bard is trying so hard to stifle and marvelling at the fact that he gets to hold his soulmate in his arms at all.

His soulmate.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles eventually.

Eskel pulls back only enough to frown, brushing the tears away from under Jaskier’s eyes before tilting his head to the left. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Jaskier feels like a fool.

He leans into Eskel’s soft touch for a moment before cupping the witcher’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry I never looked for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was wrong. I’m sorry I almost just insulted you. I’m sorry for wasting so much time. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Eskel shrugs. “You didn’t know and I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I… I knew and I didn’t try so perhaps I ought to be the one apologising to you.”

But Jaskier did know.

To some extent, at least.

He’s known for long enough that not everything was adding up and he’d ignored it, he’d done nothing about it because he’d been terrified of losing Geralt, of losing his soulmate, of losing a life he’s loved, and it turns out he’s been losing everything he didn’t even know he could have had instead.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles again, letting his forehead fall against Eskel’s as he closes his eyes.

“How does getting to the nearest inn sound?” Eskel offers.

Jaskier laughs and meets Eskel’s eyes, nodding. “Sounds like a plan I can’t argue with.”

“We’ll start with getting you to a proper bed and then go from there.”

He tries to resist that, he really does, but Jaskier simply cannot stop himself from smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Straight to bed, darling? Aren’t you even going to buy me a drink first?”

The endearingly sheepish look on Eskel’s face is almost worth all the pain.

“Though you really should buy me a drink first, for one reason or the other; I am a little dizzy still,” Jaskier mutters, having forgotten all about that because of the unprecedented pain.

Eskel curses.

Before Jaskier can even process the emotional whiplash, Eskel has lifted him to his feet and turned around, dropping to one knee. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier blinks. “Are you asking me to… climb on your back?”

Eskel turns to look at him with half a smile. “I really don’t think you’re capable of walking more than a mile more without collapsing, Jaskier.”

Well, that’s probably true. He grabs his lute and swings that onto his own back before looping his arms around Eskel’s neck, his legs locking around the witcher’s waist as he stands up effortlessly.

Eskel smiles as Jaskier settles on his back as if he were born to do so.

Which, quite possibly, he sort of was.

He smells like the comfort Eskel gets from when the dreams he borrows are good ones and it feels impossible that he gets to experience it in person. But it’s very much not impossible because Jaskier is a steady weight around his waist and on his shoulder and against his neck.

It’s a little overwhelming.

“So you’re the one who was dreaming of a succubus then?” Jaskier asks out of the blue.

Eskel stops walking for a second, narrowly avoids accidentally kicking Lil Bleater, and clears his throat. “Dreaming? No. No, that’s not quite how we spent the night.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier laughs brightly. Eskel can feel the way his shoulders shake with the force of his amusement and it’s almost a miracle that neither of them overbalance.

“You’ll have to elaborate on that at some point, it’s going to make a great song!”

“You want to write songs about the succubi I’ve met?” Eskel asks, confused. Surely the bard could have asked Geralt about them over the years, it’s not like witchers can afford to designate who takes care of which creatures or anything.

But Jaskier snorts, pokes Eskel’s cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I- I want to write songs about… about my soulmate.”

That feels like a confession and Eskel is honoured to have received it. He hums in acknowledgement and gently squeezes one of Jaskier’s legs. “Not to worry, we have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jaskier asks.

Shuffling the bard’s weight a little bit, Eskel lifts his right hand so Jaskier can see his wrist and more specifically, the ouroboros etched into it. He hears Jaskier gasp before there are gentle fingers around his arm that almost make him shiver, a warm finger tracing the symbol over and over until Eskel hears quiet sniffling.

It takes a while for Jaskier to exhale softly and give Eskel’s hand back to him, after which he goes back to supporting his weight more evenly. He has plenty of his own questions but he figures it’s best to leave them for later, when they’ve both recovered from the shock.

The town comes into view sooner than expected, or perhaps Eskel had just been unknowingly pushing himself to walk faster because he can feel the way Jaskier’s grip has slowly relaxed to the point where he’s practically just draped over him like a very strange sort of cloak.

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier, he has to when they get to the stables. Both goats are more than happy to be secured near Scorpion, who huffs at Jaskier just hard enough to send him stumbling into Eskel’s side with a small yelp.

“I’ve got you,” Eskel chuckles.

Jaskier grins.

“That you have,” he agrees, “but have you got a room?”

Nodding, Eskel leads them both back to the inn. But instead of going up the stairs, he guides Jaskier to the table in the corner. “Stay here, I’m going to get some food.”

Jaskier blinks, used to this scenario playing out the other way around. Eskel is gone before he can even think of replying so he just yawns and waits, shuffling over when the witcher returns because if he doesn’t lean against someone, he’s probably going to fall into his meal.

Eskel pauses for a second before sliding into the seat beside him, placing two bowls of stew in front of them. “I know you’re tired but you really should eat.”

“How ever will I repay such kindness?” Jaskier mumbles before following Eskel’s instructions.

Jaskier is immensely grateful that Eskel doesn’t mind being leaned on because almost counterintuitively, eating only makes him want to fall asleep even more. By the time they’re both finished, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Almost there,” Eskel says, at which point he realises they’re now halfway up the stairs.

Yawning again, Jaskier keeps a tight hold of Eskel’s arm as they get to his room, thrown off when they stop by the door instead of somewhere more suitable for sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

Eskel places the lute Jaskier apparently hadn’t been strong enough to carry himself down before gesturing around vaguely. “I didn’t know anyone would be staying with me so…”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back. He has no idea what compels him to do so but he cups Eskel’s confused face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his nose. “Eskel, darling, you are literally my soulmate. I think we’ll be alright sharing a bed.”

He can actually feel the way Eskel smiles under his hands and can’t help grinning back, but then his knees decide to buckle for no apparent reason - aside from the general exhaustion and probably clumsy bruises, of course - and Eskel is once again the only thing keeping him upright.

He’s not entirely sure what the sequence of events is after that but he doesn’t care to puzzle over it because he ends up with his head on an actual pillow and Eskel’s arms around him and he’s never felt so comfortable and safe and content in his life.

“Don’t leave without me,” Jaskier mumbles even as he can feel himself drifting off, only slightly embarrassed at being so obvious about it.

Eskel hums quietly and brushes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek before moving his hair away from his forehead, smiling softly as their eyes meet. “I would never even think of it,” he promises.

And somehow, despite everything else in his life that’s somehow gone wrong and fallen apart and proven that perhaps he shouldn’t be so blindly trusting of what he thinks may be the truth even if he has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, Jaskier can't bring himself to doubt the witcher’s words even in the slightest.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Eskel has always been his destiny.

i apologise if this finale was a little messy because i was indecisive and couldn't choose just one pov but i am so hyped to have finished !!! i hope this ending was worth all the chaos <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

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chicago-geniza · 3 years

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well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs

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izloveshorses · 3 years

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bro are we about to kiss rn?

college au, 1.6k. maybe this will grow into a full fic? remains to be seen what my silly little brain will come up with next lol

“Do you want me to grab you a drink?” Dmitry asked over the roar of the speakers.

“If you let me follow you,” Anya answered. No way was she going to be left standing alone in the middle of a crowded frat house without a defense against a bunch of drunk football players.

He laughed and tugged her wrist behind him. She swallowed, unable to focus on anything but the warmth spreading from the contact all the way to her heart.

This party was a bad idea, she decided. Marfa was friends with a few of the guys in this fraternity, but even though Anya did enjoy the occasional tailgate or basketball game or even her sister’s sorority event, frat house parties were a little too much. Dmitry hated them, too, so neither of them ever accepted Marfa’s invitation until now. He suggested it as a joke, and Anya didn’t see any harm in at least checking it out. But only minutes after arriving, she was already overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and the crowd of unfamiliar bodies, already wanting to escape. Wanting it to just be her and Dmitry.

And maybe she was a little bit in love with him, but that was irrelevant.

Ugh. they should’ve snuck into the greenhouse on the top floor of the biology building again. The hum of the fans and generators were better sounds than whatever music was playing now.

She’d known him since Freshman year, when he sat behind her in an econ lecture everyone was forced to take, and she’d hated him immediately. To her dismay she found out he was friends with Maria and even her new friend, Marfa, and later discovered he was a barista at the cafe she did her homework. They even lived in the same dorm— there was no escaping his self-absorbed smile and apathetic demeanor.

But the next year, when she got a job at the library and had to work the closing shifts, he’d unintentionally offered to walk her back home, and something shifted. It was small at first. He was always skateboarding back from the computer lab at that hour after working late on one of his projects and would just so happen to pass the library at the exact time she’d need to cross campus. And then she needed her laptop fixed at one point, and of course he was working in the tech support department, and he made a joke about someone finally asking for something other than connecting their Macbook to the wifi, and… well. She realized underneath all that cockiness and brooding angst, they weren’t so different, even if they did come from completely different backgrounds. She stopped insulting him when they were hanging out with Marfa and he stopped teasing her about being too studious for something not worth her time. She learned why he was so bitter and admired how hard he worked to keep his scholarships and earn money to pay for his tuition, and he made her laugh. Through him she saw a side of the world she’d been ignorant of before, and through her he saw a light he’d been blind to. Slowly, with each shared laugh, each hour spent studying together, each midnight drive to Taco Bell, he sort of grew into her best friend.

And then, for some reason, this year it changed again. Butterflies would stumble into flight in her stomach when she’d make him laugh or he’d casually snag her hand, and there was that one time he tried to teach her how to skateboard and his hands were on her waist to keep her steady and— well. You get the idea. She pieced the clues together and she wasn’t stupid enough to not know what they meant.

Somehow this boy who acted like he hated the world but would share random facts about the constellations in wonder, who said formal education was a waste of time but aced every project, who pretended like he was invisible in class but secretly knew every answer the professors threw at him, who could drive her insane but knew how to read her mind, had slowly crept into her heart, like he’d always belonged there. She’d realized that now. What she didn’t know, however, was what to do about them. So she did nothing. Because she didn’t know what she would do if she lost him.

And here she was, standing against the wall at the edge of a party, unable to hide from the truth she was denying, to avoid the way her heart skipped a beat in her chest every time he even stood next to her.

“So, what now?” Dmitry asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She feigned a smile. “I don’t know the protocol here.”

“Well, we already said hello to Marfa, the person who invited us.”

“Check.”

“We have our drinks,” he waved his solo cup as punctuation.

“Yes.”

“You’re sporting a crew neck with the school logo, making you fit right into the preppy cliche.”

“It’s comfortable and it’s festive!”

He rolled his eyes but smiled behind his cup. Of course he’d teased her about that. Tonight he was wearing a flannel over a white t-shirt, the spitting image of the I’m-rebellious-but-I’m-still-vain-enough-to-care-about-my-appearance look. “But what’s next?”

She frowned. “Now, this is the part where we go dance, but the music is… bad.”

“That’s fair.”

“Or, alternatively, I think this could be the part where we mingle, but I don’t know anyone here.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

She looked up at him then. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you at football games and stuff, you’re good at making friends.” He shrugged. “Or just… finding something to talk about and including everyone. I used to envy you for that, you know.”

She snorted. “You’re good at talking to people too.”

“Yeah, but not like… you know. I’m good at being charming, but you genuinely like people.” She didn’t know how to respond so she didn’t, making him shake his head. “Just accept the compliment already, Romanov.”

She grinned. “I guess I can’t think of a reason anyone else here is worth my time.”

He tilted his cup back. After a quiet moment passed he spoke again. “Can I ask you something?” She glanced up, waiting for whatever question he had for her. “Why waste your time with me, then?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think you’re a waste of time.”

“Yeah, but you could get along with literally anyone else here, and you choose to stand against this wall with me to complain instead.”

Her throat tightened. Couldn’t he see it? Wasn’t it written all over her face? She’d sit in a walmart parking lot with him if he asked. The words that would ruin their friendship bubbled up and she was the world’s worst liar and there was no hiding from those dark eyes of his and the silence was growing and—

“This is the part where I get some air,” she stuttered, stumbling outside before he could respond or see what she was thinking.

She found a quiet spot on the wooden deck in the backyard, the breeze sending a chill down her back. She set her drink down and fiddled with the cuffs of her sleeves that stretched long past her fingertips. This party was definitely a terrible idea— now her head was cloudy and she almost slipped up her words and there were too many people around. Maybe sneaking into the greenhouse again would’ve also been a terrible idea, because who knew what she would’ve done if she’d been alone with him, but at least no one would be watching her fall apart like she was now.

“Anya, are you okay?”

Oh no.

Dmitry’s footsteps fell behind her and she couldn’t bear to turn around yet. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”

“No, you didn’t!” she turned then, hoping her resolve wouldn’t crumble and that he would let her be. “I’m fine.”

He saw right through her. Taking her hand, he said, “We can go, if you want.”

“No, I’m fine.”

He nodded, and her eyes fell to the hand enveloping hers, keeping her warm. “I’ll leave you alone, then. If you’re okay.”

But the thought of his hand pulling away made her panic. “Don’t go.”

She didn’t have to look up to know he was confused. But he stepped closer again, back to his original spot, and then another step. And another. His other hand found her freezing one and her shoulders relaxed.

Still staring at his hands, she mumbled, “You’re never a waste of time. Not to me.”

When she risked a glance up at him the column of his throat bobbed. His eyes searched hers and she was too tired to look away and hide, and when he found whatever it was he was looking for he smiled, a quiet one that only creased his dimples a little bit. And then to her shock he asked, “Is this the part where we kiss?”

Her heart tripped over itself like it was falling down the stairs. She blinked rapidly, her brain not prepared for this tonight. “You tell me.”

His grin spread, and she almost laughed at herself for thinking she once hated it. But then he leaned in and all thoughts that had nothing to do with the way his lips tasted or the way his hand felt under her sweatshirt on her back or how soft his hair was between her fingers or how sturdy his chest was under her palm were no longer important. No, nothing mattered now in this moment, except the inexplicable happiness spreading from her chest down to every tip of her limbs, so much that she couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped her lips into his smiling mouth, because she was kissing Dmitry and she was a little bit in love with him and he was kissing her back.

She made a mental note to thank Marfa later for the invitation to the party.

#anastasia broadway #anastasia musical #dimya #fanfiction #my writing #i am once again coming to u with a fully-written fic from a vision i had in the middle of the day

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en-amours · 3 years

Text

everything stays.

｡ yang jungwon x reader (ft. jay & heeseung); supernatural au, vampire au, 90s au.

in winter’s wake is the absence of light, and it takes jungwon a walk through town & a conversation with you to realize that maybe one can find warmth in the darkness.

includes: angst (like,,, a lot), vampire!reader, gn!reader, vampire!jungwon, vampire!jay, mentions of a physical attack, mentions of blood & death, is hinted that heeseung is missing. please read at your own discretion.

notes: a bit of context before you dive in! reader, jay, & heeseung are family friends who grew up together within a hidden society of vampires who aim to abstain all brethren from committing malicious intents (the diner at the beginning is where they hold meetings); jungwon is reader’s schoolmate & jay’s best friend who happens to be unluckily bitten & turned. if you guys have any more q’s pls feel free to drop an ask/comment! hope you enjoy~

wordcount: 2.0k

OCTOBER 1997.

The sensation of the worn leather seats against Jungwon’s skin is familiar—so achingly familiar that there’s a glimpse of him and his family eating in this diner, in this very same booth, all cheese-coated smiles and crescent eyes. There was that time when he was twelve, too; jests between childhood friends and bacon fries being hurled at unsuspecting faces.

He waits for that small scintilla of warmth in his heart, for joy to take its home in between his ribs once he’d unearthed this forgotten chamber of memories, like it always did when he looked back on summers long past; but dread swims in his stomach, ebbs in his veins because he wishes he could go back, wishes he’d stayed at home on that very night, wishes he’d pressed his parents harder to let him go that highschool in the city so he would never have seen this town again and—

“If you stare at that wall any longer you’re going to burn a hole right through it.”

He starts at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening a fraction as he switches his gaze from the peeling cream wallpaper to your figure struggling to carry a pile of books, and he sinks back into his seat, saying to himself in the quietest murmur, “I can do that?”

You hear it, though, and a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle escapes your mouth as you hug your textbooks to your chest, moving backwards to close the backdoor where you entered and nearly tripping over a rug as the words slip through your teeth unheeded: “We’re— ow, shit— vampires, Jungwon, not Superman.”

Amid your struggle in closing the door, you don’t notice how the silence deepened inside the empty diner, how echoes of laughter from bright-eyed children outside the building roll off the slippery black-and-white tiles and rattles Jungwon’s chest as his hand shoots up to brush against the area beneath his jaw, and he’s never felt so… hollow. You stop. Because there’s something wrong. You turn and look at him, cursing yourself stupid, stupid Y/N; haven’t you learned?

“J-Jungwon, I—” you stammer, moving abruptly to where he is but you stop when he lifts his gaze up to you, and there’s something inexplicable etched on his face that makes you feel a pang, and you take a breath. This is the same boy who used to toss you a smile every time he saw you by the bus, who actively tried to make everyone smile after the exams, all gentle eyes and dimpled grins, you’re all going to look old if you keep frowning like that; you all did your best, at least be proud of yourselves!

Carefully, you take the seat across him, your readings forgotten as you set your books aside to focus on Jungwon, his mouth drawn into a straight line, and the quiet presses against your lungs and it is almost painful—before you can say anything at all, the raucous laughter booming from outside steals your attention, and you both look out the glass front of the diner, searching the ocean of people blurring into a kaleidoscopic blur.

A red bicycle is the first thing you spot, then a kid with their face bunched up in joy, laughing at their friend, who seems to have tripped over their makeshift ghost costume (which is really just a blanket with two holes for eyes), and the sight brings you back to the first summer you moved into this neighborhood; a bad back from hours’ worth of sitting in a car, new lives and new faces and new lies, eyes that were too tired to belong to a thirteen-year old’s, and maybe you just wanted to give it all up.

That day you arrived at this town you thought of running away before anyone could even see you; before they could even ask where you were from or before anyone could notice the memory that loomed behind you like a shadow, clouded over your eyes like a distant nightmare—you thought of turning yourself in to the authorities (the moment they’d see your ring, they’d know what you really were), so that they would take you away and you’d never see the way Jay’s eyes softened when he looked at you because he will never forget how you stumbled that night when someone took a look too long at you (“It’s those damned creatures!” They’d screeched, crooked fingers pointing like knives) and how shouts followed you down the alleyway as you ran and ran and screamed because you didn’t want Jay’s last memory of you to be bleeding out from a wound on your arm in total darkness, death’s fingertips brushing against your neck.

You didn’t want to look at Jay and remember how you lost another part of yourself that night when Heeseung swooped in to take the blow for you, another brother gone in the mists of the night, taken by the hands of beings too horrid to be called human, and remember, in turn, how everything was your fault—how your stupidity was the reason why you moved in the first place.

You’d formulated multiple plans by the time they moved everything inside the house, sitting on the sidewalk with your eyes down, cradling your arm in a cast to your chest, whispers of clustered neighbours gossiping about the new residents and about how they’re all too young to be living by themselves! and how “badly hurt the kid was by the street”; don’t you think they look a bit… odd?

Heaven knows what you could’ve done if you’d heard more. You were on your heels when they began talking about Jay, one more remark would’ve sent you running down the roads if it weren’t for a battered pair of white trainers coming into your line of sight, and you looked up a little too fast, flinched a little too evidently. There was Jungwon, in a shirt too big, with his hands on the handlebars of his bike (one that looked exactly like the one you’re seeing now), ignoring the rushed whispers of Jungwon, get back here! and what are you doing? as he gazed at you with a shy smile; over the next few weeks, he would invite you to play with him and his friends every time you happened to cross paths, pass you knowing looks whenever someone pulled pranks on the teachers, sit next to you and tell small stories of his family and share sliced tangerines, try to forge paths when all you did was burn bridges, just as you did with every other person who tried to know you (to protect yourself or them, you really didn’t know).

But Jungwon was the first ever person who succeeded: who, through those seemingly small and trivial things, helped you think that maybe, just maybe, there’d be a chance for you talk to people without once fearing for your life (without thinking of the masses determined to hunt your kind down); who made you feel, even if just for a few minutes, that you could live normally—even if you knew you couldn’t.

So you lean back into your seat, gaze still cast outside, and you find that the words escaping your teeth are the very same one Jungwon offered you all those years ago:

“D’you mind taking a walk with me?”

Although the skies are beginning to take a hazy amber hue and the sun’s slowly taking refuge behind the slanted roofs of the surrounding homes, it’s the brightest Jungwon’s ever seen the town; the buttery-orange light from streetlights dotting the lanes spilling down onto the street, painting starcrossed lovers and disheveled kids alike in a golden glow, and a smile involuntarily pulls at Jungwon’s face when he smells the tanghulu from a nearby stall. “It’s been a while since I’ve had those.”

You snicker, nearing the vendor who sends you both a grin. “Jay used to be crazy for these; he’d buy four sticks all to himself after school and it’d be gone after seconds.” You smile absentmindedly, reaching for two sticks, “Heeseung had to yell at him to—”

Jungwon looks at you when you stop, and he doesn’t miss the way you falter slightly, handing him the caramelized treat with a softer smile, and he remembers the picture of a young man hanging inside the diner; he thinks of asking who he is, but there is something somber in the light in your eyes, instead he thinks about how many times you’ve had to stop yourself before a name unknown to him comes tumbling out, before painful memories come streaming in, and his jaw clenches slightly. “Thanks.”

You continue walking around the square, smiling at the innovative costumes of bystanders and letting the breeze momentarily soothe you, and all at once it seems like nothing and everything has changed. From the run-down vinyl store to the crabapple trees, he’s placed parts of himself in every crook; his childhood hidden in the creaky swings in the playground, remnants of his first love nestled amongst the fallen leaves in the forest a few miles off, and his heart aches because everywhere Jungwon looks he’s reminded that he’s no longer him, that the bright boy from a few weeks ago is gone, and he’d never be able to be that boy again no matter how much he wants to—seeing fragments of he used to be is more pain than he can bear.

He doesn’t even register halting, but now he’s staring down a narrow alleyway, taking long, shaky breaths.

“So what now?”

He turns to lock eyes with you, and you don’t have to look twice to remember that this is where you found him that night, a dozen questions in a single gaze. What’ll become of me? Of you? Of us? Of our survival and of the people we love? What now?

“I don’t know,” you whisper, half-hoping your words would disappear with the wind, but Jungwon hears it clear as day and he tenses, but you force yourself to continue: “I wish I could tell you that everything’s going to be okay, but I can’t. I don’t know.”

The quiet slips back between you as he sits on the pavement, but this time, instead of letting it swallow you whole, you settle beside Jungwon silently. “I’m sorry. You’re hurting so much right now and— I…” the words are disappearing swiftly, but you’re grasping onto broken syllables because no, you won’t let another person lose the hope in their eyes. Not again.

Not when they’ve given so much light when you thought the darkness was all you had.

“You’ll go through battles that’ll break even the strongest people, Jungwon,” you look at your hands, “you’ll experience things that’ll hang over you for— well, forever. Maybe the last thing you want is to have us around. One word, Jungwon, and I’ll get out of your sight; but I want you to know that you don’t have to face this alone.

“I can’t promise that the pain will ever go away, but Jay and I, we’ll be here for you through it all. Even if it feels like the world is crushing you to pieces, don’t ever give up on yourself—we’ll fight for you. With you.”

The wind picks up, and it breaks through Jungwon’s hair as he stares at his half-eaten tanghulu—his mom would’ve called Jay by now, asking how his day went and if Jungwon “gave him any trouble”, just as she’s done every autumn break when she’s on her business trip, as Jay gives her the same answer every time: Don’t worry about him, ma’am. I’ll protect him with my life. I promise you that.

“What if I lose?” He asks, “what if I end up losing my battles? Would staying with me have been worth it even if we don’t make it?”

“Without a doubt.” You shrug, gazing at him sky, “because you are worth fighting for, Jungwon.”

You’d have to get back soon; you bite your lip and hoist yourself up, getting ready to return to the diner, but not before sending one last look to the pensive teenager. Jungwon watches your retreating figure in silence, your words ring in his head over and over again. You are worth fighting for. He wishes he could do that—to plunge himself headfirst into darkness knowing you may never see the light.

But maybe one day, slowly, but surely, he’ll learn to never fear the dark.

#enhypenwriters #enhypen #yang jungwon #yang jungwon x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #yang jungwon scenarios #enhypen x reader #i-land x reader #this is so so late i’m sorry enhypenwriters admins :(((#but after weeks of struggling w/ personals + shitty internet + writer’s block—i present to you this jungwon fic :D #yes i know this is bad i’m sorry dhjsjexinendnd #remind me to never write angst again pls

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-26 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️ 6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

Information on the Chapter title (helpful to know): Wikipedia | My notes

Abandoned Archive Library

Just when I wanted to get in touch with Zuo Ran about going to the archive library to investigate, Zuo Ran called me with perfect timing.

He had also been pondering the whole time about the location of the target, and with unplanned similarity, we thought about this archive library.

Zuo Ran: The people monitoring Fu Qiao tonight lost him. On his side of things, Leader Yan is dispatching people on search.

Zuo Ran: Leader Yan has also already dispatched people to rush towards the few suspicious art galleries nearby, and they’ll be investigating at the same time as us.

MC: If we can find Chen Hanzhang’s secret location one step ahead, then this case can be solved earlier.

Zuo Ran: Coming to a pitch-black place like this in the middle of the night – are you scared?

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you’ve forgotten – I’m not scared of ghosts to begin with.

At our law firm’s last team building exercise, Zuo Ran and I went to a haunted house together.

Hearing me say this, Zuo Ran relaxed and smiled, obviously also remembering the experience in the haunted house.

Zuo Ran: In a moment, follow me closely and walk behind me. You must be careful of what’s under your feet in particular.

MC: I understand.

I took flashlights out of my bag and handed one to Zuo Ran.

MC: I’ve brought two flashlights, so we can each have one. Let’s head out.

Zuo Ran led me to the abandoned archive library’s front courtyard. Here, the ground was piled thickly with fallen leaves, as well as all sorts of decorative garbage that nearby residents had tossed here.

I basically understood why the police ruled out this place after a simple search… Looking at the shattered glass windows on the outside and the useless door, this place really did not seem like a place to store important products.

Inside the Archive Library

The lighting in the archive library was better than we’d imagined. Light from the streets shone in from the street-facing windows, so we didn’t really need to turn on the flashlights.

MC: The first and second floors are completely deserted – they’re empty with only some abandoned furniture left.

Zuo Ran: The conditions on the third floor might not be that similar.

MC: Eh?

Following the stairs, I looked towards the third floor. At the same time, Zuo Ran turned on the flashlight and shone it towards the third-floor staircase opening.

There was an electronic password door that had been opened.

MC: This archive building was built at the beginning of last century, and it belonged to a private collector.

MC: Though the first and second floors are abandoned, it’s evident that the remaining furniture is in last century’s style.

MC: This electronic door is clearly a product of recent years.

Zuo Ran: It indicates that this place has been changed by someone.

Zuo Ran: Most of the old buildings of the north district are private properties, and some of the property owners are even foreigners, so the houses have sat idle for many years with no one to manage them.

Zuo Ran: In the past few years, cases about the occupation of old buildings by lawbreakers have also appeared. This may also be the case here.

MC: No wonder the police didn’t notice any suspicious locations from checking through the properties under Chen Hanzhang’s name.

MC: If she occupied an old building in the north district that seems like it has no inhabitants, the police wouldn’t be able to find it at all.

Zuo Ran: Let’s go up and look – careful on the stairs.

Zuo Ran walked in front of me with the flashlight on. We arrived at the stairway opening and carefully looked over that electronic password lock.

Zuo Ran: It doesn’t look like it was opened by force. The password lock is still operating like normal.

MC: Is there someone in the building right now? It doesn’t seem like it…

From a bird’s-eye view, this three-level building was in an “H” shape, and each level had four large rooms. If we used the staircase’s location as the centre, the locations of the four large rooms were northeast, northwest, southwest, and southeast.

Zuo Ran and I had looked in every corner of the first and second floors just now, and we didn’t notice a single person. The entire building was also completely quiet – you could even hear the sound of a pin drop. We didn’t hear movement sounds of anyone else.

Zuo Ran: The third-floor design isn’t the same as on lower floors.

Zuo Ran’s flashlight swept over the floor.

Zuo Ran: It seems like the floorboards here were given specific soundproofing treatment. The audiovisuals room at my house also has a similar setup.

MC: Which also means that, as we can’t hear sounds of movement upstairs, this door might have been ignored by someone who came before…

MC: Another possibility is that the visitor is still here and hasn’t left.

When I thought about this, I couldn’t help tensing up my back.

Zuo Ran: Don’t be afraid. I’m right beside you.

My slightly cold fingers suddenly fell in the middle of warmth – it was Zuo Ran, holding my hand.

MC: Lawyer Zuo…

Zuo Ran: Hold onto my hand… th-this way, it’ll be a little safer.

MC: Mhmm…

Like this, as I shone my flashlight, Zuo Ran led me onwards as I walked side-by-side with him…

The moonlight tonight shone brightly, passing through the window and spilling over Zuo Ran’s body, outlining his straight and handsome profile.

I originally thought that people like Zuo Ran would probably look cold with moonlight on them. But I never would’ve thought… that there would actually be a sliver of a different kind of warmth.

I had never looked at him from this angle, under moonlight like this. Inexplicably, at this moment, I wanted to keep looking at him like this…

Zuo Ran: Why have you been looking at me the whole time? Is there something on my face?

MC: There isn’t…

MC: It might be because it’s too quiet that I haven’t quite adapted…

Zuo Ran: Then talk a bit, although you must be somewhat quiet.

>Select: Face

Zuo Ran: If there’s time, would you like to go to the haunted house again?

MC: With you, Lawyer Zuo?

Zuo Ran: Of course.

MC: Sure then. I heard that the themed amusement park’s haunted house has changed to a new story recently, so it’s perfect timing for us to try it out.

Zuo Ran: Then let’s wait for the weekend.

>Select: Neck

MC: Aside from cufflinks, tie clips and collar pins, it seems like I rarely see Lawyer Zuo wear jewelry.

Zuo Ran: Watches also count as jewelry, right?

MC: Oh right, they also count.

Zuo Ran: If I attend certain special occasions, I will dress up, and I’ll occasionally accessorize with jewelry.

MC: Could you give an example?

Zuo Ran: I participated in a costume party in university, and I wore earrings for it.

Zuo Ran: Mm… it felt a little uncomfortable, and I couldn’t really adapt to it.

>Select: Hair

MC: Under the moonlight… it looks like your hair has been layered over with silver light.

Zuo Ran: Do you mean… a hair full for frost?

MC: …

Zuo Ran: Frost with moonlight is imagery that often appears in literature and movies.

Zuo Ran: What often follows this is a beautiful woman who hopes for return.

MC: Waiting? If it is a happy ending, it will be worth it no matter how long she waits.

Zuo Ran: We don’t know how many people can return before the moonlight runs out – only the moon rocks with longing, lighting the forests by the river…*

Zuo Ran: If it were me, I would not make the person waiting for me wait too long.

Zuo Ran: I would rather be the person waiting.

TL Note: Please see the full translation of the poem that Zuo Ran recited a line from here! The translation I used also comes from this site.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: Lawyer Zuo, it seems like there’s a room in front of us.

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the northwest direction.

>Open door

Artwork Display Room

MC: Seems like this place… is a place for the collection of antiques and artwork.

Zuo Ran: This password lock is not turned on. Looks like this room was originally in use, but it was later abandoned.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, look at that crystal bust. Does it look like… Chen Hanzhang?

Most of these things in this room were placed in complete disorder. The hung pictures on the wall were crooked, and there were also piles of artwork and porcelain pieces on the ground.

Only this half-bodied crystal bust was placed safely in the display case.

Zuo Ran: It’s very much alike. You could say that it’s a perfect imitation.

MC: This expression really is… a perfect replication of Chen Hanzhang’s classic smile.

Proud, confident, and it even hid a bit of fierceness.

MC: Was this thing given to Chen Hanzhang?

Zuo Ran: It’s not very common to see half-bodied busts like this used as gifts.

Zuo Ran: Perhaps it has a special commemorative meaning.

When we turned the bust upside down, we saw two rows of words on the bottom.

Zuo Ran: “From the beginning to the end, regardless of how you change, you are still you…”

MC: On the bottom-right angle, are those numbers?

MC: It looks like someone deliberately ground it off.

On the bottom-right corner, there probably had been a long line of numbers originally, but aside from the first digit “1” and the last digit “4”, there was no way to identify the rest.

I touched the base of the bust, and felt that the side of the base had an uneven area.

MC: Rose?

I found that place and noticed that a four-petaled flower had been carved there, with the single English word “Rose” on the side.

MC: The rose has four petals?

Zuo Ran: Perhaps… this does not point to a rose in the general meaning.

MC: …

>Select: Hanging drawings

I shone my flashlight at the hanging drawings on the wall. I could only see that it was an oil painting, and I couldn’t distinguish who the creator was.

Zuo Ran: These drawings may have been purchased by Gu Wei.

MC: How did you know?

Zuo Ran: Look here. There is a row of little words on the bottom-right corner.

I sidled over and carefully looked them over, and only then did I see what the little words that Zuo Ran was talking about were.

MC: “Gu Wei, year of 2010 at Qinlun Auction House…”

MC: Lawyer Zuo, your eyesight is way too good – you were even able to see this with a glance.

Zuo Ran: I typically drink liver-cleansing, eye-clearing tea. Perhaps it was fruitful.

>Select: Piles on the ground

MC: These drawings and porcelain works have been piled here like garbage. The porcelain’s all broken.

Zuo Ran: Regardless of who their past owner was, it’s obvious their new owner was not interested in them, even feeling disgust.

MC: There’s even a fairly sharp hammer left here. Looks like it was used when smashing the porcelain.

Zuo Ran: Careful, don’t get cut by the porcelain shards.

>Select: Bust

MC: (If it were a present, who could it be that sent it to Chen Hanzhang? Gu Wei…?)

MC: (What exactly was the relationship between them like…?)

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: We probably have found the right place – otherwise, why would this place have Chen Hanzhang’s bust.

MC: …

[Got Crystal Bust!]

MC: There aren’t any things like blackmail crime evidence or illegal drugs in this room. Let’s go somewhere else and see.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Suit

MC: Will it be hard for you to walk around, wearing your suit here, Lawyer Zuo?

Zuo Ran: After returning home, I didn’t have time to change clothes before I came out again.

Zuo Ran: But it’s alright. If it hinders my movement later, I can take off the suit.

>Select: Face

Zuo Ran: After getting off work and returning home earlier, did you already wash up?

MC: How did you know?

Zuo Ran: Hmm… the scent on your body should be that of shower gel.

MC: Mhmm, I can relax from taking a hot shower.

Zuo Ran: Working as my partner, you might often encounter these kinds of sudden situations, which will upset your original lifestyle.

Zuo Ran: Same for joining NXX.

MC: But it’ll also bring me different life experiences – I like that a lot.

Zuo Ran: Mhmm, I also like it a lot.

>Select: Eyes

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you read so many books, yet you actually don’t wear glasses.

Zuo Ran: My mother works so much that she doesn’t have time for anything, yet she is able to make time to concern herself with my health, especially my eyesight.

MC: Eh?

Zuo Ran: My mother said, with an ice-cold personality like mine, there definitely wouldn’t be any girls who like me in the future.

Zuo Ran: If I also wear glasses and end up looking like an old fogey, it’ll be even more so…

MC: I didn’t think that Professor An was such a humorous person. Though she cared about the students in my impression of her, she always looked very serious.

Zuo Ran: My mother was actually joking around. It’s just that the time she spends interacting with me is little, and she doesn’t know how to express her concern.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: (I’m walking through a building like this in the middle of the night, yet I actually don’t feel scared.)

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the southwest direction.

>Open door

Drug Storage Room

This room also had not been locked, but on the door, the electronic lock’s indicator light was lit up, indicating that this place was not abandoned.

When we pushed open the door and entered, a familiar scent assaulted our senses.

MC: They’re the drugs!

Zuo Ran immediately took out his phone to take photos and sent the photo and archive library location to Yan Wei.

Zuo Ran: Be a little careful. We should do our utmost to not bump or break anything in here.

MC: Understood!

Just like if when people find a large stash of cash in a money-related case, where to avoid suspicion, every single person on the scene will avoid the stolen cash until the police arrive.

MC: Though the area here isn’t small, it seems like it hasn’t been filled with drugs.

>Select: Further cabinet

Zuo Ran: This row of drug cabinets has things on them. The scent seems to be coming from this direction.

MC: There are no marks on the drugs – it seems like we have no way to identify that they’re Chen Hanzhang’s.

Zuo Ran: Look at the logo on this shelf – it’s Wiley Financial’s.

MC: Now we’ve caught both the person and the goods!

>Select: Nearer cabinet

MC: Looks like this row of drug cabinets is empty.

Zuo Ran: If this room was filled with drugs, then this would be a large case that would shock the entire nation.

Zuo Ran: Although, to be able to make so much storage space specifically for the drugs, Chen Hanzhang’s ambition is not small.

>Select: Panel

MC: This is the control panel to control the room’s internal temperature, moisture, as well as oxygen levels.

MC: I originally thought that Chen Hanzhang was using the equipment that the archive room originally had. I didn’t think she’d install a completely new one.

Zuo Ran: This equipment has requirements for ventilation and humidity piping.

Zuo Ran: Aside from new houses, if old buildings want to install them, they must have reserved space to begin with.

Zuo Ran: It’s within reason for Chen Hanzhang to choose an abandoned archive library for modifications.

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: Don’t go in yet. Wait until Leader Yan comes.

MC: Okay.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Face

MC: Lawyer Zuo, are you a little too tired and slightly overheated recently? I see that your lips are peeling.

Zuo Ran: I…

Zuo Ran: That might be, I drink less water when going out on work.

MC: Tomorrow at work, I’ll buy you a lip balm from the downstairs convenience store. I know a really good brand.

Zuo Ran: Okay, thank you.

>Select: Sleeve

MC: Aside from shooting and swimming, do you like other sports, Lawyer Zuo?

MC: I remember that during university, to stay fit and look good, lots of guys would learn things like mixed martial arts.

Zuo Ran: I’m not skilled at sports like these. Aside from shooting and swimming…

Zuo Ran: Does bridge count? An exercise of mental strength.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you know how to play bridge?

Zuo Ran: When relaxing, I sometimes go to bridge clubs to play.

Zuo Ran: Playing cards actually comes second – what’s important is chatting with friends and relaxing.

MC: If there’s a chance, could you teach me? I’ve heard that bridge is very interesting.

Zuo Ran: Sure.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: (I never would’ve thought that Lawyer Zuo knows how to play bridge.)

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the southeast direction.

>Open door

Special File Room

The door to the room was opened, but the door’s password lock was still working, and the electricity normal.

MC: Look, what’s that?

Facing the door was an indomitable-looking, transparent… closet?

I didn’t know how to describe this thing. It looked a little like a water tank or standing closet used by magicians to perform escape magic.

The closet had an electronic lock on it and was currently in locked state. The dashboard on the side displayed the oxygen levels in the closet.

The entire closet was partitioned into two parts, both different from each other. Both sides had a lever, and I didn’t know what they were used for.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, can you tell what this thing is used for?

Zuo Ran: I can’t imagine it.

Zuo Ran: Although there might be what we’re looking for in the file cabinets on these two sides.

>Select: Cabinets

Zuo Ran: Li Gang, 2 million, redeemed…

Zuo Ran: Xue Fan, 4.7 million, redeemed…

Zuo Ran: What’s placed here should be the case files of the “redeemed” people Qing Zhian talked about.

MC: There are only paper document records – there isn’t any other evidence… looks like the so-called blackmail leverage really was destroyed.

Zuo Ran: Whether it’s Gu Wei or Chen Hanzhang, once they’ve set up the rules, they must comply with them.

Zuo Ran: Otherwise, the Tiger’s Accomplice Ghosts might as well surrender to the police and go to jail, and the methods that they use to control the Ghosts would become invalid.

>Select: Cabinets (2)

MC: Cheng Kaiyuan, August 20th, 2017, died from car crash…

I flipped through the materials on the second file cabinet. Here, all the records were of those who had already died.

Zuo Ran: There are only paper document records – looks like the related person’s physical evidence has already been destroyed.

Zuo Ran: For those who have passed, keeping their blackmail leverage is useless.

Dong—

Suddenly, a muffled sound came from outside.

MC: Someone’s there?

I lowered my voice.

Zuo Ran: Don’t panic.

We silently waited for a moment. No other sound came again.

MC: Maybe the wind knocked something over?

Zuo Ran: Act carefully, don’t lower your guard.

>Select: Glass closet

MC: (What is this closet used for?)

MC: (From a safety perspective, I shouldn’t touch it.)

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: Fu Qiao’s crime evidence is not here, and neither is Qing Zhian’s.

MC: Let’s keep searching.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Tie

MC: Lawyer Zuo, when did you learn to tie your tie?

Zuo Ran: Why did you want to ask this? I remember it was… when I was in middle school.

MC: This early?

Zuo Ran: Mhmm, I participated in a school event, and it just so happened that the attire was dress shirt and tie.

MC: I noticed that I can tie a tie for myself, but when I tie it for others, I always get it wrong.

MC: When swapping directions, it seems like everything is different.

Zuo Ran: Perhaps you will get used to it after finding more chances to practice.

>Select: Face

MC: Actually, Lawyer Zuo, when you smile, you really look especially handsome.

Zuo Ran: …

MC: If you typically smiled more, the colleagues at the law firm probably won’t fear you that much.

Zuo Ran: That’s also true.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: In front, over there – that should be another room, right?

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the northeast direction.

>Open door

MC: This door is closed – we need the password to open it.

Zuo Ran: Password… how many digits?

I looked at the password lock’s digit prompts.

MC: 1, 2, 3… it requires 12 digits. This design at the end… it feels like I’ve seen it somewhere.

Zuo Ran: It’s the four-petaled flower design on that crystal bust.

MC: Could the riddle’s answer be on the bust?

MC: Could the text on the bust be the riddle? Are the ground-off numbers the password?

Zuo Ran: It’s very possible.

MC: If it’s guessing riddles…

>Take a picture and send it to Xia Yan >Ask Zuo Ran

MC: Xia Yan is the most skilled when it comes to solving riddles. Let’s go to that display room and take a picture of the bust to send to Xia Yan.

Zuo Ran: No need – this riddle is very easy to solve.

>Take a picture and send it to Xia Yan >Ask Zuo Ran

MC: Lawyer Zuo, do you have any ideas?

Zuo Ran: This riddle isn’t hard. I’ve already got the answer.

Zuo Ran: The answer to the riddle should be 1634 8208 9474. It just so happens to be the same as with the ground-off numbers – the first digit is 1 and the last digit is 4.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, how did you figure it out this quickly?

Zuo Ran: Have you heard of the four-leaf rose number?

Zuo Ran: It refers to a four-digit number. The sum of each digit to the fourth exponent equals the number itself.

Zuo Ran: There are three numbers like this. Individually, they are 1634, 8208 and 9474.

MC: So the four petals and Rose on the bust were hinting at the four-leaf rose numbers?

Zuo Ran: Not only that, but that poem-like text also meant this, and it also hinted at the order of the numbers.

Zuo Ran: “Regardless of how you change, you are still you” refers to exponents.

Zuo Ran: “From the beginning to the end” indicates that the order goes from small to large.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you really are too amazing. Are you really a law student? Your science grades must also have been great.

Zuo Ran: They’re just things that I got interested in and read about for middle school math. Typically, I’m not able to use them, and they’re not worth bringing up.

Zuo Ran: I’ll input the password. You stand behind me, a little far away.

I knew that Zuo Ran was afraid that the password lock had other safety mechanisms…

I heeded his arrangement and stood behind him, although it was not too far – it was a distance where I could reinforce him at any time.

Beep beep beep—

Right after Zuo Ran pressed the confirmation button, a quiet sound came from the door lock.

Zuo Ran: It’s open.

We pushed open the door and looked in. This was a file room again.

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #未定事件簿 #zuo ran #mihoyo #weiding shijian bu #tot translation #this part actually kinda drove me nuts #like are you two rly gonna go in the dead of night #without fighting ability and equipment #to a potential criminal hideout #and when i first read it i was half expecting someone to pounce at us every time we opened a door #rly made my heart rate go up down up down up down #also i felt so baited with the xia yan thing :')#anyways next part is kinda sad and kinda messed up so buckle up

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Creep (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x fem!Reader

Genre: Slight spice? Slice of life? Some cringe? (College!AU)

Summary: Your roommate forces you to a dorm hangout with her boyfriend where you get hit on by a creep, only to have Bakugou come along and help you with the situation.

Word count: 1,996

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: Honestly I wasn’t expecting much from this idea I had and I thought it would be stupid and short, but it turned into something else that I hope you guys like? Let me know your thoughts on this!

At least the party isn't terribly noisy, it's more like a casual hangout. Everyone there is split into smaller groups, some playing Mario Kart on the TV while others huddle in the corner where they moved the table to play Jenga. Another fold-up table in the far corner of the common room is crammed with snacks and soft drinks. I don't really recognize any of the people here. A few faces are from Ochaco's group of friends, maybe I recognize a handful from my classes, the rest are all strangers.

My dear roommate wanted me to come out and join her and her boyfriend's group of friends, but I'd rather be in our room by myself drowning in my sorrows and binge-watching shows on my laptop.

Ochaco immediately lights up and flies over to the familiar mess of green hair hanging out near the Jenga table. "Deku!"

The freckled-face boy turns around at the sound of his name and beams as his girlfriend throws herself onto him. "Hey, honey," he pecks her forehead sweetly before smiling politely at me. "Glad you made it, (Y/n)!"

I return the favor with a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, Ochaco was pretty persuasive."

Midoriya motions to the tall blond boy with a fluffy tail next to him. "This is my friend, Ojiro, it's his room."

The boy hums and rubs the back of his neck. "It's not exactly my party though. Sero and Kaminari wanted a bigger place to invite all their friends, and I happened to live in a suite. My suitemates are out studying for the night."

Poor guy got swindled by his friends like I did. "Hopefully, no one breaks anything while we're here," I offer some assurance to the visibly uncomfortable blond.

"We'll stay back to help you clean up if you want!" Midoriya offers enthusiastically. "Todoroki won't mind if I come back to our room late."

We? I touch Ochaco's shoulder, "I'm gonna get a drink." There's no way I'm getting involved in any of that. I have a test coming up this week and I need enough time to stress about how anxious and stressed I am over studying.

I pour myself a soda and start snacking on some chips out of the bowls.

"You idiot! How dare you get me like that!"

Why do I know that voice? Turning slowly around, my gaze lands on one of the figures on the couch in front of the TV. Prickly, ash blond hair peeks out from behind a black hood, the boy's sharp features and scarlet eyes contorted into a death glare as he stares at the screen. His jaw is tight as he grounds his teeth together in concentration and his leg bounces.

I swear I know who he is, but it's not coming to me.

The ending whistle blows from the TV as the Toad in the top right corner crosses the finish line. "That's the game Bakugou," the red-head with too much gel in his hair leans back and rests the controller on his knee. "All's fair in love, war, and gaming."

Oh, I think I know who he is now. He's in one of my elective classes, he usually sits in the back of the room with his hood up and sometimes takes a nap. From what I perceived, he wasn't much of a talker, and when he was called on once, he seems pretty smart. It's just strange to hear him say something, let alone be that aggressive.

He throws the controller down onto his seat in a huff. "One more race, I'll kill you in this one!"

"You're on!"

I shake my head to myself, continuing to gather more snacks onto a plate. I guess first appearances really can be deceiving.

"Why, hello there."

The high pitched voice trying to sound deeper is a strange combination, I don't know what I expect to see paired with it. At first when I turn my head, there's nothing. Looking down though, is a small boy who doesn't even look like he belongs in college, but rather an elementary school child. His strangely round purple hair gives me an impression of a mohawk.

I cock an eyebrow. "Uh, hi?" How am I supposed to react to this?

He tries to be smooth and lean on the table. Oh no, I see where this is going. "I haven't seen you around here before."

I don't know if I want to laugh at how ridiculous this looks or roll my eyes at me being hit on. "I'm not part of this friend group."

The little purple guy slides a little closer to me, and I notice him scan me up and down. The vibe I'm getting from him isn't kind at all. I almost wish I hadn't worn my outfit, even though the only skin showing is the small amount of stomach peeking through the top of my fishnets and ripped jeans.

"You're about a B, right?" he wiggles his eyebrows.

He better be talking about my GPA or else he'll be tasting my fists. "I'm sorry?"

"Or a C?" He taps his chin in thought, eyes trained straight at my chest.

While I'm not the kind of person who would rudely reject someone outright, I don't mind putting a pervert in his place. I roll my shoulders and put my drink down on the table. "You-"

Before I can finish, there's a presence next to me who pushes a hand down on the boy's head. "Hey, loser! Go be creepy somewhere else, she's taken!"

The smaller boy grows pale and runs off to the other side of the room screaming like a little girl.

The dark hooded figure next to me is definitely intimidating, until I realize it's Bakugou. His scowl relaxes as he catches my gaze. "You okay? He didn't creep you out too much, did he?"

"He did, but I was gonna take care of him," I shrug.

Bakugou removes his hood with a huff. "You looked uncomfortable, I wanted to help just in case."

I might have lingered over his features and his now-exposed neck just a second too long. He's much more handsome up close, I hate to admit it. "Thanks, but I hope you didn't do that just so you can get lucky."

"Please," he rolls his red eyes before smirking and sticking his hands in his pockets, "I have other ways to score, I just haven't tried any of them yet."

I smirk back at him, "Like saying I'm taken? By you?"

The assumption seems to have wounded him, he snorts, "That's such a dumb trick, I wouldn't resort to something like that." He nods towards the little grape, "He's much more afraid of being pummeled by your hypothetical boyfriend."

"Guess so," I hum in agreement, refilling my cup.

Bakugou leans back against the wall next to me. "You're in that literature class on Mondays and Wednesdays, right?"

"Yup."

The little victory seems like a bigger deal to him as a toothy smile spreads across his face. "I knew it. You're that kid in the front who always reacts to everything she says, but you don't participate in the discussion."

I pause for a moment, a little taken off guard that he noticed me. "That doesn't sound like you're a creepy stalker at all. I only know you as the kid who sometimes sleeps in the back of the room."

His proud gaze is fixed on me. "It's because I'm in the back of the class and no one notices me that I can observe people very well."

The intensity of his crimson eyes slows my reaction time, but I still manage a chuckle. "That little guy may be a pervert, but you're the real creep." I take a chip from the bowl and eat it without breaking eye contact.

Bakugou's gaze flickers down to my nails against the red plastic cup. "Black nail polish, huh? I see you're the edgy type."

I scan him up and down, quirking an eyebrow. "Says the one with a chain hanging off his jeans."

The corner of his lip turns up. "Touche."

When he reaches out to pick something off my hair, I jump back a bit. Through our little game of trying to verbally one-up each other, I hadn't realized our close proximity. His finger had lightly brushed my hairline, a slight tingle blooming on my face.

He smirks. "You had a speck of dust in your hair, don't be so jumpy."

A breath releases from me, unknowingly being held back. Something stirs in me as I watch his teasing expression on me. There's an inexplicable pull between us, I can't deny it. "Weren't you supposed to be playing with your friends over there?" I try to pass it off casually.

I don't know if it's intentional, but he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "They can have fun without me. Meeting someone new is more exciting." Bakugou looks around. "You wanna get out of here? It's getting noisy."

Tilting my head, I raise a brow. "That sounds like you're going to kill me, creepy stalker."

Closing the distance between us, he taunts me, "So what are you gonna do about it?"

We stay there for a while, staring each other down. A heated chemistry bubbles between us, neither of us wanting to look away. The faint scent of his cologne dancing across my nose coupled with the hint of teasing mixed with an underlying desire in his eyes mesmerizes me.

The back of his finger brushes my cheek lightly. "This is the part where you answer, sweetie." Another calloused hand brushes my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. "Before this creep manages to kidnap you."

My mind scrambles to find a suitable comeback, failing to formulate words into a coherent thought. Bakugou's eyes flicker down to my lips as I do his, our faces getting closer to each other.

RIIIIIIIIIINGGGG

Both of us pull away at the blaring fire alarm, looking around wildly through our disorientation.

"Who the hell triggered the fire alarm at this time of night?!" one of the guys screams out.

Ochaco rushes up to us. "We should probably hurry down with the rest of the building. Let's go!"

I start following her out of the room, casting a glance backward to see Bakugou and his friend following behind us.

"Guess that means the party's over," Midoriya sighs in front of us. "It's probably for the best though, we have class early tomorrow."

I'm still dazed as all the students at our get-together mesh with other students in the building, filing down the stairs outside the doors into the brisk night, awakening my senses.

I run my hands up and down my arms to keep warm against the slight chill. "I should've brought a jacket," I mumble, scanning the sea of students.

"That's another reason you need a boyfriend," Ochaco beams, almost rubbing it in my face that Midoriya gave her his demin jacket.

"Oh, rub it in why don't you?" I groan. It's not unbearably cold, but the longer we have to stand out here, the more I know I'll feel it.

Cloth wraps around my shoulders carrying a familiar scent. Bakugou's eyes meet mine with a smug grin. "You looked cold so I'm giving you my hoodie. Give it back to me in class." His warm hands purposely linger and trace down my cold arms before he goes back to his group and I notice he's wearing a slightly fitted black long-sleeve shirt.

Ochaco's whistling snaps my attention back. Midoriya's eyes widen to the size of golf balls as he stares at me. He looks scared out of his mind.

My eyes dart between the two of them, the differing reactions flustering me. "What?"

My roommate wiggles her eyebrows at me. "I saw you guys talking to each other, but I didn't know you were already this close, (Y/n)."

Sequel

#Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #college!AU #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #bakugou spice #female reader #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction

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randomingoftherandomness · 4 years

Note

After a death and return Booker has memory problems. Amnesiac Booker with Joe/Booker/Nicky

A/N: Non-linear Narrative

'Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine?'

The one with the head of the loveliest curls says his name is Joe and the man with the cut glass eyes beside him is Nicky.

They smile twin curls of lips that are simultaneously brittle and sorrowful whle being happy. How these men could manage that, he doesn’t know but it seems to mean something to them when they come and sit by his side, taking turns reading aloud to him from books that he is told should trigger some memory or recollection but all it does is make him cry, longing and heartbroken for some inexplicable reason when they leave.

He rubs at the back of his head.

“Does it still hurt?” The man called Nicky asks, pale eyes raking over him with concern.

“No, I am fine, thank you,” He answers. They had told him that his name was Sebastien and called him Booker. He doesn’t know which is which.

These are strangers to him, even if they feel familiar. Especially these two men. When their hands had brushed together, it had sparked something in him that brokered a glimpse of laughter and warmth of naked limbs covered with a sheen of cooling sweat. It had made him blush. Something the two men had clearly noticed but never commented upon.

A doctor had come round the day before and had given him a clean bill of health but when asked on when his memories would return to him, the man had all but shrugged and told the two women - Andy and Nile, his brain helpfully supplies - who were in the room with them that there could be a chance he never remembers a thing at all.

For some strange reason, when the man had said it, it felt a lot like relief that spread through his chest.

'God speed your love to me'

It is raining and the chill crawls up his spine uncomfortably. He curls in on himself under the blanket, turning into himself. It’s just rain but it feels too much like a half-formed thing that sticks to his skin tempestously.

There should be something. He blinks slowly, eyes fixed on the empty walls. Something that connects in his brain through that fog that veils him from whatever murky depths he cannot access.

“Are you awake?”

He lets his breath even out through the pain that blossom at the back of his head. “No,” He answers softly. “No, I’m not.”

Where was he?

When was he?

What was he?

“Do you want to talk about it?” He hears over his shoulder. It sounds like one of the men had come in to watch him again - likely the one with the warmest brown eyes that make his heart skip a beat and his stomach turn sourly.

“Will you ever let me leave?”

There was no answer that could be heard over the patter of the rain and that, in itself, was an answer enough.

‘Lonely rivers flow. To the sea, to the sea. To the open arms of the sea’

He turns and sees nothing but blood.

Hands hold him down as he screams himself hoarse and he wants to run and hide and tell them no, no, no, no I didn’t say anything I died rather than say anything I love you I loved you I have loved you I hate you because I love you leave me now that you know--

A fist to his cheek stoppers the hysteria that wraps itself around his heart and lungs and his broken voice slithers on a whimper. Hot tears make thin rivers down his cheeks and the hands turn gentle on his skin, arms wrapping around him as he chokes on all the words that die on his tongue.

‘I'll be coming home, wait for me’

The radio clicks and he pulls himself up to a seated position. Mid-morning sunlight absolutely drenches the room in warmth. He lifts his hand to rub at the back of his head. Taking a minute just to breathe through the sleep warmed way he feels absolutely contented to be here.

"You're awake."

He turns, smiling at the man who walks in with a tray of food. The man hesitates for a beat before coming closer to set his things at the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," He answers, looking around the room. It's a nice room with not much else in it besides the bed he is on, a writing desk and chair, unadorned walls that tell him nothing about what sort of person would be owner of such a place. Something prickles at the back of his mind. Something he should remember but cannot. He turns to the man who was now watching him with an interest that could only be termed as hopeful. "I'm sorry but where are we?"

The man’s warm brown eyes turn resigned and downcast. He seems to take a moment to steady himself before smiling sadly over at him. “You’re home, Sebastien.”

‘Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered, for your touch’

The radio clicks and whirs and settles in a soft crackle of static that breaks through the night time quiet.

He pushes himself to a seated position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cold floor, toes wriggling as he leeches warmth to the ground. He makes to stand, only to crumple into a heap of uncoordinated limbs.

He waits there for a minute. Ears straining to hear any sort of indication that there was anyone who had been paying attention. Flopping to his back, he lays there, eyes drawn to the way the shadows play on the ceiling and the song that lingers softly in the air from the radio.

His heart gives a quick thump against his ribs. He doesn’t belong here. Not with these people who look at him with sadness and hope that he cannot understand. He cannot belong to them. How could he when he does not even know who he is? They named him but they have done little else to tell him who he was.

Sebastien. Booker. Sebastien, who sounded like he could run to the edges of the world just to throw himself over. Booker who sounded like the man who crawled back out.

Which of them was he?

The door creaks open and Nile quickly helps him back up into bed. “What were you doing?” She asks, her voice threaded with worry. Out of the four of them, hers is the presence he finds easiest to bear.

“Do I need to get Joe and Nicky?” She asks again, hand cupping his cheek gently and anchoring him here in the present. He shakes his head. Nile seems to wrestle with something in her but whichever part wins out, he does not know. “It’s been a few days but do you think you can remember anything? About yourself? Or us?”

She tangles her hand in his and he wants for some sweet moment to tell her yes, but all he can offer is another slow shake of head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nile says. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “It will happen when it happens.”

“And if it doesn’t?” If it never, hangs taut in the air between them.

She leans in, brushing her lips to his brow. “Then it doesn’t. And we build a new relationship from the ground up.” It sounds easy when she says it like that and he desperately wants to believe it.

“Who are they to me? Andy? Joe and Nicky? You?” He asks, hands holding on to her. “Why do you all feel so painful to me?”

“Maybe because we were pretty stupid. All of us,” Nile offers with a wet laugh. He ponders on that, wiping away her tears.

“Why do Joe and Nicky make me feel like my heart could stop everytime they are near? What do they mean to me?"

"That," Nile says. "Is for them to tell you."

'Are you still mine?'

Booker wakes slowly.

He stares at the wall, watching the way the morning light drips on the wallpaper he had chosen for this room. Licking shafts of light like molten gold.

He searches his mind, digging his fingers into the soft fog in his mind and tearing it apart. There comes the patches of memories that spill in fragments - he was shot in the head, his brain didn't heal properly, he lost time, his family were downstairs.

Joe and Nicky were downstairs.

The thought curls something warm in his heart that refuses to sour with longing or regret. They came for him, he remembers, they dragged him out of that shit show of bullets and blood and brought him here to this house where they had spent so much of their time together in those early haze of days when they'd first asked him if he would want to be with them.

They came, he reminds himself, and that is all that matters.

'Unchained Melody' peters off into a happy jingle before Cyndi Lauper's 'Time After Time' starts up.

He pushes himself to a seated position, looking around his room. He'd not done much decorating in this room but he hadn't spent as much time here as he had in Joe and Nicky's. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he places his feet firmly and goes to a stand, wobbling a little before balancing. Booker takes a step. And then another until he reaches the door.

Turning the knob, he steps out of the room. Ready to see them again.

#joe x booker x nicky #booker x joe x nicky #booker & nile #booker & andy #gab writes stuff

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westannatasharomanoff · 3 years

Note

Bruce babysits his cousin Jennifer's son and takes Natasha with him after she begged him to spend some time with her... she watches Bruce feed and play with the 1 year old boy and immediately falls inlove with the idea of having a family with him (hope this one could be long)

Sure.

*Bruce was working on something really important in the lab. He’d barely left in three days. Natasha walked in.*

Natasha: You’ve been holed up in here for days. I know your work is important, but you can't just ignore everything else in your life. Please take a break, I miss you.

Bruce: Just let me finish this.

Natasha: No. Doing the same thing for so long can’t be healthy. I want to spend time with you! I get lonely.

Bruce: How about this? Jennifer needs me to babysit her son tomorrow, and you can come with me then.

Natasha: Fine, but only because that’s the only way I can see you.

*The next day, they went to Jennifer’s house.*

Jennifer: Thanks again for agreeing to watch Asher. You’re a lifesaver.

Bruce: Anytime. I love hanging out with the little squirt. I hope you don’t mind that Nat wanted to come.

Jennifer: Of course not, the more the merrier. Oh, one more thing before I go, Asher is still teething, so he might bite you or something else he shouldn’t if you aren’t careful.

Bruce: I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on him.

*Jennifer left. Asher was sitting over in his bouncer. Bruce turned to the baby.*

Bruce: We’re going to have so much fun while your mommy runs errands. Do you want to fly?

*Bruce lifted the one-year-old out of the chair and Preteded to make him fly. The baby giggled. Over the course of the day, Natasha watched as Bruce fed, played with, and read to Asher. The more she watched them interact, the more convinced she was that she and Bruce needed a baby. That night at the store, she was drawn to several baby supplies because they were cute. She bought them along with the things on her list. The next day in the tower, Tony found a tiny sock with a giraffe on it on the coffee table. *

Tony: Where did this sock come from?

Thor: I have no idea.

Bruce: Maybe it's one of Steve’s training exercises.

Tony: Steve!

*Steve walked into the living room.*

Steve: Please tell me nothing’s on fire.

Tony: No, we were just wondering if this was yours.

Steve: Don’t be ridiculous, Tony. That sock obviously wouldn’t fit my foot. Maybe it belongs to one of Clint’s kids. Just leave it where you found it.

*The next day, there was inexplicably a baby bottle on the kitchen counter.*

Clint: Hey Tony, is Pepper pregnant?

Tony: I hope not, why?

Clint: There’s a yellow bottle on the counter, there was a baby sock on the coffee table yesterday, and I stepped on a stuffed elephant in the hallway this morning. The kind with ears that crinkle when a baby chews on them? Either Pepper’s pregnant or somebody is just putting random baby stuff all around the tower.

*Just then, Thor walked in carrying a mobile.*

Thor: What is the nature of this Earthly device I found on Lady Natasha’s dresser?

*Bruce choked on his coffee.*

Bruce: You found that where?

Thor: Lady Natasha loaned me a book, and I found this while I was returning it to her quarters. What is this contraption?

*Clint took the mobile from Thor and inspected it.*

Clint: That’s a baby mobile, but that doesn’t make sense. It is physically impossible for Nat to be pregnant. She was chemically sterilized.

*Natasha walked into the kitchen and Clint held up the mobile.*

Clint: Why do you have this?

Natasha: Oh, I bought it the other day. I thought it was cute.

Bruce: Did you also buy baby socks, an elephant teething toy, and a yellow bottle?

Natasha: Yes.

Bruce: Why?

Natasha: I thought they were cute. I figured we’re probably going to wind up having kids eventually, whether it’s through adoption, or surrogacy, or something else. It never hurts to be prepared.

Bruce: Why are you so obsessed with having a baby all of the sudden?

Natasha: You were so good with Asher the other day, and I figured you’d be even better with a baby of our own. I would have told you I wanted a baby, but I didn’t want to freak you out.

Bruce: You should have just talked to me about it. Also, you did freak me out. I thought you were pregnant and I about had a heart attack.

Natasha: I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you like a normal person.

Tony: You know, if you guys want to have a baby at some point but you don’t know when, I have a friend who needs some more volunteers for a study perfecting the science of IVG. It’s a technique that would allow infertile couples and same-sex couples to have biological children. He asked me if I knew anyone who would be interested in the study. I can tell him if you are.

Natasha: That sounds really interesting, but we should probably talk first.

Bruce: Yeah, we’ll talk about it and tell you later.

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terapsina · 4 years

Text

the ones that seek and find (six years in the relationship of harry and luna)

My first actual Harry/Luna fic for @lunaaaalovegreat who wanted me to write something for them. Here goes nothing.

summary:

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony,” the biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third year.

A third year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

/or/

By chance of fate Harry Potter meets Luna Lovegood in his second year instead of his fifth. It doesn’t really change anything for the magical world at large but it changes quite a lot for the young witch and wizard themselves. Here are six glimpses into their relationship from the moment they meet until the end of the war.

--- ao3 ---

--- i. - Year 2, January ---

The wizarding world is vast and magical and filled with wonder. And at the end of the day, most of its fate comes down to chance. In this way, it is not at all unlike the muggle world.

Four little boys share a compartment on a train and spend the next seven years becoming the terrors of Hogwarts. Two decades later a mountain troll wanders into a girls’ bathroom instead of some abandoned classroom and so forges a lifetime long friendship between three first years.

And a year after that a twelve-year-old Harry Potter doesn’t feel like going back to the Gryffindor common room to be gawked at by the few people in even his own House who think he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Instead, he goes wandering around the castle, the soles of his feet skidding against the stone floor of the hallway and mind filled to the brim with flashes of resentment.

There’s tittering laughter of more than one person coming from around the corner from Harry and he stops in his tracks as soon as he hears it. There’s something a bit cruel about that sound, something colder than amusement. Something familiar.

Slowly he leans forward to get a glimpse of whatever is waiting for him, what meets him is the sight of a blonde first year with a blue tie, she’s being cornered against the wall of the hallway by what looks to be three of her own housemates. There are wands in their hands and mean looks on their faces.

Harry’s jaw clenches in reaction but for a moment he doesn’t yet know how to proceed.

And then the girl speaks in a voice so serene he almost thinks he’s misread the situation. “We’re gonna be late for Charms.”

He wavers in place, considering if he should just turn around and leave before they notice his presence. But no, he knows what those jeers mean and he knows what bullies look like.

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony.” The biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third-year.

A third-year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

“Mind your own-” The girl who had been about to cast starts saying and then almost jumps out of her skin alongside the other two bullies when they turn to see him, looks like the Ravenclaws believe he’s the Heir of Slytherin too. Great.

“I said,” he glares at them “leave her alone.”

For a moment they blink in mute shock, then they scatter like frightened rabbits with a fox on their tails, and despite how that was exactly what he wanted them to do something twists in his stomach. He hates that they’re afraid of him now like he’s actually responsible for releasing the monster that is petrifying other students.

He avoids looking at the girl left behind, almost afraid that the young witch he just tried to help will look just as frightened. But when he looks at her she’s just staring at him with a calm look, head tilted a bit sideways and blinking slowly.

“Hi. I’m Harry.” Harry says, suddenly a bit uncomfortable under that wide-eyed stare, so without knowing what else to say he stares back.

She has messy pale blonde hair falling across her shoulders and down her back, it doesn’t seem to have been combed today, - or possibly the day before that as well. There’s a necklace of tiny pine cones in a strange rainbow of colors hanging around her neck. And she’s staring at him through wide-open eyes, it would almost make her look surprised but the look in them is as serene and measured as it had been when she’d been facing the bullies a minute before. Finally, he notices her holding a stack of books to her chest, each of them seems to have some kind of flower stuck between the pages and hanging over the bindings.

Harry’s not entirely sure what kind of an impression the picture she makes leaves on him but there’s something very loud and strange and interesting about it.

“I know.” She finally says after that extended pause and what were they... oh right, he’d introduced himself. “Everyone has been talking about you, they think you’re the Heir of Salazar Slytherin.”

“Oh.” He mutters, his mood souring again.

“But of course I know that you’re not.” She tells him absently like she hasn’t noticed his reaction at all, or like she has but knows not to focus on it. Harry can’t quite pin her down.

“You do?”

“Yes, it’s quite obvious, Salazar Slytherin was an elf and you’re not an elf, so you can’t possibly be his heir.” The girl says. “And I’m Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood.”

Harry stares at her, eyebrows furrowing. She might be the oddest person he’s met yet - well she would be if he didn’t know the headmaster, - but he’s still inexplicably relieved by her words. It’s nice to know someone outside of Gryffindor believes him too.

Even if that someone is making his head spin a little in confusion.

“What did they want with you anyway? The other girls.”

“Oh, they’re just infested with Wrackspurts,” Luna tells him.

“Wrackspurts?”

“They’re magical creatures that float through the air and get into your head through your ears. They make one quite confused.”

Harry’s not sure if he believes that, he thinks he’s right and they’re just bullies. But then again he doesn’t really know all that much about the magical creatures that are or are not real, so he doesn't think it would be right to dismiss them as fantasy either. After all, he hadn’t known about House Elves before he met Dobby either.

“You said you were late for class?” He says once he realizes he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Yes but there’s a shortcut through there,” she says and points to a spot that looks like any other spot on the far left wall “I have a few minutes to spare.”

She is however starting to look a bit antsy, arms squeezing the books closer to her chest, so he guesses she really is going to be late and is just being polite now.

“I could come with you, make sure you don’t run into any more girls with... confused heads.” He offers.

“That’s very nice of you, Harry,” Luna says, smiles at him, and starts walking toward that wall, he belatedly notices that she’s also only wearing one shoe on her feet.

“What happened with your shoe?” he asks, a suspicion already very present in his head.

“Oh, the Wrackspurts hid it. It’s okay though, I’ll find it eventually, I always do.”

The Wrackspurts need a lesson in manners and Harry wonders if he can get Fred and George to help him give it.

Luna stops by the wall and before he has time to wonder if there really is a shortcut there Luna has leaned forward, hummed a quick tune he can’t quite identify and the wall is quickly transforming into a doorway.

He follows Luna all the way to Flitwick’s classroom as they chat about things Harry only halfway believes exist. But later after they’ve parted ways and he’s back in the Gryffindor tower being slaughtered in chess by Ron, he realizes it was the first time since he found Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail on that wall that he forgot about being Hogwarts’ pariah.

It was kinda nice, making a new friend. He wonders if tomorrow during breakfast he might find her for a quick chat in the Great Hall.

--- ii. - Year 3, November ---

It’s the evening after Harry finally fully managed to escape the Hospital Wing, and it’s been almost a week since the Quidditch game that ended up introducing his broom to the Whomping Willow but Harry still can’t stop mournfully staring at the broken remains of his Nimbus 2000.

It seems so stupid to feel like crying because of a broom but it was the first brand new thing that really belonged to him that he loved. It was his in a way that nothing else has ever been before. And now because of some Dementors, it’s nothing but kindling for the fire.

Not that he could ever bring himself to burn it - not that he’s allowed to anyway, the broom is interwoven with so many charms that setting it on fire would probably make it explode or something. He wishes he was just allowed to keep it at the bottom of his school trunk but apparently it counts as a safety hazard and the school needs to dispose of it safely.

So here he sits on the seating around the Quidditch pitch, the splinters on top of the blanket in front of him, with Ron and Hermione on his right and Luna on his left, waiting until he can bring himself to turn them in to Madam Hooch so she can do whatever it is they do with old and broken brooms.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione tells him and reaches past Ron to pat him on his shoulder.

He nods at her in thanks but can’t quite hide the pained grimace that follows it.

“Yeah Buddy, I’m really sorry.” Ron echoes her and gently bumps his side with his elbow.

“It’s okay,” Harry says past the Bezoar stuck in his throat and squares his shoulders to begin getting up, it’s just a broom, he should stop acting like it’s the end of the world.

“Hey, Harry?” Luna finally interrupts him for the first time since they sat down almost fifteen minutes ago, she’d been sitting quietly beside him the entire time, her elbows occasionally touching his own as one of them moved. He was just leaning forward to start wrapping the splinters back into the folds of the blanket but at her voice, he stops to look at her.

She’s got a thoughtful twist to her head like she’s considering an idea she’s been musing over.

“Yeah?”

“Can I take that piece of the handle?” She asks pointing at one of the larger remaining pieces of his Quidditch broom.

“Why?” He asks and is echoed by the voices of his two best friends asking the same question, each of them with a slightly different inflection. Ron sounds gobsmacked. Hermione, exasperated. And Harry just curious.

Luna doesn’t answer any of them, just keeps staring at him in that assuring and very calming way she has.

“Sure?” He finally tells her and passes her the splinter she had pointed to.

Luna takes it from his hand with a smile and jumps forward for a quick hug before skipping away. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stay in place, watching her leave back towards the castle.

“That girl is so strange,” Ron tells him, a flabbergasted look on his face.

“I know,” Harry says with a grin. That’s why he likes her.

“Ready, Harry?” Hermione asks after letting out a long sigh, Harry knows she doesn’t really know how to react to Luna, they’ve been friends with her for a year now and he knows that Hermione doesn’t dislike Luna, that for the most part, they get along okay, but that sometimes she kinda drives Hermione a little crazy.

And Harry’s never going to say it, he’s not stupid, but he sometimes thinks it’s good for Hermione to be left wrong-footed as her logic crashes against Luna’s irregularity. It pulls her out of her head when she gets so stuck in obsessing over her schoolwork that even Ron and Harry can’t quite manage to make her come up for air.

“As I’ll ever be.” He says, putting away his musings and finding himself suddenly better prepared for what he needs to do as the three of them finally head off towards the broom shed.

---

It’s about two weeks later that Luna finds Harry in the library and drops in front of him a little red parcel decorated with doodles of lions and snitches he’s pretty sure Luna did herself.

“What’s that?” He asks, picking up his head from the books on the Patronus Charm he’s been going through on Professor Lupin’s suggestion.

“A holiday gift.”

“It’s not really Christmas yet?” He says but takes the package into his hands anyway.

“I know. But I finished making it and Daddy and I are going to be in the Norwegian Forests looking for Heliopaths this Christmas, and it seems rather cruel to make an owl fly that far with a package. So, happy early Christmas, Harry.” Luna says and sits down on the other side of the table from him.

He slowly unwraps the package, not wanting to tear up her little drawings, and feels something in his chest tightening and warming up unexpectedly as soon as he finds himself looking at a miniature carving of his Nimbus 2000. It’s even painted the same colors as his broken broom.

“Wait.” Harry flings up his head to look at Luna, realization dawning. “Is this why you wanted that piece of my broom?”

Luna nods seriously at him and looks directly back, face filled with honesty and voice as genuine as he’s ever heard it. “It’s really sad to need to throw away something you love. I thought you’d like to keep a part of it, even if it’s only a piece of woodcarving.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry tells her, eyes filling up with the sort of tears he’s almost not too embarrassed to shed.

--- iii. - Year 4, December ---

He leaves Cho in the Owlery, his face flushed with mortification and feeling like he’d like nothing better than for the earth to swallow him whole.

The pretty Quidditch player turning him down stings a bit, - alright, a lot - but that’s not really why he’s running away, he doesn't think. It’s just, well, he’d been trying to pick up enough courage to ask Cho to the Yule Ball for ages and now he doesn’t think he’ll be able to summon up any kind of will to ask anyone else. And as one of the Champions, he’s not allowed to go by himself, which honestly sounds like a lot more attractive option.

So once he’s back in the castle he titters in place, unable to decide where to go now. He could go find Ron so they can simmer in misery together but that won’t really save him from whatever Professor McGonagall will do to him if he doesn’t find a date for the first dance.

Which leaves him with a very narrow list of other options. Really it leaves him with only two.

And Hermione will definitely roll her eyes at him for waiting until the last minute instead of dealing with it months ago when the ball was first announced, so he decides his best bet is to head toward the Ravenclaw common room instead. He just hopes he’s fast enough not to accidentally run into Cho again.

“What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to?” The knocker asks once he’s walked all the way up the spiral staircase.

“Don’t know.” He says and ignoring the indignant squawk of the bronze eagle uses it to knock on the door.

After about half a minute the head of some upper-year Ravenclaw comes into Harry’s line of sight past the edge of the door, the boy rolls his eyes and vanishes just as quickly. Harry just sighs, used to it by now.

A minute or two later Luna comes out to meet him.

“Hey, Harry. What’s up?”

“I need your help, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, I was gonna go down to the lake to paint something in a bit anyway, we can go together if you want.” She offers.

The lake is all the way on the other side of the castle from the Owlery so he nods and waits as she goes back into the common room to grab her art supplies and a set of warmer robes. Once she’s back, her warm Ravenclaw scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and her fluffy Pygmy Puff earmuffs - a gift from Ginny for her last birthday - on her head, he follows her down the stairs.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief once they’re outside and haven’t run into either Cho or Cedric, - who he at the moment doesn’t quite feel like seeing either, even though he does like Cedric.

They cast a pair of warming charms and he drops to sit beside her on the ground, there are a few minutes of comfortable silence while he watches her setting up her workstation. Not that it can really be called that, Luna likes to put all her paints around her in what looks like the randomest of orders while the canvas rests on top of her crossed legs.

He’s never quite been able to understand how she doesn’t get uncomfortable within five minutes. But he’s seen her rest like that for hours at a time as she paints whatever comes to her mind so he’s stopped thinking all that much on it by now.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?” Luna finally asks as she uses a spell from her wand to start mixing up three kinds of blues together with some pink.

He opens his mouth but no sound seems to want to come out so he decides to change the subject instead. “What did you want to paint, anyway?”

“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack.” She says and looks at him, waiting and clearly not at all fooled.

Harry’s fingers start twitching in his lap.

“I tried to ask Cho to the ball but she’s going with Cedric,” Harry says in what seems almost one breath. “And McGonagall will kill me if I don’t get a date because the Champions are supposed to open the dance.”

“Alright,” Luna answers but doesn’t turn back to her work, clearly aware that he hasn’t gotten to his point yet.

“Will you go with me to the Yule Ball, please?” He rushes out and then blinks, surprised, he was just going to ask her if she knew anyone who didn’t have a date yet but now that the words are out he realizes this is the perfect solution. Luna is his friend. Going with Luna will be fun and he won’t spend the whole evening with someone he barely knows. The only other girl he could say that about would be Hermione, and he’s not stupid, Ron might be an oblivious idiot about it right now but Harry knows that if he asked Hermione his best friend would kill him. “We can go as friends.”

“I don’t really have a dress robe.”

“Oh.” He says, disappointed.

“But I guess Daddy can send me one of Mom’s old ones, I think I have enough time to alter it to fit me if we hurry,” Luna says and looks at him, a measuring sort of look on her face like she’s considering how serious he’s being. Then she seems to nod to herself and smiles at him. “Alright Harry, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you. As friends.”

And Harry smiles back at her, for the first time kind of excited about going.

--- iv. - Year 5 - April ---

Since the latest number of Educational Degrees, the number of detentions Umbridge has been assigning to students has grown. But until now he’s only noticed some of the upper years with bindings around one of their hands as evidence to the same kind of lessons she’s been failing to teach Harry all year.

But that remains the case only until Harry turns a corner on his way to the Room of Requirement one day to set up for the latest DA lesson and runs into Luna and a crying first-year Hufflepuff. The boy is clutching his hand to his chest while Luna’s kneeling on the ground in front of him and trying to calm him down.

“It hurts,” Harry hears the boy sniffle.

“Luna?” He says and then to make sure he understands the situation adds - “Did Umbridge-?”

“Yes,” Luna says in a voice that he’s not sure he’s ever heard from her, it’s sharp and cold and furious.

Harry gets the feeling.

He wavers in place for a moment uncertain of what to say or do to help the upset little Firstie calm down, or even if he should just go find someone better equipped for it, - like Hermione or a Professor, - but then decides to follow Luna’s lead and joins her on the floor in front of him.

“What’s your name?” Harry asks as gently as he can manage.

“Billy Wardyworth.” The boy whispers wetly.

“Can you show me your hand, Billy?” Harry asks, starting to rifle through his pockets for something that could help - he hasn’t left the Common Room without it since his own detentions started getting bad, - and grimaces once the boy does. The skin is swollen red, there’s no blood or visible words yet but he can tell just by looking that Billy hadn’t gotten away with just a few lines.

He pulls out the little bottle of Murtlap Essence that Hermione made for him and quickly unscrews the top. “Here, this should help.”

Luna seems to understand what he’s doing because she takes out her wand to cut away the edge of her sleeve with a spell and as soon as Harry’s done applying the soothing solution on Billy’s skin takes over to wrap it securely around the boy's hand.

“Better?” Luna asks once she’s done too.

Billy nods, still sniffling but starting to wipe the tears from his face with his unhurt hand.

“What happened? I haven’t seen Umbridge forcing that sick quill on anyone younger than a fifth year.” He asks Luna now that Billy is starting to look a bit better. Not that he thinks their High Inquisitor is doing it out of any kind of moral standpoint, his guess would be more along the lines of her being aware that it might be the thing that pushed the rest of the teachers over the edge into just killing her.

The feeling McGonagall has been projecting is certainly that the only reason she hasn’t already is because getting sent to Azkaban would leave her students entirely unprotected.

“You know she’s been reading all incoming and outgoing mail right?”

“Yeah?” he says, it’s why he hasn’t written Sirius anything in ages.

“Billy’s dads didn’t.”

“What did she read?” He asks, his stomach sinking with a bad feeling but Luna doesn’t say, just shakes her head angrily.

“Papa got bitten last year,” Billy says, eyes on the floor and pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Dad was just letting me know everything went okay during the full moon so I wouldn't worry. He’s been doing it every month.”

And Umbridge is the one who drafted that anti-werewolf legislation that Sirius told him about. Of course, she’s also the kind of person who would take out her hatred for the boy’s father’s very existence on an eleven-year-old.

Harry starts cursing but when Billy flinches Harry’s insides twist in guilt at realizing how the Firstie might have taken it.

“I’m glad your dad is okay,” Harry says, trying to fix it and once Billy looks back at him hopefully he for good measure adds -”Umbridge had no right to do that.”

“Thanks.” The boy says.

Harry and Luna share a look and slowly get to their feet.“Come on, Billy.” Luna says, extending her hand to help the boy get up too. “I’ll walk you to Professor Sprout, I’m sure she’ll figure out how to make certain Umbridge can’t give you any more detentions with her.”

Harry catches her hand when she starts to turn. “Want me to come along?”

“No, we’ll be alright,” Luna says, squeezing his hand and smiling a bit weakly at him. “You’ve got stuff to set up.”

“Okay. Stay after?” He says vaguely, not that he thinks Billy would tell someone about Dumbledore’s Army but they did all sign the scroll. And he’s not at all enthusiastic about finding out exactly what kind of spell-work Hermione did on that parchment.

“Alright,” Luna says and then leaves, the little boy tucked against her side.

--- v. - Year 6 - July ---

The funeral happens on a cloudy Monday morning. Harry’s head feels like it’s moving through sludge or maybe through something more sticky, like toffee made by Hagrid.

He barely notices the world around him, though somewhere at the back of his mind he’s aware that to his right Hermione is crying in Ron’s arms. That Luna’s head is tucked into the hollow of Harry’s neck and her hair is tickling his face with the breeze from the wind. That somewhere behind him Ginny is squeezed between Fred and George who showed up this morning in the company of the rest of the Order. That Neville is standing there too, pale-faced and strong-jawed with hands around himself and tears running over his cheeks.

Harry himself isn’t crying.

Harry’s mind is too full of what he needs to do now to cry. And whenever a flash of green lights up in his mind, whenever he sees Dumbledore pleading and then falling, whenever he sees Snape killing him, the grief in his chest gets burned up by rage.

But he knows he doesn’t have time for that either.

He needs to find the Horcruxes and destroy them and he doesn’t even know where to start. They’re at war now. He knows that technically they’ve been at war since the end of last year, or even since Cedric died in that cemetery in what now feels like lifetimes ago. But now that Dumbledore is dead it’s really, truly here in a way it hadn’t been before.

And the idea that it all now rests in his hands is crushing.

But he has no choice, he’s going to need to find a way to do it, to kill Voldemort. To save his friends. To save everyone.

He barely hears the service. Barely notices as it finally ends and everyone gets up and starts walking back for the castle or out towards Hogsmeade.

He does notice it as Luna pulls on his elbow to change the direction of their steps and head for the lake. Harry lets her guide him, exchanging a last tired look with Hermione and Ron when they stay on their path.

Minutes later they’re alone, watching the play of wind against the surface of the water when Luna speaks.

“You’re not coming back to Hogwarts next year.”

“No.” He says, not at all surprised that Luna knows that, she doesn’t know about the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that he has to destroy but she’s the most observant person he’s ever met, she’s probably read his plans in his face.

“Okay.” She says.

He looks at her and feels his heart starting to hurt as soon as he does. Through the past year he’s started to notice his feelings for Luna changing, Merlin they might have been changing even longer, maybe since before he asked her to the Yule Ball in his fourth year. He just knows he’s almost said something a hundred times by now only to chicken out at the last moment. Because he cares about Luna so much and he doesn’t quite know how to risk their friendship on what feels like the most terrifying gamble ever.

And now that he can’t because it wouldn't be fair, he wishes he’d taken at least one of the opportunities that had come before.

He wishes he knew what she would have said.

“But Harry?” Luna says, staring up into his eyes. Her own eyes, wide and full to the brim with a kaleidoscope of thoughts.

“Yeah?” He asks, a little breathless. Her eyes are so beautiful.

“After you’ve done what you have to. When it’s possible. Come back then,” she says and he knows she’s not talking about Hogwarts. He’s not sure exactly what lays behind her words, and it would hurt either way right now so he chooses not to linger there and just nods.

Then Luna smiles sadly at him, and leans in to place a quick kiss on his cheek that leaves a line of burn from the spot on his skin straight into his heart and then hugs him so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. His own arms clutch around her like he’s afraid to let go.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Luna whispers into his ear.

“Goodbye, Luna.”

--- vi. - Year 7 - May ---

“We did it,” Ron exclaims in dazed shock. Like it hasn’t really hit yet. Harry looks at him and then has to look away because there are tears in his eyes and behind the shock, there’s the avalanche of grief just waiting for Ron to slow down enough to be buried in.

Fred is dead.

So are Remus and Tonks.

They did it. They won, Voldemort is finally dead, his Death Eaters have been defeated and they’ve won the war. But the Great Hall is filled with dead kids and dead members of the Order and somehow the price feels too high. He knows the price was always going to be too high and yet now that he has space enough to let that truth crash into him he doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he doesn’t, instead, he wraps one arm around Ron, the other around Hermione and then they hold each other up long enough so that they’ll be able to stand on their own. Even if only just for a few more hours.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, - tears of grief mixing with tears of relief, Hermione’s hair in his face, and Ron’s hand squeezing his arm, - before he notices that they’re not alone. That there are three more survivors by the window behind them.

But finally, he notices them, Neville, Ginny, and Luna, the trio who held up Hogwarts while Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hunting for a way to save their world. The people who years ago went with him into the belly of the beast trying to save Sirius.

He can’t believe they all survived. He’s so glad that all six of them survived.

He smiles at them and laughs. Suddenly so giddy he doesn’t even know what’s coming over him.

“Hey,” he chokes out and then suddenly their hug grows by three and all of them are giggling like they’ve been hit by overpowered cheering charms. They’re all bloody, injured, and dirty with sweat. And they’re alive, and it’s over, and it hurts but it’s also the best feeling ever and Harry hasn’t felt this free in- maybe ever.

There’s tears running over his cheeks and a smile on his face and he doesn’t know what tomorrow looks like.

---

Turns out tomorrow is cold and windy and the sunrise by the lake is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a year. The sky is red and golden and blue and purple all mixed together.

They’d all spent the night at Hogwarts. Not all of them having anywhere else to go, many of their homes having been compromised and destroyed and burned down months ago. It was so strange, sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory after so long as if nothing had changed, except that there were adults, - even parents, - down in the common room.

Harry had woken up first and restless he’d left before anyone else was even stirring.

Now he’s by the very edge of the lake, his back to the destruction of much of the castle and eyes on the sky. Admiring something he hasn't had time or heart to look at in what feels like years.

When she comes to join him he doesn’t feel surprised. It almost feels like he was waiting.

“Hey, Luna,” he says as soon as she drops beside him and slides her hand around his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. He slips the fingers of his hand through hers and smiles when she squeezes their palms together.

“Hi, Harry,” Luna says, toeing off her shoes and socks, - each a different color, he notices, his heart clenching at this reminder of Dobby - and sticking them into the water.

Her head is warm against his cheek and his mind snags on the memory of the last time she was in his arms. Not yesterday when he had arms full of friends and Luna was just one of them but before that when he was regretting never having said anything, never taking any of the opportunities handed to him.

This feels like another of those moments.

And this time he decides to be brave.

“Luna?” he says and turns his head to look at her, their faces only inches apart when Luna turns her own head too. “I-”

Words fail him but slowly he picks up his free hand and tucks her hair behind her ear, carefully so that it doesn’t snag against her radish earring and lingers there.

Luna’s mouth twists into a little knowing smile that’s hard to misinterpret and then she leans forward and all Harry has to do is finish breaching the distance before his lips touch hers and his mind comes to a slow gentle stop.

Luna’s lips are warmer than the sunrise he’d just been admiring. They move slowly against his like she’s exploring this feeling alongside him, or like she’s searching for proof of one of her strange creatures and the answer is somewhere inside him.

His heart beats slow and steady but also impossibly loudly in his ears. And his entire world narrows down to Luna’s lips against his, Luna’s hand in his, the side of Luna’s face against the palm of his hand, and the softness of her hair between his fingers.

A lifetime later when they pull away from each other and the world slots back into place he doesn’t feel any different. He’s still exhausted, and a bit lost and mourning for far too many friends but he’s also just a little bit less alone.

“Thank you for coming back, Harry,” Luna says and moves back into his side, chin resting against his shoulder.

He smiles.

They stay like that for a minute and then Harry finds himself wondering out loud what he hasn’t let himself consider in his head. “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Luna asks, voice measured and thoughtful.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I do either,” Luna says. “But won’t it be wonderful to find out?”

He thinks about that. About how until now he’d only known that he either had to kill Voldemort or die trying when he didn’t know what he’d do after the war because there was no ‘after the war’. Now his future is wide open and he has no idea what he wants to do with it but he does have choices, - chances, - in front of him that he didn’t before.

He could join the Aurors like he planned even though it no longer feels like as attractive an option now that he’s spent so long fighting. But he could. Or he could think more about Hermione mentioning once during DA how he’d make a good teacher. Or he could join Luna if she still wants to go off exploring the world and finding new magical creatures. It might be nice to take a vacation away from Britain.

He could play professional Quidditch. Or help the Weasleys fix their home. Or get to know his godson. Or help Hermione find her parents.

The future is just a hand’s reach away now and it all looks so amazing.

“Yeah,” he muses aloud and pulls Luna closer, “it really will be.”

#lunarry #luna x harry #harry x luna #luna lovegood #harry potter #hp fic #lunarry fic #fanfic #mine #otp: nargles in the mistletoe

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