#it was- so removed from me. distant. impossible
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"Can I tell you something?"
The girl sat by the campfire, lazily stoking it with a stick doesn't remove her gaze from the licks of flame. "Depends. Are you going to give me an explanation as to why we're here?"
"I—," you sputter out the short noise before clamping your mouth shut. It'd be better if you showed her. She pokes at the crumbling logs again, a dance of embers bursting upwards in drifting spirals.
"Because I know we're not here just to camp," she continues, eyes tracking upwards with the glowing specks. "You've been anxious as fuck since we arrived. I have eyes. Your fingernails look like shit with all that biting." Ah, fuck.
"W-well, it's something you should really know about me." You shuffle between the fire and the foldable chair placed beside it, eyes stinging as you catch a face full of smoke on your way to her side. You take a knee on ashy soil, still slightly damp from showers the prior day, and steady yourself with your hands.
She doesn't look at you. You dig your fingers into the dirt.
"You know what I've been thinking this is," she finally asks after a prolonged moment.
"What, hun?"
"The moment since we've got here, I've been thinking, 'This is it. This is the part where he breaks up with me.' I been thinking this is your intricate, fucked up way of separating." She waves her free hand in the air, continuing, "And how would I know! I can barely tell what's on your mind most of the time!"
That's not what this is. Not at all. Your heart breaks to even comprehend she's felt like this.
Perhaps it shows on your face because she gives you a peculiar side-glance, eyes glinting with curiosity.
"No!" You reach for her but she flinches, your hand halting in place mid-reach, going slightly limp. Softer, "no, that's not it. Why would I—"
"You're a mirror."
The first time she says it, it sounds like a profound realization.
Silence. The crackle of fire, the chirping of night critters, the cacophony hiss of wind swept tree branches, gone. She sits there, an infinite stare piercing the flames once more.
"What?"
"A mirror. You take on the mannerisms, the patterns, the emotions that others show you, and give it right back." She hangs her head low to the dirt as if she's espousing some fatal truth. "It makes you so easy to love but impossible to know.
"Because, love? Your mirror is cracked. I've known you long enough to tell it isn't you.
"And that was okay for a while. It was so simple to be with you... until the past month.
"You've grown distant and quiet, and I'm worried that you've been a mirror for so long that you haven't noticed your cracks were growing to the point of you being unable to reflect me anymore.
"I'd like to know what lies behind the broken shards but...
Is there anything even there?
Her head turns to you, golden fire-lit eyes landing on your face. You can see your perfectly blank face reflected in them. Hairline cracks decorate your face in an intricate web, crumbling shards falling from your glassy cheeks.
Your hands find their way to your face, fingers landing on the smooth surface with a hard clink. More cracks form at the points of contact, branching to other splits in the material of your smooth skin and knocking more shards loose.
The dirt beneath you is littered with ash and glass. Pieces of you, sharp and fractured, sunken into the earth. Your glass fingers try to pluck the shards out of the ground but only manage to break them further, chipping away at intricately painted details of soft skin and nails bitten away to the false skin. Soon your struggling to bend your fingers at all, stiff as can be in a straightforward posture.
Soft, fleshy fingers gently grab your flaking chin. She turns your emotionless face towards her. Her eyes glow brighter, no longer permitting reflection.
"I'm sorry." A hand is placed upon your chest, just over your heart. "It's too late to go back, you already saw it..."
Another hand combs through the thin glass hairs on your head, shearing them off as she goes. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she says, "but it'll be okay. I've been here before too you know."
She pushes with an inhuman force upon your chest...
And your glass shell shatters.
Emptiness prevails in the sensation of your chest, a million shards falling inwards and disappearing into your void. The gaping hole spreads further as your internal gravity wins over the failing integrity of your body.
Before you, a known but undefined entity kneels onto the dirt with you, in a body of its own design. Her perfectly crafted hands place themselves upon your cracked thighs, thumbs gently tracing circles over the smooth surface. She leans forward, lips next to your broken left ear, its top half snapped off. She speaks in a voice she spent much time perfecting.
"It's almost done, sweetest. Just know I'll love you, whatever you decide to be without your shell. I'll be by your side."
With a quick movement, she shifts all of her immense, impossible weight into the hands on your thighs. They shatter instantly, and take the lower legs and feet folded beneath with them, shards falling upwards into your core. All that remains of you after a few moments is a wispy void. And then...
"Oh. Gorgeous."
An ember from the campfire strays from its upwards path, drifting towards the void of you.
And then another.
And another.
Unlike your shattered shell, these embers do not flicker out of existence in your gravity well. Instead, they begin to wrap around your core in a tight orbit.
The campfire dims as the void of you draws out bursting flecks of glowing carbon, drawing more and more into your orbit, until you are just a sphere of spinning ember light. A sparking fire ball of potential.
Potential. You can feel liquid potential circling around you, currently formless. Potential you can control, shape and mold into whatever the void of you desires. You're not sure what to make of it.
"Whatever you want. This is for no one else but you. Don't hold back," your loving entity replies to your wordless question.
You begin with a small movement. An arc of flame goes wide of the sphere before falling back into the fold. Okay. Maybe you can put more strength behind it.
A minor explosion is the result of that effort, as you learn the extent of your shaping strength. The entity leaps back, a few nasty embers leaving burns across her skin, which are quickly overtaken by a golden glow from inside that fades back into unblemished epidermis. You feel larger, embers leaping off of molten liquid hissing and bubbling in the brisk air.
"Okay, now shape it!"
For lack of a better template at the moment, you try to form the liquid with invisible hands into curves just like the contours of her body. The torso comes into definition, followed by limbs shooting out, and finally a head filling out a rather obvious replication of her, made of the caustic liquid. Your molten feet touch the ground, boiling the water trapped in the soil beneath into steam.
A bubbly laugh comes from her. You look up from your glowing body to see her head thrown back. She's actually crying of laughter, what the hell? She said anything!
You place liquid hands upon your liquid hips, annoyed at the obvious judgement of your choice of form, which only serves to make her double over again.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's just..." she pauses to wipe a tear from her eye. "I should have expected you'd try to be me first! Shattered one mirror for another, eh?"
Another bout of laughter. You'd consider her an ass if it wasn't so cute. Well, no, she is an ass, but a cute one at least. This sudden flow of emotion-laden thought comes with new curiosities.
You look down at your body once again, and decide you like its curves, but start to make simple alterations. Simple begins with changing your height, material expanding with a deep thrum and burst of heat until you're towering over her.
"Wow, that's like, a lot more than professional athlete height!" The comment wavers in tone, as if the size is affecting her. You lean in close and her face turns red—and not just from the orange glow of your molten body.
Having had your fun with height, you shrink back with a sharp hiss of escaping pressure and heat, much to her apparent disappointment. There are other things you try, like proportions and weight, but some things stay the same, like having breasts, which feel so right it feels wrong. You make this form your own.
It's pretty clear that you've settled on a feminine body, which makes so much sense to a certain part of you. You are a bit tired of being a humanoid light bulb though.
"We can work on that now. Imagine what you want to be made of, and reach for it."
The lava that makes you starts to cool off, flickering light ebbing away to dark basalt. You feel it crack and reform as you bend your arm at the elbow. A new idea strikes you, and before long, the rock crumbles away all across your body as if it were just a thin crust, revealing a shiny metal skin beneath. Neat.
After definitely not an abundance of playing around with this (you really liked being a sentient humanoid water thing, that was cool), you returned to what you knew best, with human skin and hair.
You test your voice for the first time, a feminine lilt, saying, "what happens now? Once I find what I want to be, will I be stuck like that forever?" The lightness of your tone gives you a fluttery feeling in your chest.
Her hands find her way onto your hips as she pulls you close. "That's the best part. What we want to be isn't a static thing," she says. "As we grow, as we learn, as we experience, what we want to he changes. You and I are gifted with the knowledge that we are malleable things. Entities of change. One's who can embrace it with no restriction."
You look at your hand, you shape it. Scales chase up the wrist and previously bitten down nails slide out into avian talons. You flip it over, and in the midst of the motion consider another form. Tufts of fur burst from the gaps between scales, and leathery pads swell upon your fingers and palms. The talons shrink back into canine claws, that you could easily imagine digging into the dirt to pull you into a sprint.
You let it return to a human shape as you look back at her, emotions overwhelming you.
"I had something I wanted to tell you," you say, tears pooling in your eyes. She tips her head forward, your foreheads touching. "I think... I'm a girl..."
"I know, baby. I know you are."
She wraps you in her arms as you let it all out, sobbing into her neck. She doesn't let you go even as the campfire simmers and cracks, no more flames licking up into the sky. She doesn't let you go as the night critters resume their chirping. She doesn't let you go as the wind swept trees bristle under the growing light of dawn.
Not even as you both let sleep take you, no more mirrors and broken shells keeping you apart.
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ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜɪꜰᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)
this is part two. for part one, click here!
pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)
word count: 2k
summary: after a rude encounter with your next door neighbour, you decide to spend distance yourself from him, spending most of your nights at a friends house.
warnings: SMUT (masturbation, f & m), MINORS DNI 18+, suggestive flirting, not proofread (oops), jealous megumi, slight self deprecation talk (so ig a slight angst warning)
a note: i promise part 3 won't be delayed as much!
please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!
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Things have gotten worse since you last spoke.
Each day begins with the jarring sound of his motorcycle revving right outside your window, shattering the tranquility of the morning. The noise reverberates through your whole apartment, making it impossible to ignore. And to make matters worse, he started blasting the worst rap music you’ve ever heard from a portable speaker while he works on his bike on Saturday afternoons. The cacophony of noise fills the air, making it impossible to concentrate or find any semblance of peace within your own home.
Even though you’ve been trying to avoid him, checking outside your window a few too many times before leaving so you don’t run into him, he’s still been plaguing your mind. You had caught him like a cold or the flu, and now you’re praying that you’ll one day be immune. Sleeping was practically impossible, even the strongest earplugs and the loudest white noise couldn’t block out the sound of his, frankly, stupid fucking bike. You go to work irritable and exhausted, having to hype yourself up in the bathroom before clocking in. You dread going home, begging your manager to let you work late, trying to find every excuse to hang back and avoid your inevitable negative interaction with Megumi.
After days of sleepless nights and endless worry, you had finally reached your breaking point. With a heavy heart, you had mustered up the courage to do something you'd been dreading — ask a friend for a favor. With trembling hands, you dialed your friend Yuji’s number, hoping that he would understand. To your immense relief, he listened patiently and without judgment. You poured out your heart, sharing the sleepless nights and the constant fear that had become your reality.
To your surprise, Yuji didn't hesitate, offering you a place to stay for the days Megumi would wake up early to head to work, a sanctuary where you could finally rest and recharge. You accepted his offer, overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing it would give you the solace you desperately needed. The nights before Megumi's shifts became a routine. You would gather your belongings and head to Yuji's place, seeking refuge from the darkness that seemed to engulf your apartment.
Each night, you would lie awake in your friend's spare bedroom, listening to the sounds of the outside world. The gentle hum of traffic, the distant laughter of passersby — these were the sounds of a life that seemed so far removed from your own. Part of you loved your time spent away from Megumi. Part of you didn’t. Even though he was annoying, stuck up, and frankly a bitch, he was so pretty to look at. You couldn’t help yourself sometimes, sneakily taking glances at him through your window while he worked on his bike, shirtless and sweating under the Japanese summer sun.
You felt guilty in a way. He hated you, yet you didn’t hate him. Why are you hanging on so tight? You wanted to hate him so badly, especially while you were laying propped up on your bed, had between your soft thighs as you thrust two fingers in and out of your cunt. You couldn’t help yourself, biting your duvet cover to keep yourself from moaning his name too loudly while you came, hips bucking into your hand while you imagined the ways he would talk you through it. You couldn’t help but imagine how handsome he would look with you all over his mouth, grinning at you as you beg to cum. Would he let you? Sometimes you would get carried away, sliding your fingers over your clit to draw out another orgasm, one that would leave you silent curled in a ball on your bed. Megumi seemed like the type to overstimulate you just for fun, after all. He clouded your mind, engulfing you with visions of him encased in smoke. He was beautiful, finite, a shining white light you had a hard time looking at. You were, quite frankly, down bad.
Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee.
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On the other side of the plaster wall, Megumi was having a similar experience. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, hoping if he revved his engine loud enough in the mornings you would come outside, all cute and grumpy with bedhead, yelling at him to quiet down. Maybe you would only be wearing a T-shirt too. He wondered what panties you would be wearing. Cotton? Lace? None at all?
He noticed your glances while he was working on his bike. After all, he did it shirtless hoping you would stare. All he wants is your attention, and can you blame him? You’re so soft and pretty, and all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you before bending you over his desk, his hand gripping your hair at the root as he fucks you dumb. He thinks about what you would sound like while he fucks you as he jerks off, one hand playing with his balls while the other strokes his cock up and down, teasing the tip with his fingers. He wonders what you would look like on your knees next to his bed, his cock draped across your face as you suck on his balls. He moans quietly when he cums, the liquid splattering onto his chest and abs and he wishes you were around to lick it up. Maybe after he would tug on your hair and have you thank him.
Megumi noticed a lot of things. He couldn't help but notice certain the frequent absences from your usual routine. With each passing day, Megumi's curiosity grew, and he started to pay closer attention to your whereabouts. That’s when he saw it, a dark blue car consistently parked at the entrance of the alleyway leading to your apartment building, the one you would climb in and out of on the days you were gone, the days you were away from him. Of course he took a note of the car, writing down the make and the model and the license plate, just in case.
Something else Megumi started noticing was your moans. You got braver and louder each time, and soon he noticed the way you would gasp and whimper and the little noise you made before you came. Megumi soon started feeling something he hadn’t felt in a while, jealousy. You had a boyfriend or a fuck-buddy, and whoever they are was able to make you cum. That part irritated him, he wanted to be the only one that could make you cum and shake on his cock or his tongue. The semantics of your relationship didn’t matter to him, but you were with someone who wasn’t him. So he waited for you to return, leaning against the railing of his small porch. He knew your schedule now, and you should be home any second.
As the car pulls up, its headlights shine directly onto him, causing Megumi to avert his eyes. He watches as you step out of the car, bidding the driver, whom he can see now is a guy, farewell before making your way toward your door. The gravel crunched as the car reversed and smoothly drove away, leaving you and him standing alone in the tranquil evening. With a nimble hop, he crossed the railing and approached you, a faint smile playing across his lips. The world seemed to pause for a moment, as if time itself stood still, as you locked eyes with each other.
“Hey.” He says, climbing up onto your porch, swinging his legs over the barrier, and landing on his feet.
You don’t look up as you search for your keys. “You could’ve used the stairs.”
He grins. “Maybe I wanted to impress you.” The comment makes your cheeks warm, but you don’t reply as you continue to search through your seemingly endless tote bag. He sighs, “Listen, I have a question.”
You look up at him, and gods he is so pretty. You feel your blush deepen, trying not to gawk at the way his shoulders and arms look in that fucking black compression shirt. “Ask away.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, you got a boyfriend?”
Your eyebrows furrow. “No. Why?” You finally find your keys, pulling them out as they jingle loudly from all of your keychains.
Megumi scoffs, keeping his arms crossed. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. I hear you moaning through the wall, you know.”
Your stomach lurches, your throat constricting. “Tha-that doesn’t mean anything.”
Megumi laughs, letting his arms drop to his side. “What about that guy that drives you everywhere?”
You put your key into the lock, swallowing hard. “He’s just my friend. I’ve been staying at his place recently-”
Megumi suddenly reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling the key out. “Don’t walk away. We’re having a conversation.” You gulp, holding onto your keys. He was right, that was kind of rude. “Continue.”
You take a shaky breath, unable to look him in the eyes, your gaze flicking around from the ground to the sunset behind him. “He’s just my friend. Nothing more.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Megumi asks, trying to get in your line of sight. “Don’t look over there. Look at me.” You nod, looking at him, muttering an apology. Megumi smirks. “Good girl.”
Your throat dries up. This man is driving you crazy, and you can feel your thighs getting slick under your skirt. You subconsciously squeeze them together. “He-he isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just my friend.”
Megumi nods. “But you sleep together, right?”
“No.”
Megumi hums in response, getting closer to you. You instinctively back up until you hit the other railing. He towers over you, and you’re greeted with the smell of his cologne and shampoo as he smirks down at you. “Then what has you moaning so prettily, hmm? Is there another guy in your life?”
You shake your head. “N-no, I’m doing it, you know…solo.”
Megumi’s shoulders drop in relief. You don’t have anyone else. Does that mean he can have you all to himself? “What do you think about? When you touch yourself?” His voice is deep and smooth, right in your ear, causing your knees to buckle.
You gulp. “Nothing in particular.” He smirks. He doesn’t believe you. He reaches out to brush some hair out of your face but you move away, clutching your keys in your hands. He tries again, reaching for your arm this time, but you move away again.
You feel weird. He’s making an advance, one you aren’t opposed to, but you can’t seem to let your guard down and let him approach you. You sweat, shakily putting your key into the lock. You wanted to turn around, to throw your arms around him and let him take control of you, but you felt the familiar feeling of dread eating at your insides, sliding up your throat like bile. This almost felt too good to be true. You had spent weeks wishing for this exact moment, but now that it’s unraveling in front of you it’s hard to believe it’s happening and isn’t some sick, twisted joke. Had you stretched your self-worth too thin? Were you foolish for thinking Megumi would actually want you?
Megumi says your name so softly you almost didn’t hear it, concern etched on his face and laced in his voice. You ignore him, quickly unlocking your door and sliding inside your apartment, shutting the door in his face.
Megumi stands there, both confused and concerned. Had he come on too strong? Did he waste his one and only chance by scaring you? He reaches out to knock on your door before hesitating. He wanted a second chance, an opportunity to tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or scared, but he couldn’t bring himself to press his knuckles onto the wood. He drops his hand and walks away, back to his apartment, feeling like he just ruined everything he could’ve had with you.
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part three is here
★taglist: @whereflowerswenttodie, @rosieandthethorns (reply to this post if you want to be included in the taglist!)
#keikiwrites#f!reader#jjk smut#megumi fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi#megumi smut#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#✿: megumi!
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⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader
part ii here.
summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...
tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.
note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡
word count. 5.1k
Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.
He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.
It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.
You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”
It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.
Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.
Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.
But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.
“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”
This, now, is sacrilege.
Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”
You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.
Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.
You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.
“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”
“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”
“My head hurts.”
“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”
He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”
“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.
You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.
“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.
You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.
Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.
“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”
“Pity about Godefrey.”
You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.
Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.
You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.
“Sorry?” you ask.
“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”
Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.
“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”
His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”
… Oooookay?
“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”
The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”
You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.
You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson.
There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.
“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”
He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”
You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”
“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."
You freeze.
Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?
One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.
“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing.
It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.
But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.
As the lesson proceeds, he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.
You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.
“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”
Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”
“Calarook’s Method.”
“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”
“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”
“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”
The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.
And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)
Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.
“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.
You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.
“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.
Your eyebrows raise at that.
“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”
You shake your head. “I should have known.”
“And you?”
“Studying again.”
“Ancient Runes?”
“Mhm.”
“...With Godefrey?”
“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”
He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.
“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”
“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.
You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.
“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”
“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”
Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”
“And I am asking you.”
He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.
“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.
He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”
“Rapport?”
“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”
We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.
“Yes, we do.”
He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”
You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.
It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.
Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.
But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.
You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.
And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.
“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"
“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”
His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”
You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.
To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.
“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.
“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.
You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you.
You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.
“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.
It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.
Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.
He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…
Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —
And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.
He must know.
He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"
You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.
Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition.
Want.
And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.
His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.
He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying.
You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you.
His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.
“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.
Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.
Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.
“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.
You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it.
You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else.
He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.
“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"
“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.
You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.
He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.
He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.
You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild, lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.
“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.
Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.
You are so completely, utterly fucked.
#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x you#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x y/n#tom marvolo riddle#voldemort#voldemort x reader#tom riddle imagine#tom riddle fanfiction#tom riddle oneshot#for now...#harry potter fanfiction#wizarding world
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streetlights | jeon wonwoo
SYNOPSIS. in which you and wonwoo go on a midnight walk together.
PAIRING. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader
GENRE. fluff n cheesy cuteness, childhood best friends to lovers au, reader is the literal definition of a hopeless romantic (aka me fr), both reader and wonwoo just realising their feelings for each other tbh
WARNINGS. none but just my efforts at building romantic tension and reader having their first kiss (:
WORD COUNT. 1.9k
notes: honestly this is just me dumping my hopeless romantic thoughts in an imagine so uh... bare with me please.
“Do you remember when we promised to marry each other by 30 if we were both still single?”
You don’t earn an immediate response, and you glance to see if Wonwoo was even still listening to you. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t, as a singular earphone hangs off his ear. Frowning, you give him a playful (and maybe slightly aggressive) nudge on the arm, distracting him out of his little world.
“Earth to Wonwoo?” You call out his name. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?” Wonwoo faces back to you blankly, his dark eyes meeting yours as he slowly removes the earphone out of his ear and puts it away in his pocket. You see his lips part to form an apologetic smile, his face illuminated by the looming streetlights above as he fixes his hat and adjusts his glasses. “Sorry, what did you say?”
You roll your eyes, huffing out a pout to his response. “See, this is why you’re single. You’re too invested in your little books.”
Wonwoo scoffs dramatically, the corners of his lips curling into a sly smile. His face is full of amusement, knowing he's not one to back down from any of your playful banter.
"Says the one who is always daydreaming about finding the perfect partner,” he retorts back.
You feel an embarrassed blush spread throughout your face because unlike you, Wonwoo has had a fair share of experiences with love. “I-I just haven’t found the one, okay?”
Wonwoo just grins proudly at your reaction. Despite being best friends with him for most of your life, the bickering banter between you both was an unequal match. Even in a playful manner, he always knew the right things to say to have you at a loss for words. Sometimes, he could just look at you and suddenly your voice decides to depart out of your body.
That’s... normal, right?
The two of you find yourselves trailing down an empty neighbourhood street at the wee hours of the night. It happens when the two of you can’t seem to fall asleep, along with an added boredom that just calls for a late-night stroll. The streetlights cast a soft, orange glow on the pavement as you walk side-by-side, the only sounds being the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of crickets, and your footsteps echoing in the quiet night when the world seems to be at slumber. You notice a few of the streetlights seemingly more dim than the others, some even blinking, and one or two barely even working.
These kinds of strolls weren’t as strange as others may make it seem. You both enjoy the comfortable silences of being next to each other, minding your own businesses, and allowing the air to clear away your thoughts. But for some reason, your mind only continues to wander to what Wonwoo had mentioned just minutes before. Do you... really daydream that much for a partner that might seem impossible to find?
Wonwoo peers towards you curiously, eyes tracing over your familiar expression and side-profile. He knows when you’re deep in thought from the way you purse your lips together, or the way your eyes seem glued to the ground like you’re trying to laser a hole through the earth.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks casually.
You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”
He raises a suspicious brow, feeling the bits of worry slip in. “Nothing you think is stupid, Y/N. Come on, I know that look when you want to say something.”
You feel the slight pressure on your shoulders from his words, but he’s your best friend. You know you can tell him anything and everything, and not once has he spilled any of your secrets. In some way he’s like a locked diary, a sacred vessel that holds the deepest corners of your heart and even the most ridiculous of thoughts you may have told him.
Through the years, he's been your confidant, your rock, and your only support. You've relied on him for comfort and strength, and he has never faltered in his role. Not even once. Somehow, the thought is strangely soothing.
“Is it bad I just have so many scenarios in my head that I look for when looking for love?” You ask him; it’s a genuine question. “Like, there’s so many things I want to experience, you know? The nervous hand-holding, the cliché umbrella moment, or even a kiss under the moonlight... I want someone to look at me like those stupid dramas!”
You don’t notice as you continue to ramble, but a flicker of something indiscernible passes through Wonwoo’s gaze as his attentiveness seems to slip away at your last sentence. Yet he quickly recovers himself, a small smile playing at his lips.
“A kiss under the moonlight, you say?” he muses, but he murmurs it under his breath as if acknowledging the detail more to himself.
“I told you. It all sounds stupid,” You groan hopelessly. “I won’t ever experience those kinds of things. I’m too much of a coward.”
Wonwoo just chuckles quietly, and because of the embarrassment, you can’t tell if he’s chuckling at you or not. But his face softens just seconds after as he unnoticeably steps closer to you to the point where your shoulders begin to lightly brush up against one another, and feel yourself begin to relax once more.
However his closeness seems to send a jolt through your heart.
A few moments of silence pass as you continue to walk together, a certain tension growing in the air that makes you feel oddly tense. You steal a sideways glance at Wonwoo, observing his seemingly contemplative expression and how he appears lost in his own thoughts as well. He’s always been a naturally quiet person, but this time, there was perhaps a miniscule shift in the silence surrounding you two.
Then, abruptly, he comes to a stop, causing you to come to a halt as well. The two of you cower under a flickering streetlight, its intermittent glow casting dancing shadows on the pavement below your feet.
“Y/N,” he says your name with utmost seriousness, and as you meet his gaze, there’s a newfound intensity in his dark eyes. “You trust me, right?”
In that moment, the weight of Wonwoo's question hangs in the air, and you feel your heartbeat start to quicken. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine as a mix of curiosity and anticipation grows within you.
A flicker of uncertainty passes through your mind, yet you know your friendship with Wonwoo has always been built on trust. The two of you have always been open with each other, so you can trust him, right?
“Of course I trust you. Why wouldn’t I?” For some reason there’s still that quiver of doubt in your response.
You watch Wonwoo take a noticeable exhale.
He opens his mouth again but closes it quickly, leaving you hanging once more. The silence stretching between the two of you feels like an eternity, your heart pounding anxiously in your chest, as you watch the play of emotions on his face. For the first time in a long time, he looks just as vulnerable as you feel around him at times.
“If I said I wanted to kiss you right now, would you let me?”
You could only stare at him, merely speechless as his question floats in the air around. Time seems to stand still as you attempt to process whatever the heck he just asked you. Your mind races with frustration, trying to comprehend the depth of his feelings along with your own as the line between friendship and something more starts to blur with each passing second.
Wonwoo bites his bottom lip nervously, feeling the slap of regret hit him in an instant.
“I shouldn’t have asked𑁋”
“No, wait,” You interject, effectively silencing him. Getting the courage to look up at him, you release the tension in your shoulders. You can’t believe you’re about say this. “I want you to kiss me.”
Wonwoo’s eyes widen with surprise, momentarily taken aback by your bold statement. You watch as a mix of emotions flicker across his face𑁋doubt, hesitation, and a glimmer of hope. You’ve never seen so many emotions cross his face; you’ve never seen him so speechless before.
Then he starts to reach out excruciatingly slowly, hesitating for a split second, before letting his hand gently cup your face, as if trying to get used to the feeling. Your breaths simulatenously hitch together, and within just seconds, he allows his lips to brush against yours tenderly and carefully.
You feel the inexperience coming to you, so you let your instinct take over and allow your hands to drift down to his waist, kneading the fabric of his white shirt loosely and pulling him just a bit closer.
Wonwoo's hand on your face moves, his fingers lightly tracing the contour of your cheek. The kiss deepens ever so slightly as you sense the feelings beginning to overwhelm you. It's a dance of emotions, a silent confession that speaks volumes.
As you pull apart from each other, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel reality sink in. You let your gaze drift back to his eyes, trying to search for the right words to say. His hand still lingers on your face, a gentle reassurance that whatever just happened was real.
And you swear you see a subtle shift in the way he’s looking at you now.
“I...” is all that comes out of your lips, feeling the heat sprouting in your cheeks. “Sorry, wow, um... It feels like the world just stopped for a second.”
Wonwoo smiles softly, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he takes in your overwhelmed expression, eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and something else you can't quite decipher.
“Is that a good thing?” he asks, his low tone sending chills down your spine.
If you look at him any longer, you feel like you’ll combust. It’s not an exaggeration (well, maybe it is); it’s a fact. So you tear your gaze away from him, glancing down at the pavement as if it holds all the answers.
“It is,” You finally reply, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a very good thing.”
Wonwoo takes his hand off your face. “Good, because,” He reaches down to grab your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. “We can do this now. The kiss under the moonlight is checked off, so the nervous hand-holding...”
“But you don’t look nervous,” You tell him teasingly.
Wonwoo just raises an eyebrow at you, taking your free hand by your side and placing it on his chest so that you were able to feel the fast racing of his heart.
“Does this prove your point?” he questions smugly, as if trying to test you.
The feeling of his rapid heartbeat beneath your hand melts away whatever doubts or insecurities lingering around you. How long have you had this effect on him?
“All those cliché moments that you want,” Wonwoo continues, voice laced with nothing but confidence. “I’m willing to give it to you.”
You feel the smirk crossing your lips. "And how can you prove that?”
Wonwoo tilts his head to the side as if in thought. “Can I... prove my willingness with another kiss?”
A giddy feeling explodes in your stomach as his words wash over you, and you can't help but let out a quiet giggle.
“You certainly can.” You say softly, before meeting your lips with his once again, the flickering streetlight above suddenly stopping to allow its bright light to cascade steadily around the two of you.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#wonwoo fluff#jeon wonwoo fluff#wonwoo x reader#jeon wonwoo x reader#svt#svt x reader#wonwoo imagines#jeon wonwoo imagines#seventeen x reader#svt fluff
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Laws Of Attraction (Part 6) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader
Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers
Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo
Warnings: language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, mature themes
Word Count: 3,635
A/N: That’s right, I broke the ending into another part which means another chapter is on the way. If you’ve been keeping up, I appreciate you sticking with me through my draughts and generally inconsistent posting schedule. Thank you again for every like, comment, and reblog. Please let me know what you think and enjoy ❤️
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1
The week passed more quickly than you anticipated. You pulled an all-nighter to draft the language you promised. It helped that you couldn’t sleep anyways. You tried to make up for it on the twenty-hour flight from Brazil to Abu Dhabi but again, rest evaded you. It didn’t help that between the travel and the time difference you basically lost a day and a half. You threw yourself deeper into your work as a distraction. You were thankful that there were lots of back and forths of redlines, as expected.
But no matter how busy you kept yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss that had now been tattooed in your mind. You wished it wasn’t good. You wished he had chapped lips and tasted like onions. But it had enveloped you. The way he grabbed you and the feeling of his stubble on your face set off butterflies in your stomach and other places down south. You were pretty sure you saw through space and time and you suddenly had the ability to hear colors.
And even though the kiss was so good, it was made bittersweet by everything that was discussed afterwards. You didn’t miss the warmth leaving his eyes and his obvious disappointment. On one hand, you handled the situation the best way you knew how. You had been very clear in Mexico on the limits of your relationship, that should not have been a surprise to him. Your job was to be professional and you reestablished those boundaries. On the other, you had somehow removed every laugh line from his face. You missed the crinkles around his eyes and the reverberating bravado of his laugh. If there was another way you could have gone about the conversation, it was lost on you. Leaning into the kiss and those feelings surrounding it was legally impossible. He would simply have to pick up his bruised ego and move on, which you were sure wouldn’t be difficult. The thought helped you somewhat – he was still a handsome, charismatic celebrity who could get any girl he wanted. You were one piece of parsley in an endless buffet. Poor little rich boy couldn’t have the one dish he wanted right now, but as soon as the season was over and you went your separate ways, you would be a distant memory he would laugh at in retrospect. Amongst the models, actresses, singers, and influencers he could pick from, he had trauma bonded with his very average and nerdy lawyer during a particularly vulnerable point in his life.
As your thoughts meandered during the course of the long flight, you were appreciative that you would not be on your own this weekend. The partner apparently decided to show up in Abu Dhabi, finally making Daniel a priority knowing that the matter would be closing. You had gotten somewhat frustrated with Joe, that he kept cancelling on meetings last minute leaving you to deal with everything. There were several silver linings, however. First, you hoped it meant he trusted you with the significant responsibility, which again would likely lead to a positive performance review and a hefty bonus. It may even come in handy a few years from now when you would become eligible to make partner yourself. Second, in picking up that responsibility, you had grown a lot professionally in the last few months. Belgium felt like a lifetime ago, in more ways than one. In the last few restless days your mind kept reflecting back to that first race weekend when you were full of nerves, but lately you didn’t quite feel like the same young associate with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. Third, for better or worse, you grew to know you client in a way you would not have been able to but for the partner’s absence and that transfer of duty. Because you knew him so well now, you were better able to represent him. This was, of course, a double-edged sword. You’d unintentionally gotten to know the driver far better than you intended. Over the course of months, he poked little holes in your armor leaving you open and vulnerable and inching you closer towards that delicate line you dared not cross. The two of you had danced around it for weeks. If you hadn’t crossed it before, kissing certainly pushed the two of you over the edge together. You wondered what he thought about all this, considering he had far less to lose from the predicament. It would probably be awkward the next time you saw each other, but hopefully still respectful and professional if nothing else.
-
Meanwhile, Daniel along with the rest of the grid arrived in Abu Dhabi a day early to have a retirement dinner party for Seb. Seb had been unexpected source of support during this uncertain time in his career. Not all of the drivers had reached out to him when news about his early termination with McLaren broke. Of those that did reach out, some were simply surface level exchanges lacking compassion and depth. Seb, however, had helped him navigate a slew of existential crisis. The least Daniel could do was return that support to his friend. He sat next to Lando and Pierre, the drivers chatting amongst themselves during the meal. Of course there was a general curiosity about his plans for next year, but he playfully remained tight-lipped. The conversation was light, reminiscing and debriefing on some of the post-race debauchery over the course of the season. It was all fun and games until Pierre brought up Halloween in Mexico and his failed attempts at bringing home an instragram influencer and a model that night.
“I think I might be losing my touch. But that was a fun night though, yeah?”
“It was, I’m surprised you remember most of it,” Daniel teased.
“Honestly, me too. That girl dressed as you, she was a good time.” Daniel did his best to remain casual, though his heart skipped at beat at your mention.
“Yeah, y/n is fun when she’s not working.”
“I’ve seen her around the paddock a few times. She’s your lawyer, right?” He took a long drink, not liking the direction the conversation was headed.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe when the season is over I can grab her number.” It was more of a statement than a question. Daniel feigned ignorance at the request and laughed.
“I mean I can give it to you, but she probably wouldn’t be able to help you.”
“How so?” Pierre looked at Daniel, both men visibly confused.
“I mean I’m no lawyer myself, but wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest for her?”
“Oh no dude, I don’t want her services – or, uh legal services I should say,” he said cheekily. Daniel’s ears immediately turned red, his jaw clenched, and hand balled into a fist. He did his best to control his facial muscles to not let on to the fact that Pierre had unknowingly stepped on an emotional landmine. Lando, who had been talking to Zhou across from him, sensed the shift in the driver sitting next to him. He diverted his attention for a moment to try to break the tension before Daniel could say or do something he would regret.
“Pierre, she’s way too smart for you and you’re not her type,” he said casually, earning a laugh from the others including Pierre.
“What are you talking about, I’m everybody’s type,” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah, I think that might be part of the problem,” Lando responded. “Plus, you’re already in a committed relationship with this one,” jabbing his thumb in the direction of Yuki. That side of the table continued to laugh and joke, Daniel included, but he didn’t miss the chance to lock eyes with his teammate to silently convey his thanks for discreetly deflecting the conversation away from the woman that had taken up so much space in his mind. Had he really almost punched his friend at a fancy restaurant during his mentor’s retirement party? He was in deep. Hook, line, and sinker.
Daniel had bought himself more time extending the signing with Red Bull, but he had no idea what he was doing. You had made it abundantly clear that nothing could happen until after everything was signed. You also hadn’t explicitly said whether you wanted anything to happen afterwards... All he knew, whether or not anything progressed further between the two of you, he just needed to be near you. He needed more time with you, beyond Monday.
The evening continued with heartfelt sentiments exchanged, and Daniel found himself more and more in his feelings especially as the drinks flowed. He thought he recovered from Pierre’s comments at dinner, but then Seb gave a speech to the rest of grid that brought him to the brink of tears. His mentor’s goodbye made him reflect and contemplate his own journey over the year. Though neither driver would be on the grid next season, Daniel was envious that Seb had the opportunity to leave the sport on his own terms compared to the lack of agency he felt with his tenure with McLaren. Feeling unmoored, you showed up out of nowhere to turn his ship around at the eleventh hour. He wasn’t sure what was next for him, but he knew he couldn’t do it without you by his side. Maybe another drink would take his mind off you.
The night continued, one by one the other drivers called it a night. But Daniel stayed until the wee hours of the morning with some of the younger drivers who had higher tolerances. Lando took note of his teammate’s condition who refused to believe he couldn’t keep up. They hadn’t discussed the elephant in the room, but he could put two and two together even if he didn’t have all the details. You might have been discreet, but Daniel was anything but. He noticed how Daniel perked up just a little on the days you had meetings. He noticed the stupid looks you gave each other, each party oblivious to the other. He noticed all the times you went out with the drivers at Daniel’s invitation, which was surely not in your job description. And right now for whatever reason likely involving you, Daniel was miserable, his melancholia exasperated by alcohol.
“Hey mate, I think it’s time to go back to the hotel,” Lando said as he put an arm around Daniel.
“Nooo, but we’re having fun! For Seb!” Daniel slurred as he held up his drink triumphantly.
“We are having fun, but we have to get up really early. Remember?”
Daniel was too tired to fight back. So he pouted as Lando corralled him into the backseat of the car back to the hotel.
-
You rolled into Abu Dhabi at 2am. You were exhausted. You had no shame about rocking under eye patches and a face mask mid-flight to at least hopefully make it look like you’d gotten some type of rest over the last two days. Unfortunately, the dark circles that remained begged to differ.
You were in the middle of checking in when you heard commotion in the lobby behind you. You rolled your eyes at the drunks stumbling in, keeping your head down to avoid any interaction.
“That’s it, almost there mate.” You knew that voice. You slowly turned to find Lando struggling to guide a dazed Daniel towards the elevator. You rubbed your eyes and blinked a few times to make sure you were seeing clearly. That made you wake up.
“Lando? Daniel?”
Both drivers looked your way. You suddenly became very aware and self-conscious of your grungy airport outfit: messy bun, no makeup, and full Enchante sweatsuit Daniel had gifted you after Japan. You couldn’t decipher the look Lando gave you that was equal parts relieved and concerned, but Daniel’s face lit up immediately showing off those darn dimples.
“Y/n!”
“Hi. What are you guys doing?” you asked hesitantly. It was mostly directed at Lando since he still had his wits about him, but Daniel answered anyways.
“We had to say goodbye to Seb,” he said solemnly. Lando rolled his eyes seeing the immediate look of concern and confusion on your face.
“Jesus Christ. The guy’s retiring, he didn’t die.”
You gave a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I think I’m missing something.”
“The whole grid had a retirement party for Seb, not a funeral as this one might have you believe. It started with dinner but some guys stayed out and well… he’s just been slightly overserved.” You pursed your lips together to keep from laughing. You could tell Lando’s patience had run thin, but despite his annoyance he had made sure Daniel got back safe which you appreciated.
“Well, thank you for taking care of my client.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m fine,” Daniel slurred a few feet away, leaning against a pillar in the opulent lobby – immediately followed by him almost slipping but quickly catching himself. He smiled again, proud and satisfied with his own rescue effort.
“Right…” you drawled. You turned to the concierge who had been patient and stoic as the scene unfolded. You’d been informed that the hotel catered to Westerners, but you were still cautious being in a country that technically followed Sharia law despite the many exceptions for expats and tourists. “My apologies ma’am, is it ok if I help escort my friend to his room for a moment? I can finish checking in afterwards.”
“Of course Miss l/n. I’ll still be here.” Having the green light to accompany the two boys, you and Lando flanked Daniel linking your arms through his to walk him to the elevator.
“I don’t need help,” *hiccup* “I’m a strong, independent woman,” he said, though he did nothing to resist your assistance.
“You are maybe half of those things,” you retorted.
“That’s being generous, I give him zero out of three,” Lando chimed in.
“Oh be nice, you know you can feel those muscles,” you lightly countered as you gave Daniel’s bicep a quick squeeze. You gave him a tired, playful smile and the look he returned you was so full of adoration it felt like your heart was going to burst at the seams. He leaned his head on your shoulder when you stepped in the elevator and you wished you could put the moment on pause to keep him there a while longer.
“You can’t possibly be referring to these chicken wings,” Lando replied. “Do you have your room key?” Lando asked Daniel, breaking your daze. Daniel shuffled for a second, patting his pockets, then nodding in confirmation. “Good, I’m going to bed.” He pressed the floor for himself, then Daniel’s.
“I’m sorry, what?” Lando gave you a knowing smile.
“I already did 90% of the heavy lifting, I’m sure you can handle it from here.” You shot daggers his way, Daniel still between the two of you, blissfully unaware of your quarrel. “See you in seven hours,” he said as he got off the elevator.
You sighed as the elevator doors closed, leaving the two of you alone. Daniel was too drunk to feel awkward about the predicament given how you last left things, a lazy smile still on his face.
“You called me your friend. To the concierge.”
“I did.”
“I thought I was your client.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He hummed in response. The answer seemed to make him happy. His eyes grazed over you, his smile growing.
“You’re wearing my clothes.”
“An astute observation.”
“They look good on you.” The elevator doors opened as a blush crept to your face. You guided him into the hallway and ignored his comment.
“Ok, what number are you?”
“This way,” he said, ignoring your question and yanking you to the right. You kept your arm around him to steady his swaying. You could smell the alcohol coming off him, making you wonder about the events leading up to this but whatever it was wasn’t a conversation for today. He finally stopped in front of a door and fumbled with his pockets. You waited to make sure he could get into his room, but after a minute or two you got concerned.
“I can go back to the concierge to get another key-”
“No, no, I got it.” You watched as he fished it out from the depths of his front pocket, then struggled with getting it to work on the fob.
“Here, let me help you.” Your own patience running low, you took the key from his hands and opened the door. You had planned on finishing your check-in when you knew he made it inside, but felt bad leaving him in the condition he was in. You reasoned that it was to help him avoid a hangover in the morning so that he would be as camera ready as possible for press day, but it was a loose excuse.
You cautiously entered his room and turned on some lights. Your jaw dropped for a moment – his room was at least triple the size of every other hotel room you had stayed at over the course of the season, every detail pristine. You held the door open for him as you ogled in the foyer. He pinballed off the door frame to make his way inside, leaning against the wall across from you. He openly took you in, admiring how his merch hung from your body more perfectly than he ever could have imagined. He didn’t turn away when you returned his gaze.
“Come on let’s get you tucked in, you have a long day tomorrow – or in six and a half hours.” You grabbed his arm again and brought him towards the bed, and he happily followed you like a puppy. You were relieved he was at least cooperating. You sat him down. “Ok sir, where do you keep your pajamas?” He gave you a wicked grin.
“I don’t wear any,” he said shamelessly. You pursed your lips, you knew you walked into that one.
“Of course you don’t. Well when I leave you can get undressed. Just sit tight for a sec.” You opened up the bottle of water by the coffee maker and poured it into a glass. “Here, drink this.” He guzzled the water, so you poured him another. “Good job. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here.” He showed off his pearly whites with a giant smile, closing his eyes as his head flopped back.
Oh my God, you’re so drunk, you said under your breath. “I’m serious, do you feel nauseous at all? Headache?”
“I’m peachy,” he said as he swung his legs back and forth off the bed. He played with his hands in his lap. Seemingly able to entertain himself at least for a minute, you walked into the bathroom to go through his toiletries to find some Advil and maybe some tums for the morning. When you returned, your patient was already taking off his shirt and had started undoing his belt.
“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there tiger. Why don’t you take two Advil first?”
“I’ll do anything you tell me,” he said before swallowing the pills you handed him. “I’m going to miss you when you leave.” His sudden shift in tone threw you off. You sat down next to him to show your support and solidarity.
“You know you can always call me. It will be like I never left.”
“As a friend?” he asked hopefully. You smiled and put a reassuring hand on his thigh.
“Yes, definitely as a friend.” There was a pause.
“What about as more than a friend?” *hiccup* “Like, afterwards?” You bit your lip, but smiled.
“I think that’s a conversation for another time.”
“You didn’t say no.” You laughed.
“You’re drunk as a skunk and this is the moment you choose to dissect semantics.” He picked up your hand resting on his thigh, bringing it to his lips to kiss without breaking eye contact.
“Enchante.”
“That doesn’t even make sense, but it sure is charming as heck,” you said between laughs. You pulled your hand back and stood up. “On that note, I think you have everything you need so I’m going to head out. You have two more ibuprofen on your nightstand for the morning and two tums in case you get heartburn or an upset stomach. I set your alarm for 8:00 so you can sleep in a little, but still gives you an hour to get ready before you need to head to the paddock. I think it’s ok if you’re fashionably late.” He pouted. “Oh come on now, no need to frown. You get to take off those pants and go to bed. I’m going to go to bed too.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” He gave the best puppy eyes he could. Matched with his bare torso, six pack on full display, and unbuttoned belt and pants, anyone with a weaker constitution would’ve folded immediately. But at this point you were a trained soldier, the end of your internal battle in sight. You did make one concession though.
Maybe it was impulse. Maybe it was the jet lag. Maybe it was the possibility he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning. But in a streak of boldness, you brought your hand to the side of his face, feeling the sharpness of his jawline and the texture of his stubble. You bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Maybe next time,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his.
His eyes were flying saucers when you stood. “Good night, Daniel. Get some rest.”
Despite how tired he was, it was hard for him to fall asleep after that.
Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233 @thatchickwiththecamera
#daniel ricciardo#f1#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo fanfic#daniel ricciardo x reader#dr3#dr3 x reader#laws of attraction#f1 x oc#slow burn#danny ric#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1#formula one#formula one fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#ric3#red bull daniel#lando norris
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hey, if my ask is insensitive or simply too much work/you dont want to give your opinion/energy thats ok, and im sorry for bothering you if it is. ive seen many jewish people say "from the river to the sea" is a dogwhistle/generally antisemitic phrase to use, but you used it in your golem art's text part(incredibly moving text btw.) im asking you bc you mentioned youre jewish and i thought you might have insight or thoughts to give on why you use it/what you think about the first statement about the phrase?
hi, yes, i would be glad to talk about my perspective on this! first of all, i do want to say that i think a lot of palestinian bloggers have already talked about this and their voices will always be what you want to seek out first when educating yourself. however, i do know the crowd of people claiming that "from the river to the sea" is antisemitic/genocidal has been very loud so i understand why you would want to hear a jewish perspective on it too. second, in order to explain why i think "from the river to the sea" is not antisemitic will involve me comparing it to actual antisemitic, nazi slogans and dogwhistles and talking about what they mean. so just a heads up for that before it comes up.
the full phrase is "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free!" i think a lot of times in accusations of antisemitism people leave off the second half of the phrase in order to claim it is calling for something else to happen from river to sea (like the expulsion or execution of all jews.) but that's just like, not, ever, a thing? that is said? you can tell the pieces of the phrase go together because they rhyme and also are said together by palestinians and allies near constantly. it's "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free." and i think all of the fearmongering relies on a good bit of ambiguity beyond that too. "what does a 'free palestine' mean? could it meant they want to throw all the jews into the sea?" - some zionist when i tried to look up the origin of the phrase in case there was anything really important i was missing that i should cover in this. there's like this idea that they can't really be asking for a free palestine, there has to be some kind of catch.
i think it's also important to look at the circumstances that this slogan was born under. the thing about modern day palestine and occupied palestine, on which israel tries to build itself, is that even though spatially the land stretches from river to sea, the people's experience of it does not. because of the apartheid system of checkpoints, ID-based restriction of movement, and blockades (in the case of gaza), there exist great gulfs in the land that are impossible or near impossible for people to cross. there can be a place a couple miles away, that due to lacking the "proper credentials", is more distant for palestinians living under apartheid than perhaps a destination a cross-country trip away would be for you. so i see the call for a free palestine specifically "from river to sea" to remove those gulfs and allow freedom of movement for everyone. i find very little of this has to do with jews, personally. the only connection is that the people who set up and maintain this system of apartheid happened to be jewish. and i hope that we would all agree that resisting one's oppressors- even if those oppressors are also marginalized and oppressed in other ways- is not a bad thing.
but it is true that many white supremacist/antisemitic slogans may focus more on the creation of a (white) nation than actually the jews themselves, since they have already established among themselves that a white nation has to mean no jews. so let's look at some of the more famous nazi rallying cries and how different they are from "from the river to the sea."
the fourteen words are most primarily known to be "we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children." wow! i guess we could find some superficial similarities between this and river and the sea, like if we really wanted to stretch it. but personally, there's a ton of alarm bells in my head that this phrase sets off while river to the sea doesn't. the emphasis of "we" and "our" when used in this way really implies an us versus them narrative. and here the ambiguity really is present and malevolent! a "free palestine" is a palestine unrestricted by apartheid and colonialism. a "secure existence" and "future for white children" is uhhh, what does that Mean. like, we Know what that means right. but they aren't saying it. we can very easily find people saying what a free palestine means if we listen to palestinians. please, please listen to palestinians. there are so many people talking about what their idea of a decolonized palestine looks like, but the basics are generally one state, for all people, with equal rights for all, and the ability for those who were expelled from their homes in the nakba and all of the many long years following it, to return.
"blood and soil" is even vaguer. but thankfully(?), nazis were very enthusiastic about explaining what the phrase meant to them. "blood" is the superior aryan bloodlines and eugenic values that they wished to propagate and the "soil" represents the land of germany and the desire to "reject modernity and embrace tradition" by leaving urban life behind and living in the idealized countryside. (see we got a twofer here!) the only possible connection i could make to from the river to the sea here is the emphasis on the land but that on its own doesn't feel significant to me. land and the place where you live is very important to all kinds of humans all over the world. and i think another particular aspect of "blood and soil" is the emphasis of how you are living on the land. it's not just enough to be able to live in your homeland with freedom of movement and the ability not to be killed with impunity by occupying soldiers (lucky you!), you want to live there in a state of racial purity exemplified by eugenic values. in general, in nazi slogans, there is a particular fixation with a society shaped to represent these specific values. the call is not for freedom from repression, from an actual occupying colony, but instead from the considered bad actors and impure values coming from within their society. freedom from having degenerates sullying their perfect aryan nation. there is a plea to be able to get rid of those who do not match their view of a perfect society. the plea for a free palestine is, so much, a plea to be able to keep their family members, their friends, the friendly stranger down the block. that is not a fascist ideology, that is the will to live. and though i am referring to the ideology surrounding "blood and soil" in past tense because i am referencing the coining of the phase, these sentiments and slogans are obviously (and unfortunately) alive and well today. though, there is a particular irony to white american neo-nazis chanting it on stolen land.
"they will not replace us"/"jews will not replace us" refers to the "great replacement" theory, that jews are orchestrating a mass replacement of white people with immigrants (specifically non-white, often muslim immigrants.) i do not think this slogan has even any superficial similarities to from the river to the sea. you could definitely compare this sentiment to israel's attempts to maintain an artificial ethnic majority, since in many ways the potential "solution" to the "great replacement" would also need to involve creating/maintaining an artificial ethnic majority. (this is obviously not saying that israel subscribes to the great replacement theory, but that the tactic of maintaining artificial ethnic majorities is shared between zionism and great replacement theorists, since both ideologies rely on a specific ethnicity being the majority in their country.)
dogwhistles like 88, triple parenthesis, etc. rely on being vague symbols so that only those who know what the symbols stand for know what they mean. (88=HH=heil hitler, the triple parentheses representing the supposed (((echoes))) of jewish influence throughout history.) "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free" is a complete phrase that directly names its cause. people who say "free palestine" want you to know they stand with palestine. i guess if you wanted to be going for the most bad faith reading possible you could say "free palestine from what?", to which every palestinian and everyone who has been remotely paying attention to what palestinians are saying would shout: "from apartheid, colonialism, ethnic cleansing, and currently, very open and deliberate genocide!" like, it is true that if you felt you did not glean every aspect and detail of what the people in the occupied territories are calling for, you would be correct! but they are answering this. they want to talk about it. the reason i do not believe from the river to the sea is genocidal or antisemitic is because i have been reading and listening to what palestinians are saying and none of them have said they want to kill all jews. they do not want genocide, they want to go home! they just want to go home. i don't know most of this was written pretty tongue in cheek because i was talking about nazi slogans and nazis are pathetic and even more pathetic when held up against a movement of people who are legitimately trying to fight against a great wrong that was committed against them, but i just get so sad saying this. they just want to go home. haven't you ever felt that way before?
in the end, words mean things, and even more importantly, the contexts they're said in mean things. and while it's true that antisemites do hide behind dogwhistles and vague statements for plausible deniability, the alternative meaning does have to actually be established somewhere for them to be effective. from the river to the sea lacks an established alternative meaning. fearmongering from people who refuse to listen to what palestinians are actually saying does not make sense to me as legitimate definitions of the phrase.
also!!!! i'm sorry this got so Fucking long, thank you if you actually made it this far! i intentionally used "from the river to the sea" in my artists statement because it frustrates and upsets me so much to see people making such a big fuss about it when actual antisemitism goes unpunished. like a lot of the phrases i talk about here were chanted at the charlottesville neo-nazi march in 2017 and while many people were deeply upset and angry at what happened, the jewish community was not rallied around even Close to as much as it right now. and with joe biden saying "if it weren't for israel, not a single jew in the world would be safe" at a fucking hanukkah celebration i just. i don't know. the push back against "from the river to the sea" has so much to do with backing colonial and imperial interests and so so little to do with our actual safety. the concept of our identities and safety is being weaponized against palestinians, and at the same time makes it harder to identify actual antisemitism. and that hurts.
#received#no sources and minimal proofreading because i already spent way too long on this but everything i mention#should either be easily google-able or my opinion#nazism#antisemitism#racism#islamophobia#ask to tag
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ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ Scars and bad memories | Carl Grimes
Carl grimes (TWD) x Fem reader
TWS: angst, kissing, mention of child abuse
Carl was locked in his room throwing darts, he did this frequently since they let him out of the infirmary after losing his eye.
He was distant, he didn't talk to anyone except his father and Michonne occasionally, he didn't leave his room and that had me worried, I have come to see him every day, but he doesn't speak to me and barely looks at me
We had been together for 6 months before this happened, but I just don't know what will become of us anymore. It hurts me to see him like this, but I will continue fighting, because I love him and I will do everything possible to prove it.
With my legs trembling with nervousness I decided to go in, I wiped the sweat that was accumulating on my palms on my pants, I gathered my courage and pushed the door.
When I saw Carl with his back to me, he was throwing darts from the side where he had been shot, and there were no darts on the target, they had all hit the door and he seemed more and more frustrated and absent.
“What are you doing here again?” His voice sounded so cold and hard that for a moment I thought I had hit an ice barrier, and as soon as I could answer, a cruel lump of anguish had formed in my throat.
“I-I came to see little Judd.”
He didn't even look at me and continued throwing darts at him.
“She's in her room, so don't bother me.
That hurt me, but I'm not a weak girl and my duty is to help Carl, there's no time to get depressed.
“Talking to me like that won’t give you back your eye.” I knew that my comment would piss him off and I waited expecting the worst from him, that he would run me out of his room or yell at me, whatever he did to hurt me I didn't care, I needed to remove all that indifference that was consuming his feelings.
“You think I care? Go chase squirrels, you silly little girl.”
“No thanks, I already had lunch.” My sarcastic response seemed to bother him more and he began to throw the darts with more fury than before, but half of them hit the door and the rest fell to the ground.
“Do you remember when we met and I had a huge bow with me?”
“No." He cut me off abruptly, trying to silence me.
“You said it was impossible for a girl as short and skinny as me to have enough strength to shoot it, you made fun of me for days until she saw me shoot it.”
The memory seemed to have softened his bad mood; he stared vacantly at a spot on the wall and smiled imperceptibly.
“Yes, I still don't understand how you did it... You were tiny.” He gave a small, fleeting chuckle. "You still are."
Carl had spoken almost in a whisper, but since we were alone, that was enough for me. In the end he gave up throwing the darts and looked at the ground.
“I just needed my arms, correct posture...and an eye. “Carl turned around to look at me, he seemed angry, but at the same time I could see that I was getting to him.
“What are you getting at, y/n?”
“You don't need everything to shoot a bow, or a gun, or to throw darts, you just...you just have to have the way.
“Yeah? and when you lose an eye… what is the Y/n way?” Carl began to approach me in a threatening manner. " which ?!?"
“I can teach you.”
I raised my hand to caress his face, but he moved away from it as if my touch burned him.
“Oh yeah? Try it, see what you can do as a hunter.”
“First stand up straight, put one foot on the shooting line and the other behind.” With my hands I gently corrected his posture and pushed his leg so that it was aligned. “stand on your side and fix your target with your dominant eye.”
“You will say with the only eye I have left.”
His voice was bitter and sarcastic, but he was relenting.
“That's all you need, sheriff.”
I carefully took his throwing arm and told him to take it back to throw the dart, I left his side and he looked at me skeptical, but he threw, and it took him half a second to realize that he had hit right. the target. He hid his surprise and finally spoke to me without his tone of indifference and bitterness.
“Not bad hunter, now I understand how being so little you had better aim than dad.”
“You see, everything has its side... You just have to find it.”
He looked down so that his hair hid how heartbroken and sad he was, but he knew him better than I knew myself, he knew how he felt.
“And how do I find the side to this?”
She pointed to the side of his face where there was only a thick bandage.
I approached him calmly and hugged him, he didn't return the gesture, but his entire body was trembling.
“Why are you still looking for me?” His voice was barely a whisper full of pain. “I'm horrible, I can't force you to stay with me like this, please don't feel sorry for me and just leave.”
My heart hurt so much hearing his voice, so fragile, so vulnerable.
“I don't feel sorry, I love you. Please believe in me, we will get through this together, let me help you. ”
"You do not have to do it. “I’ll be fine alone… You don’t deserve to spend your life with a monster, full of scars and bad memories.”
My heart broke at his words, I separated from him and forced him to sit down on the bed in the room, it's time for me to show him my own scars, I calmly took off the blouse I was wearing and then the small tank top, leaving me only with a sports bra.
“Do you see this scar?” I said pointing to my stomach “When my uncle got drunk he was very violent, he tried to hit my mother, but she locked herself in her room and left me alone with him. "She was scared, and trying to escape I fell on a glass table... her blood must have scared him, because she left me lying there and walked away."
“and-I didn't-I had no idea…”
“and you see these marks here?” I took off the leather wrist guards I always wore. “A year before I found them I ran into a group of unpleasant people... Our leader made them angry and as punishment they handcuffed me and other kids to a fence and attracted the attention of some walkers so that our parents could see it, I I tore the skin on my wrists to free myself, I didn't even care about the pain, I just had to pull. And do you see this ugly mark?” I brushed the hair off my shoulder and showed him a large asterisk-shaped scar. “I had a small accident with Daryl when we went out to look for Beth, a guy tried to shoot me at point-blank range, luckily Daryl was able to deflect the shot and it didn't hit me.” in the heart as was his plan.”
“...Why didn't you ever show me all this?”
“Because I'm horrible... How could I expect you to love someone who carried only scars and horrible memories?” Carl looked at me bewildered and looked away.
“It’s not the same Y/n.”
“Of course... we are both full of scars and these remind us that we were stronger than what tried to kill us, we are survivors and this is our life... and I want to share my scars and my bad memories with you and I want you to you do the same. Carl, I love you and I want to experience all the good that is left in the world with you.” Without realizing it, I had walked until I was in front of Carl and I knelt down so I could look him in the face, my eyes were full of tears and my voice was shaking, “and don't think that you can decide for me, I want to be by your side... “Just… Unless you don’t love me anymore…”
He didn't let me finish and silenced my crying with a kiss. He knelt down next to me and kissed me passionately. His arms wrapped around me with strength and desperation. My cheeks were wet, but he didn't care. With his fingers he delicately caressed each one of my scars and I did the same.
“Of course I love you, forgive me for acting like an idiot, I…”
This time it was my turn to silence his lips, my entire body vibrated as the temperature rose, in desperation I lightly pulled his hair, wishing he would never leave me. When our lungs were begging for air we did not separate slightly, his lips were red and swollen from what had happened before, we both gasped to catch our breath.
“You know, it's very unfair that even with a scar like that you still manage to look so perfect.” Carl laughed lightly and leaned down to kiss my shoulder.
“Says the girl who, even with all her scars, looks like an angel.”
I blushed at his comment, it was always the same, he managed to take my breath away just with a phrase like that.
“Shut up and kiss me sheriff.”
“With pleasure, hunter. ”
The kisses continued just like the memories and the scars.
Even though we had both lost a part of ourselves and even though destiny had marked us, it no longer mattered to us, because being together we were finally complete.
#fanfic#oneshot#kenmijiro#carl grimes x you#carl grimes twd#twd carl#twd fanfiction#the walking dead#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#carl grimes x reader#twd x you#twd x reader#the walking dead x reader#angst#angst with a happy ending
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could make an imagine where reader fem is a goddess or an immortal being who is caught and imprisoned along with morpheus and after a century spent in that bubble with the infinite being and keeping each other company, she created affection for the same however free now she she doesn't know if dream wants her by his side, since now he has responsibility and a kingdom to rebuild, and she has a lost century to chase.🤗🤗
A/N: Okay, I love this idea...hope you do too! 💜
My Hope
Pairing: Morpheus x immortal!reader
Summary: Reader is an immortal who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and was captured alongside Morpheus when Roderick Burgess cast his spell to imprison death. The two form a bond during their century of captivity, but what happens after they're free?
Warnings: Angst (obvi), and definitely a fluffy ending. Discussions of captivity and Jessamy's death.
You were walking down a dark road at night, completely alone, with not a single concern for your safety. You often took walks late at night to ease your mind and help you sleep. You had lived far longer than any of your human companions could ever dream, but such a life took its toll on you. The loneliness had begun to creep in after a lifetime of losing everyone you had ever loved, again and again, with no end in sight.
You were nothing special, not a goddess or a powerful being of any kind. You were once mortal, but you had been granted a gift long ago by a woman you had befriended, the only woman who had managed to live as long as you. You had known her as Teleute, though others would call her Death.
You had been sick, dying, and Teleute had come to you in the moments preceding what should have been your death. She was your friend and you knew her well, but in that moment, you saw her for what she was. Unlike many of the people she had guided in her Endless life, you were not afraid, not of her, nor of the Sunless Lands. Although it was her duty, Teleute could not bring herself to watch your life come to a close. Instead, she gifted you immortality, the chance to live endless lives, the opportunity to spread your warmth and compassion to countless others in the coming centuries.
It was a gift you did not waste, nor did you wish to return it, but it had become a heavy burden at times like these. Moments when you laid to rest someone you had loved, whether it be friend or lover, it hurt all the same.
This particular evening, you wandered the dark streets, plagued by memories of those you had lost, sleep a distant dream. Just up ahead, you heard voices, one sounded frightened, but it was the other that caught your attention. The voice was impossibly deep, and it carried with it an authority you felt deep in your bones. The voice reminded you of black velvet, thick and luxuriously laid across your skin, warming you from the outside in.
As you neared the source of the voices, you suddenly felt a strange pull, and the world around you disappeared. You landed with a painful thud on a cold concrete floor, in a place you did not recognize. When your eyes fluttered open, you saw several people standing around you, and a cloaked figure lying on the floor beside you. You watched in horror as they removed each item of clothing from the figure, including a helmet of sorts, a leather pouch, and what appeared to be a ruby necklace. When all was stripped away, the figure of a man laid bare before you.
Though you did not know him, anger rippled through you at the cruel and careless treatment shown to him. "Who are you?" you angrily demanded of the man you deemed to be in charge.
"I am Roderick Burgess, the Magus, and I have captured Death."
You let out a hoarse laugh. "I do not know who this man is, but I can assure you he is not Death, nor, for the record, am I."
The man, Burgess, did not look convinced. "My spell brought you both to me, so if you are not Death, then who are you?"
You shrugged. "No one of consequence, at least not to you. So it seems your spells may need a bit of work."
He leaned in closer to you, careful to avoid the circle that surrounded you, a circle, you quickly realized, that was a boundary spell. "Perhaps some time alone in the darkness will soften you a bit. I have demands that one or both you must meet if you wish to see the light of day again." He paused, then gestured towards his acolytes. "But first, you will be stripped of your belongings, much like your friend."
To your horror, several men grabbed at your clothing and quickly rid you of it, down to nothing but your slip. You shivered in the cold, most of your skin bare for everyone to see, feeling the flames of rage settle into your bones. "You will pay for this disgrace, Roderick Burgess, of that, I promise you."
He did not seem bothered by your words, instead letting out a barked laugh as he walked away, his acolytes trailing behind him.
Your anger dissipated slightly when the spectators had left, turning instead to concern for the being laying next to you. You had nothing to cover him with, though you desperately wished for even a scrap of cloth you could share with him. He had to be cold, lying bare against in the concrete floor. "Are you alright?" you asked softly.
The man did not respond, but you could see the rise and fall of his chest, assuring you he was alive. "My name is (Y/N)," you said gently, just in case he could hear you. "I do not know why we are here, nor where exactly here is, but I will not leave you. I offer you what protection I can and I offer the promise of my companionship for as long as we are bound to this place."
While the man did not respond, you had a distinct feeling he could hear every word you said. His tense form seemed to relax slightly as you spoke, the obvious pain in his muscles seeming to fade away little by little.
Hours passed, how many, you did not know, but the man beside you never stirred, never woke. What you were unaware of was what was happening just above your heads, in the office of Roderick Burgess...
**********
"He is Dream of the Endless," The Corinthian said.
"And what of the woman?" Burgess asked.
Corinthian looked confused. "What woman?"
"I captured a woman with him. She will not tell me who she is."
"Was she wearing an ankh necklace?"
"No."
"Hmm...then I am unsure of who she is. My apologies. But I would recommend placing her in the same cell as Dream, to be safe."
"Cell?"
Corinthian sighed. He was surprised that a man as dense as Burgess had managed to capture an Endless, but pleased nonetheless. "Yes, a cell. An orb of sorts. Do exactly as I say and he will never escape."
**********
Down in the dungeon, you watched as men built a giant glass sphere, a sphere you assumed was intended for you and your companion, a companion who still had not woken. Much to your dismay, and perhaps your annoyance, you were correct in your assumption.
Your companion was unceremoniously tossed into this sphere upon its completion and though you fought with all your strength, you were tossed in along with him. You sat at the edge of the sphere, legs pulled up to your chest, desperately attempting to cover as much of yourself as you could with the tiny slip dress you wore. Your companion was curled up in the other corner, pain evident in his features, and you felt the rage build up in you again.
"You're a monster," you said to Burgess as he entered the room.
He laughed. "Perhaps, but if you give me what I want, I will free you."
"It does not matter what you wish for, I cannot give it."
"The you had better hope your friend can, or you will die in this glass cage, here in my dungeon."
You did not speak, choosing instead to level a steely glare at the man who had imprisoned you. Something in your gaze clearly frightened him, and he quickly left the dungeon, but not before ordering two of his men to stay behind and watch you.
You chose to ignore the men who stared at you, clearly trying to get a sneak peak at your body beneath the thin slip you wore. You instead turned your attention to the man beside you, whispering words of encouragement in his direction. You were worried about him, fearing the worst, but his chest still rose and fell rhythmically, at least for the moment.
**********
You were unsure how much time had passed when the man beside you finally stirred. You felt his presence more strongly than you had before, as if his soul had just now returned to his body. He was slow to move, as if each movement caused him pain, and your heart ached for him.
"Are you alright?" you asked gently, voice a soft murmur.
His gaze turned to you and you inhaled sharply. His eyes were deep pools of blue, but there was a distinct ethereal quality about them that took your breath away. You might have been nothing special, but there was certainly something special about the being beside you.
He did not speak, at least not audibly, but you heard a gentle voice inside your head, a voice you instantly recognized. "I am weak, but alive, thanks to your kindness."
It was the voice you had heard the night you were captured, the one that you felt inexplicably drawn to. "My name is (Y/N)," you whispered.
"I am Dream of the Endless," his voice replied in your head.
Hearing his name brought back memories, memories of your dear friend. "I know your sister, Teleute."
Surprise lit up his features and he eyed you closely. His voice was hesitant as he spoke in your mind, "You know of Death?"
You nodded. "She has been my friend for centuries. I live only because she allowed it."
Realization crossed his face, remembering his sister describing the woman she had gifted immortality to. He had never met her, but he felt as though he knew her simply through Death's stories. He did not know how to relay that information to you without verbal words in his current state. He was barely strong enough to speak short sentences within your mind.
As if you understood what he was thinking, you placed a gentle hand against his and whispered, "Rest now, we can speak later."
He appreciated your kindness, but also the warmth of your hand against his. He nodded and leaned back against the cold glass, eyes closing again.
You felt instinctively protective of Dream, in part because of your connection with Death, but also because much like Death had spoken to Dream of you, she had also told you about him. He was every bit as she had described him, though smaller and more fragile than you had expected. You realized it was likely because everything had been taken from him, things he relied upon for strength and power. You knew there was not much you could do for him in the way of protection, but you silently vowed that you would do everything in your power to ensure you both got out of this alive.
**********
The years passed by, Dream never speaking a word aloud, Burgess never backing down from his demands, and you refusing to give Burgess the satisfaction of your emotional reactions. You were as silent as the Endless beside you, but when Burgess left, you would speak softly to the dream lord, and he would reply in your head.
As time passed, he grew strong enough to speak long, slow sentences in your mind, telling you of his home, The Dreaming, and of the dream folk who resided there. He spoke of Lucienne, his librarian, and of Jessamy, his beloved Raven.
There were moments, when he spoke, that is eyes seemed to glow with starlight. It was a beautiful sight, but it never lasted more than a moment, the realization of his predicament always dampening any glimmer of hope he held in his soul.
Unbeknownst to you, he had found hope in you. You were like a light in the darkness, keeping him from falling into complete despair. Your soft words and your gentle reassurances were enough to keep him going despite the hell you both remained in.
One morning, much to your surprise, and to his, you heard the sound of wings flapping outside the sphere. When you looked up, you saw a beautiful raven with a patch of white on her chest and you knew instantly this was Jessamy, Dream's beloved raven companion.
Dream's face lit up for the first time in years. You saw the hope in his eyes and the pure delight at seeing his friend. Jessamy frantically pecked against the glass, desperately trying to break it and set her master free.
As the glass began to crack, you heard a loud gunshot ring out and the beautiful bird fell to the floor, bloody and broken.
You felt Dream's pain and your heart broke for him, and for his sweet raven. When your eyes fell on the man--no, boy--who had committed this heinous act, you felt a venomous rage build up within you.
As the boy's father yelled at him and demanded he clean up the mess he'd made, you sat silent beside the dream lord, like two statues refusing to show emotion.
When the boy and his father left, leaving the two of you alone with your guards, you turned to Dream, expression soft and sad. "Dream?" you asked gently.
He turned to look at you, eyes haunted and filled with unshed tears.
You did not ask for his permission, you simply wrapped him in a hug and held him close. He would not cry, you knew, but you would not let him mourn alone.
After several minutes, the dream lord laid down beside you and placed his head in your lap. Your fingers ran through his soft hair, soothing him as he closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of the painful image forever burned in his mind.
**********
It had been 50 years since the two of you had been imprisoned when things began to change between you both. Your companionship had long-since turned to friendship, but now was blossoming into something more. Every time you spoke or looked his way, Dream felt a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt in centuries. And you relished in the sound of his voice resonating in your mind, and in the way his eyes held your gaze, unspoken emotions swimming deep within them.
You had told him of your life, the good and the bad, and you had spent most of the last 50 years wide awake, whether you wanted to or not. Dream had noticed this several years prior and asked you if you wished to sleep. At the time, your answer had been no, you had not wished to relive your life's worst moments, but now, after the passage of so much time, you were exhausted. Your mind had been foggy for ages, a fog Dream was painfully aware of every time he spoke words into your mind.
"Perhaps I can gift you a peaceful sleep? One lacking in any dreams at all," he spoke softly in your mind.
His words barely registered at all and you said nothing. Dream felt a deep worry in his heart and he reached out again. When you still did not reply, he reached a hand out and placed it against your arm, rousing you from your trance-like state.
You turned your head to look at him and he once again asked you if you would like to sleep. This time, you nodded your head and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather what little strength he had. He could not do much in his current state, but he was determined to give you this.
You slowly closed your eyes and drifted off into a silent, dreamless sleep, a gift from the lord of dreams himself. Your body went limp and you slumped against his shoulder, breath deepening as you relaxed into a peaceful slumber.
Dream's body tensed at first at the feeling of your head against his shoulder, but he soon relaxed, enjoying the feeling of your body so close to his.
You slept for days, a deep, restful sleep you had not realized you were so desperately in need of. When you finally awoke, you found yourself cradled against Dream's chest, the gentle beating of his heart soothing your worried mind.
You did not wish to alert him to your waking, but he felt it all the same. He was, after all, the god of sleep. "Did you sleep well?" he asked in your mind, a mind that was much sharper and clearer than it had been in years.
"I did, yes," you lifted your head and looked up into his eyes, surprised at the deep emotion you saw within them. If you had not known better, you would have described those beautiful pools as affectionate, even loving. "Thank you," you whispered.
"It was my pleasure."
**********
Another 50 years passed and by this point, you were starting to lose hope that you would ever escape. Your only pleasure was the companionship you had gained over the last century. The dream lord was unlike any being you had ever met and you'd found yourself falling in love with him, despite the terrible situation you were in.
You had not said a word to him, nor would you, at least not while in captivity. You did not want him to think you cared for him only because he was all there was. Now that you knew him, truly knew him, you knew that was exactly the way he would think.
On this particular day, Alex and his husband, Paul, had come to visit you one last time. As they left, Paul broke the boundary spell that had held you both for a century. He turned and gave you a look of acknowledgment before leaving the dungeon for the final time.
Your eyes met Dream's in a hopeful glance and he inclined his head slightly to acknowledge you. He knew what you were asking without speaking and he answered without words.
You watched as the scene unfolded before you. You did not know what images Dream had placed into the guard's mind, all you knew was that the glass was broken and you were finally free.
Dream took your hand and you felt the power in his veins that had been missing for a century. He was suddenly clothed, his long cloak returning to him. He turned to you and placed a soft kiss against your forehead as you stood there in the dungeon, bullets flying around you. You felt warm clothes cover your body and your eyes locked onto the dream lord's face. You knew what he was doing, and you did not fault him for it.
When he was finished, his eyes fluttered open and he pulled you in close, holding you tightly before you both disappeared, leaving the waking world entirely.
You landed in what felt like soft sand, but you could not figure out where you were. There was a breeze and the sound of waves, but you could not feel Dream's body any more.
You heard the sound of a voice you did not know and then you heard the warmth of Dream's voice covering you like waves on the beach. "Dream?" you called out.
"I am here," he said softly, reaching down to help you to your feet.
Your eyes adjusted to your new surroundings, seeing light for the first time in a century. You looked around, taking in what really did appear to be a beach, and a giant walled...city? Memories came flooding back to you and you realized this was Dream's home. "The Dreaming," you said in awe.
Dream smiled at you warmly. "Welcome, (Y/N), to my realm."
Your eyes landed on a woman you knew instantly, though you had never met. "You must be Lucienne," you said warmly.
The librarian looked surprised. "You know me?"
You looked up at Dream. "We had some time to talk..."
He winced slightly, but nodded his agreement. He began to walk towards the massive gates, you following behind him, and Lucienne just behind you.
"Sir?" Lucienne called.
Dream turned to her. "What is it, Lucienne?"
"The Dreaming sir, it is not as you left it."
"What do you mean?"
She gestured to the gates. "See for yourself."
The gates opened as if they sensed their master. When you saw what laid beyond them, you gasped in surprise.
Dream turned to Lucienne and whispered, "Who did this?"
Lucienne explained that The Dreaming had simply deteriorated over the century he had been gone...and that most of the dream folk had long since left.
Your heart immediately went out to Dream, the pain on his face evident as he took in the remains of his home. You stepped forward and slipped your hand into his, a gentle reassurance as well as a reminder that you were there for him, whatever he needed.
Although he did not speak, he was incredibly thankful to have you by his side, to give him strength when all seemed hopeless. But to you, the outside observer, all you could see was cold sorrow, none of the warmth that he had shown you over the years.
"I must gather my tools and rebuild," he said simply, a fierce determination lacing his voice. He pulled away from you and began to walk towards what remained of his palace, a king on his way to a broken throne.
You turned to look at Lucienne, seeking some sort of guidance, or perhaps comfort, in her eyes. What you saw was a piercing sadness, not just for The Dreaming, or for Dream himself, but for you. In her eyes, you saw her view of Dream, the cold, distant ruler of a dying realm.
You looked at Dream's retreating form and you saw it too, for the first time in a century, you saw the coldness that Dream showed the rest of the world. You had hoped that your years together in captivity, and the love that had seemingly grown between you, would form an everlasting bond between the two of you. It seemed, at least from your view, that perhaps you had misjudged the dream lord, and a deep sadness settled into your soul, unlike any you had yet faced.
**********
Dream seemed to forget about you as he went about trying to collect his tools so he could return to his former strength and rebuild his realm.
The more effort he put into his search, the more distant he became. Until a time in which you decided that you could not live this way, a mere shadow of the past living in a cold, unwelcoming present. So you left The Dreaming, returning once again to the waking world, in search of the hope you had once found in the lord of dreams.
Dream noticed your absence immediately and sought Lucienne for explanation. "Where is she?" he asked when he found the librarian conducting her census.
"Where is who, my lord?"
"(Y/N)."
Lucienne was surprised at the tone of hurt in her master's voice as he spoke your name. "Well, my lord, I believe she returned to the waking world."
"Why? Is The Dreaming not to her liking? I am doing my best to restore it, but I do not have my ruby as of yet and I feel I cannot complete my tasks until I have it."
"No, my lord, it is not The Dreaming she took issue with."
Dream looked confused and he shook his head passionately. "Then what could have possibly driven her away?"
Lucienne was quiet, afraid to upset her master further.
"Please, Lucienne, if you know something, speak."
"Sir, you have been very busy, both with the rebuilding of the kingdom and the search for your tools." She paused. "Perhaps you have been a bit too busy."
His look was pure annoyance...the audacity of her to think that he would have ever forgotten about you... Realization dawned on his face and his expression softened tremendously. "I have neglected her in my haste to repair the damage caused by my absence."
Lucienne nodded slowly, allowing Dream to come to his own conclusions.
"She was by my side through every moment of the last century, every painful part of it, she was there like a guiding light, the brightest soul I have ever encountered. How could I have let her feel this way? As if she is unimportant to me."
Lucienne knew better than to answer his question. It was not really meant for her anyway. "Perhaps, my lord, you should seek her out in the waking world?"
He knew the search for his ruby should take priority, but his heart ached at your absence. He did not wish to return to a realm without you in it, regardless of the presence of all his tools. "I believe you are right, Lucienne. I must find her."
Lucienne was slightly surprised that he admitted she was right, but she could not help but feel joy that he wished to seek you out.
"Can you, I mean, in my absence will you--?" Dream could not seem to find the words he wanted.
Lucienne smiled. "Of course, my lord."
He knew she would understand, as she always did. He pulled a small handful of sand from his pouch and disappeared into the waking world, desperate to find the hope he had lost.
**********
It felt good to be in the waking world, to be free to do whatever you wished. You loved the way the sunlight felt against your skin, the breeze in your hair...all the things you had missed in your century of captivity. None of it, however, could fill the emptiness in your heart, emptiness only a certain Endless could fill.
You were sitting on a park bench, enjoying the beautiful summer day, when you noticed someone sit down beside you. You did not need to turn your head to know who it was. "Teleute," you said warmly. "It has been far too long."
"Indeed it has. How are you, (Y/N)?"
You turned to look at your friend, her expression telling you she knew exactly how you were doing. "I spent the last century in captivity, Death. How do you think I am?"
Death winced at your tone and you sighed, feeling bad for snapping at her. She did not deserve such venom...she was not the Endless you were upset with. "My apologies, Teleute."
Death waved off your apology. "Unnecessary. I understand why you would be upset. You have every right to be."
"In all honesty, it is not the captivity that has me in this mood."
"Ahh," Death said as she sat back against the bench. "The moodiest of all the Endless got to you too?"
Your head whipped towards her, surprise evident in your expression. "Excuse me?"
Death smiled. "My dear brother, Dream. I assume he is the cause of your mood?"
"How do you know...?"
"Oh, please, (Y/N). You should know by now...I know everything."
You shook your head. "I think that is unlikely, Teleute, even for you. You know, Burgess was looking for you when he captured us."
Death nodded, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I know."
"I will not ask you why you did not help us. I think that is something I already know. I also understand why Burgess was able to capture Dream, but why me? What did I have to do with it? I'm not an Endless."
"It is nothing more than a theory, but I believe that is entirely my fault. When I saved your life, granted you immortality, I left a piece of my soul with you. That small piece of me lives within you, and I believe is what caused you to be snared by his spell."
You allowed yourself a moment to absorb her words. Her theory made sense, but it did not provide you much comfort. "100 years is a long time, even for an immortal," you began softly. "I cannot even begin to imagine how terrible it would have been to spend those years alone. While I would give anything for Dream to have never experienced such agony, I am glad to have been there with him."
Death laid her hand on yours. "I am sure he feels the same way."
You gave her a look that clearly voiced your disagreement. "If he felt the same way, do you think I would be moping on this park bench in the middle of London?"
Death chuckled. "My brother is moody at the best of times, and downright sullen at the worst. It may take him a moment or two to realize he cannot be that way with you, but I do think he will come to that realization. You are good for him, and I think, perhaps, he could be good for you." As if sensing something, Death stood suddenly. "I must go, (Y/N)."
You stood and gave her a hug. "Do not be a stranger, Teleute."
"Never," she said with a smile. "Do not give up on him. He is a pain in the behind, but his love is worth it. I promise." With that, Death disappeared as if she had never been there at all.
You sat back down on the bench, mulling over your friend's words. You desperately wanted to believe her, but if she was right, then where was Dream now?
As if you had personally summoned him, the dream lord himself appeared on the bench beside you, jolting you out of your thoughts. "Good lord!" you yelped.
He winced. "My apologies, I did not intend to startle you."
"Well then do not magically appear beside people without warning, Dream." You placed a hand over your heart and slowly calmed your breathing. "If I were a mortal, you could have given me a heart attack."
"Thankfully, you are not."
You turned to look at him and were surprised to find a sadness in his eyes. A sadness that mimicked your own. "How did you find me?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Do you truly think there is anywhere you could go where I would not feel you?"
Your lips parted in surprise and words failed you. "I--uh--well, I--"
He turned his body to face you, tentatively reaching out to take your hand in his. "I wish to know why you left."
"You were a bit preoccupied with more important things than me, Dream."
"Nothing is more important than you. Not me, nor my tools, nor even my realm. You are the part of me I have always sought, without even realizing it. You are the light to my darkness, the other half of my soul that I have yearned for throughout all of space and time. You are the hope that saved me in the darkest moments of my life, and for that I will treasure you always."
If you had a hard time speaking before, you were completely mute now, as if words were utterly foreign to you. You simply stared at the man in front of you in stunned silence. A silence so long, he began to worry.
"(Y/N)?" he asked softly. "Have I upset you?"
"Gods, no," you said quickly, recovering from your moment of muteness. You took both of his hands in yours and gave them a loving squeeze. "You simply took me by surprise, Dream."
"Will you call me by my name?" he asked softly, eyes filled with hope.
You looked confused. "Is Dream not your name?"
"It is, but much in the way you know Death as Teleute, I wish you to know me by my name."
"What name would that be?"
"Morpheus," he replied.
"I should have known that," you said with a chuckle. "Morpheus. Hmm, I quite like it."
He blushed slightly. "Thank you. I enjoy hearing you say it."
"Then I will have to remember to say it often," you paused dramatically before leaning forward and whispering, "Morpheus."
His body shuddered involuntarily and you grinned. He gave you a warning look, but you were much too happy to care.
"May I ask you something?" he asked suddenly.
"Of course."
"Is there any way, any world, any universe, in which you might feel the same?"
If Morpheus did not know you, you would worry he might think you were a bumbling idiot. You were once again stunned to silence by the dream lord's words...as if there was a universe in which you did not feel the same.
"First, stop saying things that render me speechless," you insisted. "Second, do you really need to ask? I would walk through Hellfire for you, Morpheus. There is not a battle I would not fight, nor a danger I would not face, if it meant protecting you. You are my heart, in every meaning of the word."
Now it was his turn to be speechless. Though he was much quicker to recover than you. "I am undeserving of such adoration, beloved, but I shall do everything in my power to earn it."
You smiled and gently touched his cheek. "You already have, my love. You already have."
#morpheus x reader#dream x reader#sandman x reader#dream of the endless x reader#the sandman#morpheus x reader fluff#fluff#angst#dream of the endless#morpheus
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02 — a short life of trouble
[ RDR2 X fem reader , 2310 words ] — previous ✶
“what were you thinking! bringing another woman in here.” “great, another mouth to feed.” “what if she draws more trouble right to us?”
“SHUT UP! all of you. she needs help. last time i checked half of you wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for us taking your sorry asses in.”
the blood stained stranger was laying down in a bed of rough canvas and animal hide, it’s fabric the softest thing she had ever felt after a month of dirt floors and blankets of pine-needles. the distant voices slowly awoke her mind, her eyes opening carefully as the morning sun stung them with its bright beams. how long had she been asleep? she knew it was morning when she was lifted onto a strangers horse, morning still when she slumped onto the mans back out of exhaustion and defeat, not even caring what would happen to her when she awoke or where he was taking her. and yet here she was, still morning? no, the stiffness of her joints suggest at least a full days rest, her legs wobbling slightly as she turned over and placed them on the soft grass beside her.
her hands travelled to her face, expecting the almost familiar texture of dried blood, crusty and flaky, but was met with her soft skin. the edges of her hair and a few tricky spots still had reminisce of blood she could scrape off with her chipped nails, but it seemed someone had wiped her face clean.
her clothes were different too, the blouse and pants she was wearing a size too big but clean and comfortable, her ripped outfit she last remembered wearing folded neatly at the end of her bed and completely pink. she figured someone had tried to scrub them clean, but the redness was impossible to remove.
“good to see you’re finally awake.”
the sudden closeness of a mans voice made her jump and spin around. she was met with a surprisingly kind face of an older man, smiling cautiously and offering a homemade mug in his left hand, the steam and smell suggesting the rare liquid that was coffee. her mouth watered instantly.
“here, it’s for you.” he moved closer, kneeling down next to her bed and placed the warm mug in her stuff hands. “don’t worry, it wont jump out at ya’”
y/n let a small smile escape her lips, “thank you.” she croaked, her voice straining and making her cough slightly. maybe she had been out for more than a day?
as she sipped her drink and let the coffee warm her from head to toe, the man continued. “my names hosea. i’m … i guess you could say i’m kind of a top man around here. just don’t tell the others i’m really in charge …. HA!” he joked and let out a small chuckle, but the woman just looked at him curiously, seemingly frozen still apart from her arms lifting up and down. he guessed he should change his approach ….
hosea cleared his throat, “ahem, well…. you sure gave us a fright earlier on. all that blood on ya, we’d thought dutch brought back a corpse, with you slumped over and all…” with again no response, he continued. “look miss, we’re good people here. well, not really good, but better than most, i can assure you. why don’t we go somewhere a little more private, you can talk to me. tell me how you got into this mess.”
he stood and offered his arm. to y/n’s surprise, she rose and linked her own. while she should never trust a man so easily, her conscience screaming at her for it. but he seemed kind. honest and trustworthy. human. something she hadn’t seen in a long time. besides, she figured if they had wanted her dead, she would be face down in a river by now…
they walked, making a beeline towards the trees in front of them. “what was your name miss?” hosea asked.
“y/n.” she responded.
with her eyes adjusted, bearings found and legs moving again, she let herself scan the area around her. she was in a camp, one that seemed small but … live in? tents, campfires, horses and even a kitchen of sorts was set up. quite a few people were living here, men, women, even a child? she tried avoided the eye contact of the strangers around her, not knowing what mess she could have landed herself into. it seemed a few had stopped their morning chores for a fleeting moment to get a glimpse at her walking past them, pretending to take no notice of her and continuing on whenever she caught their eye. had they been waiting for her to wake up? she guessed she was a stranger sleeping amongst them, concluding she would be just as curious to get a glance at herself as well.
looking around still, she held the gaze of a familiar face, the one she had once pointed a gun towards and one took her to this place. dutch was his name right? hosea beside her seemed to look his way as well, letting out a single tune whistle and pointing his head towards the forest they were heading too. the dark haired man instantly dismissed the two men he was talking to and started coming their way. it was like a shepards call she thought, a codependent understanding that could only be trained with years of practice.
“here, this is a nice spot. i tend to do a lot of thinking here.” hosea said, leading and sitting them both down to opposite logs on soft grassy ground, much greener than the almost dirt floors back at the camp, untouched and unflattened by consistent steps. it looked out over the lake that surrounded the area, but was still thick with trees and streaked with sunlight peeking through the canopy.
the heavy footsteps of dutch became closer, his voice loud and true, “aaah, our celebrity guest, awake at last.”
as he stood before them, y/n rose upright at once, standing stiff and attentive before she could stop herself. she tried to swallow the familiar feeling of guilt like a rock stuck in her throat. “th… thank you.” she let out, quicker than she was intending. “i’d sure be dead and buried if not for you.”
she felt like this needed to said, right then and there. not totally understanding it herself, but knowing that his actions will forever be a debt she could probably never return. she knew from experience and dread that owing someone an unpayable debt was the worst burden to carry, and a feeling she wanted to loosen as soon as possible. a thanks was a start.
dutch just smiled and chuckled, raising his hands up like he did in the forest on their first encounter, “theres no need for thanks, just … take it a day at a time. at ease.”
y/n sat back down, almost embarrassed by her outburst but distracted when hosea spoke up. “dutch here said you had a run in with some o’driscolls. dealt with them pretty well too, where did you learn to shoot like that?”
the woman swallowed, she figured there was no reason to be coy anymore. a voice in the back of her head was yelling out, what are you doing!? you don’t know these men!? they don’t need to know nothin’!? and yet …. she was almost beyond caring about that now.
“my pa taught me,” she admitted, taken aback already by her honesty. “and my brother. he was a lot older than i am, sharp shooter and kept us out of trouble.”
dutch let out a noise, “tsss, some trouble you must have had. not even half my men here couldn’t kill with such efficiency.”
“well, we had a farm up north, a big property. it wasn’t much, just a few horses to sell and trade but it had been with my family for generations. it was home.” she paused. dutch and his partner were sitting opposite her and staring with unbroken attention, seemingly hanging on every word. it threw her off a little but she continued on. “being isolated up there we were bound to run into trouble, usually just some fool trying to swipe a horse, wolves maybe trying to take one for a meal. nothing unusual, but being able to take care of ourselves was a high priority, and my pa taught us well. he made sure we knew how to handle all kinds of trouble…”
“when my brother went and got himself killed down south in the war, it was me who was left in charge, with my father too old and my mother untrained. we got along just fine, until these men keep knocking at our door. harassing us, showing up constantly, trashing our barns, stealing our horses. they wanted us gone, for what reason i couldn’t say … after a few months it was manageable, i’d shot enough of them to make their appearances less frequent… but…”
she had stopped, her throat closing slightly her but no tears threatened to break free. she was thankful, crying in front of these men seemed like the worst scenario. never again would she let a sign of weakness slip from her. she had done her weeping, was done with meekness and dependency. she could tell dutch sensed that about her, while hosea watched her with concern and understanding, he was smirking slightly, like he was seeing straight through to her core.
“but?” dutch pushed her on.
with a tough swallow, she continued. “but… one day when i was collecting water from our well down by the river, i looked back up the to see a pillar of smoke. thick, grey and as high as i’d ever seen. by the time i ran back and got view of our burning home, our barns were pitch black, the horses aflame and running in every which direction, the air orange and almost unbreathable. when i saw the roof of our house collapse completely, i knew it was over. everything inside was destroyed, my parents included….” she cleared her throat. “i had just raced to our shed and grabbed as many guns as i could carry, when i heard men laughing. all those men, probably twenty, who had been coming up to us for months. all here. i realised they must have all been from some sort of gang, and could tell they’d tried to steal as much as they could from us. i knew we had hardly any money in the house, and by the small bad one of them was holding, they’d only managed to swipe no more than 30 dollars …. all that . my home, my family, everything. taken away for 30 dollars….”
she could feel heat rising through her cheeks, hands clenched into fists without knowing and her voice rising. “i guess they weren’t happy with that and decided to make their exhibition worth their time… their laughing stopped as soon as i started shooting. one by one, not even caring to hide or take cover, just wanting them dead. i needed them all dead. i don’t even know or care to remember what happened. a-mist the flames and gunpowder i one jumped me, but id stabbed with him their own knives. i shot though them all like they were no more than the deer i had killed countless times for supper. like it was a necessity, not a murder.”
“wether they were all dead or ran away or lost in the fires, i’d escaped with nothing but what i had on me. for months i’ve been running, not really sure what to do, where to go. stealing food, money, constantly moving and too scared to fall asleep or stay in one spot for longer than a week… i ran into a few more of those men here and there, they seemed to be scouting me. i learnt that they called themselves the o’driscolls and their leader was furious that a woman had outsmarted his men, that a quick robbery had turned into a slaughter. he wanted me dead. still wants me dead i guess…”
“and, this is where we meet?” dutch said, his arms now rested on his knees and hands fidgeting with the large rings on his hands but full attention of her words.
“yes, i’d been running for four days straight, how far i travelled i’m not too sure but i knew they wanted me dead for good. they’d sent a bunch of those irish bastards to me and i was constantly trying to lose them. i didn’t know if i was alive or dead, asleep or awake, i just shot anything that moved, trusted no one and tried to make it to the next sunrise… and yes, thats where you come into the picture and … i guess, now i’m here.”
“well … hell of a time you’ve had.” hosea finally spoke, his sympathetic gaze surprisingly comforting. when he reached out and cupped his hands on her own, she didn’t resist. “you can let your guard down y/n, you’ll be safe here for however long you need. i assure you, we hate those o’driscolls just as much as you do. for every one of those fools shot dead the dirt beneath us gains another worm!” to this, he chuckled to himself, y/n even letting out a small giggle.
dutch joined in with his deep laugh, “oh yes, you will fit in just fine here miss.” he stood up and gestured to the camp behind him, now full of activity. “this gang can be your home now, we’re all misfits and outlaws, once lost and then found again.”
he looked at her not with hoseas sympathy, but with eyes that assessed and schemed, invasive and sharp.
“yes, i think you’ll be just fine…”
#red dead 2#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 x reader#red dead redemption 2 x reader#arthur morgan x reader#kieran duffy#dutch van der linde#dutch van der line x reader#rdr2 oneshots#rdr#rdr2#read dead redemption
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The Lonely Hearts Club: Part One
Summary: You decide to press pause on your relationship with Andrew Barber. Too bad your hotshot attorney of an ex-boyfriend doesn't understand the meaning of the word. Takes place directly after the events in Photo Shoot Faux Pas. Read Part Two!
Warnings: Angst, Break-ups, Cursing, Andy Being a Menace, Insecure Reader, Eventual Smut, Manhandling, Punishments, Minors DNI
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This multi-part fic will feature a combination of requests from the likes of @writer84, @lexivass, @moejdaw, as well as several other anonymous readers. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
___
“Come on, girl. You can do this.”
“Yeah, but maybe…” You trail off as you approach Andy’s front door. Fishing the key out of your pocket, you insert it into the lock. Thanks to your shaking hands, it actually takes a few seconds longer than it probably should. “Maybe I oughta wait.”
“Babe.” Your friend blows out a breath, the noise coming across the other line like static. “We’ve been over this like a dozen times already. Today is just another day; it’s no different from any other.”
Your friends had been quick to remind you that Valentine’s Day didn’t really matter. At its core, it was nothing more than a cheap gimmick big corporations used to upsell mediocre chocolate and subpar rom-coms. Right?
“I know, I know.” There really wasn’t much more you could say beyond that. Not after the two of you had painstakingly broken down every detail of this very scenario just last night. During which time you also managed to consume several bottles of wine.
You’d been all up in your feelings from the moment you’d arrived at your best friend’s house. And Sara had spent a good hour sitting with you on her living room floor, gently rocking you back and forth while you quietly sobbed into her sweater.
Andy hated it when you cried. But when you did, he was always so good at using his big body to comfort you – to calm you down. He’d been the one that you’d really wanted last night. You’d been so tempted to call him, even before the alcohol had started flowing.
However, all your girls had said “no”. And when they couldn’t get you to listen to reason, they’d instructed Sara to remove the temptation by swiping your phone and hiding it away. At the time you’d been highly upset. But now you were grateful for their interference. Because this was something you had to do.
Provided that you could make yourself stick with the fucking plan.
“Are you in yet?” Sara asks, her voice briefly snapping you back into the present.
“I am. I–I’m just gonna leave it on the table. Along with the muffins.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace for the sound you’re pretty sure is about to viciously assault your eardrums in three…two…one…
Here it comes.
“YOU BOUGHT HIM FUCKING MUFFINS?!” She screeches, her tone rife with stunned exasperation. “Are you being serious right now?!”
Yes, you did that. It didn’t seem right to just drop the note and run. At least not without leaving a little something else to go with it, apparently in the form of cinnamon spice crunch.
“Don’t judge me, bitch. This shit is hard enough as it is.” You growl into the receiver, setting the box of delicious smelling baked goods onto his kitchen counter. “I just wanna make sure he has something to tide him over until we – until we, um…” Gripping the edge of a chair, you force yourself to take a series of deep breaths.
“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” Your friend immediately backpedals. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you can hear her anyway over the sound of the distant roaring in your ears. “I know this is hard, honey. But you’ve got to pull it together.”
This whole thing was making you feel ill.
Fuck! Like it or not, she was right. The last thing you wanted to do was start crying again. Because you knew if you allowed yourself to break down here, it would be impossible to stop. And that’s exactly where you could not afford to let Andrew Stephen Barber to find you right now.
Standing in the middle of his kitchen, openly crying. Desperately wanting to be held by the one man who had the power to shatter you into a million glittering pieces with nothing more than a simple touch.
And while that might seem a bit dramatic, it also didn’t make it any less true. Which meant that you needed to get out there, fast. You couldn’t allow yourself to forget that you really did have somewhere else to be. Standing up straight, you tuck Andy’s house key into the folded up piece of paper and then place it on top of the muffins.
Time to go.
Turning on your heel, you make a beeline for the exit. Hopefully you’d feel better once you were on the road. As you leave, you make a mental note to worry about everything else later. Until then, you just had to focus on the now.
“Fuck!” You hiss as the door slams closed behind you.
“What? Is Andy home? Did he –” You cut her off, feeling frustrated even as the sickly-sweet taste of regret threatens to claw its way up your throat.
“No. I just forgot to grab that stupid fucking album is all.” With a huff, you jog over to your car. “And it’s not like I can go back in for it or anything since I left him his key. Fuuuuck!” You close the driver’s side door before turning on your vehicle and putting it in gear.
“Girl, who gives a shit!” Sara snorts, clearly relieved that your activities weren’t interrupted. “Look at it this way, whether you like it or not, you just gave that ungrateful bastard something to remember you by.”
Good point, Sara. That’s exactly why she had been designated as your emotional support person for this entire emotionally draining escape.
“True.” Time to focus on the road. If traffic cooperated, you had just enough time to get yourself to your next destination without risking getting a ticket.
Not that that mattered much anymore. The days of anyone giving a shit about your potentially reckless activities were most likely a thing of the past. Oh well. You looked forward to no longer having to stock up on aloe. Yeah, the price of that stock was about to go way down.
A tiny giggle bubbles up, escaping before you can stop it.
“Are you okay, Y/N? I know that was rough back there, but I really think you did the right thing. Plus, I’ve been updating everyone on the group chat, and they all agree.” You resolve to check the thread later so that you can provide everyone with an update.
See that Andy Bear? This whole damned thing had been workshopped from start to finish. You can’t possibly accuse me of being impulsive now. You let out another burst of laughter, this one sounding a touch more hysterical than the last.
“Also, Rhea really wants to know where you got those friggin’ muffins…”
“Tell her I’ll message her with the name of the bakery later.” You merge onto the highway as you head towards downtown. “Thanks for all your help today, Sara. Couldn’t have done it without you girls.”
“Hey boo – you know we love Andy’s fine ass. We just happen to love your ass a hell of a lot more. Now drive safe and text us when you land.” You know she’s telling the truth. All of your girls were pretty darn fond of your man, but you were their girl first. And their loyalty was to you.
Something for which you were exceedingly grateful.
“You got it – talk soon.”
You end the call before settling in for the remainder of the drive. Not wanting to be alone with your thoughts, you quickly decide to turn on the radio – only to be surprised when Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together” begins playing over the speakers.
“Wow.” You whisper with a shake of your head. “That is so not fair.”
Sometimes the gods possessed a real fucked up sense of humor.
Your bottom lip quivers as the lyrics hit home, hot tears blurring your vision. You let out an audible sniffle before dashing at them with your sleeve. But you don’t change the station. And you no longer try to stem the flow. Instead you finally give yourself over to the pain that was your heart breaking – piece by piece.
You’d talk to Andy in a couple of weeks. He’d give you space. He’d give you time. And if he didn’t want to work things out when it was all said and done…then you would have to find a way to live without him. And you would find a way.
But first, you had a plane to catch. And then you were gonna get yourself a margarita and – no – scratch that.
Make that a bottle of tequila.
___
Five hours later…
Andy shoulders his way into his house from the garage, absentmindedly toeing off his shoes as he sorts through his mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk. A Postcard from his Dentist. Another bill. And more junk.
With a grunt, he tosses the stack of unwanted papers onto the table. And then he spies the pink box resting on the counter. A smile curves its way across his handsome lips when he realizes that you must’ve stopped by at some point during the day.
But he does find it rather odd that you wouldn’t have let him know. Sure, it was Valentine’s Day, but the two of you weren’t supposed to get together until this weekend.
Still smiling, Andy makes his way over to the box of treats, humming a little tune as he goes. While he had a feeling something was going on with you lately, he’d simply chalked it up to stress. But he also knew that once he got you in his bed and settled himself between those gorgeous thighs, it was only a matter of time before he’d have you speaking in tongues…
Which would hopefully lead to you spilling your pretty little guts. So that he could finally try to fix whatever it was that kept making you seem so sad.
He picks up the note, his head tilting to the side as he tries to make sense of the meaning behind your interesting dessert choice. Confused, he decides to read your message. With a sigh, he unfolds the piece of paper. Only to be caught off guard when a key falls out and onto the surface below, the sharp clatter making him jump.
“What the fuck?” He snarls as his eyes quickly scan the tear-stained piece of paper. “No. Oh no, baby girl…fuck no…”
He could not fucking believe what he was reading.
Andrew grips the edge of the counter as his legs threaten to give out underneath him. However, it’s not until the fourth reread that it all finally clicks into place.
You'd just tried to break-up with him. On fucking Valentine’s Day of all fucking days. But if you thought that leaving him a “Dear John” letter and a box of muffins before running off to god-knows-where was going to be the end of it, then well…the joke was on you. Because there was no way in hell he was ready to let you go. At least not without one hell of fight.
"Alright." A dark chuckle escapes as he crumples the note in fist. Part of him wished that he still carried a lighter so that he could go outside and burn your fucking letter. “But make no mistake, sweetness, we’re not done here.”
However, Andrew Barber could be patient until he saw you again. He’d give you a couple days to get your mind right. But when he found you – and he would – he wasn’t going to stop until he had you back in his life and in his bed, right where you fucking belonged.
You could count on that shit.
END
#cevansbrat0007 asks#chris evans imagines#andy barber imagines#chris evans smut#andy barber smut#chris evans fanfiction#andy barber fanfiction#chris evans x you#andy barber x you#chris evans x reader#andy barber x reader#chris evans x black!reader#andy barber x black!reader#chris evans x woc!reader#andy barber x woc!reader#chris evans x poc!reader#andy barber x poc!reader#chris evans x girlfriend!reader#andy barber x girlfriend!reader#chris evans x female!reader#andy barber x female!reader#cevansbrat0007growing pains series#chris evans x yn#andy barber x yn#chris evans x y/n#andy barber x y/n#chris evans x fem!reader#andy barber x fem!reader#chris evans angst#andy barber angst
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Sirius Black taking you back to his dorm after you got really drunk at the club, helping you into bed, but he almost forgets one important thing. He helps you take your makeup off.
AN - sorry that this took me a little while to get around to. I haven't written anything for Sirius for a little while so I'm a bit rusty. I hope you enjoy <3
Sirius fought as he tried to usher Y/N up the staircase, his destination - a mere stones throw away, seemed impossibly distant. Y/N’s flailing limbs and erratic movements made the task increasingly more difficult. He steadied her with one hand gently against the small of her back, determined to stop her from tumbling back down the stairs.
As they finally reached the top, Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that they had made it without any mishaps. He plonked Y/N down on his bed and she sat looking up at him with a lopsided grin.
“What am I going to do with you, eh?” Sirius asked, smiling at her.
“We’re in your room.” she stated, looking around, eyes wide.
“Well observed. Pissed out of your mind but still as sharp as ever.” he laughed.
“Your room is pretty.” her gaze drifted to the posters on his wall and the lights that twinkled lowly. It was so stereotypically Sirius; an amalgamation of all of his interests, chaotically thrown together but still looking perfect. “How come we’re here? Did I lose my keys again?”
Sirius shook his head and chuckled, sitting down next to her on the bed as she frantically looked through her bag.
“No, you didn’t lose your keys again. I just didn’t fancy you going home on your own when you’re like this. Besides, my place is closer to town.” he explained. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”
“When I’m like what?” She looked at him with an accusatory expression.
“Drunk. Now, drink that water or else your head will be pounding in the morning.” Sirius said sternly.
Y/N rolled her eyes at him, her movements a bit unsteady as she reached for the glass of water Sirius had placed on his bedside table. With a sloppy grin, she chugged down the water, spilling a few drops in the process. Sirius rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a t-shirt and offering it to her. She blinked at him with a puzzled look on her face.
“For you to sleep in.” he smiled, “Don’t want you wrecking your dress.”
“You’re so kind. Looking after me like this.” She beamed up at him, her eyes glassy and smile lopsided.
“Just trying to be a good host,” he smirked, helping her steady herself as she slipped on his t-shirt and wriggled out of her dress.
“Well, you’re succeeding.” she declared, her words punctuated by a hiccup. With a gentle laugh, Sirius guided her back into his bed and tucked the covers around her.
He had barely made it to the door when he paused, a sudden realisation hitting him. With a soft curse under his breath, he turned on his heel and doubled back on himself.
“Back so soon?” Y/N grinned.
“Forgot something important. Can’t let you sleep with your makeup on.”
He perched on the bed, reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle of makeup remover. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as he slowly wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes.
“I’m so happy.” murmured, smile still plastered on her face.
“Enjoy it while it lasts. I can’t imagine tomorrow's hangover will be as pleasant,” Sirius chuckled, brushing her hair out of her face before heading over to switch the lights off, “G’night, love. Give me a shout if you wake up and need anything.”
Y/N didn’t reply. She had already drifted off to sleep.
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here me out,, shibusawa, fyodor, mykola, sigma +playboy bunny outfits
OML
Yes
(Also, Ivan’s crying in the corner for being left out D:)
The suits were a wonderful idea, you think, as you watch the men in one of the private rooms of sky casino
The latex bunny suits accentuated every aspect of their bodies, from their chest, to their abs, to their ass, and to their… crotch
The latex hugged their bodies so tightly it would be impossible not to see everything
You look around, your eyes first falling on shibusawa
Shibusawa is shameless, even more so than mykola, and it’s because he knows he looks good
The white bunny ears attached to his head match his hair perfectly, and they look so alluring on him
His lean thigh, chest and back muscles are out on display for everyone to see, and the latex suit hugs his slutty waist so perfectly
Though all muscle, the suit makes his ass look delectable, with the little bunny tail adding a cute effect
He’s standing proudly, elegant, as though he was in his normal clothing,
However, you noticed that he’d rarely walk, probably to do with how unsteady he was walking on the heels that you picked out with his suit
And he was completely ignoring the fact that everyone could see the imprint of his cock very clearly (not hard, just packing)
it made you feral
Your gaze then moves to mykola
Mykola, is the thiccest out of everyone
Like shibu, his bunny ears and tail are both white/silver, matching his hair
His beautifully thick thighs pop out of the suit, and his the garters you oh so graciously supplied him highlight how juicy they are, the meat of them straining against the leather
And his chest? Dear lord, his chest.
Man’s got some DD titties that are just barely covered by the suit, the plushness of them just begging to be squished and toyed with
The latex of the suit showcases his ass so perfectly, the fat of each cheek moving with him as he walks, the high heels changing the way he walked so it really made his cheeks bounce
But the cherry on top?
The plastic of the suit hugs his dick tightly, the imprint of his bulge (again, he’s not hard, just hung) very visible
It made your mouth water
Fyodor, however, is aloof and distant, choosing to sit down to avoid walking in the heels you bought (he thought he’d be able to do it, after all, in theory it was easy; but in practice? Not so much) and cross his legs, desperately trying to keep whatever dignity he had left, hiding his crotch and ass from view
How dare you win a bet against his group and force them to wear slutty bunny suits
Really, he doesn’t know why he’s even complying to the idea (it’s because he loves the way you stare at him, your eyes full of lust and praise as you take him in)
His ears and tail are black, matching his hair
And while being in the thinner side, his chest and shoulders are still broad, with his waist tapering in
And while his clothes were usually modest and hid that fact very well, there was no hiding from the suit, with it showing his figure beautifully, the prominence of his shoulder blades making him look almost delicate
And poor, poor sigma
He’s blushing furiously, standing with his back against the wall so his ass is hidden from everyone’s line of sight
his hands are held in front of his crotch, also hiding it from view
He had to, the tightness of the latex leaving nothing to the imagination (and he’d be lying if the pressure of the suit didn’t make him react in certain ways)
You had ordered a special pair of ears, one white and the other lilac, matching his dual toned hair
He was used to wearing heels, so the shoes didn’t bother him, and he, along with mykola, were experts at walking in them (even though it didn’t seem like it with the way the poor man’s legs were shaking)
“So,” you announce loudly, watching as everyone looks at you, “who wants to have an orgy!”
————
This is probably the most down bad post I’ve made, can you tell I have a thing for mykola being juicy? (Had dare bones remove his thiccness 😭)
I feel… slightly ashamed of myself 😞
LMAO
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungoustraydogs#sub bsd#sub bungou stray dogs#bsd fyodor#fyodor dostoevsky#sub fyodor#mykola hohol x reader#sub mykola#mykola hohol#shibusawa x reader#sub shibusawa#shibusawa tatsuhiko#sigma x reader#sub sigma#sigma bsd#sigma bungou stray dogs
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In the embers of light, I see my love for you.
Newt x Reader(f)
Summary: Set at the Safe Haven, two people hopelessly infatuated carry a conversation of memories and the act of starting over again.
A/N: First time posting on here, so bear with me if I mess something up. Any sort of feedback is appreciated! <3 <3 <3
Warnings: No use of y/n, no reader-specific descriptions, she/her pronouns.
Word Count: 1k
___________________________
The fire crackled and popped, emanating a soft warmth in the cool night. The flames whisked in the breeze that carried off the ocean water. It was amazing the fire was still lit. The flames held a miraculous vitality, even after the continuous hours it had been burning and with little attention it had been given.
As captivating as it was, there was something greater catching Newt's eyes -or rather someone. And that someone sat only a few inches away from him, staring intrinsically at the fire. He watched as the light danced in her eyes, illuminating every feature, every detail. Her knees to her chest and arms loosely slunk over her legs, evidently relaxed -comfortable with her surroundings.
This wasn’t always a normal occurrence. It used to be an unfamiliar feeling, almost distant, as if comfortability itself was only a mere idea. Surely, they thought, a feeling like that was no longer felt in a world like their own. No, it would be near impossible to feel such a thing ever again.
But here they are, sitting side by side in each other's company, not a pint of unease to be felt. Unless you considered the fluttering feeling Newt had whenever he was around her. Then, maybe there was some unease, but it’s not an unwarranted feeling. He welcomed this feeling with open arms, accepting it as a feeling of admiration.
“Do you think memories still exist when you forget them?”
The question seemingly comes out of nowhere. Her eyes don’t even deter from the fire when she speaks, as if she hadn’t meant to ask the question outloud.
“Where is this coming from?” He questions.
She shrugs, mindlessly drawing small circles in the sand. It seemed the question wasn’t one derived from a sense of melancholy, but rather from a genuine curiosity.
He smiles to himself, looking back to the fire as he ponders her question. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “I’d like to think so. I’d like to think things don’t just disappear when we forget’em. They’ll still live on in someone else’s memory. Or If not in someone else’s then I’m sure it’s still there, you just can’t see it.”
There’s a moment of silence as she considered his answer, thinking it over, comparing it to an opinion of her own.
“You think it’s possible to retrieve those lost memories?” She adds.
“Maybe, if you try hard enough.”
The girl turned towards him with a look that clearly stated she wasn’t satisfied with that answer.
He huffs with a laugh and perches his arms behind him, propping up his back. Amused by her persistence. “I suppose it’s a matter of significance. How important that moment was, what happened, when it happened, where it happened, stuff like that.” He thinks out loud, looking into the ocean for stability. “That is to say if half your memories weren’t taken from you in the first place.”
At that she laughs, and he feels a sense of pride that he could be the cause of such a wonderful sound. “Yeah, I know there is no retrieving those…I just mean,” She pauses a moment, looking down to the sand. “-moments like this. I don’t want to forget this moment but if I do, I'd hope it wouldn't go away forever.”
He nudges her side lightly. “Well, there’s no need to worry about that. I’m here too. I’ll make sure to hold on to it for you in case you forget.”
“Thanks.” She replies, nudging him in the side in return. “On the contrary, I have this weird distaste towards the term ‘unforgettable’. I think it’s because of the whole memory removal thing. Like, maybe there was a time before all this where I deemed something as ‘unforgettable’. But little did I know I’d be sitting here now, not having a clue what that moment was.”
“So, you don’t think something can be unforgettable?”
“Not necessarily. But usually for me when something is unforgettable it’s a bad thing.”
Newt knew all too well what she meant by that. His mind always seemed to favor trauma over moments of delight.
“Maybe we need to start makin' more positive ‘unforgettables’ from now on then."
“Yeah," She mutters. "Maybe we do.”
A silence fills the air as the two of them reveled in the other's presence. Comforted by the fact that they have each other. With the ocean waves crashing in the distance and the flickering light of the fire, the serene scene almost made it too easy to let all their concerns melt away.
“I must admit, it’d be hard to forget moments like this. Moments with you, I mean.” She confesses, avoiding all possible eye contact.
Though, Newt looks to her, a flattered yet nervous smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms meekly. “I enjoy your company. When I’m with you things seem… easier. Like, life seems to become a little more bearable -and I know how dark and weirdly cheesy that sounds, but it’s true… You make me feel secure.”
Her sudden sentiments struck him, making his ears and cheeks run warm.
Her words weren’t something new to Newt. He had known the impact they had on each other for a while. There was always this unspoken bond. A sort of mutual understanding that they needed each other. Not in a sense of co-dependency but more of a fidelity -a reassurance that they would always have each other.
In spite of all that, the reason her sentiments struck Newt was because of her tone. There was a sense of timidity to her words, similar to one of a confession.
“You make me feel secure too -and I’m not just saying that cause you said it. I mean it, you-” He babbles, trying to formulate his thoughts into words. “You mean a lot to me. Honestly, I don’t know what I would do with you.”
Their gazes meet and she smiles. “You probably would be off your wits by now.” She teases. “You know, dealing with Minho and Thomas is not a one-man task.”
He chuckles. “Bloody right on that one.” He looks back to the ocean, hoping to find the right words hidden in the waves. “I’m serious though. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite like you. You’re… astonishing.”
Her features soften, sparking a light in her eyes.
He refuses himself to look her way, afraid he’ll lose all control and let his thoughts spill. However, he doesn’t need to see her to know a smile is still prevalent on her face. He can feel it radiating off her, like the warmth from the fire, like the salt on his skin -like her hand now holding his.
…
The gesture felt natural to her. Laying her hand on top of his, she squeezes it tight as if to extend a gratuity towards his declaration. She then follows his gaze to the dark ocean water, watching the waves fold in the night.
“I actually think it would be hard to forget this moment.”
He hums in question, now feeling it is finally safe to look her way. “Would you say it’s unforgettable?”
A grin sneaks on her lips as she cuts her eyes. “Mm, not yet.”
Now fully turning towards the boy, who appears to be choked on words, the girl’s smile softens. Her eyes flicker to his lips, as if to test the water. He seems to get the implication immediately, leaning in closer to close the space between them. A hand sneaks up her neck as another hovers over her waist. Their lips meet halfway.
Just as fast as the kiss began, it stopped. Foreheads pressed against one another, her hand resting on his cheek, brushing light strokes under his eyes. “I guess it is now,” she breaths, unable to form any other words.
“You guess?” He teases.
A laugh bubbles in her throat, nodding her head once. “I guess.”
Newt pulls her back instantly, simmering in the newly created warmth between them. Her lips curve upward as his does the same.
With desire so plentiful and the stars above abound, there would be no possible way to forget a moment like this. At least, that is what she believed. They would venture this new paradise together, side by side, hand-in-hand -metaphorically and physically.
Though these roads are uncharted, they feel quite tranquil. She felt that something as easy as this would never be topped.
An air of silence separates them now. The two of them mindlessly admiring the other under the silver moonlight. The girl didn’t think Newt looked real. The way his skin soothed in the light. The way his hair weaved through the salty breeze. How his eyes seemed to consume her whole. She thought he looked more like a depiction of an angel rather than a boy.
“Don’t smile at me like that.” He marveled coyly.
“Like what?”
“Like…that.” He gestures slightly towards her before turning to the passing fire.
She takes another moment to indulge herself with his appearance. Loving the feeling he invokes in her heart. Scooting closer to him, she rests her head lightly on his shoulder. “I’ll smile at you all I want.”
She feels a chuckle vibrate in his chest as he rests his head atop of hers. “Fine.” He relents, although it wasn’t much of a retaliation in the first place.
“Fine,” She nudges her head in closer.
Together they sit on the cool sand and breath in the salt air, watching as the fire’s light begins to dim. Only charred wood, fluffy ashes, and flickering sparks remained. As if the fire's job was done for the night.
Just before her eyes began to flutter shut, a pair of lips pecked her forehead.
Maybe Newt was right. There was still much more left for them in this life. They’ve given so much in such little time. Now… it was time to receive. It was time to make new unforgettable moments.
They would be okay.
#newt x reader#maze runner#the maze runner#newt x you#fanfiction#newt tmr#first time posting on here#Whoop Whoop!#listened to a lot of mazzy star writing this
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An Eye for Snow (tbosas)
Pairings: Sejanus Plinth x Fem!Reader x Coriolanus Snow?
Summary: When Magnolia Hawthorne gets herself mixed up in the Rebel, Capital crossfire to protect her close friend Sejanus, how will she navigate the already strenuous situation alongside Coriolanus Snow? (7.3k)
⚠️: Death, Explosions, Mentions of Abuse, Fighting, Minimal Swearing, Arguing
The marble floor is icy cold, sending goosebumps up my bare legs. I curse myself for wearing a skirt before realizing that I’d prefer my choice of clothing soon enough, amidst the sweltering temperatures I’m soon to face during my walk to the Arena.
“Thank you so much,” I grin guiltily at Tigris, removing the steaming bowl of cabbage soup from her warm hands. A rather gross reoccurrence of a meal that is often prepared in the Snow house, but it’s better than no meal, and who am I to judge someone who can feed me?
My stomach grumbles at the remembrance of the large meal that was provided on the day of the reaping. It was almost impossible to not stuff myself full the second I was seated, and I now regret not taking some food home with me.
It was Coriolanus himself who forbid me from doing it, though I could tell he wanted to just as badly.
“Please.” She laughs, “You have got to stop emphasizing your thanks when you’re practically a member of this household. I would take as much joy in starving you as I would Coryo.”
“Starving me?” Coriolanus enters the living area as he adjusts his coat.
“I wouldn’t starve either of you.” She smiles, “Though, one mentor seems far more grateful for my cooking than the other.”
She teasingly pats his shoulder as he passes her by without recognition, which results in a defeated look plastered on her face.
“Alright well, you two better get going unless you want to be late for,” She pauses, “What is it that you guys are doing again?”
Coriolanus opens the front door, holding it there and looking back as if anticipating my arrival.
“Taking our tributes to the arena.” I tell her, jumping to my feet and placing my barely touched soup back into her hands, “Have you or Grandma’am eaten today?”
“We will.” She smiles softly. “Now go!”
I follow after Coriolanus, grabbing the rims of my skirt and curtsying dramatically after he shuts the door behind us.
He rolls his eyes, “Must you be so polite?”
“In what other way would I find pleasure in spiting you?” I tease, wrapping my arm around his extended invitation as we walk. “Did you remember her food?”
“Of course. Did you remember yours?”
“Of course.” I echo with a sigh, “Not that she’ll even take it. Hasn’t learned to trust me like your Lucy Gray trusts you.”
I eye him as he suppresses a smile and as if alluding to something else, note, “You mustn’t pretend to be someone else around me, you know.”
“And you mustn’t use such proper dialogue in the presence of I.” He mocks. “Isn’t it exhausting?”
“And how do you know this isn’t how I naturally speak?”
“I watch you calculate each word before you vocalize it.”
“Your claim reminds me of yourself.” His brow furrows, “I always know when you are about to speak publicly based on how much attention you pay to a conversation. How deep you are into wondering when the appropriate time to weigh in is, and what the exact words are. Isn’t that exhausting?”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Sejanus.” He chuckles.
“I’ve been spending too much time with you. Anyone could see it if they had the eye to.”
“Not everyone has the eye.”
“That they don’t.”
The newfound melancholy of the atmosphere deflates just as quickly as it arose. Silence replaces our lighthearted conversation.
I examine his distant expression, what is he thinking about? I’ve found myself wondering that a lot since the Hunger Games began, his constant empty gaze that suggests he’s here with you when his mind is elsewhere.
I open my mouth to comment on the heat, but his inhale slams my mouth shut.
“Any encounters with your father lately?”
Really? That’s what he was thinking about?
“Thankfully no.” I peer away, gazing out into the city that surrounds us as I pull my arm from his grasp, crossing both of my own over my chest. “Not since that night.”
He nods, digesting the newfound information before returning to his distant safe space. I can tell that wasn’t the only question on his mind but know he won’t dare ask another one. What does he think he’ll be taken as if he does? Inquisitive? Whatever the case, I drop it completely and pay my utmost attention to the anxiety that has been bundled in the pits of my stomach all morning. I make it a point to fully look away from Coriolanus as I allow the worries to take over my mind. Even the slightest scent of suspicion will turn him into a dog on our trail. Sejanus doesn’t understand that Coryo is all-knowing and that years of constant manipulation have granted him the ultimate access to everyone else’s deceits. He will undoubtedly find out sooner or later.
“Let’s hope it’s later rather than sooner.” Sejanus had half-heartedly joked, though I could tell he was just as nervous about the plan as I. Part of me wanted to tell Coriolanus. Fall onto my knees and confide in him how I had all those years ago. I want to explain that I have to help Sejanus otherwise he’ll get himself caught and hung. I used to find such warmth within Coryo, he gifted me a security that no one else could provide. Three years ago I would’ve never kept such a dire secret from him, but now? I’m not the same girl he rescued from an abusive, alcoholic father. I’m not the same girl he shielded from rumors after my moving in with him and I’m certainly not the same girl who cried tears of joy after the Rebels had been defeated.
I am a rebel now. At least in the eyes of the capital I am. I have one foot stuck in the mud of the rebel life, and the rest of me is still clinging to any Capital advantages I may be granted. The dirt on my shoe is a crime worth a rope in the sky, or worse. I sometimes recall the very last hangings that I witnessed, when the Rebels that had infiltrated the Capital were caught, and very cruelly charged. My stomach churns and I become queasy at the realization of the stark difference between my feelings towards their punishment then, and now.
I had to fight to maintain my scholarly reputation after all the ruckus about my situation broke out. I’m too afraid to disclose any information about my wanting to remain a virtuous capital student to Sejanus, who had originally begged me to keep away from the mess he had made of things. Now I’m entangled and can’t escape without risking either of our lives. The only person who could help me even begin to unravel this mess is a boy who could report me to Dr. Gaul without a second glance. I’m as good as a traitor no matter who catches me. Would Sejanus get himself killed? How far is Coriolanus willing to go for prosperity? He’s not the same boy either. He’s softer, and more understanding than he was before, all thanks to his little songbird, but I don’t think he would let me get away with this, even now.
“Everything alright?” His voice startles me back to the Capital Streets.
“Oh-“ I fumble, “Just thinking.”
“Enlighten me.”
An open invitation to admit to all of my wrongdoings, my mistakes. Maybe if I come clean I will be spared. I won’t be considered a rebel sympathizer, not just that, a rebel!
“I-“ I begin, but pause as my feet meet the entrance of the Arena. “Just my father.”
“Ah.” He nods as if understanding. “Well try to forget about that nonsense for right now, you have a tribute to attend to.”
I depart with a soft smile, leaving him at the rear of the line formed of tributes and mentors to fill the empty gap left next to Sabyn.
“Let’s go.” A peacekeeper orders, hoisting the bars above his head to allow us to file in.
Immediately our line diminishes into a clump, Sejanus and his tribute falling back to stand by my side as others just try to fill the small space. We take turns putting our assigned coin into the slot and stepping through the turnstiles, each being greeted with the same stimulating, “Enjoy the show!” I have to use my left hand to steady the trembling of my right as I attempt to fit the shaking coin through the compact hole. Finally, it falls in and clinks as it hits the bottom, signaling that I may walk through.
“Enjoy the show!”
I curl my hands into fists in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking that instantly flags me as guilty.
Don’t look scared.
I remind myself.
Don’t become a suspect.
“Enjoy the show!” Sejanus slips behind me, covertly situating his hand into mine. He brushes his thumb over the temple of my hand, soothing it to a light tremble.
I peer up at him expecting to exchange a look but he blankly stares off into the distance as if simply awaiting the arrival of the remainder of our group. I quickly avert my eyes to the Arena, which will soon be destroyed, hopefully to the extreme of canceling the Hunger Games which will send Marcus, Sabyn, and all the rest of the tributes home safely.
Suddenly that word swings back at me, whacking my newfound confidence like a lethal boomerang.
Safely?
Did the rebels ever ensure the safety of the people inside the arena? They wanted bombs placed inside, which Sejanus and I very hesitantly assisted with, but for what purpose? To hit the Capital right where it hurts, the Hunger Games. They desired the cancelation of the games, but not for the safety of the tributes, for the incitement of the Capital. To irritate them.
The words feel like toxins, threatening to bubble up and verbalize in the form of vomit.
“Ow-“ Sejanus grunts softly, forcefully pulling his hand from my harsh grasp. “Are you okay?”
“I-“ I breathe before seeing his eyes dart towards the microphone that hangs on the wall just 10 feet away from us. Has it been activated? Would it pick up my words? I swallow down any audible form of my concerns and simply verbalize, “Just surreal is all. Haven’t seen this place in person since the war.” Though my eyes illustrate all structures of my distress.
Will they die? Will we die? Will all of this anxiety-induced effort serve us no purpose? All of this, just for the mere annoyance of the Capitol?
A sad smile of recognition crosses his face. He understands. He doesn’t showcase more than a wince but I know he understands.
“Enjoy the Show!”
“All right huddle up.” The peacekeeper orders, “You get 20 minutes, that’s it! Explore, look around, get used to the place, because soon enough you’ll be living in it.” He pauses seemingly expecting us to act, “Move!”
“Where should we look?” I signal to Sejanus, wondering where the safest spot might be.
“Let’s check out the center.”
“The center?” Marcus scoffs, “What’s the point in looking around? There’s no place to hide and no escape, you can practically see everything from this spot right here!”
My eyes peer to below the microphone where I know a bomb is planted far too close to us.
“You’ll get a much better view from the center,” Sejanus begins towards it, “Come on.”
With a reluctant roll of his eyes, Marcus and Sabyn follow behind him, both trying to pretend as though their gazes aren’t exploring the arena far better from this perspective.
Strategy is hard to talk about when you know there won’t be an arena for the strategy to take place in anyways, but I can tell they both expect some ounce of advice.
“Here,” I whisper, conscientiously digging into my pockets and pulling out the slice of ham I was able to salvage from lunch at the Academy yesterday. “I’m sorry it was all I could-“ She snatches it and stuffs it into her own pockets, a small smile breaching my lips.
Suddenly a violent detonation shakes the ground and rings through my ears. I fall to the floor, covered by my arms as well as Sejanus’. Another burst sounds on the opposite side of the large room, still shaking where we helplessly lay. Then another and another until eruptions are blowing all around the edges of the arena, sending winds of rubble throughout the air.
My head lays on the ground with Sejanus buried into my shoulder. I can’t see much of anything occurring but the blood-curdling sounds are enough to know that I was right. Safety was of no priority to the Rebels.
My sobs shake the entirety of my body as the endless amounts of explosions finally halt, only heightening the shrieks produced by my classmates and their tributes. Gunshots fire close by, shrinking me deeper into the ground.
“Help!” A distinct voice calls out. “Somebody help!”
I quickly pull from Sejanus’ grasp, jumping to my feet to help Coryo, who must be in serious trouble if he risks the vulnerability that crying for help requires.
“Come on!” Sejanus grabs my hand, now on his feet as he ushers me towards the exit that is in the opposite direction of Coriolanus’ cries. When he can’t seem to pull hard enough, I’m suddenly scooped from the floor, and tossed over his shoulder, as he rushes towards the doorway just as another explosion sounds and a fiery beam comes crashing down in the spot we once stood. I can’t see Coriolanus through the smoke and instantly burst into tears, jumping from Sejanus’ arms.
“Coriolanus!” I shout to the peacekeeper who’s just thrown Livia Cardew onto the dirt floor, “Coriolanus is in there! So is Lucy Gray!”
He shares an annoyed glance with another Peacekeeper before they both reluctantly run in after them.
Sejanus entangles me in a tight embrace as his chest heaves up and down. His silent sobs crush my heart as I rub my hand over his back. All he wants is to help people, and this is what we’ve done.
“Sejanus-“ My voice breaks. I try to comfort him. I want to explain that this isn’t our fault, that we could’ve never predicted what would’ve happened, but the lie I almost vocalize forces even worse cries from the pits of my stomach, and I can’t find the space to speak in between the sobs and quick breathes I attempt to take. This is entirely our fault.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“He’s gonna miss Lucy Gray’s interview,” I note, standing to watch as Caesar Flickerman introduces his songbird.
Tigris and Grandma’am follow close behind me.
“Well let me quit my jabbering and introduce the real star of the show. Lucy Gray Baird!”
I watch as the beautiful girl, in her newly cleaned rainbow dress approaches the microphone. For a split second, she looks nervous, but in an instant, the anxiety fades into confidence. She slips her hair behind her ear, smiling and waving to the crowd as if it were just another performance back in 12. Coriolanus should be up there with her, but instead, he’s here with us, hospitalized and asleep, in the same state he’s been confined to since the bombing 3 days ago.
“Own it,” I whisper, recalling the advice that she had given to Coryo the day he got locked in the monkey cage along with the rest of the tributes.
“Oh, she will.” Tigris smiles, “How could she not while wearing a clean dress like that!”
Lucy Gray had entrusted Tigris with the duty of tidying up the special dress she had worn since Reaping Day. It does look beautiful, and I can’t help but grin at the proud arrogance that Tigris finally possesses.
“When I was a babe I fell down in the holler
When I was a girl I fell into your arms. We fell on hard times and we lost our bright color.
You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms. I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey. You stole and you gambled and I said you should. We sang for our suppers and we drank up our money.
Then one day you left, saying I was no good
Well, all right, I'm bad, but then, you're no prize either. All right, I'm bad, but then, that's nothing new. You say you won't love me, well I won't love you neither.
Just let me remind you who I am to you
'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're leaping. And I am the one who knows how you were brave. And I am the one who knows what you said sleeping, I'll take that and more when I go to my grave.
It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under It's sooner than later that you'll be alone. So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder, For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own
For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own I am the one who you let see you weeping I know the soul that you struggle to save.
Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping. Now what will you do when I go to my grave?”
As Lucy Gray finishes the song everyone had hoped she would sing, tears fill the eyes of each person in the emergency room, including my own.
“That was… beautiful.” Tigris sniffles.
“Lucy Gray surely knows how to put on a show.”
“Coryo!” I gasp, jumping into his arms as he stumbles, almost falling back onto the floor before stabling himself and embracing me with mirrored passion. Though, he could never begin to understand how grateful I am that he’s awake. There would not be a moment during the remainder of my miserable life that I would forgive myself or Sejanus for getting him killed.
“I-“ I begin, my eyes swelling with tears, “Thank you for waking up.”
“It was the least I could do,” He laughs weakly. I finally gain the courage to release him to allow Tigris and the Grandma’am to cherish his awakening.
I turn to face the television screen again, closing my eyes and exhaling the deepest sigh of relief.
I have to come clean. I have to tell Coriolanus about what Sejanus and I did, and what he intends on continuing to do. I haven’t decided whether or not I could bear to resume helping the rebels after what they did, or almost did, to Coryo, but admitting my crimes to him will be the last and final declaration that I am done.
After the pleasantries with his family cease, he places his arms around my neck and traps me in a tight embrace, a cheesy grin plastered on his face.
Oh, how that smile would have faded had he known how he got into this situation in the first place. But for now, I just gratefully accept it, leaning my head onto the side of his, and wrapping my arms around the ones he holds below my neck.
“I heard you sent the peacekeepers after me.”
“And I heard Lucy Gray rescued you from beneath a fiery beam,” I smirk, raising my brows. “I suppose we’re both hearing things.”
“Suppose so.”
His gaze lingers on mine, or rather mine on his. I’ve never been so thankful to see those annoyingly piercing blue eyes and perfect locks of blonde hair. “Can you guys give us a moment?” I turn back to Tigris, who nods with a smile and immediately grabs the Grandma’am’s hand, both of them taking their leave. “So,” I smile anxiously, untangling his hands from my body and moving to sit in the same waiting chair I’ve sat in for the past 48 hours.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know how to say this-“ My words tremble, threatening to collapse at any moment.
“Are you alright?” He quickly takes a seat on his hospital bed, truly interested in whatever I may say next. I can visibly see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together what I’ll say next before I’m granted the words to say it.
I also, try to construct my next sentence before saying it aloud, not sure how to tell him it’s my fault he almost got killed. I don’t waste time apologizing and try my best to blink back the tears that now gloss my eyes. He doesn’t care about this performance I feel as though I’m putting on, I just-
“I think I’ve involved myself with the rebels,” I whisper, almost inaudible.
“You- what?”
“I know.” I correct, “I know I’ve involved myself with the rebels. I-“ Tears descend my cheeks, but I ignore their presence, as does Coriolanus, “I put the bombs in the area.”
He stared at me, eyes wide in confusion.
“You?”
“I wanted to tell you this morning,” I whimper, “That I regretted it, that I needed your help to fix my mistakes but I was so scared Coryo-“
“No-“ He stands, backing away from me. “You can’t- you shouldn’t have- do you understand the position you’ve just trapped me in?” His voice slightly raises before he registers the darted glances being sent toward himself, “You’ve involved me just as much as you’ve involved yourself by telling me this! What do you expect me to do? Report you?”
“No- Well- maybe that’s what I expected you to do but I hoped you wouldn’t!”
“And Sejanus?” He orders, “I’m sure your little vitiated district boyfriend is the one who dragged you into this mess?”
As much as I would like to blame anyone but myself in this moment of vulnerability, I can’t.
“He was the one who begged me to stay out of it,” I mutter, eyes peering to the floor.
“Why-“
“Shhh!” A nearby nurse shushed, uses a single remote to collectively heighten the volume of all five televisions in the room.
“And one last message before we let you all go for the night!” Caesar Flickerman announces gleefully, he touches his earpiece to hear for himself what the announcement may be. His eyes widen with shock, and then fade to melancholy. “Well folks, I’ve just been given word that the 10th annual Hunger Games will still be commencing! In two days, don’t miss it! Thank you all and have a-“
The world around me fades into a blur as my heart sinks to the deepest pits of my stomach. If I had eaten anything more than a few sips of cabbage soup today, I’m sure I would vomit it up at this very moment. I struggle to find air to inhale before the confidence of Coriolanus’ claim snaps me back to reality.
“I presume that’s why you did it? To stop the games?”
“That’s why I did it, yes,” I state blankly.
“But not them?”
“They wanted to irritate the Capital.”
“Us.” He corrects bitterly, “We are the Capital, Lia, they wanted to irritate us, don’t let yourself forget it.”
“It all seems so pointless, now. To irritate the capital, to almost lose you, to become a traitor, for what? For my tribute to be dead, Marcus to be missing, and the games to continue?”
“What?”
“I’ll see you at home, Coriolanus.” I push myself out of my chair, leaving him alone in the dullness of the hospital room.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
I wipe my tear-filled eyes, though I’m sure the red and puffiness of them is not concealable.
“You should’ve known better.” Coriolanus reprimands for the tenth time this morning. I desperately long for our walk to the Academy together, where we’ll be in public and he can’t shame me any longer. “I mean really, what were you thinking?”
“That I could make a difference, Coryo. Is that so hard to digest?”
“You need to stay away from Sejanus. He’s filling your mind with these fantasies! That’s all they are!” He slams his bag down on the kitchen counter, stuffing it full of the few snacks he was able to collect for Lucy Gray, “You think that these creatures are like us and they’re not. They are district, you are Capital!”
“We’re people! Is Lucy Gray a creature? I see how you look at her Coriolanus. How your gaze lingers on her from across the room. You’re the creature! You’re a venomous snake who’s going to squeeze the life out of that poor songbird and I’m not going to be around to see it!”
“You almost got me killed, Magnolia.” He shouts. “And I’m the creature?”
“You’re going to wake the others up.” I deflect, knowing Tigris didn’t get much sleep last night. She hasn’t slept since the bombing, too worried for Coryo. Of course, he doesn’t give a damn about her or anyone else who has the displeasure of knowing him.
“You know what? You’re right!” He exclaims, refusing to change the subject, “You won’t be around to see it, and neither will Sejanus. If neither of you can follow a simple set of instructions or at least pretend to carry the ideology the Capital requires of you then you’ll be hung for your rebel crimes!”
“Coriolanus!” Tigris reprimands, rushing into the room just as he slams the front door behind himself.
I crumble to the floor, burying my head into my bruised knees.
“Oh, Magnolia,” Tigris comforts. She wraps her arms around me in a warm hug, brushing her fingers through my hair as I cry into her shoulder, “He would never report you to anyone for anything. I don’t know what it is that you guys are bickering about but everything shall pass with time. I promise.”
Her quiet assurances and physical touch have transformed my muffled sobs into soft gasps for air that come in waves. She releases me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and kissing the top of my head. “I’m off to work, love, but please don’t take Coryo’s empty threats seriously. He would report you just as soon as reporting me, or Grandma’am.
She grabs her purse and quickly rushes out of the door as if she were not half an hour late to work because of me.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
The chill of the fresh morning air has turned the apartment damp, the humidity causing me to sweat due to our broken ventilation system.
I pick myself up from the floor, dragging my feet to the miraculously functioning phone that hangs next to the doorway that connects the kitchen and living room.
Today is the mentors' last day with their tributes before they’re thrown into the Arena and forced to become the creatures everyone believes them to be. The only people who have no purpose of reporting to the Academy are Androcles, Guis Breen, Sejanus, and myself, since all of our tributes were killed before the games even started, so I expect they should all be home.
I dial the number Sejanus had me memorize the second he let me involve myself with the Rebels and await the ringing to stop.
“Hello?” A voice deeper than the one Sejanus possesses answers.
“Good..” I drag out, looking at my watch to decipher the time, “Afternoon, Mr Plinth! Is Sejanus home?”
“Sejanus!” He shouts as footsteps patter to the phone, “Here he is.”
“Maggy?” My heart warms, the nickname my mother used to refer to me serving like morphing to the pain. The only time I ever hear the name anymore is in the presence of Sejanus, every other Capital student refusing to call me it. Even Coryo claims that it sounded too district, resulting in my new, more widely used nickname, Lia.
“Sejanus,” I smile, feeling like I’ve been granted a breath of fresh air just through the sound of his voice. I don’t want to spoil the rare happiness and can’t talk about the rebels through our likely monitored phone conversations anyway, “Please come over?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
The line disconnects and I move to the front door that he meets me at less than ten minutes later. He doesn’t live very close to us, but his car of the latest Capital technology allows him to travel at the highest of speeds, making it here in record-breaking time.
When his knock sounds at the door, I realize that he’s never been inside the Snow apartment before, and wonder if I’m crossing the simplest of lines by having him over.
I shake the thoughts from my head, opening the door and allowing him inside with very little confidence.
“Hey,” He smiles, wrapping his arms around me before closing the door with his leg and following my lead to the living room.
“Maybe we should meet at your house from this point on,” I suggest, shifting uncomfortably as he takes a seat on the cold marble ground next to me. Not a single piece of furniture decorates this bland space except for the TV sitting on a run-down coffee table. Almost all of it was gone upon my arrival, Tigris explaining that it all had to be either sold or thrown into their fireplace amidst the war just to grant them the barest of food and warmth.
“The war hit us, or- them pretty harshly.” He nods considerately, seemingly paying no attention to the interior of the room. “What’s wrong?”
“I just- feel awful.” He sighs, hiding his face in his hands, “Both of our tributes are as good as dead, the Ring twins are in the hospital, we almost killed Coriolanus, and for what? For the games to continue anyways?”
“I know.” I adjust my body to be leaning against the side of his as he slips his hand into mine. I debate whether or not I should tell him about my quarrel with Coriolanus this morning, in turn, admitting to having revealed our part in the Rebel bombing, risking both of our deaths.
“Are you alright?” Sejanus’ gaze lingers on my tear-stained face, his thumb rising to caress my puffy undereyes.
“I just didn’t take the news well, is all.”
“Me neither, it’s just sickening! I barely got any sleep last night, couldn’t close my eyes without picturing Sabyn’s warm lifeless body. The peacekeepers cared more about shooting her dead than helping to keep others alive! And then Marcus! Condemned to a life of torture should he be caught.”
“He won’t be.”
“He will be. He has nowhere to go, no place to hide, and thousands of people on the lookout for him every day. I just hope his death is quick.”
The mood of the room falls flat, neither of us knowing how to recover from such a dim topic so quickly, so neither of us does. Instead, I give in to the heftiness of my eyelids, allowing myself to gain full support from Sejanus’ body as he rests himself against the wall behind us.
He buries his hand in my full head of hair, massaging the migraine he didn’t even know existed until my eyes can’t keep themselves open any longer.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
I startle at the sound of a door slamming shut, barely catching a glimpse of Coriolanus’ hefty blonde curls swooshing from the harsh swing of the door.
I shake Sejanus, who leans against the wall with his head angled up and an arm wrapped protectively around my body.
“Hey- I’m sorry to wake you but I’ll be right back, okay?” I jump to my feet, already starting towards the door, “I’ve gotta- I’ll be right back.”
What time is it?
Through the windows I swiftly pass by, I examine how the sun begins to set over the horizon, estimating how much of the shining circle still soars above the skyline. I approximate it’s about 5 o’clock. meaning we slept for 3 hours.
“Coryo!” I call, catching sight of him shooting down the complex stairs. “Coryo please wait!” How was he off mentor duty so early? I didn’t expect him to arrive back home until at least nine. Not that my unconscious body would’ve known the difference between now and then, but still, it could’ve bought me some time.
Mere inches away from his escape, Coriolanus gets stopped by an older woman, and panting from his long walk he bends down to pick something up that she seems to have dropped.
“Thank you, son.” She breathes feebly as he hands the magazine showcasing Lucy Gray’s face back to her.
“Coriolanus.” I wheeze, “You almost forgot about me!”
“Oh, you too have fun.” The woman knowingly smiles, retreating to her room before we can allow ourselves to speak freely.
“I’m sorry it’s not-“
I slightly anticipate him to make a run for it, but instead, he just extends his arm, willing me to wrap mine around it, and continues walking through the front doors of the apartment complex, leaving me utterly speechless.
“What was Sejanus Plinth doing inside of the Snow house?”
I begin to plead my case, before truly wondering, what was Sejanus doing? All we had done was confide in each other over our guilty consciencees. Why had I called him in the first place? Knowing the solemnity of our situation, I feel rather dull for allowing him over and realize that I really should’ve listened to Coriolanus.
I watch the gears behind his eyes, turning as he plans out his entire stance in this difficult situation. Will he report me? Will he cause a scene? How will he protect himself from my rebellious mistakes?
Suddenly, I realize how Coriolanus constantly finds himself in such a wide pool of success.
“I want to report him,” I mutter, peering over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s listening to us. He eyes me conspicuously. “There’s nothing to trace his crimes back to me. Not a phone call, not an item, nothing. Only his word against mine.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, a glimpse of hope glimmering in his eyes.
“I’m sure. And if the Capital discovers my part in the bombing,” I pause, bracing myself, “I’ll be hung and that will be that.”
The statement itself sends shivers down my spine, threatening to turn my legs into jello, I won’t allow that to happen. Nor will I let them hang Sejanus. He’s never belonged in this district and he’s helped me realize that neither do I. I’ll come with Coriolanus to report Sejanus on my terms, hopefully buying us enough time to escape this hell before they can tie his noose.
“What caused this sudden change of heart?”
“I realized in my time spent with him today, that not only is he a danger to our home, but he’s a danger to me as well. I never meant to get involved as much as I did and can’t continue to risk my entire being just to help him any longer. He’s chosen his life.”
Coriolanus nods approvingly. “All these years, he’s longed for us to forget where he came from. Wanted us to pretend he was one of us, and it wasn’t to spite him that we couldn’t. It was his attitude that didn’t allow us to see past him being district.” I smile in genuine agreement, reminiscing on my absolute favorite trait that Sejanus possesses, and find myself almost envious. Sejanus never let the Capital ruin him.
“Well, not everyone can live up to Capital standards. Most capital born won’t ever amount to us.”
He chuckles, the security of having Coriolanus by my side numbing the previous helpless feeling.
“I’ll tell Dr Gaul everything I know and pray she takes my information for what it is, and nothing more. Sejanus will be hung, and he will die, along with the troubles he poisons our lives with.”
“So you blame him entirely for your little rebellion phase?”
“Well, I believe everyone has to dip their foot into the other puddle before you truly stop wondering if it’s clearer, Sejanus just helped to mud the dirt.”
I almost feel guilty for talking about Sejanus in this manner, though I speak in gallons of truth, hiding drops of lies amongst them. Coryo isn’t stupid he’s one of the brightest people I know, emotionally and intelligently. Something inside of him just knows things, and a full lie can’t deceive him, but an almost truth might. I do believe that you’ll never stop longing for rebellion until you try it for yourself, but what I don’t tell Coriolanus, is that I also believe that sometimes you might find that the puddle in question is clearer. A clearer, bigger, better, more humane puddle that can save you from everything that burdens you in life may just be waiting for you to dip your foot in, and when you do you’ll never rid of the dirt.
So yes, though Sejanus is to fault for my rebellion phase, and I blame him entirely, I owe him nothing short of my life for it.
The sun is no longer brightening the sky by the time we reach the citadel. I wonder if Doctor Gaul will even be here so late in the night, but Coryo seems certain she will be.
“We’d like to speak with Doctor Gaul.” He tells the peacekeeper guarding the elevator, “It’s urgent.”
The peacekeeper touches the side of his head, seemingly listening in to orders from his earpiece.
“Go ahead. Level -10.” He scans his card and the elevator dings open, inviting us inside. As soon as we’ve both stepped through the door, it slams shut and plummets down, hitting our destination in under ten seconds flat.
“Are you alright?” Coriolanus assures, slightly winded himself.
“Yeah.”
We step into the overbearingly white laboratory, passing cages filled with different failed Capital mutations. I stand as close to the center of the aisle as I can, avoiding a personal view of the enclosures as I brush against Coriolanus’s protective build.
“Pitter patter, the blood goes splatter, and a rebel fought war will be lost i’m….” She trails off.
“Sure.” Coriolanus finishes, “Will be lost, I’m sure.”
She turns to face us from her platform, clapping delightedly. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Does she know why we’ve come? Or is it just an ordinary day in the laboratory when she makes up unnerving Rebel rhymes?
“What for?” I inquire, confidently.
“Coriolanus owes me a paper.”
I turn to him and he nods as if in remembrance, “Yes, I do, though that’s not why we’ve decided to visit.”
“Then what’s the cause?”
He falls back, signaling for me to take full control of the situation, something he doesn’t offer up very often.
“You’re familiar with the mentor, and student, Sejanus Plinth, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Well, I deeply regret to inform you that he’s been,” I falter, unable to phrase my accusation, “dealing with rebels.”
“Oh?” She grins viciously, descending the steps of her platform and approaching Coriolanus and me.
“I know not entirely of his Rebel associations, but am certain that he aided them in the planting of bombs in the arena.”
Her piercing green eyes inspect every aspect of my face, searching for a hint of what emotion I must be feeling.
After a long moment, she finally declares, “We had our suspicions. Though, it is improbable that he was working alone. Are you informed of any other rebels hidden amongst the Capital?”
“No ma’am.”
“Coriolanus?”
“Hadn’t a clue that rebels were still amid the Capital until today.” He almost truths.
“Well, you must’ve assumed.”
“I could’ve.” He considers, “Though it entirely slipped my mind.”
“Well,” She smiles, “Thank you for your confirmation. Your sacrifice means a great deal to your Capital, and I hope you will inform us of any information you may come across in the future.”
“Of course,” I return warmly, “Good night, Dr Gaul.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Our walk back home was too silent, almost eerily. We had barely made it back to the apartment when a storm of peacekeepers rushed past and I remembered the vulnerable state that I left Sejanus in. Half asleep, and in my own home without a single advance on what I was planning.
What if they already found him? What if his noose is being tied as we speak? What if-
“Everything alright?” Coriolanus incredulously pesters.
“Yep.”
That is all I can manage. Something feels very wrong. An anxiety-induced hole bubbles in the pits of my stomach as I try to maintain my composure. Coriolanus can’t know that I’m worried about Sejanus… or maybe I could play into that role. An innocent friend who knows she’s done the right thing but still can’t seem to digest the gravity of the situation. Will he think me weak? Will he believe a word I say?
I consider the performance I may execute, before realizing how similar to Coriolanus I feel in this very moment. Calculating, gears turning, trying to analyze every piece of my affairs while simultaneously attempting to feed the impression of innocence.
Is Coriolanus performing? Pretending to believe and support every lie I present him with just to double back at the last second? Or does he have no concept of the truth behind my motives?
I liven my pace, acting as though out of pure interest though really in concern for Sejanus’ well-being, and desire to escape the constant agonizing burden that is Coriolanus Snow.
I hear his feet patter behind me, the tempo of his steps quickening as mine accelerate. He’s chasing me. He knows. He knows that I never intended on allowing Sejanus to be hung for his- our crimes, and he doesn’t intend on his life being spared.
I’m full-fledged sprinting now, desperately dodging people as well as random rubble that lines the streets. Am I trying to save Sejanus or escape Coryo? Either way, I don’t relent, darting through the electric doors of our apartment complex and shooting up the stairs. He’s on my tail, a mere arm's length away as I shove into the Snow household and startle awake.
I lay strapped to a hospital bed in the overly white laboratory room. Blinking in owlish incomprehension, I slightly tilt my head as much as the big machine attached to it will permit, and squint my eyes to make out an unconscious Sejanus, the top of his scalp removed entirely from his head as a machine scans his brain.
My head pounds and the blinding lights force my eyes shut, i’m left blind as hands prod at different pieces of my limbs.
I squirm disobediently in my best attempts to be free of the shackles I’ve worn for the past 3 days. For a mere moment the memories come flooding back as tears descend my cheeks.
The night that Sejanus and I had chosen to plant bombs in the arena, had coincidentally been the same night Coriolanus had wanted to sneak in for himself, in search of good hiding places for Lucy Gray. None of which existed until the bombs went off- except they never did. Coriolanus turned on us before anyone else had ever unsafely entered the place.
I recall seeing the gears turning in his mind as he toyed with the though of giving us a second chance, but he never did like how personal my relations were with him. How familiar I was with his way of thought, or how close I was to discovering his genuine self.
Now they spend their days testing our brains, digging through our memories, warping them for research, trying to find the rebels who gave us the bombs in the first place. But whoever granted them to us made sure they could never be traced. They knew we were likely to fail, it’s almost as if they willed it to happen.
A needle jabs through my shoulder, morphing soothing the headache that I felt only moments ago, as the world fades away along with the remembrance of Sejanus and I’s new reality.
Upon entering the room, I find an unconscious Sejanus, sleeping exactly where I left him, entirely oblivious to the tragedy that almost awaited us and exhale a sigh of relief.
#tbosbas#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#sejanus plinth#sejanus x reader#the hunger games#snow#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tom blyth#lucy gray baird#tigris snow#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#writers#tbosbas fanfiction#coriolanus x you#coriolanus fanfiction#fanfiction
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watching dragon ball alone in my bedroom on an old, small, and dusty tv at 5 in the afternoon is without exaggeration the first memories i have of my life. so clear, yet so distant.
i remember doodling dragon ball characters almost every day in primary school. and even when i didn't draw them specifically, you could tell that "art" for me looked like toriyama's style. those drawings were my first exposure to the that world, and that was my starting point for anything i've ever drawn.
funny story: the hardest i've ever cried as a kid (and kind of in general), was watching the final minutes of the final episode of dragon ball GT, where the intro song "dan dan kokoro hikareteku" plays over a montage of all of dragon ball from beginning to end.
i had been following goku since he was a kid in OG dragon ball almost daily since i could remember. kid me couldn't take the idea of him being gone forever. he was my best friend.
i watched that episode on the day of my BIRTHDAY, like 2 hours before i had to go to my party at an arcade restaurant we invited my friends to. i was A MESS. just sitting in our car sobbing uncontrollably while my mom didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me as i couldn't speak. must have been like 8-9 years old, maybe?
last year i thought to myself "why don't i have that song on my playlist?" and decided to look up this ending again out of curiosity. i was once again reduced an absolute wreck as a 27 year old adult in 2 minutes. i couldn't believe how primal these emotions of mine were, as i hadn't watched or cared much about this show in forever, but i suppose it is impossible to completely remove something that was once so core to your life, regardless of how much time has passed lmao. so here i am, tearing up once again.
i know i'm just rambling here, but seeing so many people on social media talk about their experiences with anything that toriyama-san had created really made me start reminiscing on my own experiences with dragon ball and how much it meant to me.
the reach he had on the entire planet cannot be overstated. through comic books, anime, videogames... be it dragon ball, dragon quest, chrono trigger, dr. slump, sand land, etc. and that is without even considering the unquantifiable amount of art that was inspired directly by his work, and the people that were then inspired in turn.
he's touched so many lives of all ages across time. and will continue to do so, as is the nature of art itself.
watching my favorite show. collecting cards with my favorite characters on them. frequenting my favorite AMVs of my favorite moments. playing my favorite videogames with my friends after school... the list goes on.
thank you for all the memories.
thank you, akira toriyama. rest in peace.
#akira toriyama#dragon ball#listening to dan dan kokoro hikareteku on loop and getting fucked up tonight ✌️#long post
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Bateman Begins Part 39
Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part
Notes: Hi it has been an embarrassingly long time since I’ve updated I am so so so sorry 🦇🖤
Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader
Rating: M
Warnings: This Ain't a Chapter, It's an Angst Fest
Also there will be more in the future; I have an outline
The article is the first thing that throws you.
It probably shouldn’t be an almighty surprise. Vicki has practically been Nathan’s shadow for nearly two months now.
But to see The Scientific Genius of the Prince of Gotham splashed across the front page of the Gotham Gazette is like having a bucket of cold water dumped over your head.
The photo is almost alarmingly intimate.
His glasses have been removed; his beard is neatly trimmed; his eyes are downcast, and his cheeks are tinged pink with a flush, or with exertion
You think from the bowtie that he’s wearing that the photo may’ve been taken the night of the gala, after you left—and before Nathan came to see you, to tell you that there was nothing to worry about
And maybe there truly is nothing to worry about.
All you know is that you see a version of Nathan on the page that you’ve only been privy to in private.
But it’s not just that.
You start to lose Nathan in the shuffle.
Between newly arising social events, Nathan’s additional duties on the foundations that he’s beginning to be more involved with, his nightly activities, and the press coverage that he’s been getting, you feel that you're growing distant.
You still spend nights alone at the mansion, but you hardly spend nights with him at the penthouse anymore.
You still work for him, and you still work on updated forms of the suits, the batarang, the car.
But—
But it doesn’t seem as simple as all that most nights.
It doesn’t feel like you’re just missing one another because you’re both so busy.
It feels like you're missing him because his attention is being drawn elsewhere.
It doesn't help that any attempt that you make to bring it up to
Nathan is met with teasing, or outright scorn.
It goes from, "You're so jealous you're practically turning green, baby," to, "Can you see past yourself for once? Not everything is about you, or us, even."
"You like that it's about you, though."
You can't help but snap back this time. It's been a long night, a longer argument. Nathan is still in the suit; you haven't slept—and you're in no mood to swallow your words or push off his self-righteous smugness
It shuts him up for a moment, at least
With the helmet removed, you can see his raised brows, his briefly stunned shock.
"You wanna run that by me again?" He finally asks.
"Oh, please. That's the first time I've seen you in the suit in damn near two weeks."
"It's come to my attention—"
"Because Vicki Vale brought it to your attention—
"That I have a little more influence in this city than I thought. I can
make changes, help people, without the goddamn suit."
You push out a scoffing laugh.
"Is that what you're calling what you've been up to? Swanning around at parties, batting your eyelashes at the press, cozying up to that, that—"
"That what." He urges you on flatly, urging you to curse in the way that you've clearly been holding back for weeks.
You splutter, face going hot before you finally manage, "That barracuda."
Nathan's brows inch up impossibly further.
"That's the best you can do?"
"I don't trust her."
"Well maybe I do."
It's like a punch in the gut.
Maybe? For Nathan to even insinuate that he might trust her at all feels like the ultimate betrayal.
You want to damn him for trusting anyone but you.
"Does she trust you?" You ask quietly. "Does she know?"
"Know what."
"Know who you are Nathan."
"The suit isn't who I am."
"It's part of you."
"Maybe it doesn't have to be."
That takes the two of you by surprise for a few moments.
Nathan is the first to blink, to turn and step away.
As Nathan turns away from you, pitching his helmet in the direction of the couch, icy dismay courses through your veins.
He leaves you alone in the lab with your pounding heart, heated face, and spinning head.
--
He invites you to a few events. At least, he tries.
Or, at least, he thinks he tries
It's so throw-away, how he does it now.
He used to make himself a damned nuisance, hound you to get a dress, shoes, bag, whatever it is that you need
Now, he mentions events at the last minute, tells you what time he'll be heading out if you want to go
It feels so low-effort, so blasé that it makes you feel unwanted
You decline over and over again, choosing instead to spend the night in your apartment, working on blueprints with thicker kevlar, more efficient batarangs, added pockets for the utility belt
You ignore how tired he is in the morning, the fact that he's photographed with Vicki at so many of the events that you choose to avoid
It's a little like playing the fiddle as Rome burns.
You know very well that what you're doing isn't helping a damn thing.
Nathan hasn't made changes to the suit in months.
He hasn't asked to see your designs. You haven't offered to show him.
He hasn't been picking through the garbage bin for your scraps.
There haven't been any scraps there to pick through.
It's as if Vicki Vale has created, or perhaps, accentuated, this chasm between you and Nathan.
You've always been of two completely different worlds.
You were raised differently; you've lived differently.
Some of your values and interests are shared, but that may not be enough to bridge this gap.
--
As it stands, your work at Bateman Enterprises just isn't…Satisfying anymore.
Maybe it's your growing apathy toward Nathan, toward what he's doing there
He isn't involved in the day-to-day of the company, but he's starting to invest his time, his interest, his cash, in charities and businesses around Gotham that need the help
It's not something that you ought to resent him for, or even resent Vicki for
But it's changed how you see him, and how he interacts with you
You start spending less time at the the mansion
You start staying at your apartment again
And when Nathan doesn't gripe about the fact that he still thinks that you live in a shit hole, you make the decision to call it
You apply to another job, just on a whim
It's outside of Gotham, at the S.T.A.R labs facility in Metropolis, with Barry's recommendation.
The rounds of interviews are done remotely. The job offer is generous, and includes moving expenses.
In your grief and loneliness, you're certain that Nathan won't even notice that you've gone, or that you plan on going.
So seeing him turn up at your exit interview is a shock. He waves the HR person out of the room and waits for the inevitable click of the door shutting behind them before he lowers himself to sit across from you.
The room is small and windowless, and almost feels…Sterile.
Nathan's gaze is heavy with something that you can't quite read: Disappointment? Annoyance? Confusion?
"I just think it's the right move," You finally tell him.
He says nothing still, and the nerves that bubble up in you force you to push into the silence:
"I've been here too long."
More silence. More staring. Maybe he's trying to break you down—and it's working.
"It's not the money," You swear.
That seems to amuse him a little, and he draws his glasses from his face, pointedly massaging the bridge of his nose.
"Were you planning on telling me?"
"I turned in my formal resignation two weeks ago."
"Were going planning on telling me," He folds his arms on the table after he replaces his glasses, "That you would be be moving out?"
"The commute between here and Metropolis would be insane—"
"And having Alfred pack up your things and send them o you, that wasn't calculated?"
Of course it was calculated. You swallow thickly, steel yourself, admit: "I didn't think you'd notice."
Nathan doesn't so much as flinch. He just reaches into his back pocket and draws something out, unfolding it before shoving it across the table.
"Sign where it's tabbed," He orders
"What is it?" You frown as he stands.
"An NDA. You know too much."
"We're involving lawyers? Wouldn't it be easier to have my killed?" You joke dryly, drawing the NDA closer.
Nathan says nothing, and you don't dare meet his eye as you skim the contents and initial and sign where it's indicated.
Once you've finished, Nathan snatches the NDA back up and tucks it away again, heading for the door. You turn your head back toward him a little, stomach churning with nerves, with discomfort, with the fear of finality.
He opens the door, and you hear him pause before he leaves, shutting it behind himself again.
You sink back into your chair, take solace in the quiet little space, and let your tears spill.
Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @revolution-starter-; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde; @poedameronsbeard (wouldn’t let me tag); @danniburgh ; @carbonated-beverage ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @aellynera ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @recklessworry ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @selfishpresley (wouldn’t let me tag) ; @lorecraft ; @thembosapphicclown ; @emotionalsupportbatfamily ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink
#Nathan Bateman x Reader#Nathan Bateman x You#Nathan Bateman/Reader#Nathan Bateman/You#Nathan Bateman fic#Nathan Bateman imagine#Bateman Begins
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