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sarcastic-elf · 2 years

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Lira!

I kindly ask you to go to Hell. First off, you come here, unwelcomed into my Mother’s Sacred Tree. Yes, yes, I understand the likes of you think it’s cursed, but why would you even come inside a cursed tree? Educated, my fucking ass!

*Yansumu, he spoke my name, but I won’t let him have the privilege.*

Just what exactly? Come to tear out the heart strings then? Mother, is this the man you sent to relieve me?

I thought to myself: Apparently this poor little bastard was looking for some reprieve, something tugging at that little black heart of his. Was it worth saving?

And you come to a Bard instead of your damned necromancer down below? Morgresm, has a death kink. Much more useful to him dead than alive, I should think. You want to know what you’re feeling, and why you’re feeling this way? Am I correct in this assessment?

*The Prince bowed his head down, cupping his hands, leaning against Mother’s Holy Book. That told me enough. He was beginning to see something, as I have seen these past tens of thousands of years.*

I understand then, frail little boy. Let me tell you a story then, as Mother has an interest in adopting you. That’s why you’re compelled here. But first, remember the Beggar, your sister mutilated a few short weeks ago? Oh, don’t fucking look at me like that, the Mother made it known to me. She cut his fingers and nose off and sent him off by himself with soiled food in the damned acid rain.

*He asked me who Mother was. As if he didn’t know already.*

Mother is she who birthed this world the way it ought to be, before we destroyed it. And the world you see is the tragic result of such a calamity. How did we destroy it? Simple. We didn’t listen to one another. Some stubborn jackass concluded that human beings cannot understand one another, and they never will. He was right. They never will. And the gates of Hell opened, and Nezka came up, helped rebuild the world into the dark repressive regime your family now rule over. *Thirsty, I took a cup of water. Oh, mother thank you. That was refreshing. I can’t tell you how awful that sea water tasted, and warm like horse piss.* That was of course until the Nezka sought race superiority and mercilessly raped and pillaged like the Vikings in ancient times.

Vikings? Oh, you don’t need to concern yourselves with them. They’re long gone. Now, back on focus here, you came here to get help from me because you don’t understand why you’re feeling the way you do? It was about that beggar, but it’s more than that. There is a word that has since been lost in your vocabulary, you piece of shit. All your royal broods are pieces of shits! Your hearts, *the rage inside me swelled as I pointed a finger, jabbing him in the chest with it like an iron poker to the fire. These damned fools are so educated, but they’ve let whole words and concepts go extinct!*

Are rotten. They’re all fucking rotten! Black, pruned, wrinkling with old aged. Soiled, and good for nothing but to be dust in the wind, and return to dust from whence you came, Alkel! And yet, Mother still wants you for some reason. That ultimately is the reason you’re here. Another replacement. How will you fare? Hanged from the room that you sleep in? Or maybe Sar will slit your throat just as you sit upon the throne after killing your father? Will she poison you? Or make you a cuck first? So many ways to go, and you’re running out of time.

Soft words go a long way, which was an idiom from my time, before the walls rose from nothing. Well, Mother created them to protect you all from the monsters outside them. Hell, welcome to a dystopia. It’s Hell inside, and if you can imagine, it’s worse outside. No water, no hope, nothing but dead and unnamed creatures that will eat you in a gulp, giants with toes as large as your castle. Discomforting isn’t it?

*The poor prince looked sick to his stomach.

Now, Alkel, I must admit to you, while you and your family didn’t create this Hell, you’ve perpetuated it. By merely doing nothing and let the people to their own devices to eat one another, kill one another for scrap. Oh? You didn’t know this? How dense could you possibly be!

Sit tight, you’re gonna be here for a while. Don’t bother looking for a way out, as you can see, the door is sealed, and no cracks to pry it open. Mother wants you here, and she’s captivated you. *Poor choice of words, I’ll admit. But I couldn’t help it. It was funny. He’ll be captivated in that sense soon enough.* You will hear me tell a story. The story of a little girl who’s not seen eleven revolutions around the sun.

The sun? You don’t know what the sun is? What the hell is wrong with you! It’s a giant yellow orb in the sky that keeps us from skirting off in the distant worlds! Of course, you don’t know this. Those blasted black clouds keeps any and all matter of light from the veil of the world from seeing. You don’t know what a star is either. Silly me. Fuck!

She’s eleven years old. Alkel, can you get that through your thick brain? Nod once if yes. Good. Now to provide some setting, but I must warn you, yeah, first, *I interrupted myself. Damnit!* get that pale. You’re gonna throw up. I must provide some setting details because you’ve never seen what your subjects live in, have you?

*He told me no. Of course, not.*

You enjoy a good night’s sleep, Alkel, right? You have a nice hay bed, covered in blankets, and some pillow filled with whatever you deranged lunatics stuff in them, provides some support to the next when you sleep. Your bed is adequately lifted from the floor, which allows you move to the floor with relative ease. Oh, how could I forget this, you prissy hussies even have clothes to sleep in! Now, given this, what do you think your subjects sleep in?

*I allowed him a minute to answer, and all he gave me was a damned shrug!*

Your younger sister, Rach. She’s about the same age as Lira, younger even. She’s beautiful, with a full head of hair, neatly tied up when the occasion calls for it. A lovely, beautiful gown, and she’s just right, her body is. Neither too fat nor too skinny. A smile on her face creeps upon her lips sometimes. Only sometimes, I wonder why. What does mother have planned for her, I wonder.

Don’t interrupt me Alkel! Like I said, you can’t leave.

*He threatened to kill me.*

If it was so easy, I’d be dead already, now shut up and listen while I go in exorbitant detail. I want you to get a clear picture, picture this mental image in your head, okay? Do you have an image of Rach in your head? Good. Now imagine her underneath all those covers, resting peacefully on that bed of hay. You have that? Oh, and those pillows adequately stuffed in Mother only knows what. Probably dung pile, you degenerate perverts. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Now, I want you to remove the blanket, and you should picture her sleeping, curled up in a rock, holding tightly to those clothes of hers. Still with me? Now, take those pillows away, and now she’s just resting on the hay. Not comfortable at all is it?

But wait, there’s more. Or should I say less? That hair of hers, full it is now, but I want you to imagine you can see the individual strands of hair are like wires on her head, and you can see near perfectly the curvature of her skull. Not too pleasant is it? Less? Oh yes, less even. Take off her clothes. Take them all off.

Excuse me.

*I took the pale from him and vomited into it. The scent must have caused something to stink since he threw up all the same.*

The skin, I want you to take a good look at it. The limbs are small, not like the arms and legs of the sister you know. Not strong at all. Perhaps strong enough to get her from one part of town to the other, but for her to get caught in a fit of acid rain, one would think the skin would just fall off like melting meat. Move your eyes up from the legs to the abdomen, the belly, if you will. It looks like a bowl, pushing in and out with each breath, and if you look even further to just below her chest, the ribs are well defined, and they shouldn’t be.

*Alkel started blaming the girl’s father for allowing her to starve. If only the poor bastard knew. The girl’s father had eaten considerably less than she did.*

Need I remind you that you perpetuate this tragedy by not doing anything. You want the change? You’re the only one with influence able to do anything about it. Now, grow a pair, and stop bein’ a little bitch.

And now, if that wasn’t cruel enough, why don’t you add a few inches from the bed to the floor. High enough, someone as small as Rach would end up breaking something if she merely fell. Might I bring attention to you the bed now? It isn’t hay. Picture it a giant slab of stone cracked in numbers of places.

Let’s talk about the bedroom now, Alkel. Let’s talk about it. It’s black. Why? Because there are no candles for her to light, and the torch light from outside is far enough away it doesn’t even touch the front door. Little Lira resides and sleeps on the second floor of this building, an iron box with rust and lead, and other foul germs in the air: rot.

Now, before you interrupt me, allow me to take you back to the day your sister cut the girl’s father into pieces. How’s that sound? Do you like the idea of revisiting something you could have prevented? Or too afraid were you? Yes, I know all about that. Your father hates you. Your mother hates you, and your sister would sooner kill you out of her own personal enjoyment , of course. Regrettably, I don’t think she’ll live to see that day. Or rather, you too long. You know as well as I do your life is near its end, and it will be decided should things not change shortly after your father’s death, which I might add is right around the corner.

Now, get your brain back in this shithole. Do you remember the room? What it looks like with Rach in it? You have that picture? I want you picturing Rach for this, though, her name in this tale is Lira, and I will call her such. Nod if you have it pictured? She’s naked, remember?

Yawning and stretching, rolling over the side, Lira sweeps her legs off to the side of the stone slab, and hops off, landing casually on the ground, nearly slipping, and spraining her ankle, she manages to walk blindly to the other side of the room. There’s a little metal cannister—

Why is everything metal? I don’t know. I wasn’t here, but Nezka and humans fashioned structures out of sheet metal and left them there to age, rust, and rot. These structures that were built had several things resembling what I used to call trash cans in them. A word that existed at the time. You call it rubbish barrels.

She looks into the cannister, dark and black as it was, but she reached in, one hand straining against the near sharpened edge, slicing into her palm. She hissed, pulling up the shirt and trousers. She drew them on. The pants, she felt a draft, and her tunic was all threads. If one was pervy enough, you could see right through it.

And now, she steps out the corner, into the darkened hallway. Her hand touched the cold iron wall, and her feet inched forward until she felt nothing below it, cautiously stepping down each individual stair. One by one, in the dark, no windows, no draft, no moisture in the air even. A miserable place, wouldn’t you agree?

Getting down at the bottom of the stairs, she grabs hold of the corner, leading her into her hovel’s kitchen. She climbs through, carefully feeling her way through the room. She passed over many debris of so many kinds. Bags, chairs, stools, boxes, miscellaneous metal bars(I wonder why he even had those there). She makes it safely to the counter, and opens a drawer, heavy it was, and she pulls out some tinder, and lit up the room.

Seeing the mangled mess of it, she pulls the stool closer to the kitchen counter, and climbs the support of the chair like a ladder, and draws the candle closer, lighting it. Her belly is hungry, and her lips chaffed with thirst. She heard a groan coming from the other end of the room.

Her head swiveled, and she saw her father. Do I even need to remind you what he looked like before your sister mutilated him? You know what he looks like. You remember the despair, the desperation, and the utter helplessness in his eyes. The blank stare. The frail bones, the limbs with the skin pulled back to the cold hard floor. Empty, just like his daughter, Lira, a bowl for a tummy with nothing inside and ribs that you can crack with a simple flick of a wrist.

Can you picture it Alkel? Can you? Because I’ve a pretty vivid image in my head?

This is what Lira sees, every morning. She, like you, feels something in her, the desire to help someone in need, regardless of the need she herself has. She steps wearily outside in the light, the torch lighting the pathway, the cobblestones leading to the road. Those green orbs? You see them as they signify the time of day which people should be up. You see, it was so early that even those weren’t lit up yet.

She crouched down, her hand wiping in the dirt, the soil in between each stone, and grabbed a fistful. Bringing it to her face, she herself ate it, dry and sore to her lips. Drying out her tongue.

Alkel, don’t fucking look at me like that! They have no food; what do you expect they eat?

Anyway, the dirt gets stuck in her gums, and she licks the stones out, her own blood coating in it. She grabs another handful. Why would she do that? Because her father had yet to eat, and so she brought him some of those precious minerals to her father.

So, she did. Kneeling right beside him, hands over her father’s expressionless face. Her hand shook over him, tears rolled down that malnourished face. No movement at all. None from her dear papa.

You think you have it rough? At least your abusive father acknowledges you when you’re in the damned room!

“Papa,” she said. “Ye need to eat. You’ll die if you don’t.”

And he didn’t muster a muscle. Not one at all. No movements in his feet, legs, even his lips didn’t budge.

“Papa,” she spoke again to him. “We need to get water. How can you if you’re hungry.”

“Let me die, Lira,” he finally spoke, but didn’t move. The sudden speech shocked Lira, and she nearly dropped the dirt falling back on her buttocks. “Let me die and go fetch water yourself.”

“But Papa!” she cried, pushing herself closer to him with the dirt in her hand to feed him. He took a feeble hand and slapped hers, sending the dirt scattering across the floor.

“Leave me, daughter of a filthy whore. Your mom was a whore!” he kept repeating while remaining on the ground.

I assure you. Lira’s mother was no whore. She had a pure heart, but one day food was scarcer than usual, and so Lira’s father killed her mother, cooked her in a pot and piece by piece they ate her.

Moving on, Lira’s heart grew heavy, and she started crying, scurrying across the floor in a darkened corner of the room. Her tummy growled, and she herself was someone small that needed to move further and further away, ashamed to be related to the man she loved, the one who genuinely cared for her. I know, not something you’d expect.

Here lies the world Alkel, their daily lives. Hungry. Thirsty. Hopeless. That sand only satisfies the hunger urges, but it has nothing they need in terms of nutrients. A diet solely built upon rocks is damned to get them all killed. Lira was thirsty, that day, and hungry. This is the start of every single day of every single family that lives on the outer most parts of the city, shunned, and pushed out until they die, or eat each other alive. And it’s all. Your. Fault.

Do you know what makes this especially dangerous for someone like Lira?

The green orbs decided to light and revealed outside the roads leading down to the market district, a completely different part of town, one with food and water to spare, but no one was ever kind enough to spare any, regardless of it being a child. In fact, children, all alone were often just picked up, kidnapped, either eaten alive or sold for labor or to be destined to have their identity erased for a life of brothels. Alkel, do yourself a favor, never go bed someone from the brothel: could be someone’s child.

There it is. Use that bucket. It’s what it’s there for. I’m going to need it after. Sick world we live in. Truly despicable, and people have the power to do something about—

It. Different time, same problem, and this time it’s around every damned corner.

Imagine a little girl traveling a road as long as that, as dark as that, where she would be seen as a nice piece of meat to eat, sell, or other devious things. This is your fault. Why don’t you change it? Oh, that’s right. Sar will kill you before you even have the chance. She’s so frail Alkel, what will you do to save her from that? She can only traverse the Abyss, and even that is no small feat for anyone. You know this, for you dare not brave it even with an armored guard at your side.

Mother, mother, why must you show me this. All I want is to die. Depart me from this world that I may finally know rest.

My skin received chills and the hair on my arms on ends. Blood chilling, heart beating rapid as another boy came into my mind. So, must I weave this child into the tale? Who is he? Lukam? Yes, that’s his name.

#book tumblr #grimdark

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moonraccoon-exe · 3 years

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Among Ruins (Ch. 49)

*drags self exhaustedly on the ground*

T...take it

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756783/chapters/84103321#main

I’ve...I’ve only had one month of school break in a whole year hhas h e l p

*drops*

#and ''one merciful weekend''#school what are you doing #corqi #coonwrites #i mean...i prefer online because ew the outside and ew people and school is 1 and half hours away from my house #but BOY did school mess up with the calendar lmao what the fUCK #school be like hey if you're not sick you can go one year non stop of homework and school yes? :)#what the fUCK is this education system #well at least...and i'm not throwing shade at any particular country i'm just saying at at least my education is free lmao sorRY I'M SORRY #it's just still out of my head how education can be worth so many thousands in...some places jjjdsah whY #anyway ahah hello i'm back #WITH CORQI #LONG LIVE THE OTP #((yes i'm working on beauty and the beast still please don't kill me i promise it's there))

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kyleehenke · 3 years

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I've been doing real shitty lately, mostly with confusion about school going forward and not knowing if I'll be able to keep doing classes online for this year. But then I remember everything you've said about when you were in your early 20s (same as me now, wheeeee) and how it's taken a long time to figure things out. It's helped me realize I'm not in the prime of life yet, and I don't need to follow "the perfect path" to doing what I want to do. And honestly knowing that you've done so much from animating, voice acting, and singing helps me realize that I don't need to settle for just one thing.

Long sad ask short, I'm glad you're here. I hope your ADHD meds are kicking depression's ass, I hope your pets are doing good, and most importantly, thank you for your presence.

Man!! The older I get, the more I realize that it's better to suffer a thousand false starts trying to figure yourself out & what you want out of life than it is to stubbornly stay on a path that's making you miserable. ESPECIALLY if you’re only staying on it because of a fear of wasted time. In my experience, no time spent on figuring yourself out is wasted. Languishing in a miserable routine every day and slowly dying on the inside, though, IS. And being in your 20s with big decisions looming over your head that affect the rest of your LIFE can make it all feel so much worse.

My 20s were a neverending existential NIGHTMARE. But I'm 32 now, and though I'm still working a couple major things out, I feel more "me" and more content than I ever have. Which is pretty wild when I remember that in MY early 20s, I thought every door of opportunity would slam shut in my face after 30; that life would cease to have things to look forward to and that everything new and exciting and worthwhile would be over. And I'm quite happy to tell you that I was wrong as shit. Turns out that there’s no expiration date on your potential, it just looks a little different depending on what stage of life you’re at. Certain pursuits may be EASIER when you’re super young, but you really do have all the time from now until you’re dead to get to where you wanna be. And in my opinion, if you spend a little while searching for what happiness means to you individually (apart from the standard milestones society tells us we need to meet in order to feel complete), you’ll be better equipped to RECOGNIZE happiness once you’ve found some--and it won’t pass you by unnoticed.

Also, a piece of advice to anyone out there who might feel like ALL your happiness rides on getting your dream job/education: Jobs are just one part of life and they don’t have to define who you are & how you spend every moment of your free time. And, just as importantly, you don’t HAVE to make something into a career to want to be good at it or spend lots of time on it--For instance, I’m learning how to play an instrument as well as learning how to dance, and neither of those things has any practical or financial applications in my life. But they make me happy!! Not everything worth your time has to be “productive.” Enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake is a crucial part of feeling engaged with and present in your own life, regardless of what you wind up doing for a living. Anyway. Long post even longer, life has so many options. I was stunned to discover that it’s possible to be content in a thousand different ways, and that just because one life path didn’t work out doesn’t mean it’s impossible to stumble across a different one that’s just as good--if not better. If what you’re doing now is sucking the life out of you, switch gears! Keep picking yourself up and trying new approaches, even if you sometimes need to lay on the ground and feel like garbage over it for a little while. I can’t promise all your dreams will come true like this, but I CAN promise that you’ll be okay. And you gotta be okay first to open the way to happy.

I wish you the best of luck out there. My pets and I are all healthy and doing great, btw! And for what it’s worth--I’m glad you’re here, too. :)

#long post #psa

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authornina · 3 years

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The Tassle Worth the Hassle: Congratulations Sav!👨🏾‍🎓

***THIS HAS NOT BEEN THROUGH A TYPICAL EDITING PROCESS; ALL SHORTS ARE ROUGH DRAFTS***

Chi kept standing up screaming Sav’s name when it got quiet and he ducked his head like he didn’t know who the hell her crazy ass was. She was doing it to purposely embarrass him.

“Sit your ass down!” Ivy whispered. “You making us all look crazy!”

“I love you Dayvion! I’m so proud of you baby!” Chi said one last thing before taking her seat.

The ceremony was long and many people in the stadium started becoming drowsy. Thank goodness they didn’t bring any of their children because no way could a bunch of two and one-year olds sit through this.

After two hours of honoring specific students, and guest speakers, Sav was up. He was graduating Summa Cum Laude and Lake couldn’t have been prouder. He and some other students were sitting on the stage. They’d been chosen to represent the student body because they held the highest distinctions amongst their peers. Of the three who’d held the highest distinctions, they voted and chose him to give the speech.

When Sav stood up the whole class erupted. He was popular on campus not only as a ladies man but the weed man as well. They absolutely loved him. He was one of the few African Americans that attended the prestigious university, so it was easy to stand out.

“Why are they goin’ up for my husband like this?” Chi asked, being drowned out by the amount of cheering happening for Sav.

“Chill, y’all,” Sav said over the mic. “Dean Lee said she not for my shit—” he slipped up and everyone laughed. “I mean stuff today.”

The Dean who was also black shook her head at his use of language, but she knew how Dayvion Porter, which she addressed him as could be. They’d had several run ins over the course of his college career. The young man with tattoos galore, foul mouth and pants off his ass was indeed by measure the smartest one in the sea of thousands of students. She wanted this young black scholar to have his moment even in its rawness. This was black excellence being shown at a PWI and she was proud nonetheless.

“Ummm…everybody know I ain’t wanna do this.” Sav did not try to sound intelligent or put on for nobody. They wanted him to give this speech he was going to do it as him. Educated and all, he was true to himself. “I told Dean Lee I would be honest and y’all still chose me so here we go…”

“Fucking right bro!” A white guy shouted from the crowd.

“I know a lot of us struggled to make it to this stage. Not only the amount of work we had to put in to make it here but the pressure, financial restraints, family issues, our mental incapacities at times…a lot more goes into just getting a degree. Picking something you can actually apply and let’s be honest, make money from in this nut ass world. Shout out to y’all who got art degrees, it’s about to be hell,” Sav said honestly and the audience died of laughter. “I know some of y’all personally who went through some of this. To be honest, ion know what it look like. I couldn’t relate because I didn’t have those problems. Y’all probably thought I’m the made it out the hood specialty case. I had a big brother who not only kept pushing me to finish but made sure I didn’t have not one worry while doing it, so this was a breeze for me actually. I don’t need no college degree, but I did this for one person and one person only. My brother Lake. I wanna honor him with this because a lot of the great people, the ones behind the scenes who never get recognized are the real ones that make it happen. I was able to run a whole business, get married, have kids, live my life stress free. He gave me what I know a lot of people who look like me never get. A peace of mind. A care-free life, the tools I needed to be successful and I thank him for that every day.” Sav was looking right at Lake. “My brother the reason why I get to stand here right now…so this to the single moms out here doing it all on their own that got their kids to this day, to the dads working day and night to pay for tuitions, the grandparents, siblings, aunties and uncles who put their all into a kid to see them do better. If it wasn’t for y’all, I’m sure we wouldn’t be up in here falling asleep and waiting to hear our name called for a degree we couldn’t have gotten without y’all.”

Although the ceremony wasn’t done after Sav’s speech all the students felt every word he said and so did the families there to support them.

“Wait…” Dean Lee got up ready to stop them but it was too late all the graduates were up on their feet, throwing their caps in the air. It was like a big party started. It took twenty minutes to get everything settled then the degrees were finally handed out.

“Dayvion Porter,” they called Sav’s name to receive his degree and it went crazy again.

“That’s it!” the president of the school got up waving his hands then shouted in the mic. “Everyone please sit down!” ******* Lake waited patiently, watching Sav bump fists with a bunch of people because he wasn’t about to touch all them hands. He stood in his robe, medals and cords around his neck looking like a true scholar. He admired the hell out of his little brother. Not even for finishing but remaining authentic and true to himself during the process. Sav had his moments but everything he set out to accomplish, had been done. Lake couldn’t and wouldn’t ask anymore of him.

“You proud of me?” Sav asked, coming towards him with his arms out for hug.

“So proud man,” Lake smiled, embracing his baby brother. “I’m so fuckin’ proud.”

“Thank you, where the fuck everybody go?”

“Home, they didn’t want to stay around for the crowd and all the traffic.”

“Now you know that’s fucked up. Even my own wife? All this and them niggas dip on me? Take me home to my kids. Nobody better not say shit to me.”

“Chill, I wanted you to take a ride with me.”

“Ion even feel like it.” Sav’s feelings were hurt. His whole family was worried about beating traffic than his big day. It upset him more because he didn’t even care about it as much as they did.

They had to get all of his gifts professors, the school, students and others got for him. Sav indeed was their favorite. Someone even gave him basketball season tickets. Once they were in the car Lake did his best not to laugh. Sav was really upset.

“Why the fuck we here?”

Lake pulled into to the strip club they used to frequent and Sav knew something was up now. His brother wasn’t allowed to be a hundred feet of no strippers per his wife’s rules. Only if she was DJing did Avery let him enter the building.

“Because I thought it would cheer you up.”

“I told you I don’t feel like shit no more. Them niggas fucked my mood up. Especially, Chi, she really dipped on me. Her fuckin’ muscle head ass better hope ion divorce her.”

“Sav, relax, nigga,” Lake laughed lighting a blunt then passing it to him. “Hassan would be proud of you man.”

“Yea…” Sav put his head back blowing out smoke. “I be thinkin’ bout Daddy a lot.”

“Me too, all the time actually…I wish he would’ve made it, seen you today. It’s moments like this that make life worth living.” Lake stared out the window. After a few seconds of silence, he reached in the back seat and handed Sav an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“I ain’t know what to get a nigga that got it all for a graduation gift.”

“Aw man…” Sav looked at all the papers and got emotional.

Lake knew it bothered him that he didn’t know where he came from for sure. He couldn’t do a traditional testing since their father was deceased and had been cremated. But there was sibling DNA test and because Sav, Lake, Vant and Wreck didn’t share the same mother, it was easy to get proof. If he wasn’t Hassan’s he’d have not an ounce of relation to them.

“Sav even if that shit ain’t say what we already knew it wouldn’t have made you any less my brother. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks man,” Sav dapped Lake up and he pulled him in for a hug.

“Why the fuck y’all sittin’ in here cuddling and shit?” Wreck was about to get in the back, but Lake had car seats. “Nigga, Avery whip don’t have nothing in it. I swear you and Vant the wives.”

“Fuck you nigga,” Lake pushed him getting out the car. “Stop takin’ your anger out on everybody. I told you come talk to me, you wanna hide out and shit. Think Daly ain’t tell me the bullshit you been on.”

“I ain’t got nothing to say, and Daly a nut for bringin’ shit to you like I’m not a grown ass man! It’s fuck everything and that’s on my Daddy.” Wreck walked over and dapped Sav up. “I’m proud of you nigga.”

“Are you really bro?”

“Yea! Ion mean to be so hard on you. I apologize. Just…you know I’m dealin’ with my own shit right now, but I love you man.”

“I know, it’s cool, I love you too.” Sav felt bad for his brother. Wreck didn’t know which way he was going. It had spread about Gia breaking up with him. A simple, I don’t want to be with you anymore, was all the reason she gave him. That’s all he got from her. Wreck opened himself up to a woman for the last time.

“Let’s go in here, I can’t be out for long or A will come lookin’ for me.”

“Cause you a whipped ass—”

“Y’all keep saying that,” Lake laughed, cutting Wreck off. “But I’m happy as fuck. I have no resistance in letting love take over me anymore.”

“And you know what? I am genuinely jealous and that ain’t even me bro.”

“Wreck,” Lake stopped walking. “I’m for real, come talk to me. Tomorrow, nigga.”

“Everything already fucked up, bro. Gia will never be with me again.”

“How?” Sav asked.

“Ion wanna talk about it.”

“What the hell is taking so long?!” Chi pushed the door open.

“Fuck is you doing here?” Sav looked at Lake confused. “I did not ask to come here, Chi. Lake brought me. I was on the way home.” He started defending himself immediately.

“Get in here, Dayvion.” Chi pulled him along and it was dark as hell on the inside.

“SURPRISE!” the lights, loud ass music and cheering all happened at the same time. The whole club was decorated in his school colors with a big ass banner congratulating him. Everybody was holding cutouts of Sav’s head from his graduation photo.

“You did this for me?” Sav wanted to cry.

“Mhm…”

“I love you,” Sav kissed her all the way down on the couch.

“Stop Sav!” Chi laughed. “My dress is comin’ up! You doin’ all this in front of people!”

“Can I give my brother a hug now?” Dem asked and they let each other go. “I’m proud of you bul.”

“Thank you.” Sav hugged Dem longer than he did his own wife. Chi was over trying to get in between something that Sav needed to literally survive, to breathe and have good days. They were working through a lot of things and as long as he prioritized her and their children then he could love on Dem all he wanted.

“I’m so proud of you, boo boo,” Ivy said kissing her baby all over.

“Ard come on with all that shit,” Vant tore them apart. “We got a surprise for you later,” he whispered making Sav laugh.

“Shout out to my young nigga Sav! Congratulations bro!” DJ AP shouted in the mic sounding like a nigga making everybody crack the fuck up. She was barely six weeks post-partum and came out to party for her favorite person much to Lake’s dismay. “This one for you baby!” Avery pointed at him then played Nicki Minaj Moment for Life. Sav wouldn’t openly admit he was a fan.

“No, I'm not lucky, I'm blessed, yes, clap for the heavyweight champ, me! But I couldn't do it all alone, we!” Sav jumped on all his brothers. The moment was so nice. “Lake Porter raised me,” he remixed the lyrics.

Lake looked at Wreck who was visibly sad and hugged his brother and in front of everyone Wreck received it because he really needed it.

“It’s gon’ be okay, ard?”

“Yea…” Wreck didn’t want to ruin his little brother’s day so he decided to just put his own issues aside for the time being. Vant handed him a drink patting his back.

“It’s ard bro.”

“Put ya drinks up,” Dem held his glass in the air with is arm wrapped around Sav. “It's a celebration, every time we link up, we done did everything, they can think of, greatness, is what we on the brink of!”

“I WISH THAT I COULD HAVE THIS MOMENT FOR LIFE!” everyone sang

#on us #authornina #nina

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me // I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, ��(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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persephoneyss · 3 years

Text

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #bts #yandere!bts #yandere bts au #yandere kpop #Yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin x reader #yandere jimin x reader #jimin yandere #jimin x you #park jimin #yandere!jimin #jimin smut

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evanescentjasmine · 4 years

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Writing Egypt and Egyptian Characters: Rusty Quill Gaming Edition

I’ve finally caught up with the Cairo arc of Rusty Quill Gaming, which I was anticipating and dreading both. Fiction set in my country usually reduces it to a caricature of itself, especially when it takes place in the Victorian era, but considering everything they’ve said in their metacasts I was hoping Rusty Quill Gaming was the exception.

It wasn’t.

I’m aware the game world plays fast and loose with history and setting, but the problems in this case are more than just inaccuracies. However, because I want to help fic writers and artists be able to portray Hamid and his family well, this resource will be split into two parts. The first part will tackle details I’ve been asked about with regard to the setting; it may touch on things RQG went wrong, but I’m writing it primarily as a resource for artists and writers. The second part will be my criticism of RQG, and why I found the Cairo arc actively harmful. This includes discussions of Orientalism and some racist text.

I should also preface this by saying I’m not a historian. Everything I say in this resource is a combination of what I grew up with and what I remember from school, supplemented by Google and guesswork. I’ll be explaining my thought process throughout, which can help you see what’s actual history and what’s my extrapolation.

Part One: On Egypt

Historical Context:

Figuring out the history of Egypt in RQG terms is a bit complicated, so bear with me because this will take a while.

In real-world history, Egypt was a Roman then Byzantine province from 30 BC to around the mid 600s AD, at which point the Arab conquest swept through and Egypt became Muslim.

What this means is that when the Meritocrats took down Rome and took over the world, Egypt was still a Roman province. That gives us a several hundred year gap before the Arabs that may have maintained the same culture? Or morphed a little back to some pre-Ptolemaic Ancient Egyptian, given their Meritocrat, Apophis, is named after a great Pharaonic serpent?

Either way, given Hamid’s name and the fact they live in Cairo, the city built by the Arabs, we can assume the Arab conquest still happened somehow, despite having a Meritocrat in Egypt. Maybe a Meritocrat out there is Arab and settled in Egypt for a bit with or before Apophis? Maybe it took a couple-hundred years for the Meritocrats to get all the previous Roman areas under control? Maybe there was a whole war and the Arabs won and settled and eventually they got to a truce or got absorbed into Meritocratic lands?

Many Muslim dynasties ruled throughout the period from the mid 600s to the 1500s. Given the lack of Islam in this world, probably the Arabs were unified by some Pre-Islamic deity/deities and brought them over as well, because I refuse to just sweep everything under the broad Greek God rug.

In the 1500s, another Muslim dynasty took over--this time, from outside of the country, which is why it’s considered separate from all the rest. At this point, Egypt became part of the Ottoman Empire until the 1800s, which is when the Mohammed Ali dynasty started to try and secede and rule independently. And there was a brief blip of the French occupation for two years around then as well.

And, of course, we can’t forget about British colonisation, which started in the late 1800s with a veiled protectorate.

Presumably, since France and Britain are also Meritocratic and it seems like Apophis is currently ruling, we can disregard everything from the Ottomans onward. This changes, or should change, a ton, because Ottoman rule informed a lot of things from fashion to slang to nobility and so on.

What we’re left with is most likely a Cairo that is still Arab but with much more Pharaonic influence, as Apophis is in charge, as well as continuing Greek influence due to the Gods. I am not a Coptic Christian, so I cannot speak to how these changes in history and religions would affect the Coptic language and culture, but no doubt it would still be around.

There would also be a bigger, more long-standing connection to other Meritocratic countries. This explains why Hamid was British-educated and so many people speak such good English without a British occupation to create the power disparity that would make that necessary to rise in Egypt and such a mark of status.

However, this presents several confusing and contradictory aspects of the world building:

Why doesn’t this go both ways? Why aren’t there people in England and France who know Arabic or are influenced by Egypt? All we get is that the Tahan family are big. That’s it. If these countries are equals, it sure doesn’t look like it.

If Apophis is pharaonic and Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous...why would they hollow out a pyramid to put a bank inside? It’s a tomb. It’s made to bury dead kings in a way that follows possibly still-existing cultural and religious beliefs. It’s the equivalent of someone building a bank inside a mausoleum. It’s bizarre.

Relatedly, if Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous, why is Carter mentioning the Rosetta Stone? Why would the knowledge necessary to translate hieroglyphics have been lost?

I mention these questions so fic writers can keep them in mind while writing and, of course, it’s entirely possible to create a workaround. For example, maybe the Rosetta Stone is supposed to be translating something else, like an ancient hidden magic?

Describing Cairo:

I want to make one thing very clear: Cairo is not, despite Alex’s description, like Vegas. While we do certainly have hotels and casinos, to reduce the city to only that is very harmful for reasons I’ll go into at the end of this resource.

Cairo is a very old city with a mix of architectural styles and is very heavily Muslim in real life. In Arabic, its tagline is often “city of a thousand minarets,” so clearly RQG Cairo will be fairly different. Given Apophis’ influence, Ancient Egyptian styles might be more prevalent in Cairo, but very likely not in the form of pyramids unless those pyramids were for the dead. In real life, some buildings do incorporate Ancient Egyptian flavour, usually just in the form of lotus columns or hieroglyphs. These would only be found in public institutions, however, or, frankly, tourist-bait.

Residential buildings tend to be clustered very close together and, since it’s an old city, streets are crowded and winding as the city keeps building on itself and spilling out of its previous bounds. Estates do, of course, exist, but I’d suggest against using Bryn’s example of Alhambra as a setting for the Tahan home. Alhambra is a palace fortress in Spain and, although it’s Andalusian and therefore influenced by Muslim architecture, it’s very different than anything in Egypt. It’s as absurd as saying a posh British character lives in a house that’s basically Versailles and leaving it there. I’ve included images of some Egyptian residential estates below, all from the 1800s to early 1900s.

And here are some photos of Cairo in the 1800s:

As you can see, not quite Vegas.

A fic set in Cairo can certainly still have the Cairo strip with all the casinos, since that’s an aspect of canon, but a place like that would probably be geared more to tourists and foreigners than locals. So long you’re aware of this while writing, and that Cairo would exist beyond it, you should be fine. It might also be worth having characters explore the actual city.

Weather:

The stereotype is that Egypt is just hot and sand year-round. It isn’t. The further south you go, the hotter it will get, so that Upper Egypt (which is in the south, yeah), is hotter than Lower Egypt, which is where Cairo and Alexandria are. Alexandria, by virtue of being on the Mediterranean, has fairly cold (for us) and rainy winters and mild, humid summers. Cairo gets very occasional rain and has harsher summers but is also dryer.

And, of course, a thing to remember is that even in the depths of the desert, the morning might be quite warm but the night will be quite cold as well.

Sandstorm season (called khamaseen) takes place from April - May but in the middle of Cairo it’s more of an annoyance than anything else.

Language:

Since they speak Arabic, it’s important to note that spoken Egyptian Arabic is very different from written Classical Arabic. Egyptian is a mishmash of Arabic, Coptic, a bit of Greek, and a bit of French (and, in the real world, some Turkish too) all smashed together. Accents differ from city to city, and Cairene Arabic is best known for the fact we pronounce the letter jeem as geem (so all soft Gs are turned into hard Gs) and tend to replace the letter qaf with a glottal stop.

This means that a Cairene wouldn’t be called Jamal, they’d be Gamal. A Cairene would pronounce burqa as bur’a.

Since religion plays a big part in language, RQG Egyptian Arabic may be a bit different. For instance, the greeting most people associate with Arabic is “Assalam alaykum” but that’s very specifically Muslim or at least associated with Islam, and might not have been as wide-spread given...y’know, that Islam doesn’t exist. I’m not saying it’s incorrect to use, just explaining the context.

Alternatives could include “Sabah/masa’ el-kheir” which means “Good morning/evening,” and “Naharak/Naharik saeed” which is, “May you have a good day.”

Fashion:

Although this didn’t really feature in RQG, I’ve received a lot of questions about the period’s fashion and honestly it’s my favourite thing ever so I probably would have touched on it anyway. I’ll only go into broad strokes, as there are plenty of regional variations and, again, I’m no expert

Women

Egyptian women covered their heads and sometimes their faces not out of religiosity but out of a cultural expectation of modesty. This may well have come about as a result of the Arab/Muslim cultural majority, as to my knowledge this wasn’t the case in the Greek and Roman periods, but women of all religions covered their heads so that would likely still be the case in RQG’s Arab Egypt.

This isn’t with the hijab we know today. It may have been a cloth or kerchief tied over their heads and then the melaya laf (which is larger cloth, almost a sheet) that they wrap around themselves and over their head, as follows:

The black face-covering was called a burqa or bur’a (not the same as a Muslim burqa, which serves similar modesty functions but is a separate thing) or a yashmak and may have been opaque black, white, or netted, such as in this picture:

Underneath the melaya they would be wearing a long, loose, patterned dress:

Upper class Egyptian women tended to wear Western dresses with a white yashmak that covered their faces and heads. A yashmak is Turkish, however, and without Ottoman influence this style and name might not have caught on in Egypt.

Men

While the melaya laf and yashmak have disappeared from Egypt, the traditional men’s gallabeya and ammama, or turban, are still seen widely today. The gallabeya (or jellabiya, outside of Cairene Arabic) is a long, loose garment with wide sleeves and no collar. It’s in muted, neutral colours, usually lighter ones like white or beige in the summer and navy blue or grey in the winter. You’ll have seen examples of it in the pictures of Cairo above, and here’s another one:

Middle to upper class men and civil servants, however, tended to wear English suits with a tarboosh, or fez. Since fezzes were also a result of Ottoman rule, RQG Egyptians might not wear them.

And yes, impressive moustaches were also very much the fashion.

Names:

The running joke is that Hamid’s name is unnecessarily long, but my name is longer, and I don’t think that’s particularly unusual. We don’t usually go around introducing ourselves with all of them, admittedly, and I’m not sure whether Hamid does this as a way to indicate he’s overly fancy or because Bryn doesn’t realise it, but four names is not long. My ID boasts five, and I know of at least one more.

Arabic naming conventions use patronymics for all children, regardless of gender. What this means is that my name and my brother’s name is identical except for our first.

Mine is Jasmine + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name

And my brother is also First name + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name.

Egyptians do not typically have last names, but an important family may all choose to identify under a name and use that as their last, such as the Tahans. In my case, I use my fifth name as my last name and introduce myself in everyday life as Jasmine Fifth Name. Notably, my brother does not, and goes by First name + Dad’s name instead. This isn’t unusual. On paperwork, however, we still have the same name.

Additionally, Egyptian women do not take their husbands’ last names in marriage, nor do children take any of her names.

I’m not sure why, according to the wiki, Hamid’s sisters seem to have taken their mother’s name. Following Arabic naming conventions, they would all be First Name Saleh Haroun al Tahan, and their father would be Saleh Haroun al Tahan. A possible workaround might be that halflings have their own naming conventions that mean daughters have matronymics and sons patronymics.

A note to podficcers: please google name pronunciations beforehand because Alex and Bryn’s are actually often wrong. Ishak, for instance, is not pronounced Ee-shak. It’s Iss-haaq or Iss-haa’, because of quirks of the Egyptian accent I mentioned earlier.

Part Two: Criticism

I understand it can be difficult to portray a country different from yours with accuracy. I understand the RQG crew will not have had the perspective on Egypt and Cairo that I do by virtue of living here. I do also acknowledge that I’m sure none of this was actively malicious or on purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be on purpose to hurt, frankly, and given how often the RQG crew have talked about their responsibility with a game that’s intended for an audience, I expected better. Bryn has spoken about not wanting to fall into stereotypes for Hamid and, to be fair, by being a non-religious fancyboy Hamid does neatly avoid the religious zealot and the noble (or ignoble) savage routes. Unfortunately, he falls into another, which was hammered home by the portrayal of Cairo and the Tahans as a whole.

Our first glimpse of Cairo, after the sandstorm clears, describes it as “basically Vegas,” with hotels and garish casinos catering to the rich all along the “Cairo strip.” From then on, our only other images of Cairo are vast estates and a pyramid in the desert.

The only named Egyptians we meet are the Tahan family, who are introduced through an absurdly lavish estate compared to the palace fortress of Alhambra, a gambling problem that apparently runs in the family, murder, and corruption, as the head of the family who has already covered up a crime for one son then turns himself in to protect the other.

Then, to top it all off, Hamid is apparently utterly incapable of understanding why letting his brother get away with murder is an issue until the paladins point it out.

Do you see the pattern, here?

I understand this was aiming to be a criticism of the rich and powerful, but the fact remains that the Tahans are the only representation of Egyptians we get. While this may not be harems and hand-chopping levels of Orientalism, the image presented is of Cairo as a den of excessive wealth and vice, and Egyptians as corrupt and immoral.

This isn’t new.

The Middle East and North Africa (as well as India and China and everywhere else considered “the Orient”) has often been tied to images of wealth and overt splendour, usually hand-in-hand with the Oriental despot and corruption. This view went beyond just fiction and influenced the policies with which we were ruled.

Cromer, Consul-General of Egypt, wrote books called Modern Egypt. He had this to say about us:

“The mind of the Oriental, on the other hand, like his picturesque streets, is eminently wanting in symmetry. His reasoning is of the most slipshod description. . . . They are often incapable of drawing the most obvious conclusions from any simple premises of which they may admit the truth.”

In his opinion, our inability to follow logical reason led to us being inherently untruthful and, therefore, immoral. Similarly, British statesman Balfour was of the belief that:

“Lord Cromer’s services during the past quarter of a century have raised Egypt from the lowest pitch of social and economic degradation until it now stands among Oriental nations, I believe, absolutely alone in its prosperity, financial and moral.”

Egypt was under British colonial rule from 1882 - 1952.

You can see, I hope, why a storyline focused on an Egyptian family’s corruption in an Egypt characterised almost entirely by its casinos and one lavish mansion was very uncomfortable. The fact Azu was one of the people trying to explain morality to Hamid keeps it from sliding into a clear East vs West dichotomy, but the fact remains this is a British show featuring British players and this is the story they chose to tell.

The rest was just salt in the wound, really.

I expect mispronounced names and pyramids and jokes about camels in most media, but rarely do the makers of said media then go on to pat themselves on the back for doing their “due diligence” on a metacast about sensitivity.

I see weird naming conventions and mispronounced names and “basically Vegas” and “crocodile steak” and “camel’s milk froyo” and I do not see due diligence.

I see a setting that barely looked past Cleopatra and I do not see due diligence.

I see a storyline that shows only excess and immorality and corruption and I do not see due diligence.

I see a disregard for me and mine, and I do not appreciate it.

Literature I’ve referred to in writing this criticism:

Orientalism (1978), by Edward W. Said

Orientalism in the Victorian Era (2017), a paper by Valerie Kennedy

Orientalism in American Cinema: Providing an Historical and Geographical Context for PostColonial Theory (2010), a thesis by Samuel Scurry

Popular Culture, Orientalism, and Edward Said (2012), an article by Robert Irwin

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #resource #criticism #orientalism #representation #long post

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alice-angel12x · 3 years

Text

💔Neko!Tamaki x Neko!reader x Alpha! Mirio

Nekos

I just wanted to add a little more depth to these neko stories. And yes the do have tails and ears

There are 2 types of neko: Neko!Panthera and Neko!Felis

Panthera are nekos who are like the alpha of the cat world They are like tigers, lions, and leopards.

Felis are like your small domestic cats. The Omega of the cat world you could say.

Fluff and angst This story is based a bit on the song satisfied by Hamilton.

Mirio's pov

I remember when I first saw her. It was back in elementary school. The first diverse elementary schools for both werewolves and Nekos. Though almost all stayed with their respective group.

I asked my other werewolf friends at the time, too talk to some of the Nekos. They were not really into the idea of making friends with them. Most werewolf parents chose this school, because of its convenience and have many well-educated teachers. Not my parent's thou, they wanted me to make friends and they believed Nekos and werewolves can live in harmony. So did I, I've had many experiences with nice Nekos. My neighbor and my father's longtime friend was Neko Felis. And the day I fell off the bridge because of my quirk, a Neko Panthera hero came to my rescue.

So when my young mind, I can't really understand why Neko's and werewolves couldn't get along. Later on, in life, I found out why. It was not only our history but something more than that. Werewolves saw themselves Superior and Neko's were something beneath them. While Neko saw themselves more dignified out of the two and saw as werewolves as nothing more than lust controlled dogs.

So I made the first move and approached a girl Neko Felis all by herself. She was the smallest and most petite out of all the other Nekos. She had long gray cat ears, big e/c eyes, a long tail, and h/c hair.

I learned her name was y/n a Neko Felis. Despite being the smallest classmate, she was the most energetic out of everyone. She was sweet and kind, with a healing quirk to match. Which can only be captivated when she sings. She had the most beautiful voice.

Whenever I was around her my heart would flutter in my chest, even when I was young.

"Hey Y/n," I called to her.

"Yes Mirio," she replied.

"I've decided, even with my odd quirk. I'll become the best hero ever. To save lives and to make a world safe for the both of us," little me told her, pouring my heart out to heart.

Y/n smiled sweetly as she stood up.

"Then it's a good thing that's when I grow up I'll be a doctor. So I can take care of you when you Heroes get to hurt saving lives," Y/n said with a bright smile.

All the blood ran to my face as my heart pounded and tightened in my chest. I pulled her into a tight hug and taking in her scent. She smelt of freshly cut grass and lavender.

In the third grade, I meet Tamaki. He was a shy Neko Panthera. He was a really cool guy with a strong quirk to go with him. Y/n and I go to different classes in the third year. So why not make a new friend in this class.

-------

Being a new transfer student is awful. Especially in a Neko and werewolf diverse school. Werewolves already don't like me, and the neko's already had their groups or clicks. Until strange young Alpha approached me. He was the first person to approach me and talk to me. He shined bright like the sun.

I learned his name Mirio, a werewolf Alpha.

As we talked he mentioned he had another friend he wanted to introduce me to. A girl named y/n.

Recess rolled around and Mirio had to use the bathroom. So I just stood outside waiting for him.

While I waited, I heard someone trip and fall. I looked to my left to see a small Neko girl. Judging by her sent she was a Felis. Yet I came from a Neko only school, and I've never seen a felis as small as her. I thought she was... Cute.

When she got up, she appeared to be struggling to tie her shoes properly. I don't know what provoked me to go help her. Maybe it was the Panthera inside of me telling me to help a fellow Neko. But looking back I'm glad I listened.

"N-n-need help," I shuddered as I got on my knees and tied her shoe.

When I finished I looked up into her e/c eyes and got lost in them.

"Huh. What's wrong? Is there still dirt on my face?" The girl asked.

"N-n-no, it's not t-that. Y-you ha-ve... pretty e-eyes," I mumbled.

"Thank you... I'm y/n, and you are?" Y/n asked me.

I could hear her soft purring as she smiled at me. It felt soothing to listen to and she sent only added to that. I would tie her shoes forever if it means I could feel like this forever.

"I-I'm Tama-" "There you are Tamaki," a voice interrupted me.

" oh, it appears you already found y/n. Well, Y/n this is Tamaki. He's a new transfer student I think we're all going to be best friends," Mirio said with a smile as he pulled us into a hug.

As he did so I could hear y/n's purrs even louder than before. I could feel my heart tighten in my chest.

------

As the years go by things began to change, as things do with age. Y/n's scent only got more and more irresistible. Tamaki and I made it into the hero class of UA, while y/n became recovery girls Protege in the school. When Tamaki got comfortable around y/n, he started to court her. He had her necklaces from precious stones and sometimes hunted some pheasants and brought it to her.

Even though I was happy for him, I could help feel a bit jealous. Even though we're wolves and Neko's on slightly better terms. Society isn't ready for mixed breed relationships. Is a very big taboo, and most who are caught in a mixed breed relationship are horribly hazed and harassed. I could never subject her to that, so I'm glad that she'll make Tamaki happy, and I know Tamaki is more than capable of protecting her.

There are many times where I questioned if maybe it would be worth it to have a relationship with her in secret. That all started from a little rumor that's right around the school.

"Did you hear, a werewolf in the first-year class has a thing for Neko's. Isn't that disgusting," one beta said.

" that's so gross. What, was he so desperate for a mate, that he went as low as a dirty ally cat," the other laughed.

So I wasn't the only one who loved another species. I just wish them the best.

One day as I was heading towards the cafeteria, I saw something. A werewolf Alpha, I believe his name was Izuku. With a Neko, and they were kissing.

For a quick fleeting moment, I saw y/n and myself, instead of Izuku and his lover. With newfound motivation, I quickly searched for y/n.

------

I asked y/n to meet me on the field, behind the school at lunch. I was nervous, what if she says no.

"Oh there you are Tamaki," Y/n called.

I snapped out of my stupor and turn to see her. Still cute as ever. No matter how much time passed, she always remained the smallest felis. If she were to stand next to me, the top of her head would just barely reach my chest.

She sweetly looked up at me with a cute smile. I could hear her soft purring as she got closer to me. Her long tail calmly swayed side to side.

"So you called me out here, what did you want to discuss?" She asked sweetly.

I close my eyes and took a deep breath, preparing myself. I looked into her beautiful E/c eyes.

"Y/n, for a long time, whenever you are around me I always felt something inside. And every time you leave I feel sad. Ummm... I-I'm s-sorry, I'm a-awful at this," I never started to get the better of me as I turned around and place my forehead on the tree.

"It's alright Tamaki. Take your time," Y/n said as she rubbed my back.

I breathed in, and out. I somewhat got to control myself and I was able to muster some courage to turn around and face her. Then something came to mind.

"Y/n when I first meet you... I-I thought you were cute and b-beautiful. When I-I was able t-to get close... I got lost in your eyes. A-and you smelled s-so p-pretty," I stuttered and mumbled.

I looked down at our shoes and saw that her shoelaces became loose.

"Oh no. Stupid shoelace," Y/n sighed in annoyance, as she got on her knee to tie her shoelace.

I bent down and tied her laces for her.

"This is how we first meet. When I was able to look into your eyes. The first thing I thought was.. 'If I could remain this close to you, I would tie your laces forever," I said to her.

Y/n face turned slightly red, her face showing a bit of shock. I could feel my nerves taking over, so I closed my eyes and showed her the necklace I made for her.

"Y/n, w-will you become my m-mate?!" I asked but not looking her in the eyes.

"Of course!" Y/n said as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

That's why I felt such a wave of relief, knowing that I was able to claim her. Before anyone else.

--------

That day I stood there, as I saw Tamaki claim y/n as his mate. My heart broke into a thousand pieces. Yet I could never hate Tamaki. So I did what I should have done, I buried my feelings for y/n in the very back but my mind.

~ Even now as I still never was able to get rid of my feelings for her.

15 years later

As Mirio made his way to his long time friend, Tamaki's house. He knocked and who answered was Tamkai's and Y/n's youngest daughter and the runt of the litter, Sofia.

" Uncle Mirio your here," Sofia chirruped in excitement.

"Hello young lion, are your parents here?" Mirio asked with a cheerful smile.

"Mirio. It's good to see you," a quiet male voice called out.

"Mirio, welcome," a sweet voice followed.

Mario looked up to see his close friends. Mirio smiled as picked up Sophia.

"Thanks for having me over," Mirio thanked hiding his fluttering heart, as he looked from Tamaki to Y/n.

#mha x reader #omegaverse #mha omegaverse #my hero academia mirio #tamaki amakiji #mha angst #tamaki x reader #mirio x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #neko

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noctilucid · 3 years

Text

DannyMay Day 15: Nature

**References my Day 4 (Stars) drabble, but stands alone.**

"Circle up everybody!" Ms. Teslaff barked, rapping her walking stick on a boulder embedded in the trail. "This camping trip is required by the state to be educational. Therefore, you will be given a group assignment designed to meet municipal standards." Mr. Lancer opened his messenger bag and started passing around packets and paper bags. A ripple of complaints and muttered curses spread out through the group. "You will be assigned a partner, and together you will search for and identify these plants. Bring back a leaf for each plant in the packet to receive full credit."

Paulina grimaced and looked down at her shoes for the tenth time that day. She had thought they'd stay close to the cabins for this trip, and her usual cute flats would have served her just fine on the broad, packed paths cut by hundreds of students' feet in the years before. But here she was, hiking in them. The mud was bad enough, but all the uneven terrain was putting creases in the material every time she had to put her weight on the balls of her feet. And now she was expected to go on a scavenger hunt? What was she, five?

"Paulina," Mr. Lancer said with a tired drawl as he read the names written on the brown paper bag on the top of his stack, "you will be partnered with Sam Manson." He handed her the bag and a packet before moving on to the next group.

Uhg, perfecto. I'm with Creepy Manson. They did this on purpose, didn't they? Paulina cut her eyes at Sam as she stomped over in her combat boots, looking equally thrilled.

"How many plants do we have to find?" Sam sighed, taking the packet from her. She flipped through the pages. "Well, at least these are all pretty distinctive."

"I'm sure you're disappointed none of them can lay eggs in my face," Paulina returned with an edge. She still hadn't forgiven Sam for that incident at the aquarium all those years ago.

Sam narrowed her eyes, not looking up from the paper. "Spores."

"What?"

"Plants don't lay eggs. Some of them have spores." She folded back a few pages and held up a picture of a fern they were supposed to locate. "This one can lay spores in your face."

Paulina raised her hand and waved at the teachers. "Miss Teslaff, I want a different partner! I don't want Sam to murder me and bury my body in the woods. I'm too pretty to die."

"No changing groups!"

Paulina huffed and crossed her arms. "Tough break," Dash said to her as he and Valarie headed off on one of the forks in the path.

"Good luck!" Kwan chimed in, who was paired with Tucker. "Hey, you got a plant identifying app on that thing…?"

"Do I ever!"

Danny put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder as he followed Mikey uphill. "Try not to be too hard on her?"

"No promises," Sam grumbled.

Soon the path had cleared out except for the two of them and two pairs of band nerds peering over their packets together.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Sam said at length, grabbing Paulina by the wrist and hauling her off in a random direction.

"Ow! Hey, get off of me!"

Sam did let go, and then scuffled up a tumble of boulders to a trail on higher ground. Paulina let out a dramatic and frustrated groan before following her up much more slowly. By the time she caught back up, Sam was standing in the shade of a tree growing out of a split in the rock, studying the packet again.

"Oriental Thuja?" she said, forehead creased. "Why would they even put that on here? It's not native to this area."

"So we won't be able to find it?" How much is this stupid assignment worth anyway?

"No, it could be here, but it's invasive."

Paulina rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to be sacrimonious about plants now too."

"Oh, of course," Sam returned. "Because you only like nature if it's pretty and flatters you. You can't be bothered to learn about something complicated like an ecosystem." She headed down the trail at a brisk walk, grabbing a sapling and using it as a hand-hold as she swung herself down another steep portion.

"Would you stop doing that?" Paulina yelled after her, but Sam didn't slow down. "¡Joder!" she swore under her breath. Somehow, she was going to make Sam regret this by the end of the day. She just had to figure out how.

***

A brooding 45 minutes later, and Sam had found five of the plants they were looking for with little help from Paulina.

"Next is the purple coned larch…" Sam said, more to the paper held in front of her face than to Paulina. "We should probably go uphill to look for it…" Paulina died a little more inside. No more climbing hills!

"Oh, is that one of the ones that's going to lay spores in my face?" Paulina sniped as Sam strode on ahead for the hundredth time. "I guess you would end up with some weird kinks after being possessed by an ugly plant ghost."

"You're the one who brought up the face eggs," Sam said, nonchalant, and notably not slowing down. "I think that says more about you than about me."

Paulina clenched her fists. "Ugh! You're such a freak, you know that?"

"Aaaand personal attacks mean you have no convincing arguments left in your arsenal! Looks like it's Sam two, Paulina zero for the day so far." Sam was steadily moving out of range, and Paulina was forced to follow if she wanted to continue the argument. She was busy trying to think of a better jab while watching where she put her feet, but Sam beat her to the punch. "It's kind of sad that you're still hung up on this actually. Move on already."

Paulina gritted her teeth as the angle of the slope forced her to grab a muddy point of rock to haul herself up with. "Would it kill you to apologize? ¡Dios mío!”

"For what?"

"For harassing me with a starfish, Miss Don't-Be-Cruel-To-Animals!" She stood up and tried to wipe her hand clean on a tree trunk. "And I mean a real apology, not that stupid letter the teacher made you write."

"Oh, yeah, to be clear, I didn't mean that apology letter."

"It was clear," Paulina said, quiet and venomous.

"I hope you shredded it or something. I'm kind of embarrassed to have my name on the bottom of it."

"I threw it in the fireplace as soon as I got home that day."

"Well, that's a relief," Sam said with a performative grin. "And no, after what you did to Danny, you'd better believe I'd eat a hot dog before I'd apologize to you."

"I only went out with Danny to get under your skin!"

"Exactly."

Paulina's hands spasmed between gestures as she tried to collect herself. "Did you ever think that maybe, if you weren't such a self-absorbed piece of shit, maybe your friends wouldn't get hurt as much?"

Sam's face went blank for a telling second before she focused back on the paper. Paulina was a little surprised that jab had worked, actually, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She couldn't think of anything to follow up with, so she decided to allow the silence to be her victory.

And she's back to climbing again. Someone kill me…

They had almost reached the summit of the hill they were on— Paulina was debating to herself whether it was tall enough to be considered a mountain— when Sam finally found what she was looking for. The tree she was examining was scrawny and gnarled, squeezing its roots into the veins of available soil, and it was barely taller than they were.

"I think this is it. The needles look the same," Sam said, holding up the page for comparison. "It would help if the picture wasn't in black and white, though."

Paulina cast a glance over the diagram and the plant in front of them. "No, it doesn't have the little cones," she grumbled. I swear to god, if we have to climb any higher…

"This one's pretty young. I don't think it's old enough to have fruited before. They take a couple of years to get established."

"Well how can you tell if this is the right one? There's a thousand different Christmas trees on this hill, and they all look the same." Paulina shook her head. "You know, whatever. Let's just take a branch and go—" She sputtered to a stop as Sam pushed the packet and paper bag full of samples into her hands. Paulina adjusted the materials in her hands and watched as Sam stooped down, fished in her combat boot with two fingers, and pulled out something long and thin. She pulled off the makeshift cap, revealing the stubby tip of a well-used oil pencil.

Kneeling in front of the tree, Sam drew some intricate shape on the trunk with the dark blue pigment, then murmured something Paulina didn't catch. In the shadow of the trees branches, Paulina saw the symbol glow faintly green, and the same light snaked up the tree along the ridges in the bark until it reached the closest branch. With a quiver, the end of the branch put out fresh needles and then a tiny purple cone.

"See?" Sam said, breaking off the end of the branch. "Perfect match."

Paulina gaped like a fish. "You— Holy shit, you—" Magic. That was honest to god magic! Paulina felt lightheaded. She had been… dabbling. Combing the internet and old bookstores. At first, she had hoped to find a spell that could summon a ghost, or anything else she could use to get Phantom's attention. But as the weeks had stretched into months, she had become desperate to find any scrap of genuine magic. And here it was.

"Are you— is that Wicca?" she finally managed.

Sam shook her head. "Semitic Neopaganism. There's a difference."

Paulina paused to think on it. Could I learn Jewish magic if I'm not Jewish? Would it even work for me? She chewed on her lip. What am I saying? There's no way Manson would teach me anything in the first place. Then Sam started speaking softly, and Paulina had to shake out of her thoughts to catch it.

"I did think about apologizing," Sam said. "Properly. I was… kind of a mess in fifth grade. Um. And sixth and seventh too, actually." Her eyes remained focused on the pine sprig in her hand as she spoke, slowly rotating it between her fingers. "I've never liked you. But that didn't make it right for me to pick on you." She stood up and took back their paper bag, tucking the sample inside. "But then you pulled Danny into it. So, I'll never apologize." She finally looked up and met Paulina's gaze. "And neither will you." Paulina opened her mouth to retort, only to realize that Sam was an image of perfect calm. It was not an accusation, not a barb, just a statement. And Paulina had no idea how to respond. "We're both petty bitches," Sam continued. "It's in our natures. So… let's just move on." She extended a hand to Paulina. "Deal?"

The offered hand was stiff and formal, as if this were a business meeting rather than two sweaty girls talking on a hiking trail, but Paulina saw an earnestness in it. Slowly, she reached out and slid her own palm into Sam's.

"Deal." She watched Sam for a moment, her unwavering gaze, the ridiculous purple contacts, the stillness which had come over her, like a stone come to rest. Not sophisticated or refined, as Paulina sought to be, but… very Sam. Very self-assured, in a way Paulina pretended not to admire. "We don't like each other."

"Naturally." Sam released her hand and turned to head back down the slope.

"But we… don't hate each other either. We just... are. Now."

Paulina saw the little quirk of a smile enter Sam's lips. "Yeah."

"And maybe… we can talk about magic sometimes?" She shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "Like, over text, so nobody gets the wrong idea?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. That sounds fun."

A smile crept over Paulina's face in spite of her attempt to hide it. Oh, what does it matter? Sam's not looking at me anyway. She gave herself a moment to squeal silently in her head. Real magic! She'd found someone who knew real magic! She shook her head again. Of course it would be Manson. Of course.

She picked up her pace, in spite of her sore feet, in spite of the damage she was doing to her shoes, to catch up to Sam. It was easier going downhill. "What do we still have to find?"

Sam extended the packet to her, pointing to one of the plants. "Just two left, lady fern and honeysuckle. They both like to grow near water, so I saved them for last. We can head down and check the creek on our way back." Oh thank god, we're almost done. Paulina leaned in to get a better look at the fern diagram. "You know, there's a spell I've been working on that uses ferns. Maybe we should grab a couple extra?"

Paulina squealed out loud this time, and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled through her fingers. "Solemn. Solemn goth witch." She folded her hands in front of her and tried to look composed. Sam laughed.

"Nah, you don't have the wardrobe for that. Go on, be as pink as you'd like." She stepped down a bank of tree roots and held a branch back for Paulina to follow in her wake. Paulina paused in surprise before accepting the gesture.

This will take some getting used to.

#dannymay2021 #phanniemay2021 #danny phantom #Paulina Sanchez #Sam Manson #my writing

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naughtyneganjdm · 3 years

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A Compromise - Chapter 2

Summary: The first thing Negan does with Y/N on their first night surprises her with how innocent it actually is, but a little while into their first night together she realizes that things are going to be a lot harder than she thought they would be.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC)

Warnings: Swearing, Dirty Sex Talk & a bit of touching

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834154/chapters/68293072

“Oh, we’re starting off real hardcore, aren’t we?” Y/N teased as Negan pulled into the parking lot of a diner and a smile cracked in over the corners of her lips. Negan looked over his shoulder at her and gave her an odd expression before smirking. “Like I said, I was thinking of red rooms so coming here is pretty tame in comparison to what my mind was conjuring up.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you with the lack of chains and whips,” Negan retorted with a snort, pulling his helmet off, carefully pulling himself from the motorcycle. Reaching his hand out, he urged her to grab a hold of his hand and winked. “I was just hoping to get to know you first. Talking to you at the club wasn’t all that comfortable. So, I figured I would buy you a late-night dinner and get to know you. It’s quiet and I can actually hear you.”

“And that’s what you want to do with me tonight?” she looked down at his hand while she wrapped her fingers around it. Negan helped her off of the motorcycle and she felt him pull her in closer to him making her let out a shuddering exhale. “I didn’t think I would be having a late-night dinner with someone for two hundred bucks.”

“Like I said, I’m not having sex with you any time soon. I just want to get to know you. To me, it’s well worth the two hundred bucks,” Negan reached up to nudge her chin playfully with his fingers and nodded toward the diner. “Plus, the people that work here will leave us alone and not get up in our business like I feel people would anywhere else. They are good folks here.”

“Well at least I know you’re more of a burger and fries kind of guy instead of a four-star restaurant kind of guy,” she knew that her mind had come up with multiple scenarios of what Negan was like in her head and it was almost relaxing to know that Negan was more laid back than she pictured him to be. When he was tossing money out like he was, she assumed he wanted the best of everything and debated how she would be able to please a man like that with her time.

“I can be both, but who really gets to know someone at a stuffed shirt restaurant?” Negan pointed out, his hand sliding in over the small of her back to make her follow him toward the doors of the diner. Once they were inside, Negan made eye contact with one of the waitresses and pointed toward one of the booths in the back. Following him there, she took a seat with his help and watched Negan wait for her to get comfortable before going to the other side. “Here we can just talk and not really worrying about impressing anyone. It’s a relaxed environment and I feel like when people are in those, they are more open to talking.”

“And what do you want to talk about?” she inquired, her eyebrow perking up while looking him over. She had so many questions, so many thoughts she wanted to bring up to him, but this was supposed to be his time she was on. Asking a thousand questions would likely turn him off of her and that’s the last thing she wanted to do right now.

“Well first of all, why don’t you tell me about school. What were you studying before that asshole did what he did?” Negan laid his hands over the top of the table and she couldn’t help but take notice at how long his fingers were.

“Law,” she explained feeling her cheeks flush over when she thought about her education. “I wanted to be lawyer.”

“Oh, that’s a great profession for you,” Negan chuckled, lowering his head for a moment. It seemed like he was stuck on a thought that entertained him and she tilted her head to the side. “The first case you lose, if you think the judge was being a dickhead you would knock his lights out.”

“Oh ha-ha,” she rolled her eyes, reaching up to brush her hair back and out of her face. The waitress came to ask them what they wanted and when she ordered just water, Negan gave her a frustrated glance. She didn’t really want to go out and eat while getting to know Negan. What if he was disgusted by her and decided to change his mind? She could really use this money and there was a reason he was interested in her. If she ate a certain way, she didn’t know if it would stop him from wanting to be around her. After all, tonight could be a test. She quit her job for this guy based on his offer. He saw her eat and was turned off by it, she may have made a huge mistake. “I’m not all that hungry.”

“Get something to eat,” Negan ordered, his eyes narrowing while he stared out at her expectantly. “And get something you would actually like.”

Negan had gotten himself a burger and she just went with a club sandwich hoping to get something that wouldn’t be too messy. When she was done ordering, Negan eyed her over and cocked his head, “I fully expect you to get what you want when I tell you to.”

“I wanted nothing,” she responded and Negan bit into his bottom lip clearly not believing her. “I just don’t want you changing your mind about me after I eat. You don’t need to see my chowing down on a meal and then decide I’m not worthy of your time.”

“Well, since you’re big on rules…never do that kind of thinking. Never worry about what might turn me off of you,” Negan grunted, looking over toward the front of the restaurant. “I’ve picked you; I’m sticking with you. So, when I tell you to eat, you eat…”

“Yes sir,” she somewhat laughed and Negan’s eyebrow rose at her sarcasm. It was clear he wasn’t completely enthralled with her over-the-top mocking tone and she lowered her head down. She really had to dial back the sarcasm. Lowering her head, she shrugged and wasn’t sure really what to say. “I’m going to have to work on all of these rules that you are going to come up with. Sometimes I have a mouth on me and I need to learn to tone it down.”

“We’ll get you to where you need to be,” Negan stretched out, placing his arms on the back of the booth he was in and she found herself charmed by how confident Negan appeared to be. Watching him while he surveyed the restaurant made her swoon. This guy was gorgeous and the thought that he wanted to be near her and spend time with her really blew her away. His chiseled jaw flexed when he spotted something and looked back to her. Immediately she lowered her head again. Being caught staring might be uncomfortable at this stage for him and she wanted to appear as normal as possible to him. It was just hard to understand why someone like him would want to be around someone like her. “Do you like pie?”

“Like…pie pie?” she repeated making Negan chuckle. It was hard to really know what he was attempting to ask her because she was thinking dirty thoughts based off previous things he said. With the uniqueness of the situation she was saying ridiculous things and she knew that. Hopefully he didn’t think she was simple because she wasn’t. It was just a strange situation and she was uncomfortable. When she was uncomfortable, sometimes she said some silly things. “I don’t know if you are asking something…dirty.”

“No, I mean like apple pie. They have a great apple pie here and I thought we could share some after our meal,” Negan’s face scrunched up after it was clear he was amused with her. Did he find her charming or just ridiculous? It was hard to read his expressions at this point in the game. “If I am talking to you about something sexual, you’ll know.”

“Okay,” she wasn’t sure how to respond, this was all still odd to her. She could only picture how awkward she was coming off to him. “Apple pie is…nice.”

“Good,” Negan stretched his neck out and he bit at his bottom lip. There appeared to be some tension in his neck and her first thought was rubbing it for him. God, she felt pathetic. She was desperate to touch him and be close to him only after the second night of knowing he actually existed. “So, you take school seriously?”

“It’s been my entire life for as long as I can remember,” she answered honestly knowing that there was no sense in lying. While she could pretend that she wasn’t a total geek to a sense, she knew that Negan would find out eventually that her education meant everything to her. Being honest about that she felt was key. “I’ve put my everything into my education. It’s why I’m as upset as I am about what happened with college. I was damn good at what I was doing.”

“I believe that,” Negan nodded his head, his eyes surveying her closely and it made her wonder what he was thinking about her. It was hard to read his expressions and she shifted uneasily before him in her seat. “What are you going to do about school?”

“Well they think they can expel me because they have proof that I broke the windows and set the car on fire,” she told him what he obviously already knew because of what he had heard with her and her father. “What they don’t know is that I flirted with someone from the AV club and they took the tape for me. Eventually, I’m supposed to get the tape from the guy. So, they have no proof. When the appeal comes up, the thing they think they have on me, won’t be there.”

“God damn,” Negan let out an impressed sound and he leaned forward to get closer to her. “Just when I think I won’t like you anymore than I already do, you go and say something like that. Shit! Tell me, should I be jealous of that poor sucker in the AV club?”

“No,” she made a disgusted sound and Negan’s eyebrows bounced up while he listened to her. “I just flirted with him. You’d be surprised how desperate some people can be just for a little attention.”

Y/N thought about what she said and wondered if that was appropriate to say considering the situation they were in right now. It kind of came off extremely arrogant and she didn’t know if he would be turned off by it, but he looked to be the opposite.

“You’re a fucking badass,” Negan lowered his arms and laid them back on the table again. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“When the world is against you Negan, you learn to do what you have to in order to get by in life,” she responded knowing that things were harder when you were a woman in the career path she was interested in. “The world doesn’t make it easy for women.”

“I like that. Hearing that you would do anything to get what you want really puts things into perspective for me,” Negan drew his tongue over his bottom lip and his hazel eyes were locked on hers. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Thank you,” she didn’t know what to say as he nearly ate her alive with his eyes. It caused a chill to fill her body and she had to force herself to look away from him. “How about you? Why are you a teacher when you could clearly do anything you want with the money you have.”

“I like feeling like I changed someone’s life for the better,” Negan grunted, “Plus I really like sports. This lets me teach while also getting to coach. I really enjoy it. A lot. People look up to me, it’s a nice feeling.”

“Ah, so you like people looking up to you,” she lifted her gaze catching the smirk that pressed in over his features. “I’m sure you have a lot of boys and girls that are drooling every time they are in your class or whenever you are coaching them.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Negan snickered acting like he didn’t even think that was a thought in his mind. “I’m sure a lot of them fucking hate me too. That’s what you get when you teach high school students.”

“I would have loved having you as a teacher,” she confessed catching the interested look that filled his face when she said that. He sat up straighter and nodded making her lick her lips. “I would have been interested in actually showing up.”

“Mmm…I think you would have been one of my favorite students,” Negan assured her with another confident wink.

“Have you ever had a relationship with a student?” she pondered knowing that this was more so about him getting to know her, but she was interested. “I always wondered these kinds of things.”

“No, but if you were my student, I would have thought about it,” Negan quickly responded making a shocked sound escape her throat. “I was married for most of my career sweetheart and if someone found out I was sleeping with a student it would ruin my career. I also tend to like my women of…age.”

“Well some of them are eighteen,” she remembered what it was like being in high school. If there was a teacher that would have been there that looked like Negan, she could have seen herself doing whatever she could to get his attention. She was sure he got that kind of thing now by people who caught on to how gorgeous he was. “At eighteen I would have loved to have you…”

“Go on,” Negan noticed she stopped when she caught herself clearly thinking something naughty. This is what he meant when he mentioned quiet places. People got comfortable and just let whatever was on their mind come out. That’s how he wanted these things. “What would you have done at eighteen and I was your professor.”

“I would have done anything to get your attention,” she asserted, biting at her bottom lip in an attempt to play coy.

“Well, in a power position it would feel wrong to accept something like that,” Negan reminded her with a simple shrug. “Kind of like that asshole professor that fucked your shit up.”

“That’s different though. I’m a damn good student. I was doing everything right and he tried to fuck me to use his power to get what he wanted,” she insisted with a firm shake of her head. “When you have a good teacher, like I’m sure you are…I would have been totally drawn to you. I don’t think you would have forced yourself on me at all. I would have likely forced myself on you.”

“Wow, we’re going there, huh?” Negan mused with a half laugh. “I’m getting the slightest sense that I may be your type Y/N.”

“Possibly,” she chortled, reaching up to rub her hand in over the side of her warm cheek. There was no doubt that she was doing some heavy blushing and she couldn’t help it. “I honestly don’t understand why someone like you…is interested in someone like me.”

“Well that’s for me to know and for you to…potentially find out in the future?” Negan slurred, trying to find the right words to say. “I like a bit of mystery.”

“No kidding,” she took notice of how things had gone done between them. “You’re a big ball of mystery for me Mr. Smith. Do you want to tell me why you are doing this in the first place?”

“Doing what?” Negan played ignorant with her, but she knew he knew that she was asking about why he was having her spend time with him for money. The look she gave him must have told him that and he laughed. “You don’t even have to speak and I know what you are thinking by that ridiculously sassy expression of yours.”

“Then you should answer the question,” she scoffed making Negan laugh again. Well at least he laughed and was amused with her. That was a plus. It would have been bad if she just annoyed him with her forward attitude. “What am I here for? Is this going to be like a purely sexual relationship that is no strings attached?”

“Listen, I’m not looking to fall in love with you or hoping to sweep you off your feet if that’s what you’re asking me,” Negan proclaimed with a small sigh. “I’m not in a position in my life where I’m ready for that.”

“I see,” she looked down toward his left hand to see that he was still wearing his wedding ring like her mother had pointed out to her previously. “Can I ask you…anything?”

“Anything,” Negan grumbled noticing that she was looking at his wedding ring that he was wearing.

“Why still wear the ring if she passed away?” Y/N wondered, knowing that it may have been a little cold for her to ask that, but it was on her mind. If Negan was looking for attention from her, why was he still wearing the ring? Negan’s cocky arrogance seemed to fade a bit while he shifted anxiously before her.

“Just because she died doesn’t mean that she isn’t still my wife Y/N,” Negan looked to his hand and eyed over the ring that he had kept on his finger. It had been there for so long; he just didn’t want to take it off. “Sometimes we need things in life that ground us. When things get a little crazy, we have that thing that pulls us back in. Lucille was that for me. It’s why I keep the ring on. It reminds me of her and it pulls me back in.”

“Lucille?” she repeated the name clearly realizing that was the name of his late wife. “I’m sorry she passed away.”

“Me too,” Negan swallowed down hard and bit down on his bottom lip. “She was an amazing woman.”

There was a silence between them because she didn’t want to say something to upset him any further than she clearly had already done. Negan played with the ring over his finger with his thumb before lifting his gaze to her.

“I’m going to assume that you aren’t dating anyone since you took my offer?” Negan acknowledged and she sighed heavily before nodding. “So, no one special?”

“I told you, education has been my primary focus for a while,” she confessed and Negan rest his chin on his palm while getting comfortable listening to her after bracing his elbow on the table. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had anyone special in my life.”

“So, are you a virgin?” Negan simply blurt out making her cheeks flush over and she lowered her head to look at the ground beneath the table. “Don’t be embarrassed. Whatever you answer won’t make me like you any less.”

“No, I’m not,” she responded simply and Negan wiggled his head about as if to say she was being vague.

“Have you had a lot of sex then?” Negan uttered and she shrugged.

“What’s a lot of sex for someone my age?” she attempted to get a feel for what he thought about things and he threw his other hand out as if to say he didn’t know. The answer was no, she wasn’t very experienced, but she didn’t quite want to admit that knowing he may have been looking for something a little more than what she had to offer. “Have you had a lot of sex?”

“What’s a lot of sex for someone my age?” Negan almost mocked her with an amused smile and she rolled her eyes at him. “You not being a virgin makes things easier to be honest with you.”

“How’s that?” she was confused as to why he would say something like that.

“When you sleep with someone for the first time, it should be special. You know?” Negan stated with a tilt of his head.

“Apparently I missed that memo,” she exhaled heavily and Negan gave her an interested expression. “I was at that point in my life where everyone was going crazy about having sex. I felt out of place for not having sex and I was trying to figure out why everyone was so big on it.”

“That’s a horrible reason to have sex,” Negan grunted and she felt her face flushing over. Why was she being so honest with him about this?

“Long story short, I did it to find out what the big deal was and to feel not like a loser,” she muttered and Negan nodded, the look he was giving her changing when she said that. “I wish I could get those few minutes back…”

“It wasn’t good?” Negan prodded further and she laughed. “What wasn’t good about it?”

“It was more so uncomfortable and the guy it was with, I was just ready for it to be over,” she admitted with a hesitant sound. “He thought he was impressive and he definitely thought he was hot.”

“And he wasn’t, huh?” Negan grumbled, his eyes narrowing out at her as she tilted her head to the side. It felt weird talking to him about her first experience with sex.

“He thought he was spectacular at sex and God’s gift to women. Let’s just say he wasn’t all that impressive,” she frowned, looking down toward the table again and she felt embarrassed to be saying this.

“See, it’s hard for me to picture that you can’t get a decent lover,” Negan informed her with an expecting glance. “You just told me that you flirted with the AV club guy to get what you wanted. You’re hot, you know you’re hot. So I feel like you could have gotten whoever you wanted.”

“I’m good with flirting Negan. I know how to use what I have to get what I want. It doesn’t make me a slut,” she snorted and Negan’s eyebrows perked up when she said it. “I slept with someone people considered hot and it didn’t take much convincing. Trust me a lot of girls at my school would have been jealous that I got him, but he wasn’t a big prize like most of the girls thought he was.”

“You excite me the more you say to me,” Negan hummed thinking about some of the words she used. “You’re nervous, but you are extremely confident. You’re a badass, but also down to Earth. Fuck, I like learning the layers of you.”

“You make me sound exciting,” she rolled her eyes and Negan tapped his hands against the table. “What about you? I’m sure your first time was much better than mine.”

“My first time was a long time ago,” Negan snorted seeing the way her cheeks flushed over again and he smiled. “What would you say if I told you I was a geek and I didn’t get laid until college?”

“I wouldn’t believe you,” she answered and Negan gave her a sideway glance.

“You’d be right,” Negan shrugged, throwing his hands up. “It was worth a shot.”

“You were definitely a jock and you were very popular,” she took notice of the way he acted. There was an air to Negan that showed he was admired most of his life. He was cocky and there was a reason. People always let him be cocky. He was good looking and he knew it. “You likely slept with most of the school.”

“Maybe,” Negan paused to think of what he should say next. “I was the captain on our basketball team in high school.”

“And did you or did you not sleep with most of the cheerleaders?” she egged him on and watched Negan’s features scrunch up with amusement. “I know I’m right.”

“Mhmm,” Negan slowly nodded, biting into his bottom lip. “You want me to be honest with you?”

“It’s a night of honesty,” she retorted with a dramatic shrug. “So why not?”

“In college I stayed with a friend of mine. We lied and said I was her brother so that way I didn’t have to pay for a place to stay. It was a building with nothing, but girls…” Negan admitted almost making a pleased look for himself. “Let’s just say, when you are the only male in a building, girls are pretty damn eager to…get to know you.”

“Of course you did,” she lowered her head into her palm, letting out an amused sound.

“Does that turn you off of me?” Negan poked, his eyes hooked on her when she lifted her gaze again.

“As you said Negan, you’re completely my type,” she reminded him, hating to confess that to him. “I would have been one of them hoping to understand why sex was so damn good and why everyone wanted to sleep with you. Maybe you would make me realize why sex is so damn good.”

“I’m better now than I was then,” Negan almost flirted with her making her shudder. “I know what a woman wants now. Then, I was just happy to be getting laid at the rate I was. I thought I was such big shit.”

“Well, I bet the people you slept with felt lucky. Unlike I felt with the guy I slept with,” she brought back her past and let out a long sigh. “It’s one of the biggest regrets I’ve had in my life and I’m still wondering why people are crazy about sex.”

“You just didn’t have the right partner,” Negan insisted, reaching out to place his hand over hers to give it a firm squeeze. “Once you find the right one, you’ll never get enough of it.”

“Yeah?” her eyebrow rose as she leaned in closer to him at the table. “Why is that? What would you do to make me enjoy it? Now, not back when you were younger.”

“You want me to go there?” Negan grinned with air of arrogance. When she nodded, he took a look around the diner and made sure they were secluded so no one could hear them. “Give me a situation. Where are we?”

“Let’s go with where we are now,” she looked around the small diner. “What would you do to make sure that I enjoyed it?”

“Well, first of all…” Negan lowered his voice, his eyes narrowing out at her. “I would get up from this side of the table and slide in beside you. I’d start kissing your neck, learning the places you liked to be touched. Since you’re wearing that sexy little skirt, I would caress over your thigh with my hand in teasing strokes. I’d gradually slide my hand up between your thighs and trace over your panties with my fingertips. I’d make sure my eyes were locked on yours to be sure I could see which ways I touched you made you shudder or shake. After I knew that you were turned on and full of lust, I’d push your panties aside and push this finger inside of you.”

She watched him raise his hand up and wiggle one of his fingers. Listening to him was drawing her cheeks to turn a light shade of red again and he could sense that her breathing had gotten heavier while he was talking, “I’d finger you, urging you to make sure that you stayed quiet while we were in here because we wouldn’t want to be caught. After you were nice and wet, I would put a second finger in. I’d vary with slow thrusts of my fingers to quick. It would be based on if you were about to have an orgasm or not. If you were close, I would slow down, making sure to drag it out. When we could get away, I’d go to the bathroom and instruct you to follow me in there. When we were alone, I’d make sure the door was locked and I’d hoist you up on the sink. I’d take your panties off and put them in my pocket. Get down on my knees and eat our your pretty little pussy. It would be about dragging out the pleasure for you. I would use my fingers and tongue in equal amounts teasing your clit while also focusing on hitting your g-spot. I’d do it until I had you screaming out my name having your first orgasm.”

“Yeah?” she was eager for him to continue as Negan checked to make sure they were still alone within reason. The undoubtable pounding of her heart inside of her chest was felt and she felt goosebumps pressing in over her arms. Truthfully, this was making a warmth pool at her core and it ached. Negan was turning her on incredibly bad by just his words and it was hard to admit it, but it was true.

“Just when you thought you were at the peak of your pleasure, I would let you take my cock out because something tells me that you would eagerly like to get me out of my pants yourself,” Negan looked down toward his groin, a wicked smirk pressing in over his handsome features when his eyes lifted back to hers. “I’d have you put me inside of you and I would make sure to kiss you while you got used to my size.”

“I take it that means you are big,” she felt her throat go dry and Negan sat up straighter.

“I’m six foot one,” Negan cleared his throat and she felt her frustrations getting the best of her when he clearly teased her again.

“You know I mean your dick,” she simply stated, licking at her lips. “I’m trying to put an image in my mind and make this as realistic as possible. “Do you have a big cock?”

The sound of a surprised breath fell over them making Negan choke in amusement when the waitress had brought their drinks to the table. An incredible amount of embarrassment filled her entire body as she groaned inwardly and lowered her head into her palm after seeing the look on the waitress’s face.

“Thank you,” Negan was chuckling when the waitress swiftly walked away from the table. “Very subtle. We’re clearly going to have to teach you to do things on the downlow so we don’t involve other people and make it uncomfortable.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” she lifted her head from her hand and could see that Negan was completely amused with her.

“I didn’t know where you were going with it,” Negan snickered, lowering his head to laugh to himself. “It’s why I answered my height.”

“After all of this, I think you at least owe me an answer,” she claimed nodding toward him when he lifted his head to look up at her. “I did just embarrass the hell out of myself there.”

“It’s pretty good,” Negan rubbed at the back of his neck, letting out a strained noise.

“What does that mean?” she was flustered with his answer and it was clear he liked screwing with her.

“It means it’s bigger than the average size,” Negan bit at his bottom lip, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. “I’m not a horse or anything of the sort…”

“So bigger than six inches?” she confirmed making Negan grin over her interest.

For someone who hated sex as much as she said she did, it entertained him that she was so sexual with him about her questions. It really was flattering that she was so hot and bothered by him.

“Why? Do you want a monster cock after your first experience?” Negan teased her and she let out an agitated sound. “Yes, it’s bigger than six inches and it’s thick. Would you like me to continue or would you like excruciating details of my penis so that way if you ever do see it you aren’t surprised at all?”

“Keep going,” she almost begged looking around to make sure the waitress wasn’t anywhere near their table. “Please.”

“Okay,” Negan watched her scooting in closer to the table and he found it cute that she was so eager to hear how they would finish in his little story. “Once you were used to my…size…”

The way in which he said that made a smile crack in over his lips. Well one thing was for certain, he certainly was someone that liked fucking with her and liked getting her hot with what he was saying.

“I would start off at a slow pace making sure that your eyes were hooked on mine. Once you were relaxed, I would make each thrust just a little bit harder. I’d want you to hold onto my shoulders tightly so that when I started fucking you harder you would have something to brace yourself with. When it seemed like you were about cum, I would stop. I’d get you on your feet and make you face the mirror. You’d brace your hands on the mirror while I thrust into you from behind. I’d make you watch me fuck you while my fingers rubbed your clit at the same tempo I was thrusting my cock inside of you. This time you would be allowed to cum. Near the end I would make it so you could crawl in over me and ride my cock to your own accord. Letting you control when I get to cum. You’d bring yourself to another orgasm before making me cum inside of your tight little pussy. We’d kiss until I went soft inside of you…”

“Wow,” she breathed out slowly, feeling certain parts of her tingling when Negan explained just what he would do to her. An involuntary shiver filled her entire body and she waved her hand in the air. “You are…”

“Oh look, our meal,” Negan rubbed his hands together when the waitress came back with their food. Instead of being able to say what she wanted, she swallowed down hard and avoided making eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you darlin’.”

The area around Y/N felt like it was spinning and she was doing her best to bring herself back down from the high his story gave her. Negan had started to eat, but when he noticed she wasn’t eating he gave a wicked smirk.

“Eat your food sweetheart,” Negan winked and during their meal he asked her questions about herself that were rather innocent. They talked about things to get to know each other better on a more personal level that didn’t really involve anything sexual. How he went from being that…sexual to just talking like it never happened blew her mind. She was still heated and she could tell that Negan got her mighty excited. When they were done, Negan ordered a single piece of pie and when it came to the table, he grabbed a forkful to hold his hand out for her to take a bite. “Open wide.”

“Yes sir,” she smirked parting her lips for him to feed her the bite of pie. When she made a pleased sound, he was proud and grabbed a bite for himself. “This was nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Negan agreed with a loud sigh, thinking things over as he took a couple more bites from the pie. Slowly, Negan pulled himself up from the side of the table that he was on. Taking a seat on the same booth as her, he urged her further in wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. The way she gasped made him smile while his hazel eyes hooked on hers. “This has been quite an eye opener for me. You know? I’m glad you agreed to this. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with agreeing to this whole thing.”

“Yeah?” she felt heated when he leaned in closer to her. His right hand grabbed a hold of her jaw and she felt his lips pressing in over her jawline making her take in a sharp breath. The sensation of his lips trailing over the side of her neck caused her eyes to slam shut. She was tremoring and she knew he was doing what he told her would be the first thing he would do if they had sex at the diner.

“You are something else,” he muttered against her flesh, biting softly at her skin. A small moan fell from her throat and Negan’s gaze lifted to look at the diner to make sure she hadn’t drawn attention to them. When he was certain they were fine, he went back to depositing wet kisses over her skin taking the time to see what areas seemed to drive her the craziest with desire. “I think the two of us are going to have a lot of fun together.”

“I think so too,” she agreed, biting into her bottom lip when his rough palm settled in over her bare thigh. The roughness of his skin tickled hers and it drew her to spread her legs further apart for him. Negan was pleased with himself and he continued to slide his hand further up her thigh. “Negan…”

“Yeah?” Negan hummed against her neck, his tongue flicking out over her skin before nipping again.

Sliding forward in her seat when she felt Negan’s fingers exceedingly close to her panties, she found herself ridiculously excited at the idea that he was doing what he had told her at the beginning of his story. It wasn’t like her to want to have sex with someone like this, but there was something about Negan that just drew her to him. God, he was so sexy.

“We should probably pay for the bill,” Negan pulled his hand back and his mouth away from her neck. A desperate sound fell from her throat when he had clearly tormented her with the idea of what he had said in his story. “I should get you home. It’s been a busy night for you.”

“What…what about the bathroom?” she suggested and Negan lifted his gaze to look in the direction where the bathrooms were. “Don’t you want to go in there?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Negan reached up to swipe thumb in over her jawline. It was clear that he was teasing her. He got her excited at the idea of what he had told her before they had eaten, but he wasn’t going to give that to her. “I don’t need to go.”

“But…” she tried to reason with Negan watching him get up to pay the bill. She was shaking. Her breathing was heavy and she was truly heated. More than anything she wanted Negan to take her into the bathroom and do just what he had said he would. Yet, he was fucking with her. Her lips parted and she swallowed down hard. “Fuck.”

“You ready to go sweetheart?” Negan reached for her hand and helped her up from the seat she was in. When he noticed her legs shaking, he stepped forward and made sure his lips were pressed to her ear. “Just how wet is your pussy right now?”

“You could find out,” she whispered and Negan laughed against her flesh making a chill run down her spine again.

“I think I’ll wait for a better opportunity,” Negan hushed her, pressing a soft kiss against her earlobe before tugging softly on her hand to get her to come with him to his motorcycle. The urge to beg Negan to desperately fuck her was there, but she didn’t want to come off completely pathetic. Shuddering, she got back on the motorcycle with him and heard him let out a satisfied breath. “Make sure you hold really tight to me baby. I’m going to take you home.”

“What about my car?” she thought back to the fact she had driven herself to work before Negan convinced her to come with him. “It’s still at the club.”

“Tell your parents that you were feeling sick and a friend drove you home,” Negan answered like it was no big deal at all. “They will take you to pick it up in the morning.”

And like that, she didn’t fight him. Holding tightly to him, she rest her cheek against his back as he drove them home. It was a nice feeling that she wasn’t quite ready to end when Negan finally did get home. When he pulled into his driveway, she was disappointed and wanted the night to last longer.

Steadying herself on her Jell-O feeling legs, she rubbed at her arms and could see Negan staring out at her with an expecting glance.

“Do you…want me to come in?” she pointed toward his house and Negan’s eyebrow arched up. A wolfish smile pulled at his lips and he shook his head slowly. “We could get to know each other a little bit better.”

“Not tonight,” Negan denied her, shoving his hands in his pockets while he turned his attention back to her. Why was he being so damn difficult? “I think we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well for tonight. We can end it here.”

“I still feel like there is so much more to learn,” she reasoned with him and Negan nodded.

“Which is why I look forward to our future encounters,” Negan stepped forward, getting exceedingly close to her. The warmth of his breath over her face caused her to shudder and she found herself leaning in closer to him. With his eyes on hers the way they were, she felt connected to Negan in a way that made her eager to get to know him more. “I’ll see you morning.”

“Wait…aren’t you going to kiss me?” she called out to him when he pulled away from her to leave. “That’s the perfect way to end the night, right?”

“Would it be perfect for me…or perfect for you?” Negan stepped forward nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck when he lowered his head. Negan dragged his bottom lip over her flesh making her whimper out. Dragging the back of his fingers over her lower abdomen, Negan bit back a groan himself. “Can I touch you.”

“Yes,” she shuddered when Negan slid his palm between her thighs to palm in over her mound. It made her cry out into his collarbone, burying her face against his leather jacket. Negan hummed with approval when he managed to slip his hand beneath the material of her panties. All he did was slide his palm over her body before a proud sound fell from his throat.

“You are so fucking wet,” Negan growled, pulling his hand from her panties and bringing his fingers up to his lips. There was a wicked smirk over his handsome face when he sucked softly at his fingertips. “I have a direct order for you tonight. I know when I leave you tonight, you are going to want to touch yourself when you’re in bed tonight. You’ll want that release because I’ve got you fucking soaked and aching…”

Involuntarily she was shaking and Negan grunted when he reached to pull her close to him, “but you aren’t allowed to touch yourself. You can’t shower, you can’t masturbate…you are to go to bed immediately. You need to get your sleep because I expect you here bright and early tomorrow after you get your car. I have plans for you. So, in the morning you can shower and get yourself ready, but not tonight.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” she bickered in a soft voice and Negan let out a disappointed tsking sound.

“You’re not allowed to, no matter what,” Negan maintained, pressing a long kiss over the side of her face. “If I find out you did, you’ll be punished for it and trust me…you’re the type that can’t hide lying very well so I will know.”

“Yes sir,” she obeyed and Negan back stepped away from her, his amused breath filling the air.

“Good girl,” Negan clicked his tongue at the top of his mouth and leaned back in a dramatic manner. “I’m so proud of you.”

There was a silence while Negan clearly thought hard about something and he held his hand out to her, “Give me your phone.”

Listening, she handed him over her phone and saw him typing something in. When he handed it back to her, she could see that he put his phone number into her phone and sent himself a text so he would have her number as well. When Negan started to move away from her, she was thinking a desperate way to try and keep him there with her.

“So, no kiss?” she reaffirmed and Negan nodded once. Damn, that was disappointing. She imagined kissing him was amazing and the fact he wasn’t doing it made her even more uncomfortable than before. “Well, goodnight I guess.”

“Sleep tight,” Negan wiggled his fingers and headed back toward his home. Moving back to her parent’s house, she found herself staring as Negan moved into his home. He didn’t even look back over his shoulder at her and it disenchanted her.

Truthfully, the perfect night would have been doing exactly what he told her in his story, but instead she ended up with this. Heading inside she went upstairs and crawled into her bed after getting dressed for bed. There was a strong ache at her core and she looked to the time. Negan wouldn’t know if she touched herself, right?

Biting firmly into her bottom lip, she closed her eyes and pictured everything he told her at the diner tonight. It was easy to picture in her mind and even though she wanted to caress over her aching body, she knew that she was given an order not to. Whining, she looked toward the window and wondered if Negan was thinking of her the way she was thinking of him.

Damn, it was going to be hard to sleep tonight thinking about Negan. Especially when she was desperate for tomorrow morning. She was excited to see what Negan had in store for her in the morning. If it was anywhere near this, she figured it was something she would definitely be happy with.

Tags: @slutlanna976 @nubbinrobin @oreostars @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @felicity291 @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @iluvneganandjamie @ninamarietwd @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl @insertneganhere @haleygreen23

#Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan x reader #negan fanfiction #The Walking Dead #twd fanfiction #my writing

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sockablock · 4 years

Text

once upon a time, I wrote a little oneshot about consecuted-caleb — today, I present to you, the official Pt. II

— — —

“But what do you mean, you won’t see her?”

“Ach, I didn’t say I won’t—”

“But you are not saying yes, Caleb. You haven’t said you will.”

“I just need more time. This is...a lot to process.”

From down in his seat at their desk, Essek scoffs. He is watching Caleb pace the length of the study, his posture growing more impatient by the second.

“Caleb,” his voice borders on stern. “Caleb, it will be worse if you put it off. Trust me, you have to speak with the Queen. Or the Skysybil, at least. They will know what to do.”

Caleb drags his hand through his hair. “Do they?” he asks. “Are you certain, Essek? Because I have a feeling that once I tell them anything, I will not be able to take it back. My life is going to change very drastically, and...and I do not know if I want that to happen.”

Essek sighs. “Caleb, if you really are...Consecuted, then things are going to change no matter what. This is not something that can be put off. This is your soul, Caleb. It cannot be ignored.”

Caleb shakes his head and turns around. “I’m not trying to ignore it, Essek, I am just...gods. Are you...are you sure?”

“Do you understand what I am saying right now?”

He waves a hand. “We have done this already, Thelyss.”

“And you have recounted the memory to me,” Essek agrees. “That is fairly good proof, I would say.”

“But...Consecution? How could that be possible? And why am I only finding out now?”

Essek scratches his chin and leans back. “I admit I am wondering that also. You are...what? Already twenty? Fifty? Er...how do humans...”

This is enough to give Caleb pause. “Really?”

Essek shrugs. “I have not met many of you, before.”

“I believe that,” Caleb huffs. “And I am thirty-three. Which, if I understand your point, makes me an adult.”

“Right,” Essek nods. “So it is quite late for your memories to be reasserting themselves.”

Caleb winces a little, at that. “Can we not call them my memories, yet?”

“The memories,” Essek amends. “Usually, they resurface when you are young. You are sure that you never saw flashes of y—of other lives in the past?”

Caleb considers this. “What...at what age do they normally occur? Or what developmental stage?”

“When a youth transitions into adulthood,” Essek says. “Near the end of that process.”

“Ah,” says Caleb. Now he is still. “That, er...was a complicated time for me.”

“From what I remember about watching my brother age, it was complicated for most of us.”

Now Caleb is fidgeting, though, and that is surprising even to Essek.

“No,” he says, slowly, haltingly, almost hesitant. “Er...you might misunderstand. I have...no real memories of that time. The ones that I do are...vague. And unpleasant.”

Essek is quiet. They both are, for a while. Distantly, they can hear a door shut and close; the rest of the Mighty Nein are busy at home.

“I am sorry,” Essek says eventually. It is not particularly soft, or gentle, but he means it.

Caleb nods. “Thank you.”

Then the Shadowhand claps his hands. “If...that is the case, then...perhaps we should focus on just this instance. When you remembered, what was it like? How did it feel?”

Caleb, a little hesitantly, thinks back. “There was...I felt something when it happened. Er...a sort of light. Something...very warm. And very bright.” He grimaces. “Is that another symptom?”

Essek shakes his head. Caleb notices, for the first time, that Essek looks nearly as harried as he feels.

“I do not believe the Luxon holy,” Essek says, “but describing it like a disease might be...unfair.”

"Sorry,” Caleb says quickly. “I did not mean—”

He waves a hand. “It is fine. And...well, do you trust me?”

Caleb hesitates for a moment. He can’t help it.

Essek doesn’t fault him. “Trust me on this,” he says instead. “I am quite good at Dunamancy, no?”

This time, a smile tugs on Caleb’s lips. “That is true.”

Essek nods, and motions for Caleb to sit. His chair creaks.

This time, Essek’s words are softer, delivered with a little more tact. “Everything that I know about the ritual points to...it points to this being Consecution. Your description of the light only serves to solidify my conviction even more. It is...possible, for whatever it is worth, that this could just be some sort of...side effect of your studies, but I highly doubt it. The memory you had is too personal, to solidly in your point of view. Not to mention your sudden acquisition of a new—or rather, old—language.”

“It could come in handy,” Caleb manages. “It will make talking to shopkeepers more interesting.”

He meets Essek’s gaze. His smile wanes.

“I...have spent so much of my life being Ca—well, being me. For so long, I...I have carried the burdens that being me entails, the sins, the regrets, and the dreams all alike. But...I do not know how to be anyone else. I do not know if I...can.”

Essek studies his face. He watches the candlelight weave through his hair, in his eyes.

He exhales.

“Alright. It’s...you’re right. Let’s wait.”

Caleb jolts to look at him. “What?”

Essek sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, it goes against quite a lot of what I know, but you do have a point. You need time to process this. I should not push you to speak to the Queen so quickly. And, ultimately, it is your life. Your choice.”

The flames dance gently between them.

“I am here, though,” he adds softly. “If you would like someone to talk to.”

Caleb’s shoulders relax. He nods, and lightly touches Essek’s arm.

“Thank you.”

Essek chuckles. “You are welcome. Although I...hope you would not mind me saying that I am rather curious about how your...particular situation came to be.”

Caleb breathes out a little laugh as well. Then he seems to start. Essek realizes at about the same time.

“Ah.”

“It makes the most sense, ja?”

“Gods, and there...there are...you are not the only case. Though most of them were...younger.”

Essek looks around the study. He waves his hand for good measure, then leans back when he seems to decide they are alone.

The expression he gives Caleb is amused at best. At worst, roiling in guilt.

“I think I might owe you another apology. For...complicating your life further. In rather unexpected ways.”

Caleb shuffles in his seat. “We shall have to see just how unexpected, I suppose. But...for what it’s worth...thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Essek sighs. “We still have to see, no? Although,” his lip twitches, “it would appear that you were a rather educated mage in the past. Final spell incomplete or no, Azadrun’s series is a complicated sequence. If you continue to remember, you might end up teaching me something.”

Caleb huffs at his attempt at humor. “Perhaps I can repay what I owe you, then. You have, after all, taught me quite a bit.”

“No,” says Essek almost immediately. “No, you do not owe me anything. Not...now.” He looks down.

He starts when Caleb takes his hand.

“Essek?”

His wretched gaze returns. He finds himself staring into a pair of blue eyes.

“Yes?” he breathes, because he has to.

“I would like someone to talk to. And,” Caleb’s brow lifts, “it would be nice if that someone were you. Least of all because you are the Dynasty’s resident Dunamantic expert.”

Essek, despite himself, laughs.

“Then you have him,” he nods. “Of course you have him. And...whatever this means, whatever you...you wish to do about this, you have him no matter what. I will do what I can to help you.”

He feels Caleb squeeze his hand.

“Thank you.”

He looks back into those eyes. There are a thousand things he wants to say. Some of them, he knows, he never should and never could. Some of them are bursting to be freed and to be heard.

He sits back and laces his fingers.

“So,” he tilts his head. “What will you tell the rest?”

Caleb freezes. His arm goes slack.

“Oh, gods. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

#critical role #critrole #critfic #fic #shadowgast #consecuted caleb #fanfic #fanfiction #long post #jay writes #MAN THIS ONE TOOK A WHILE BUT dghjkds i hope yalll enjoy <3333 #cr2 #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #because i could not stop for death

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sondepoch · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring.

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon.

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.”

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy.

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I��m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing.

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?”

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!”

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching.

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly.

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way.

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times.

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon.

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach.

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching.

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum.

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them.

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage.

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos.

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends.

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head.

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought.

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it.

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning.

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air.

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

#Word count: 4.2k #obey me! shall we date?#satan x reader #obey me satan #obey me solomon #reader has personality #volleyball athlete reader #slice of life #friendship #friends to best friends to lovers #human au #high school au #college au #slow burn #extremely slow slow burn #requited feelings #crushes #gonna be *wholesome*#mild swearing

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