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persephones-wren · 3 years

Note

hii love, love your fics so I just had to request again! Could request a Kaz andd reader where he says something mean to her without meaning it but shes really sad an stattes crying to jesper and he gets angry and tells Kaz to apologise? Angst with a happy ending,please!! Thanks a ton darling💗💗

Forgiveness (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

thank you for requesting again! school has been kicking my ass, so sorry for how long writing this took, but I hope you like it! :)

Warnings: mentions of catcalling, (small) injury, idk?

Genre: angst to fluff

Word Count: 1910

To say you’ve had a shitty day would’ve been an understatement.

Heading to the White Rose to see Nina, you’d been catcalled multiple times. Maybe you were being dramatic, but the comments felt more scathing than usual, and it had gotten under your skin quicker than you thought it would. You didn’t want to use Kaz’s reputation to scare them off, but it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d still be viewed as a possession, just one that didn’t belong to them.

You had snapped at the last stranger who’d given their perverse ideals of you, and that altercation had left you a lovely slash on your arm from defending yourself. You had temporarily wrapped it up on a scarf, but you knew you would probably have to wrap it with gauze on it when you returned.

When you had asked the clerk where Nina was, he said that he’d seen her leave, but she said nothing to him. Which meant the entire journey here was a waste, and that you’d have to head home without her guaranteed cooperation with the plan your boyfriend was creating.

“Kaz, she’s not there. Clerk said she went out, but he didn’t get where. It was a waste of a trip,” you sigh, throwing down your cloak on a random chair.

Kaz sighs, lowering his head as he writes out another part of the plan. “Really, Y/N? You couldn’t go out and look for her? She told us a couple days ago that she was going to start taking trips to the market at this time. You could’ve found her there.”

“I’m sorry?” you scoff quietly, but try to adjust your tone at the icy stare he gives you. You could’ve said that nicer, sure. “I didn’t think to look for her there because I didn’t know that, Kaz. Are you sure she told us that?”

“Yes, she did. Were you not paying attention?”

“I don’t think I was there,” you refute. “I would’ve remembered if she told me.”

“I don’t have time to talk to people who can’t do their jobs,” he mutters. “Just get out and waste time for now. Let me finish what I’m working on and we’ll find her together later.”

“The hell you mean I can’t do my job?” you protest. “I did what you asked. I went to go look for her, and she wasn’t there. I thought your instructions were not to stray from my path, because you wanted me home quickly and safely.”

“If you had any shred of common sense, then you’d know that I’d only say that because I’m supposed to care about you. I’d take information over your safety.”

You still. What?

He’s supposed to care about you? Does that imply he doesn’t? He would take information over your safety.

Does he want to break up?

Stop being dramatic. Kaz doesn’t play implication games with something like that. He’d tell you outright.

But he wouldn’t care for you if he got what he wanted.

“I-um, oh,” you take a shuddery breath. Your chest feels tight and your eyes are going to water. Kaz hates dealing with over-emotional people. He needs people who can keep their cool, people who can think their way out of things. You need to get out of here before he looks up at you. You’re useless, you’re an idiot, no wonder he said you couldn’t do your job properly.

Too late. He looks up at you, frowning at your silence, but you quickly turn away, still trying to hide your face.

You laugh, and even you can tell that it’s not genuine, just an attempt at trying to hide your wavering voice. “I’m fine, Kaz. Uh- yeah, yeah! We’ll go out later and-” your throat catches as you swallow harshly. “We’ll go out and look for Nina later. See you then.” You quickly brush your tears out of the way, opening the door and stepping out.

Your steps echo down the hall, and you try and find your way to your room through the tears that now stream down your face.

I’d take information over your safety.

You still don’t know if he means it. He’s angry, but- Kaz was usually extremely candid when he was upset.

He might’ve meant every word.

You don’t notice Jes in front of you, and as you pass him, he catches your arm.

You wince, his fingers land right on the slash, and he hastily lets go, looking at you with concern. Everyone was usually about as emotional as a rock in the Barrel. What made you cry like that?

“Y/N, you okay? What happened? Why did you flinch from me? Did I do something wrong?”

His face resembles a kicked puppy, and your heart constricts with slight guilt.

“No, no- it’s not your fault, Jes- your fingers landed right on a slash I got, that’s all.”

He looks at his hands, covered in slight blood. You tug at your soaked-through scarf and look at it, and it looks even worse than when you first got it. Your grimace. So much for getting him to worry less about you. “It looks a lot worse than it actually is.” Your words are frantic and stuttered, but you hope he gets the point.

“How did that happen? I thought with Kaz’s reputation, you would be untouchable. Why isn’t he taking care of you?”

You smile sadly. The mention of Kaz tightens your chest again. “Guy scrapped with me for a little while after catcalling me. I didn’t want to use Kaz to defend myself- me, with him? He’d be even more of a target. And Kaz is a bit upset with me right now. He doesn’t know what happened.”

“Why the hell would he be upset?”

“I didn’t get the information he wanted,” your voice is small and weak. “And he said he’d rather have the information more than my safety.”

“Which is why you’re crying.” Jes’s face has a look of understanding.

“Yes,” you affirm quietly. “Today’s just been a bad day. I’ll be alright, though, really. I know Kaz doesn’t like dealing with weak people, so I thought I wouldn’t bother-”

“You’re not weak.” His voice gains a complete new edge, and his face is determined. You suddenly get a bad feeling. What’s Jes going to suggest you do? “We’re going to go confront him. Right now.”

“Jes, I look like I’ve been crying. I’d at least like to compose myself a bit.”

“No.” He makes sure he’s grabbing your other arm, before leading you back to Kaz’s office. “He needs to know how much he’s fucked up. He’s smart, but really,” Jesper sighs, “He’s an idiot. And you deserve better than that.”

Your heart warms at his words, but you’re still nervous as he leads you down the hall, and you’re definitely panicking when he opens the door without knocking.

Kaz looks up, and a brief look of surprise is in his eyes as he looks at Jesper. Why didn’t Jesper knock? And why would Jes need him, especially at midday? Wouldn’t he be out gambling?

Kaz prepares himself to hear something stupid. He doesn’t notice you standing behind him, and his attention drifts back down to his plan.

“What do you need?”

“Apologize.”

“For?”

“For being a bloody idiot and hurting your girlfriend.”

Hurting you? He looks back up to him, and this time, you’re standing next to Jesper.

“I didn’t-” Kaz starts, but your appearance makes him go silent.

Your expression is blank, but tear streaks clearly stain your face, and you clearly look like you don’t want to be confronting him. Jesper had put you up to this.

Were you too afraid of him to do it yourself?

What did he do for you to look like that?

“You didn’t do anything?” Jesper’s voice is incredulous. “She went to the White Rose to try and find Nina, and then you come home and treat her like she’s useless because she doesn’t get what you want. She’s your girlfriend, not a goon. Have some respect for her, yeah? She followed exactly what you said, to try and get home quickly and safely, and even then, she still gets hurt. Did you even notice the bleeding gash?”

“Jes,” you whisper, “it’s fine, really-”

He doesn’t listen, and grabs at your wrist to lift your arm, pulling down the scarf and revealing the bloody cut. Kaz blinks, concern and guilt briefly flashing on his face before he smooths back his expression.

How didn’t he notice? How did that happen?

“Y’know how she got that? Men were harassing her, and she fought one of them because she didn’t want to use your name as her shield. She was trying to prevent painting an even bigger target on your back. And then you go as far,” Jes laughs angrily, “as to say that she’s not worth more than information for your fucking plan? And through all of that, she leaves you alone because she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience to you. Your girlfriend thinks her emotions are burdening you. Get your fucking head out of your ass. Either you apologize to her, or she’s breaking up with you.”

You and Kaz are both left standing still, both watching as Jesper stalks back toward the door, opening it and slamming it shut.

The sound echoes through the silent room.

You don’t know what to say. Part of you feels vindicated, Jesper did the hard part for you, but part of you feels guilty- Jesper also made it a lot bigger than it could’ve been.

You let the guilt win out.

“I’m sorry, Jes’s wording was a bit harsh, I’ll take my leave, it’s really not that big-”

“Stay,” Kaz interrupts. “Please.”

You sit down on the chair next to his, and he turns to you, pulling out gauze and alcohol wipes.

“I can do it myself,” you say hurriedly. “I know-”

“You’re not a burden to me.” He avoids your gaze, he doesn’t want to see your reaction, in case he really would lose you after this. “Let me help you.”

“Okay.”

You hiss through your teeth as he cleans the gash, a small “sorry” escaping him as he continues. There’s still a silence hanging between both of you. He wraps it carefully, looking up at you when he’s done.

“Not too tight?”

“No,” you answer quietly. “Thank you, Kaz.”

There’s another silence between you.

“I care about you,” he says suddenly. “I wouldn’t trade your safety for anything.”

You know it’s his way of saying sorry.

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring smile. “I know. I’ve just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“It’s not,” he argues. “If you ever need to defend yourself, use my name if it’ll get them to stop. I don’t care if it paints whatever sized target on my back.” You open your mouth to interject, but he continues. “I’m already a wanted criminal in Ketterdam. However much you increase the target by doesn’t matter, so long as you come home alright.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I will.”

“I love you, darling.”

Your eyes widen at his words. He doesn’t say it often, he knows that you already know that.

Jesper must’ve really shaken him.

“I love you too,” you reply softly. “Thank you.”

It’s his turn to look surprised. “For?”

“For caring,” you respond. “For being you. For loving me.”

A faint smile etches on his lips. “I always will.”

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #six of crows x reader #soc kaz #kaz soc #soc x reader #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #jesper fahey #thank you for the request!#request

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from-the-clouds · 3 years

Text

Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :)

-----

“Keep an eye on him.”

Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.

It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.

She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.

“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.

“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow.

“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss.

It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.

“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering.

“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared.

“Zemo-”

“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…��

“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”

“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”

She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature.

“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.

“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”

“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world.

Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”

Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.

She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band.

It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now.

As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again.

“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”

Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.

“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”

She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”

He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat.

“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her.

But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.

“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give.

“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued.

Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her.

It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?

Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on.

But oh, how much she wanted it to.

“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk.

“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”

At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.

“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly.

It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all?

She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more.

“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“Please-” she rolled her eyes.

“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”

His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered.

In more ways than one, she thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right.

Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”

With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her.

The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”

“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone.

“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.

“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”

The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.

“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.

“What is there to lose?”

Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.

Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”

“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”

Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.

----

Part III

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#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #zemo x reader #zemo x you #zemo #baron zemo #bucky barnes #sam wilson #daniel bruhl #helmet zemo fanfiction #tfatws imagine #mcu #mcu imagine

1K notes · View notes

sevlgi · 3 years

Text

what we want

requested: yes x2

group: blackpink

pairing: jennie x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

contents: idol!jennie, idol!reader, pr relationship

warnings: none

synopsis: Jennie’s lost herself somewhere along the way of achieving her dream. Behind that tough, cruel mask of hers, she doesn’t know what she wants, and maybe uncovering the mask you wear is what will help her realize it.

a/n: this is so much heavier than either of you guys asked for asalknasdfkj... but i wrote my longest fic yet in less than 2 days!!!! i think that’s an achievement :D

word count: 6k

Kim Jennie did not have a good reputation, and she didn’t really give a shit about it.

At least, that’s what everyone thought. That’s what everyone knew, with the numerous articles a week about South Korea’s resident fuckgirl, with Dispatch’s 20 cameramen hired just to follow Jennie. She was careless, she was cold, and she care what anyone else said about her.

What no one cared about was Jennie’s reasoning. Because while the first time sneaking out to a club and losing herself in fruit-flavored shots and skimming touches was simply for the fun of it, it was the aftereffect that made her keep going. Because with the articles of Kim Jennie’s newest scandal, Blackpink’s album sales shot through the roof, YG’s stocks completely flipped around, and Jennie herself decided it was worth it. It didn’t matter if her members looked at her a little differently, like they didn’t recognize her, or if she was the only one constantly excluded from appreciation tweets on Twitter. If acting out would help promote them more than her agency ever did, she could do it.

And she did. For almost a year, Jennie became Kpop’s most well-known idol, for better or for worse. For almost a year, Blackpink’s sales were unmatched by any group or artist around the world and Jennie couldn’t read her Instagram comments without wanting to throw up.

It took a year for YGE to finally do something, and by then, Jennie wasn’t sure she particularly cared anymore.

“Jennie.”

“Youngshik.” Her voice was scarily steady and her face just as calm; Jennie knew that the her from ten years ago, the teenager who was accepted into the company under Youngshik’s watch, wouldn’t be able to recognize her as she sat before the man with crossed arms and a blank expression. But as he stared at her with disappointment glazing his eyes, Jennie lifted her chin higher, almost daring him to speak.

When he did, he sounded almost cautious of his words. “Jennie, I know you. This isn’t like you at all, you can’t carry on like this.”

“What do you know about me?” She had to keep herself from wincing at her own tone, sharp enough to draw blood. “Huh? You haven’t cared about me for the past year, haven’t cared about us. And who the fuck said I can’t carry on? I’m doing just fine.”

Youngshik shook his head. “Please. Ch-- your members know. I know. All you may see right now is the attention you’re gaining, the fleeting ecstasy you get every night, but you aren’t doing yourself any favors right now.”

As much as she hated it, Youngshik’s words cut deep. She wanted to scream out that she was doing this for her members, for the company, and that it didn’t matter what her reputation was like, but Jennie schooled herself into the person everyone believed and knew her to be. “I’m the only thing keeping you afloat right now. You’re wasting them-- Chaeng, Lisa, Jisoo. They keep practicing but you waste them. I’m only doing what you won’t,” Jennie defended herself, anger seeping into her voice at the thought of her members.

“Jennie. MNet has threatened to drop you from the next season of Queendom.” The man’s voice was quiet but deadly, and Jennie couldn’t seem to open her mouth at the thought of her members’ practice being wasted because of her. Youngshik took that as a sign to continue, “I realize that what you’re doing is increasing sales, but netizens hate you right now. You know that, don’t you? We’re trying to help.”

“Oh yeah? How’re you going to help?” Jennie sighed. “Lock me up in your dungeon again?”

“Quite the opposite,” he answered, leaning forward. “We’re going to keep you in check. The only thing that Dispatch likes more than clubbing scandals is leaked couples, and that’s what we’re going to give them.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “And how is that going to keep me in check? Dispatch already knows I like girls, giving me a well-behaved boyfriend isn’t going to be believable.’

Just as the words left her mouth, a knock sounded on the frosted glass pane in Youngshik’s office door, and the man stood. “You’ll see once you meet her.”

Her?

Jennie didn’t turn even when she heard the door open, or when Youngshik murmured, “Junho, thank you for coming.”

“Of course. This is her?”

“This is her. Jennie?”

She finally turned, face impassive, but Jennie couldn’t stop her eyes from widening when she saw the person standing in the doorway. You-- she recognized you, specifically the polite smile you wore on your face as you offered a handshake. She remembered hearing you be praised for your constant professionalism, your sterling reputation, and your bubbly personality. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Jennie Kim, but I’m assuming you already knew that,” she said by way of greeting. You nearly winced at her flat tone, but the mask remained on and you gingerly took the empty seat just by her. “So. Am I the only one in the dark here?”

“Not anymore,” Junho smiled. Unlike Youngshik, he looked pleasant, a smile crinkling at the side of his eyes, but Jennie disliked him nonetheless. “The two of you know by now that you’re being set up in a fake relationship. Jennie, YGE’s main concern with you is your reputation. You club, you drink, you... sleep with people.”

She simply nodded, waiting for the point. Youngshik jumped in, “Y/N, on the other hand, has a stellar reputation. Never has had a scandal in her career, except when she publicly came out, and even that had a good reception.”

“How nice,” Jennie deadpanned.

Junho sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “Miss Kim. Despite your shortcomings and the methods that you achieved such fame, you are nonetheless the most well known female idol in the world. From this relationship, you’ll gain stability as well as a cover, a perfectly sweet girlfriend who’ll lighten your image up. And Y/N will receive more attention by your side, exactly what we want for her and her group. Is that clear?”

Jennie wished she could say no-- after all, you obviously weren’t going to-- but she also knew that the two men were right. She could profit, achieve exactly what she was trying to do, but with less damage done to Blackpink’s image. And as much as she wished she could rebel, she found herself sighing through tightened lips. “Clear. I agree.”

“You didn’t exactly have a choice.” Still, Youngshik slid a contract and a pen across the table, and Jennie signed in the blank without a second glance. “Good. Though we realize that this relationship is fake, we want you to at least pretend to be in love, so get to know each other. It’ll be a while.”

“Great,” you sighed. Jennie was slightly surprised by the hint of sarcasm in your voice, but she lost interest when you assumed a polite smile yet again. “How do we do that?”

Junho exchanged a glance with Youngshik but answered by himself, “If it was me, I’d start with a coffee.”

“Can I order something for you?”

“I’m good.”

Your smile was tight, and Jennie wondered how many snide comments she could make before you snapped. But apparently, one wasn’t enough, as you tugged your mask up. “Okay. I’ll get something for you when you feel like it, just wait for me in that booth.”

Without something to argue about, Jennie could only obey, sliding into the booth furthest away from any people. She sighed, staring at the ceiling; she hated that you were being pushed into the contract to save her, and she hated even more that she was purposefully being so difficult for you to deal with. But the truth was that Jennie couldn’t let you keep her in check, couldn’t let you get under her skin or change her from the way that she had been for years. No matter what YGE said, she was succeeding, and she wasn’t having the worst time in the world while she did.

“Uh. I got you a green juice, I hope you don’t mind.”

Jennie stared at you as you slid the bottle over the table to her, removing your mask just to flash her an annoyingly sweet smile. “I didn’t ask for it.”

You shrugged, “Oh, I know. But I read somewhere that you liked green juices, and I didn’t feel right letting you- letting my girlfriend go without a drink.”

“Don’t call me that.” Jennie cleared her throat when she realized how cruel she sounded, and rephrased it softer. “Don’t.”

“Okay. I understand,” you mumbled, clasping your hands over the iced Americano you held. “So. When did we start dating?” When Jennie frowned in confusion, you clarified, “We’re supposed to have a believable, synced story, right? To seem more real?”

The other girl bit her lip but nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Would two months be enough?”

Jennie wanted to tell you to stop pursing your lips when you thought, wanted to make you stop looking so approachable and sweet when you were sitting across from the most-hated idol in Korea. But she shut herself up, if only not to offend someone who she’d be spending a lot of time with. “I think so. We could say that we met at the Gayo Daejeon, since that was three months ago. I asked for your number,” you hummed and pulled out a notepad. “And a month after becoming friends, you asked me on a date.”

“Why did I ask you on a date?” Jennie asked, eyebrows raised.

“I asked for your number, let’s keep it fair,” you answered with a slight chuckle. “Okay. What would you want to do on a date?”

She considered the question, tapping her nails against the table. “The Han River? Lots of people go in masks, so it’s possible for us to have gone without anyone seeing us. There’s food, nice scenery, we could take pictures--”

“You’re a real romantic, Kim Jennie,” you smiled, pen scratching against the paper of your notepad. “Okay. And we don’t live with each other, since you have a dorm... one of us has to be caught on the route between to make it believable.”

“I don’t think we have to.” Jennie crossed her arms, not moving even when you turned your notepad so she could see. “We just need to be seen in public together a couple times, hold hands once. Dispatch will eat it up.”

You sighed softly and tucked the notebook away. “Okay. At-- at least add me on Kakao. So we can communicate and stuff.”

She stood, tugging her jacket on and her hat down to hide her eyes. “Don’t have Kakao. Have a nice day, Y/N Y/L/N.”

And just like that, with a jingle of the front door’s bell, she was gone, and you could only stare at the untouched bottle of juice across from you or the glass door swinging closed.

Jennie liked practicing with her members. Of course she did-- there was no one she loved more than those 3 girls, and spending time with them was always exactly what she needed. And practice reminded her of better, simpler times: learning a new choreo with Lisa for the next evaluation, practicing English with Chaeng, or asking Jisoo for help with vocals. There were memories in the scratches on the floorboards of the practice rooms, and Jennie liked feeling them every time she stepped inside.

But besides that, it was a secure place. No Dispatch, no cameras, and certainly no PR stunt girlfriends. It was supposed to be her happy place, her home away from the dorm, and the last resort for time alone.

Of course, you had to change that.

“Jennie, Y/N’s here to see you.”

At the sound of her manager’s voice, Jennie’s ankle twisted and she fell to the ground, still panting from dancing. Jisoo bent down to help her up, Chaeyoung and Lisa stopping their practices too. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head towards the hallway outside. “Your ‘girlfriend’. She’s here to see you.”

Lisa gasped at that, her head whipping towards Jennie. “Jennie unnie! You have a girlfriend? Since when?”

Jennie winced and waved Jisoo off before walking towards the door. “I... I’ll explain later. Don’t worry about it, keep practicing. I’ll catch up.”

As soon as she stepped outside, she found you standing there, your smile so wide, as if she hadn’t been so cold to you since the beginning. “Hi, Jennie.”

“Why’re you here?”

You barely faltered at the tone of her voice, holding out one of two bubble teas towards her. “I brought you boba, I thought you might need a rest from practicing. And don’t worry, Dispatch got the pictures they needed, I ‘forgot’ to put on a mask when I got out of the car just outside the building.”

Jennie sighed, but she accepted the offered cup anyway. She was thirsty; all she could hope was that you wouldn’t take it as a sign to keep coming to see her. “And? I thought we agreed that we only needed to be seen in public when our companies schedule it.”

“Well, I’m not just here for the PR,” you frowned. “You’re obviously opposed to actually dating me, or even from becoming friends with me, but it’ll be miserable if we’re both mean to each other. Let’s at least be civil, okay?”

Why? she wanted to ask. How? How can you be so positive even when faced with me? She pursed her lips, taking a sip of the drink. Somehow, you’d gotten her favorite flavor just right, and maybe the sugar rushing in her blood was what prompted her to say, “Civil. Sure. Thank you for the boba, Y/N.”

“Of course!” you grinned. You startled Jennie when you went to take your flannel off, even more so when you reached out to give it to her. “Here, take this.”

“Um. Why?”

Sighing jokingly, you pressed it into her hand. “Next time, you’re coming to see me. If you wear this while you’re caught on film, it’ll raise a lot of suspicions. Exactly what we want, right?”

Jennie nodded at that, closing her fist around the fabric. “Right. So, are you... planning to watch us practice?”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head, waving your hands. “No, I’ll probably just hang around. Unless you want me to?”

Some tiny, annoying section in the back of her mind wanted to say ‘yes’, but Jennie could hear Chaeyoung laughing in the practice room, and the thought of introducing you to her members wasn’t exactly appealing. “No. That’s okay. Thank you for stopping by,” she attempted a smile. Thankfully, you just bowed and waved goodbye again before turning around the corner, and Jennie relaxed with a sigh.

But your smile lingered in her mind. The first time she saw you, she thought it was genuine-- maybe you were just that polite, just that professional, even with how impossible it was. But talking to you on her own, she saw too many false grins, too much effort being put into keeping that likeable, fun personality up.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who was lying, but that fact did nothing but scare her more.

“So. Are we gonna talk about Y/N?”

Jennie sighed, keeping her eyes on the road. “No.”

“Really? Because you didn’t exactly look happy after talking to the person who’s supposed to be your girlfriend.”

The rapper raised her eyebrows even though Jisoo couldn’t see it over the phone. “Well, she isn’t exactly my real girlfriend.”

In the background, Chaeyoung asked, “What? Then why did our manager say she was?”

“It’s a PR stunt,” Jennie said bluntly. Her manager sighed in the front seat but didn’t speak. “That’s it. Y/N has a good reputation, I don’t. I’m in the biggest girl group in the world, she isn’t. We’re benefiting from each other.”

Lisa groaned into the phone, her voice tinny over speaker. “Is that seriously it? I only heard you guys talking, but she’s trying so hard, and you’re shutting her down. It could be good for you, unnie.”

Jennie pinched her nosebridge and pleaded, “Can we please not talk about this? I’m just doing this-- it’s a PR stunt. Nothing else to it. I gotta go anyway.” She ended the call before anyone could say something, leaning back and pressing her hands to her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to this, Jennie.”

“Please. Shut up,” Jennie groaned, reaching for the flannel on her lap as the car lurched a stop. The smell of perfume swept over her as she tugged the clothing on, leaving her mask off but donning the sunglasses that she’d been paid to wear. “Thank you for driving me, I’ll see you in half an hour.”

Her manager called out, “One hour. Try to have fun, okay?”

It wasn’t like Jennie couldn’t hear the click of cameras following her as she buzzed herself into the apartment building, couldn’t see the flashes half-hidden in the surrounding bushes. But she schooled her expression and let herself into the building, engulfed in silence once again for the 7 minutes before she reached your apartment door.

“Hi, Jennie,” you greeted when you opened the door. It was disarming to see that perfectly crafted, perfectly kind expression, but Jennie followed you inside anyway. To be honest, the way you decorated your apartment was almost a perfect reflection of the you that you presented-- sweet, comfortable, but a completely blank slate that could be arranged easily. No pictures decorated the walls, just like how your easy smile never left your face, and the only things on your expensive glass shelves were awards and your own albums. But you smiled, “The flannel looks good on you.”

“Thanks. You can have it back,” Jennie mumbled, peeling it off and draping it over one of the acrylic chairs that tastefully decorated your living room. “It’s a nice place. You’re lucky to live alone.”

You hummed, clearing a pile of papers off the couch so that she could sit. “Sure, I guess. It’s a lot lonelier than the dorm, but it is nice to have all the space to myself.”

“Right.” She sat obediently and accepted the petite cup of coffee that you pushed towards her. “So, what are we supposed to do for an hour?”

“I thought we could watch Netflix and grab some takeout,” you chuckled embarrassedly, reaching for the remote. “I can’t really cook, but I’ll pay for anything you want to order.”

Jennie should’ve asked for pizza, jajangmyeon, something inexpensive but universally enjoyable. But the more she looked at you, the more she realized that for all your effort, nothing she did could possibly break you. Making dinnner for you once, even becoming friends with you and pulling away again, wouldn’t change anything when everything she saw of you was... false. So she stood, made her way to the kitchen, and opened to the fridge. “I can cook. What have you got?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you protested and followed her over. “I’m serious, I can pay for anything you want.”

The rapper ignored you and frowned at a tub of kimchi. “How does kimchi jigae sound? You’ve got close to nothing in here.”

You were silent for a moment, but sighed and moved to open your cupboards. “Kimchi jigae sounds great. You’re going to be carrying this dinner, I hope you know.”

“That’s no problem,” Jennie chuckled, turning to you slightly. “By the way, have you got any soju?”

“I thought you’d have a better alcohol tolerance.”

“Why?” Jennie groaned, head clutched in her hands. The steam from the cup of coffee that she convinced Chaeyoung to buy for her was absolutely going to melt her makeup, but under the LED lights of the waiting room, she wasn’t sure she cared.

Lisa sighed and patted her shoulder softly as she passed by. “I mean, wasn’t there a month where you went to a different club every night? It’d be weird if you did that completely sober.”

Jennie frowned; she wished she could tell Lisa that she actually spent every night of that month huddled in the corner with a mocktail, hoping to the heavens that Dispatch didn’t burst their way inside and find her hiding. But she shook it off and replied flippantly, “Drinking a lot doesn’t increase everyone’s tolerance, believe it or not. Maybe Y/N just had really strong soju.”

Before the dancer could respond, Jisoo opened the door and popped her head inside. “Hey, guys, they’re ready for us to start filming. And, Jen-- you have a visitor.”

“Who?” she groaned in answer, struggling to her feet and wincing as she removed her sunglasses.

Her question was answered as she reached the stage, finding a familiar face among the camera directors. “Y/N?” she squinted.

“Hey, Jennie!” you shouted with your hands cupped around your mouth. The smile on your face was a little wider than usual, poked into your cheeks differently. It was pretty, Jennie realized, and more genuine. “Good luck!”

Before she could ask what you were doing, huddling with the cameramen while she prepared to film her first Queendom stage, she was called up on stage. But for once, Jennie could feel a smile tugging at her lips as she got into formation, a smile that she hadn’t been able to pull off for a while.

You startled her by cheering her name just before filming began, and inciting laughter from the crew. Some warm flower blossomed in her chest as Jennie spoke her first line, her voice more steady than it had ever been during practice.

As soon as she finished the first attempt at the group shot, Jennie bent down at the edge of the stage and beckoned you forward. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m cheering you on, of course.” Jennie found a banner with her name on it in your hands as you approached, the tip of your nose cold from the air-con in the studio. “You did great.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled softly, feeling the banner between her fingertips. “Where’d you even get this?”

You shrugged, “Bought it. I had to make an account and all, so you better be feeling more energized.”

“I am.” Jennie herself was surprised at how true the statement was; for some reason, seeing your dyed hair in the crowd of cameras was like a shot of pure adrenaline, just more intense and gratifying. She smiled, “I am. It’s really nice of you to come, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you said, waving the banner around with a grin creasing in the corners of your eyes. “We’re girlfriends, after all. And I’m your friend.” At the call of a director, though, you stepped back. “I should let you film.”

“Y/N?” Jennie called after you. When you turned to face her again, Jennie allowed her customary gummy smile to take over her face as she said softly, “You can call me Jen. All my friends do.”

You were too far away for her to hear your answer, but the excited little jump you made as you walked back to your spot kept the grin on Jennie’s face as she stood again. She missed the relieved glances her members exchanged behind her back, but she could feel a new kind of energy coursing through her as the director started his countdown again. And-- she kind of liked it.

You hated the popular belief that idols who presented the sweetest, kindest version of themselves to the internet got absolutely no hate. Fans, family, managers-- they all believed that never letting your smile slip and never having a single scandal would protect an idol completely. When you were deciding on your persona for your debut, you thought the same, and so you forced yourself into the happy, positive personality that the world knew.

However, for all your effort, for all the things you had to endure with that same smile on your face, people hated you. They called you fake, tried their best to get under your skin just so they could see you fall. But it was too late to fight back, because that wouldn’t become the kind, sweet Y/N. It was too late to ask for help, and it was too late to let yourself cry.

When you met Jennie, you were determined to keep her on the outside of that precious mask you could never remove. After all, what would she understand? She did what she wanted to, didn’t care what people said about her, and she was strong. Jennie was as strong as you wished you could be, and you were sure that she would never understand. But the more that you saw her and the more that you talked to her, the more you understood that you were one and the same. That tough, carefree version of Jennie was what protected her, just like your perfectly engineered smile.

The first time you saw Jennie laugh, you knew that you were in deep. She didn’t know a single thing about you, but she was letting her walls down and letting you in-- or at least, the you she knew. But you liked her smile so much that you wanted to keep it there, at any cost. And maybe it meant sacrificing yourself.

“Are you ready?”

“For what? Walking through the street, undisguised enough that Dispatch will recognize us but no one else will?” At your pout, Jennie stopped her grumbling and laughed softly, still adjusting her scarf in the car mirror. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

A beat of silence passed as she grabbed your hand and led you out of the parking garage and onto Garosu-gil. “Hey. Y/N, I want to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I... I’m glad it’s you.” Jennie squeezed your hand, her skin slightly cold with the wind blowing softly around the two of you. “I’m glad you’re the one I’m doing this with.”

You wished that she wouldn’t say that. You wished she’d feel anything else towards you-- contempt, hatred, even, despite everything you’d gone through just to become civil. But you squeezed back, flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Me too. You know, it’d be a lot worse if they set me up with a guy.”

“Why would they?” Jennie frowned in answer. “You came out on your own.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t prove it. You know Korea, you aren’t gay until you prove you are,” you sighed, scuffing your shoes against the cobblestones. “They wanted to set me up with a guy at first, but they decided that accepting YG’s offer for me to date you would be more beneficial.”

The other girl paused, and you didn’t quite dare to look up. “Oh. So you didn’t choose to help me, did you?”

You shook your head quietly, expecting Jennie to react badly. But she huffed out a breath and pushed your arm softly. “That’s okay. We’re friends, anyway, and it was hard for you to get us here already. I appreciate you, you know.”

Opening your mouth to respond, you noticed yet another camera flash, just between two buildings ahead of you. “What?” Jennie asked, following your gaze.

“I-- Don’t hate me for this, okay?” you whispered, stopping in the middle of the road. Before she could say anything, you placed your hands lightly on her jaw, pulling Jennie towards you; before your lips actually met, though, you gave her a second to pull away. Instead, she leaned forward just the slightest bit, barely enough to connect.

You didn’t quite dare to move, but Jennie’s hands rested on your waist and pulled you into her, just enough that your lips slotted together. You could barely hear the clicks of the camera, the warmth of the girl that you were kissing completely clouding your brain.

Before anything else happened, you released your grip and stepped away, lips suddenly cold. “I think that’s enough,” you whispered, linking your hands again and lowering your head.

Jennie laughed breathlessly and continued to stroll along when you prompted her to. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Um. Sorry?”

She only giggled harder at that, shoving you slightly. “What are you even sorry for? You’re a good kisser, Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, heat rising to your ears as you shoved her back. “How do you even say that with a straight face?”

“Hey, I had to listen to Lisa say ‘bitch I’m a star but not Patrick’, I think I can handle this,” Jennie joked. Despite all your effort not to, you found yourself staring at her smile again, losing yourself and any other worries bothering you in it, and her, once again.

Jennie frowned at her phone-- or actually, at the blankness of her texting history with you. After the little PR stunt at Garosu-gil, you hadn’t contacted her once, and she didn’t dare to surprise you at your apartment or properly ask you what was going on.

“Haven’t you heard the saying that a watched kettle never boils?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a pot,” Jennie replied listlessly, still staring at her screen. “But I have heard it, yes. I’m just hoping the universe proves it false.”

Chaeyoung sighed and hugged her older member from behind, swaying back and forth. “Why don’t you just message her? Or go see her? Our manager won’t say anything about it if you just say it’s for PR.”

“It is,” Jennie frowned, turning to her member. The Australian girl raised an eyebrow, and Jennie bit her lip. “Okay. Maybe it isn’t.”

“It definitely isn’t,” Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. “I saw those kiss pics, you know. And no one kisses like that if it’s ‘just PR’. You like each other, unnie, and it’s time to face it.”

Jennie swatted Chaeyoung’s arm. “That’s so cheesy, shut up. But... do you really think I like her?”

“That’s a question for you to answer,” the younger girl pointed out. “But I’ve known you for close to a decade. If I’m right about this, and I’m sure I am, everything’s about to change for you.”

“Ugh, cheesy again,” Jennie groaned, but she stood hesitantly nonetheless. “But... I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

On her way down the stairs, the rapper dialed her manager on her phone and held it up to her ear while she waited for the dial tone to fade. “You’re driving me to Y/N’s house,” she said by way of greeting. “And it’s not just for PR.”

She was sure that no car ride had ever gone slower; Jennie fidgeted the entire way, cursing every bus that blocked her way and scowling as the sun began to set behind a set of buildings in the distance. The more she thought about it, the more definite it was-- she liked you, more than she thought she could like a person. And while that fact would’ve scared her, should’ve scared her, it didn’t. Because it was you, and nothing about you could scare her anymore.

Somehow, the process of buzzing herself in at the building’s front, taking the same elevator up to the 67th floor, and hurrying her way down blue-carpeted hallways had become familiar. Jennie knocked persistently on the door of your apartment and called out, “Hey, Y/N, let me in. It’s Jennie.”

It took a while for anything to happen, and Jennie was almost backing away by the time that the door finally cracked open. For once, the smile on your face was missing, replaced by a guarded, harsher expression than the other girl was used to seeing. “Jen. What’s up?”

“Uh,” she hesitated, “can I come in? I don’t think we can talk in the hallway.”

You looked like you wanted to say no, but with a pleading look from Jennie, you backed away and let the door swing open. Jennie shut it quietly, following you into the living room, where you stood with your arms crossed. “So. What can’t we talk about in the hallway?”

Jennie wanted to say outright the words that were beating in her throat, but the expression on your face alarmed her. You were like a stranger-- or, maybe, she realized that you had finally let your mask down. “I... Y/N, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you responded. Suddenly, the roles were reversed; Jennie was the one reaching out for you, maybe even chasing after you, and you were somehow the one who was turning away.

“Okay,” Jennie said quietly. You were about to turn away, probably assuming that she was going to leave, but if Jennie had learned anything from you, it was that she couldn’t give up that easily if she wanted you to open up. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you responded instantly. Your words only hurt more when you didn’t look up from the television, continuing, “I don’t want you, and I don’t want anything from you--”

“You don’t get to say that to me.” Anger was once again rushing through Jennie’s veins, though not the kind of anger she was used to experiencing. No, she wasn’t mad at your words in the slightest, or even offended-- she was simply pissed off about the fact that you were shutting her down, and she didn’t know why. “Not when you were the one who started this. Y/N, you wanted me once, you don’t get to go back on that without an explanation,” Jennie gritted her teeth, gripping your forearms in her hands.

You finally turned when she shook you lightly, your face blank. “What, I don’t get to shut myself down? You did it the entire time I was trying, giving my all so that you’d talk to me or even just be civil.”

Jennie pleaded, “You succeeded, didn’t you? You’re right that I was a total bitch when all you were trying to do was be nice and make this tolerable for the both of us, but you succeeded. Okay? You-- you’ve made your place in my heart, and I’m not even angry about it. I just... I just like you that much.”

A derisive scoff escaped your lips as you twisted your arms out of her reach, stepping away. “You like me? Jennie, you don’t even know me. This me, the smiles and boba and everything, it’s a facade.” You threw your hands up in the air, biting down on your lip before sighing out, “It’s fake. All of it.”

“I know it isn’t,” Jennie shook her head desperately. She searched your eyes, scanned the sea of the color she’d grown to love, for some semblance of the person she remembered kissing her. “Look, you kissed me. And I know it was for the cameras, but you can’t tell me that you felt nothing from it. Y/N, you’re a good liar, but you can’t lie to me, not about this.”

You were quiet at that, glancing down at the floor as if you had nothing to say. “I didn’t,” you finally answered, tone firm. “Maybe you did, but I--”

Unable to stop herself, Jennie rushed forward again and tugged you into another kiss, her hands scrunching into the hair splayed over your shoulders. She was almost afraid that you’d push her away, curse her and throw her out of your apartment, but she felt your lips moving against yours. She felt your hands splay on her back, and she felt tears slipping down your face.

When you finally did push her away, it was gentle, though you were rough when you wiped the tears off your face. Jennie wished you’d speak first, but she brought herself to speak. “If your smiles were fake, think of the real ones you brought to me. Even if my smiles were from your facade, that’s still a part of you. I know that though you weren’t trying to, you let me see the real you. And I’m willing to see the rest of you,” Jennie smiled, clasping your hands within hers. Sometime along the way, she’d started crying too, but the salt of those tears was almost honeyed on her lips. “If you want me to.”

“I do,” you sighed, accepting the kiss that Jennie pressed to your forehead with a teary smile. “I want nothing more than that, Jen. And-- I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she laughed, wiping the tears of your face so much gentler than you did. “I know what I want now. It’s you, and it has been you since you tried buying me a green juice in that damn coffee place. I like you, Y/N. So much.”

You tucked your face into the crook of her neck and snaked your arms around her waist again. “I like you too. More than I ever thought I could.”

And maybe, just maybe, you knew what you wanted too. Somehow, that mask you wore had long been tossed to the side. Somehow, each kiss pressed to your face by the girl you never knew you needed to find lingered on your skin like the touch of a miracle, and the smile on your face was finally, finally genuine like you had always wanted it to be.

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

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all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

A priority.

summary: Y/N defends herself from the hate and Harry gets mad.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst!

a/n: a little something to hold onto until i finish some requests for my shy little boy, hope you like this! (i’m on a roll, sorry for posting so much mjsiw)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Ugly. Worthless. Bitch. And her personal favorite, slut. Those words along with some others were all over Y/N’s social media accounts every single day.

Ever since some bloody paparazzi took a picture of Harry and Y/N holding hands while shopping, Y/N couldn’t go online without having thousands of strangers on the internet throwing names at her.

She should’ve seen it coming, honestly. It was stupid to think they could hide their relationship forever, she just wished fans wouldn’t be so aggressive towards her.

Y/N wanted to understand, she really did. For a solid week she convinced herself they were just being protective over Harry, but after the insults and derogatory comments about her imagine didn’t stop, she started to grow annoyed. She started believing fans just didn’t want to see him happy.

Y/N had to bit her tongue numerous times, knowing that if she stood up for herself, it would only be worse. So she tried to ignore it.

She didn’t stop using social media, why the hell would she stop having a life because of fans that couldn’t contain their need to harass every person Harry became close with?

A month after the pictures of them were out for the entire world to see, Harry had to travel to the States for work. He was supposed to be away for only two weeks, and Y/N was going to stay at his house a couple of days before his arrival so they can spend time together right away.

Laying on the couch, Y/N scrolled mindlessly through her Instagram feed, seeing what her friends and family were up to. She rolled her eyes when her notifications started to go off, not really wanting to enter and see her entire comment section below her posts full of hate towards her.

But curiosity killed the cat.

Promising herself she would only have a look, she clicked her notifications. She had posted a picture yesterday when she went out with a couple of her girlfriend, so all the comments were directed towards that post.

She’s dressed like a slut here

Can’t believe Harry is dating her…

He can do so much better, what a shame

It can be so easy to slip into a mindset where she let these type of things affect her and her confidence, but she simply chose not to. These people didn’t know her, and probably never will.

I can’t wait for harry to realize the kind of whore you are and dumps your fucking ass.

Oh well, that’s hilarious. Now she was mad. Probably picking a fight wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made, but she couldn’t help it. She let the anger speak for itself as she pressed the reply bottom and started writing directly to that specific comment.

‘So he can date you instead or what?”

Send.

Y/N dropped her phone on her lap, deciding it was enough internet for the day. She decided to move to the kitchen and start on the cupcakes she had previously planned to bake her boyfriend. Harry wasn’t one to allow himself to eat a lot of unhealthy stuff, as he has always tried to be as healthy as possible. But, man, cupcakes were something Harry absolutely loved.

She didn’t really touched her phone for the rest of the afternoon, staying busy in other things. She had a facetime call with Harry at night, and she was looking forward to see his face, even if it was only through the phone. Her phone didn’t have enough battery, so she turned on her computer to wait for Harry’s call.

The screen lightened, showing Harry’s upcoming call. Y/N furrowed, thinking he was way earlier but she wouldn’t complain about it. She answered the call, expecting to see her beautiful boyfriend’s dimpled smile on the screen, but she was surprised when she saw a serious look instead.

“Why would you do that, Y/N?” he asked sternly.

“Do what?” Was this some kind of joke?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N. Don’t play dumb”

“Excuse me?” she raised her eyebrows. “Maybe if you explained what you mean we could talk about it”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful it was from you to answer like that to a fan? It was unnecessary and, to be honest, childish from you”

Y/N was surprised. “Yeah, maybe I was rude but I don’t think I was being childish, Harry”

“Yes, you were. Are you aware of how this makes me look? You can’t just say things like those and don’t think it wouldn’t affect my image too”

Well, what the fuck. “Ah, yes. Treat people with kindness and whatnot. I guess that doesn’t include your fucking girlfriend, because the only reason why I said what I said was because your bloody fans wouldn’t stop harassing me!” Now her face had a deep frown.

“You sure you’re not being a little dramatic? I mean, how bad could the hate get?”

“How bad?! Harry, do you even go online? To them I’m nothing but a fucking whore, do you have any idea of how fucking frustrating is to be treated like you’re the worst human being by your fans just because we’re dating?”

“There’s always gonna be people like that, Y/N” he sighed. “You need to learn how to ignore it”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? I’m sorry but it is not my fault the fans can’t contain themselves from sending death threats to every person that breaths close to you!” she paused. “Do you seriously just called me to scold me?”

“Well, I’m not happy about what you did, to be honest. They’re my fans, Y/N. They deserve to be respected”

“And I don’t?” she raised an eyebrow. “You know what? I’m done. Enjoy your day alone tomorrow because I’m fucking leaving”

“Leaving? What do you mean?” Harry’s pulse started to rise, watching his girlfriend stand up from the bed, the computer moved and he saw she was in his house. “Y/N, don’t leave. We’ll talk about this tomorrow”

“No, I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now” She closed her computer, hanging up. She put on her jacket and took her phone from the nightstand.

Before she exited the house, she went to the kitchen and threw the cupcakes she made in the trash.

Harry, you fucking asshole.

They’ve only dated for seven months and have never really got into a fight before. Y/N was a very impulsive person, more so when she was mad. Fuck, she knew his fans were important to him, she understood that. But it was becoming too much for Y/N to handle.

She loved Harry, she was truly in love with him. But was it really worth it to go through all of this if he wasn’t even willing to stand up for her?

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Harry changed his flights. After Y/N hung up on him, he realized he behaved like a proper asshole. He could’ve said so many things differently, without offending her the way he did.

He didn’t like she thought she wasn’t important to him. He was scared all the baggage he carried with him was a deal breaker for her, it has been on the past for almost every other relationship he has ever had.

It wasn’t fair of him to straight up scold her without hearing her first. He was upset and didn’t think enough before speaking, and now he regretted it.

He knew he needed to fix things. Fast.

Even though the night before Y/N made very clear she wasn’t staying, a part of him still hoped to see her curled up on the couch watching Netflix and waiting for him to arrive, but he was welcomed by an empty house.

He sighed, passing his hand through his curls, thinking how he could make it up to her. He went to the kitchen, where he kept his car keys. Harry stopped his tracks when he saw the trash can.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he noticed the homemade untouched cupcakes tossed into the trash.

He better make this right.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Y/N was bored. She had cleared her schedule because Harry was coming home and now she had nothing to do other than drown on her sorrows.

Being bored and upset at her boyfriend, made her take the decision to take an afternoon nap on her couch. She had been asleep for a little while when someone started banging at the door.

You see, Harry had a key to her place, but he feel undeserving of using it after the way he treated her. But she wasn’t answering, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t home, he had seen her car in the parking lot of her apartment building.

Keying into her place, he looked around for his girlfriend, finding her sleeping figure on the couch, a blanked wrapped around her. He didn’t want to wake her up but they really needed to talk, so he kneeled down to be at the same eye level.

“Y/N… Y/N, wake up” he shook her a little. Her eyelashes fluttered a little before her eyes opened, a frown immediately appearing on her face.

“What are you doing here?” She sat down, taking the blanked off of her and crossing her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby”

“Now I’m baby? Not the childish Y/N you were scolding yesterday?”

He sighed, moving to sit in the coffee table to be in front of her. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday, it wasn’t fair for you”

“It wasn’t”

“I was upset, Jeff had sent me a screenshot of the comment and I didn’t even check social media. It was impulsive and wrong from me and I apologize”

“I don’t like the way you talked to me yesterday, Harry”

“I know. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. Please don’t leave me over this, my love” he grabbed her hands, feeling tears threaten to spill out of his eyes. “I know it isn’t fair for you, I know you’ll have to put up to so much shit, but please, please don’t give up on us. I swear I’ll make it right, Y/N, I don’t want these kind of situations get in the way of us”

“I’m not going to leave you” she mumbled. “I’m upset, yes. I know I was wrong too, but it all got too much and i… snapped. I know these kind of things affect your image and reputation too, so I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about my image. I should’ve said something sooner, before it all went out of control. I suppose I ignored it, hoping you’d do the same. I’m sorry for not checking up with you about this”

Y/N gave him a little smile, pulling from his hands to make him sit beside her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, pushing herself into his chest. “I know your fans are important to you, and you love them. I swear I want to have a good relationship with them, because they’re a huge part of your life, and I’m gonna work on that, I promise”

“And I promise I’ll stand up for you. I love my fans, so much. But you’re my girlfriend, my priority” he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Y/N, my baby”

“I love you more, love” she planted little kisses on his chin and jaw.

“Enough to make me more cupcakes?” Y/N let out a belly laugh, nodding. “Good. You owe me after you threw those to the trash”

“That’s what you get for being a meanie”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

Text

Fi / Attachment Types

I just want to talk a little bit about being an ENFP and an attachment type (6). I was listening to the Big Hormone Podcast last night talk about attachment types and their struggle to decide anything, because there’s a “yes/no/maybe” internal reaction going on, and I have to say that’s true. It’s like simultaneously wanting to say yes, and be attached, and say no, and remain free of attachment. I’m not really sure how I feel most of the time, which makes my Fi kind of hazy.

Since I get asked this over and over (what is Fi? Am I an ENTP or an ENFP?), let’s talk about Fi. It’s a self-referencing system, where you go away from everyone else to decide how you feel about something and measure it against your inner self. It’s the need to live in accordance to your conscience, and it’s a thing inside you that tells you if this is okay, not okay, or “I don’t care.” With me, some things are automatic. I knew when I saw the trailer that I hated the Robert Downey Jr. version of Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t need to see the film, I just hated it. When I did see the film, Ne didn’t change my mind. I still hated it. I even got offended when my friends likened me to Irene Adler. I’m not sure if they meant temperament or vibes, but that annoyed me, to be “likened” to something I hate.

This reaction was instinctive and irreversible. It’s not rational; it’s a value judgment with me as the standing judge and jury: I. Hate. This. I have the same visceral reaction whenever I see a historical figure being maligned, because they can’t defend their reputation. I hate it. This is what Fi is like. It’s an unconscious NOPE that you cannot explain, that makes sense to nobody else, and that is immediate and abstract and you don’t know how to put it into words except NO. I won’t stand for this!!

(Including a gif, because I have a sense of humor about it now.)

This happens to me on and off, here and there. It’s not all the time, and I don’t let my inner responses override my intuition. In other words, I can give someone a fair trial in my mind (seeing their point of view) instead of dismissing them, even if I disapprove of their behavior. Superficial Fi judgments are immediate and fixed, if I can just see or hear something and respond to it… but when it comes to REAL emotions, everything is up in the air. They’re not a Yes/No. This whole argument about Dean being ISFJ or ISFP has sparked some stuff in my past, because I identify with Rory at times in terms of the “I don’t know what I want” aspect of her behavior. I’d never cheat on a boyfriend with someone else, but I’ve been in that place where I don’t know what I want, really, or if I want this friend in my life, and if not, how do I get out of it? I can’t even decide if I want to ask a friend to go somewhere this weekend with me, because I don’t know if I want to go to that place in the first place, or if I’m just being nostalgic. It has become this whole debate in my mind, because I don’t know how I feel, or if it matters, or if the drive would be worth it. And that is how I live my entire life. Of not being sure what I want most of the time or how I feel.

I know this can be incredibly annoying to other people, and that’s one reason I haven’t sought any close friendships in person for a long time, because I know I do the “yes/no/maybe” with them. They’re never quite sure how I feel about them or where I stand or if I’m in this friendship for the long haul or not. Because I’m a reliable person, I stick around, but there’s often giant question marks over my head about how I feel about them. Being a 6, I keep them at a slight distance while also needing them around. I wish I were a gut type, because then I’d just know by how people make me react to them if I like them or not, but instead, it all goes through my head. It sparks endless questions. I don’t listen to my heart because it doesn’t scream at me very loud. My brain is much louder.

Most of the time, I don’t know how I feel about something. I’m going through a slump right now and I’m not sure why, but nothing is holding my interest. I don’t want to do anything. And figuring out what the cause of this is hard, because Fi can’t tell me through the haze of being an attachment type. All I can do as a 6 is ask questions about it – over-think it, like usual. Does my loss of interest in this mean I am tired of it, doesn’t want to do it, or is this just a temporary slump and will I feel differently next week? Would I be happier if I dumped this? Is that what I want? I’m trying to figure out, from a logical place what my emotions are doing, which is impossible, because Fi isn’t rational, it’s subjective and based in the moment. Things happen, and it reacts. All I know today is, “I don’t care about this.” Being a responsible person, an attachment type, I will do it if it needs done anyway, because I am not a quitter. But a very large part of me wishes I could just be “irresponsible” (to my own mind) and slack off on everything. Just dump people and walk away. Just delete things when I’m bored with them. But I can’t, because Fi says “that isn’t who you are. That would make you feel miserable and unhappy, to be someone who just abandons things/people like that.”

So it’s a catch 22 most of the time. How do I feel? Does it matter? Should it factor into this? Am I just being sentimental here? Do I want this person in my life? Do I care about this hobby? Can I understand that point of view? What would I do in their shoes? Can I relate? It’s a life of never-ending questions, combined with a very real need to always be growing and moving forward and when I’m not feeling like that is happening, I get restless and frustrated. Determining Fi isn’t a case of “am I emotional or rational?” It’s very much a sense of, “Am I being the best possible person I can be, in order to live with and LIKE myself? Can I live with myself if I make this decision? Is this who I am?”

Sometimes you can’t, and that’s more difficult than you can imagine. Every place I have let myself down is like this huge, glaring sign of regret hanging up in my mind. You didn’t live up to yourself, you caused pain, you knew you couldn’t live with it and you did it anyway… Fi is about looking at the past, identifying what you did wrong in that situation (whatever makes you feel the worst or like you failed yourself), and then trying to use it as a guideline going forward. AKA, this made me feel like crap, so I never want to do it again. I’ll never just stand there and listen to someone insult my friend… I’ll never not defend what I think; next time I know I have to do something about this…

So I guess, just cut the attachment types in your life a break. They don’t always know what they want, and it’s as confusing and annoying for them as it is for you if you’re not one. And don’t vilify Fi as being selfish or idolize it as being more moral than Fe, because it isn’t. It’s subjective, abstract, hard to understand even for the Fi user (hence the needing to go away and think deeply about how this is making you feel in order to figure it out), and doesn’t make any sense half the time, because it’s just based on “yeah, nope, and I don’t care.”

One time a friend found out I’m not close to my sisters and said she was sorry, because she loves her sisters. I honestly said, “I don’t care.” I didn’t. I don’t. I don’t know them, so why would I care about not being close to them? But that surprised her, and in turn, it made me ask Ne/Fi-related questions: is a lack of caring an implication that I should care? Am I missing out on something? I can’t force myself to care, can I? Should I try to care? Why??

Fi isn’t “do I make emotional choices,” it’s “Do I care and is this me?” and it’s continuous, a sort of “self-focused” determination in all things, through all questions, to find out Who I Truly Am. And it’s much easier for IFPs to do this than EFPs, because IFPs ask this all the time, instantly. EFPs think, well, I need to either find out who I am through direct action and experiences (do things and react to them - Se) or through intellectual debate (ask myself philosophical questions and react to them - Ne). ENFPs have an extremely difficult time self-typing because they are so “heady” in terms of Ne that they often don’t realize how many of their choices are determined subjectively according to their internal reactions. It’s not a logical Ti process in terms of “how does this work,” it’s more about “how do I work?” Who am I??

I should also add that being a 6, I don’t take on too many hobbies or interests that I take seriously, because the double-thinking that Ne and 6-9 do together is emotionally exhausting. I don’t have the mental energy to double-think 900 things, so it’s easier for me just to say no to things that I know automatically will be an energy suck. This is problematic in the long run, however, because without a variety of interests and new information, Ne gets bored. So I need to keep my Ne fed with enough new information and hobbies that it’s satisfied in thinking about things, without introducing the need to make “decisions” with that information, which would cause me to over-think and stall out.

#mod post #introverted feeling #attachment types #enneagram

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littlekatleaf · 3 years

Text

The Dreams in Which I'm Dying

Well wtf, it's a new fandom for me. Unexpected! I started watching D/imension20 RPGs and fell in love with F/abian Seacaster and G/arthy O'Brien from F/antasy H/igh and P/irates of L/eviathan. This takes place 20 years after the events of the games.

And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I’m dying Are the best I’ve ever had. ~ Tears for Fears, Mad World

It begins with nightmares - dark, heavy things Fabian doesn’t remember on waking. At least, not the first few nights. He’s left with nothing more than vague shadows and a lingering sense of unease. Everything seems wrong - his apartment simultaneously too big and claustrophobically small. He’s suffused with restlessness. He knows something’s coming, like a squall brewing just beyond the horizon. He might not be able to see the gathering clouds, but feels the barometric pressure plummeting.

At first he attempts to dance out of the way - to dodge and evade - but the dread wraps around him like his own battle sheet, tangling him tight. He tries to ignore the tension singing along his shoulders, the constant twist in his gut. It’s nothing, he tells himself, less than nothing. There’s no time for it to be something. Rumor has it the ship carrying one of the last pirates of the Crimson Claw will reach the mouth of Leviathan in mere days. If he’s going to meet it, he needs to pull together a party. Barely enough time remains to cement plans once he knows the group’s strengths and weaknesses.

As he paces his living room, trying to outrun the apprehension, Fabian’s eye is caught by a piece of red string, like Riz always used in his conspiracy boards. In that instant he longs for them. The Bad Kids. No matter how many years passed since any of them were kids, it’s still at the heart of who they are. (Isn’t it?) They fit together in their roles. Like that movie Kristen made them all watch once - a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a criminal. The others had bickered good naturedly over roles that night - specifically who was the basket case. Kristen joked it was Gilear. Ragh said it was her. Fabian didn't need to argue because he knew the truth - Riz was the brain, Gorgug the athlete, Adaine the princess, Fig the criminal, Kristen the saint. Himself the basket case. Even in all the intervening years, he’s never found a group that connects as well as they had, before they all went their separate ways. Even if they hadn’t lost touch, none of the others adventure anymore. In their absence he needs to choose alternatives, like he always does, attempting to fill the holes they left behind - and failing.

He picks up his crystal, turning it over in his hands. The group chat is saved, they are all still members, but no one has used it in years. Maybe he’s wrong; maybe he needs to let them go.

He knows there’s no time for self-indulgence. But he still stalls, the trepidation casting a fog of doubt over every option. He cannot decide on even one person to trust. Perhaps this time he should go alone. He can defeat one single pirate himself. The rest - crew and spoils alike - is irrelevant. The Maelstrom’s Maw will likely bring in the boat and then he can attack. He rubs his forehead against a growing headache and puts the decision off again.

Two nights pass, with only the lightest veil of sleep and even that torn by disquiet. The intervening days feel equally foggy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. Fabian drags himself through the necessary tasks by his fingernails until he’s done everything he can without a crew. A crew on which he still has not managed to settle. In the midst of circling the problem for the five hundredth, or five thousandth, time his crystal flashes an alert. The ship’s been sighted just a few nautical miles off Harroway Bay and will reach Leviathan before dawn. He’s waited too long, he realizes. It will be a solo adventure, then. Nothing else for it.

Fabian knows, almost from the moment he engages, that he’s made a deep mistake attempting the attack this way. Though he comes upon the pirate in the dead of night, alone as planned, he hadn’t considered that the pirate’s shipmates might still be within earshot. His blade only crosses the pirate’s once before he hears heavy boots closing fast.

The pirate thrusts and he manages to parry, but only just. His body feels strange and disconnected, as though he’s a half-beat behind in the dance, perpetually off-step. The pirate presses his advantage; Fabian retreats. Suddenly there’s a flash of light on another drawn sword and several more pirates surround him. At his best he can handle eight, maybe ten. He is not at his best, and light from the streetlamp falls on fifteen.

The pirate grins. “Yer goin’ down, boy.”

“Not a boy anymore.” At least he’ll die in battle, and if he’s very lucky he’ll take this scourge to hell with him. Make his papa proud.

“That remains to be seen,” another says.

The battle is fierce. Swords clash, lunge and dodge, strike-parry-riposte, movements Fabian knows in his sleep, but something is wrong. His body won’t obey. His lungs ache and he can’t catch his breath. Sweat drips into his eye, burning. And then - an opening - the pirate attacking leaves his flank unguarded and Fabian darts in fast - too fast to pull back when he realizes it’s a feint.

I’m fucked, he has time to think, as the pirate whirls. A sharp blow cracks across his elbow, his fingers go numb and his sword falls, clattering to the cobblestone. One of the crew kicks the back of his knees and he stumbles forward and drops. He grabs for his sword, but just as his hand closes around it, the point of the pirate’s sword is at his throat. Should have known it would end this way. Alone. On Leviathan. Fitting for it to be here, tonight - on the anniversary. The way it should have ended if he hadn’t run like a coward, abandoning Alistair to Captain James. Fabian fumbles in his pocket for his crystal, wishing for just enough time to send a last message to the Bad Kids. “Do it,” he says from between gritted teeth.

The pirate barks a laugh, but shakes his head. “Ain’t worth the world o’ hurt that would bring down on me head, boy. Chungledown Bim’s a right devil and yer marked as his. Can’t let ya follow for another go at me, though this has been a delight.”

A brilliant flash of pain blinds him. The crystal slides through his fingers. He falls… and falls… and falls…

through ropes that burn his skin and do nothing to slow his speed and his body hits water that closes over his head like he’s been swallowed whole and still he falls through freezing darkness until the ocean parts and he falls through fire and the flames crackle and whisper - What will you tell the Captain when you meet him in Hell? Have you written your name on the face of the world, Fabian? No, you have written nothing. Nothing to be remembered by. Even your friends have forgotten you. How does it feel to be a failure of a pirate and a failure of a friend? the whisper turns to choking smoke and

Fabian coughs himself awake, lungs aching like he’s been breathing water and smoke, but he still lays where he’d fallen, in some Four Castles back alley. His body’s not been hijacked. Not dropped here by imps. He blinks up at the sky for a long moment, struggling to orient himself. The sky is heavy with clouds, hiding even a sliver of moon. Fat drops of rain pelt down, edged with ice. He blinks the water from his eye and pushes himself to his feet. Once again he staggers through the streets of Leviathan, shivering hard enough to rattle teeth. This time, however, there’s no Cathilda to wrap him in a blanket, no Hangvan to disappear into. No Kristen to slap sense back into him. He wraps his arms around himself, but the rain soaks his shirt and finds no warmth.

Those he passes take no notice of him, perhaps assuming he’s nothing more than another drunken pirate. Even so, he needs to find a place to lay low. Given enough time someone will roll him just to see if he has any coin. Or simply for the fun of it. He’s not even sure, at this moment, that he could defend himself against a single assailant. His head aches where the pirate hit him and his throat is unaccountably raw. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he sneezes. Once, twice, thrice, smothered in the sleeve of his shirt. He always sneezes in threes. Riz teased him mercilessly about it.

“If you’d just sneeze like a normal person, instead of those pinchy things, you’d be done in one, Fabiahn,” Riz would say, drawing his name out like his elvish grandfather did.

“It’s called being polite, The Ball,” he’d reply. “And what do you know about normal?”

“About as much as you.”

They’d laugh together and Fabian’s embarrassment would ease. He would give anything for Riz to be laughing with him now.

Suddenly a door slams open and a wash of warm yellow light spills over the ground in front of him. He glances up. Maybe Kristen sent Cassandra to watch over him, because his meandering path has brought him to the Gold Gardens. The exiting patron brushes past with a muttered curse, but Fabian barely notices. As the doors swing shut, Bob’s voice slips through, full of dream and promise. Fabian checks his pockets and breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting feel of coin.

He stands straighter, raises his chin, allowing the light to fall on his face, scars and eyepatch and all, as the Goliath guard regards him suspiciously. Though it has been some time since he’s been on Leviathan and longer since he’s sought refuge at the Gold Gardens, he trusts the reputation he’s built in the intervening years yet holds. “Good evening. I find myself in need of a room for the night,” he says. “I have payment.”

The other guard, a half-orc he vaguely recognizes from previous visits, turns to him. Her face betrays no reaction to his disheveled state. It’s likely that she’s seen worse. “Ah, Master Seacaster. Garthy O’Brien has made it known there is always room for you here. Please, enter.”

Fabian sketches a small bow. The doors swing wide and the heat that flows out and envelops him is nearly as heavenly as Bob’s voice. But the change in temperature makes his nose run. He sniffs, presses the back of his wrist against the tickling itch, but can’t stop the inevitable. He’s barely inside before he’s sneezing again and wishing for something other than his sleeve to cover with. “H’tchsh! Chh! H’tsh!” He hopes the music and general merriment of the patrons is enough to hide the slight sound, but of course he is noticed.

“Blessings, Fabian, darling. Are you ill?” Garthy touches his shoulder gently and before he can stop himself, Fabian flinches away. His skin feels too tight, even the light pressure too much sensation. They take a step back, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Garthy,” Fabian says, attempting his usual charming smile. He’s not sure he pulls it off, because a small frown of concern still lingers between their brows. Somehow the expression does nothing to mar their beauty; the proprietor of the Gold Gardens is exquisite as always, the few silver threads in their black dreads the only indicator of years passing. “I’m fine. Just a little chilled from the rain. And you, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes. Eye.” His mouth quirks. “Might there be a room for a traveler seeking shelter from the storm?”

Garthy considers him for a long moment, gaze intent. Fabian resists the urge to look away, to avoid scrutiny. It’ll only make them more suspicious. He concentrates on keeping his expression vaguely flirtatious, his stance loose and easy. At last Garthy gives the smallest nod, allowing him his ruse. “I have told you before, lovey, you are always welcome here. You and yours. Come.” They turn down a hallway and Fabian follows.

Bob’s voice, the rattle of dice, the din of too much conversation fade and Fabian releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The Bad Kids always stayed in a room just off the main parlor, right in the midst of the action. Fig and Gorgug would take over for the house band and practically blow the roof off. Kristen would try to outdrink that biggest pirate she could find, and usually ended up drunk-best-friends with everyone. If Tracker had to pull her out of a fight or two, well, that just kept things interesting. Ragh and Fabian would drink too much mead and take too much snuff and Ragh would challenge the wrong people to wrestling matches and Fabian would beat the wrong people at dice and sometimes fists would be thrown. Good naturedly, of course. Adaine would watch them all over the spine of a book from the Compass Points and shake her head. Sometimes she had to heal one or another of them, but she never seemed to mind. Riz would disappear into the crowd for indeterminate amounts of time, only to suddenly appear at their table with a sharp-toothed grin and clues to whatever mystery they were trying to solve that he’d gleaned from overheard conversations. Fig and Kristen, especially, never wanted the nights to end. Sometime around dawn, though, Kristen and Tracker would peel off, followed by Fig and Ayda. The rest of them shared a room, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug, and Ragh all sprawled on a huge bed while Adaine tranced on a chaise nearby. Somehow Fabian slept better those nights than before or since, even though the room was never peaceful, or silent. Ragh and Gorgug snored. Adaine muttered to herself in her trance. Riz, when he slept, was restless, taking up more room than a three and a half foot tall goblin should. When he didn’t, his pen would scratch across his notebook for hours. None of it ever bothered Fabian.

A door creaks open, startling Fabian out of his thoughts. The room Garthy offers is a small and simply furnished space, just a bed, desk, and fireplace. Fabian crosses the room to a large window and looks out over the edge of the city to the black ocean beyond. It’s still raining, drops pattering against the pane. He should say something to Garthy. Thank them for the room, make a joke about another Leviathan brawl gone badly. He can’t find the words. Any words.

“Would you like something to eat? Or perhaps a warm drink?” Garthy’s voice is quiet, as though they might be intruding.

“No, thank you,” he says. Kippers, Master Fabian? Cathilda’s voice in his head. I don’t deserve kippers. He didn’t. Doesn’t. Twenty men dead. Twenty innocent men. Worst of all, Alistair Ash. Still a child. Dead because he needed to prove that he was a true pirate, heir to his father’s fame. That he is worthy. Instead he left Alistair to the fate that should have been his. He rubs his hand over his eye as though he could rub away the ache. The failure.

Garthy whispers something Fabian doesn’t catch, and flames rise in the hearth, hot and bright, crackling cheerfully. “At least let me take your wet things,” they say. “You’re shaking.”

He hadn’t realized how cold he still feels, despite being out of the wind and rain, until Garthy points it out. He takes a breath to declare, again, that he’s fine, but a chill cascades over him, followed by several sneezes, instantly proving him wrong. “H’ngxt! Fuck. H’Ntch! Ngxt!” He straightens and Garthy offers a handkerchief. Abashed, he takes it, blows his nose. “Pardon me.” Before he can gather himself, he’s overtaken again. At least this time he has a handkerchief to mute the sound. The sneezes shiver through him hard enough to send drops of rain spattering from his hair.

“Bless you, darling.” Garthy draws him closer to the fire. With deft fingers they undress him, peeling sodden clothes from his body, then wrap him in a thick robe. He doesn’t resist, suddenly beyond exhausted. Everything feels like it’s happening at a distance. Or maybe through a pane of glass. “Come, have a lay down. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

Fabian nods, even though he’s certain things will look just the same. He barely slides between the sheets when his eye drifts closed. He feels the bed dip slightly as Garthy sits beside him and, seeking warmth, he curls close. They smell spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and sandalwood and orange blossoms. Garthy curves a hand over his forehead. It’s strangely comforting and he wants to bury his face in Garthy’s hair, but instead he drifts out and out and…

floats in a strange grey emptiness. He can only identify his surroundings by absence. No color. No sound. No touch. He thinks he lifts his hands, or tries to lift his hands, or what should be his hands, but there’s nothing. He tries to look down, what he might assume is down, only to find no body. Nothing. It’s like the Nightmare Forest, but worse because they defeated the Nightmare King. They defeated Kalina. Which means this must be real. This nought. Of course no one reaches out… you don’t exist.You never existed. You are not even memory. You are a nonentity. A nullity. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no mouth, no vocal cords, no lungs, no breath. No words. No thoughts. Just deep, endless cold. Bone aching cold, if he had bones.

“...safe…You’re all right. Wake up, Fabian, love.” Garthy’s voice coalesces from the cold, at first sounding sharp as ice breaking. But they know his name, beckon him back into form by shaping the word. “Come on, darling. You’re dreaming.”

“Should’ve left me; felt better there. Nothing hurts when you don’t have a body,” he mumbles, and even though he has vocal cords again, he sounds nothing like himself. He clears his throat, sniffs.

Garthy laughs, low and kind. “Let me help you feel better, here in your body.” They cup his cheek gently, then urge him up and through a door to a bathing chamber.

A large bathtub stands in the center of the room, steam rising in soft curls. It is surrounded with dozens of candles and in their light Garthy glows, irises and tattoos molten gold. Fabian reaches for them, hesitantly. As if touching them might dim their shine. They smile tenderly, allowing him to trace the Zajiri script, the flowers and leaves with one tentative finger. He wonders what the writing might mean. Their skin is soft under Fabian’s own calloused hands. He longs for Garthy to wrap their arms around him, to hold him close until his shivering stops, until he’s finally warm. He doesn’t know how to ask.

Instead he moves back, putting a bit of distance between them. “I’m not w…” he starts to say, but an unexpected set of sneezes interrupts and he only just manages to pull the handkerchief from his robe pocket. “Ht’ngxt! Heh...ihh… Nxgt! H’tchh!”

“Not well?” Garthy suggests, steadying him. “Blessings.”

Heat rises in Fabian’s cheeks and he coughs a laugh. “That either. But no.” He gestures broadly, including the room, the bath, Garthy themself. “Not worth this.”

Garthy tilts their head with a puzzled frown. “Oh, lovey, of course you are.” They press one finger to Fabian’s lips before he can continue arguing. “Shh. It’s all right.” They take Fabian’s elbow, guiding him into the bath.

Fabian sinks into the heat with a deep sigh as his muscles begin to relax. He slides down, submerging himself completely in warm darkness. The water closes over his face; he rests his head on the bottom of the tub, and the only thing he hears is the thump of his own heart in his ears, still beating, beating, beating. At last his breath runs out and he surfaces with a gasp.

Gathy’s pulled a stool up beside the bath and as Fabian wipes water out of his eye, they wet a cloth and begin to wash his back, humming quietly. The soap smells of eucalyptus and peppermint, cool and clean. Fabian shivers once, and only slowly eases into the touch, closing his eye as Garthy washes his hair, gently working his fingers over his scalp. A memory rises, unbidden - himself, in the bath, he can’t be more than five and he’s sobbing. His papa is away, his mama asleep in her room even though it’s not even dark outside and he’s sick and scared. But then Cathilda’s there, as she always is, and she’s cleaning him up and humming a lullaby. Tears rise now, before he can stop them, dripping into the water.

“What’s distressing you, love?” Garthy asks.

It takes him several minutes to gather his thoughts; they feel ephemeral as clouds floating through his mind. “It’s been twenty years, Garthy. Shouldn’t it have faded?” He coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I still see them, you know. My father’s warlocks.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. Breathe, he tells himself.

Garthy hums a listening noise.

“I shouldn’t have gone alone that night. I just wanted a moment in Crow’s Keep - we’d gone there together, my papa and I. When I was little. It was the one time Mama got angry at him, for bringing me to Leviathan, when he wasn’t supposed to be interacting with pirates. But he’d taken me up to watch the sun rise. He said he’d bring me to the top of the world, that we could touch the clouds. If I was lucky, I might even bring some home in my pockets…

“He gave me cotton candy, told me it was one he’d harvested himself. I’d never imagined clouds tasted so sweet…” he licks his lips, remembering how the candy had melted on his tongue, just like a rain cloud.

“I thought, maybe… somehow… if I spoke to him from the top of the world, he might hear me.” Fabian laughs at himself, coughs on a sob but manages to swallow it back. “Of course, Papa wasn’t listening. He was busy taking over Hell and selling spells to pirates. Always on to a bigger adventure, even in death.

“When the warlocks came, I let myself get swept up. Figuratively, as well as literally. I told them about Papa. About what I’d done… and it wasn’t enough. I killed him and it wasn’t enough.” He takes a ragged breath and Garthy rubs his back in slow circles. “I thought we could take Captain James. I thought I could take Captain James. It would make up for… everything.” He sucks in another breath, on the edge of desperation. He can’t get enough air. When he blinks, he feels Whitclaw’s tentacles on his face, cold fingers gripping him tight, raw hatred pulsing in the air between them.

“It went so fast. So fast. If I didn’t run… if I didn’t… he would have killed me… with the others. I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t even grab Alistair and he was fighting for me. I abandoned him… and I didn’t die, but he did. Because I fucked up.” Fabian sits in silence for several minutes, jaw clenched, struggling to breathe and not cry.

“I thought the guilt would fade,” he finally says, voice rough and not much above a whisper. “I thought the good I’ve done since would make up for it. I thought the adventures I had with the Bad Kids would make up for it. But it hasn’t. It doesn’t. And they’re gone… I thought killing the last of Whitclaw’s men would be penance. But I fucked that up, too.”

The only sound for a long moment is the rain on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. Then Fabian takes a breath like he’s about to dive into the ocean and turns to face Garthy. “Am I forgivable?”

“Oh my darling Fabian. Of course you are. You are already forgiven.” They lean forward and brush the lightest kiss across his lips. “Yes, dire mistakes were made. And you have repented of those mistakes, and made reparations. You did not follow in your father’s footsteps; you found your own way. You have made a good man of yourself. You help those who are in need. You do not take advantage of anyone. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. Tales of your deeds are not spoken of as widely as Captain Bill Seacaster, but I have heard them nonetheless. Be proud of who you have become, Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And you should know that Alistair Ash lives again.”

A warm breeze whirls through the room and the candles suddenly go out. It’s as though the light has been transmuted into a seed of hope in Fabian, gold as the irises of Garthy’s eyes. Back in bed, Fabian curls into Garthy and they wrap their arms around him, holding tight until his trembling passes.

#snezfic

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clown-of-rivia · 4 years

Text

Geralt has come across many monsters in his long life. But the worst of them - was men.

Like this man.

A mother approached him in tears, giving him all her jewelry and begging him to find her daughter. When she presented as an omega her husband just saw gold sold her to an omega trader. The trader buys and sells omegas as they have become such a rare group.

Geralt turned down her payment. He would do this for free. Happily.

He followed leads of this disgusting monster till he found their camp just outside Oxenfurt. The camp was heavily guarded by armed dwarves. It would take too long to fight his way in, by which time the alarm would be raised and the girls smuggled out or worse. He would need fight from the inside out.

He grit his teeth and sheathed his swords, approaching the camp.

"Master Witcher," one guard said, nervous. "Afraid this here isn't a place for walk-ins."

"I'm here to-" Geralt hated this "peruse your boss's goods. Heard about his trade."

The guards turned to each other and frowned, oddly gripping their weapons tighter.

"Very well..." the one at the entrance said. "Follow me."

He didn't know what he had expected. Maybe lavish tents that looked like a brothel? But there was no strong scent of sex or alcohol or fear. Instead there were a line of smaller tents, all closed, with soft calm voices inside.

He was lead to the one in the middle. "Boss? Got a Witcher here to see you. To 'see the goods'." The guard announced as they stepped inside, his tone oddly angry.

A man stood from a desk. Again Geralt didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. A young man, mid 20s maybe, with kind blue eyes that turned hard when he heard the guard.

Geralt knew he had a strong alpha scent. It was intimidating, and almost all of the omegas he had met was cowed by it. Betas were weary of him, and other alphas often saw his presence as a challenge.

He stepped forward and Geralt nearly stepped back as he fully realised who- or rather what - this man was as his heightened Witcher senses took him in.

An omega. Male omega. Incredibly rare and rumoured to be worth a small fortune amongst nobility. Not mated - but not pure. There on his neck - where a mating mark should be is a clear rectangular scar. The mark had been purposefully burned out. Geralt know very few people would be able to withstand such pain.

"You- you're an omega." He said dumbly.

The man paused, then glared, clearly not a wit scared of the alpha Witcher. "And? That a problem?" He cut him off before he could answer. "Not that it matters. I'm afraid I cant let you leave alive. You see - my reputation is carefully designed and needs to stay that way." He draws a wicked dagger from his side and Geralt heards all the guards have surrounded the tent.

"You... you don't really trade omegas do you?" At the man's stormy expression Geralt had his answer. In a quick movement he pulled both his swords and dropped them. "Then I mean you no harm. I came here to hunt a monster. Seems there is none."

It took a few moments of careful assessment before the man put away his own weapon. "You are half right. I inherited a large fortune which I use to buy omegas from those who would sell them to anyone. I bring them here, to Oxenfurt, where they will be safe and taught to defend themselves. I have a mage who can give them herbs to hide their identity, or even change it if they so wish. Most importantly - I give them the choice."

Geralt studied him again. Young but tired, omega but strong, unmated but impure.

"Because you had no choice." He said. Not a question.

The man's eyes flashed. "Astute. Seems the rumours of Witcher intuition and senses are true." He kicked his swords back towards him.

Mind made up Geralt picked up his swords again.

"Call me Geralt." He held out his hand.

"...Jaskier." They shook.

"Well then Jaskier. Any way a Witcher can help you?"

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #netflix the witcher #julian alfred pankratz #abo #omegaverse #omega!jaskier #my writing

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engie-ivy · 3 years

Text

Remus and James find out Sirius has been hiding their friendship from his parents. Maybe they jump to conclusions a bit too fast.

“Apparently we, mere halfblood and blood traitor, are deemed unworthy of the heir of the ‘Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’. I suppose he doesn’t want to lose face by letting his precious pureblood relatives find out he has befriended such inferior wizards.”

A bunch of berks

“What the fuck, Sirius!” James is standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at Sirius. If the tone of his voice and his posture weren’t enough to show his anger, the fact that he uses Sirius’ name instead of his nickname does it.

“What’s going on?” Remus asks warily, as he approaches their table.

“Prongs has been reading my letter from home,” Sirius says, glaring at James.

Remus looks from Sirius to James. Sirius never talks about his family. Remus and James only know what everyone knows based on their reputation: they’re supposedly stiff, old-fashioned, and narrow-minded. Remus and James never bring them up either. They know Sirius isn’t like that, and that’s enough. Besides, you can’t really ask your best mate ‘oi, are your parents really as horrible as everyone says?’

James rolls his eyes. “Not on purpose! It was lying on the table and I picked it up, not knowing what it was.”

“And you didn’t realise until after you read the whole thing?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Then I was too appalled to stop reading!” James snaps back. He straightens the piece of parchment in his hand. “Moony, hear this!”

Remus opens his mouth to say he really doesn’t want to hear Sirius’ private correspondence without his permission, but what James reads to him makes the words die in his throat.

“ ‘We don’t see why you should want to stay at Hogwarts for the Holidays. Gryffindor already has hardly any decent purebloods, and I expect the few there are will be going to their families themselves. It is quite pointless for you to stay there on your own’ Or this sentence! ‘We understand that in such an abdominal environment as Gryffindor House the temptation to form relations with witches or wizards of a lesser descent can be strong, but we expect you will be sensible enough to continue to solely associate with decent purebloods, or at least as decent as the ones in Gryffindor can be’.”

Remus frowns. “Solely associating with purebloods? That doesn’t make any sense.” The Potters are infamous blood traitors in their circles, and no one would mistake the Lupins for purebloods.

“Well, you see, Moony,” James says. “Turns out Sirius here has been hiding our friendship from his family.”

Remus stares at Sirius. “Why?”

James huffs. “Apparently we, mere halfblood and blood traitor, are deemed unworthy of the heir of the ‘Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’. I suppose he doesn’t want to lose face by letting his precious pureblood relatives find out he has befriended such inferior wizards.”

Sirius grits his teeth. “I never said that!”

“So you deny that you’ve been purposely hiding our friendship to please you’re parents and their blood supremacy ideas?”

“No, but-“

“Well then,” James cuts him off.

“It’s not important whether they know!” Sirius says, almost sounding desperate. “They’re not important.”

“If they weren’t important to you, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of pretending!” James argues back.

“You’re embarrassed about being friends with us?” Remus whispers. “You’re ashamed of us?”

Sirius looks at him with big, pleading eyes. “Moony, no...”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Remus knows they’re maybe being a bit unfair. They’re jumping to conclusions without giving Sirius a chance to explain. But James is raised in such a way that he’s completely allergic to anything that even leans towards blood supremacy, and Sirius pretending to uphold his parents blood supremacy ideas is definitely enough to set him off. And Remus... Remus is not a very confident person, but if there’s anyone who makes him feel like he’s worth a damn and good enough just the way he is, then it’s Sirius. And to now find out that Sirius is actually ashamed of him... Well, that hurts. A lot. So neither Remus nor James is really thinking clearly.

“Is this also why you never want to meet up during the breaks?” Remus asks.

“I hadn’t even thought of that!” James says. “I guess we’re good enough to hang out with at Hogwarts, without many other options, but when you can also choose to be with your precious pureblood friends and family, we don’t make the cut anymore.”

“That’s not... I don’t even have...” Sirius sputters. “You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Don’t know what it’s like?” Remus asks, incredulously. “You really think our parents didn’t have any reservations when they heard we befriended a Black? But we stood up for you! We told them you were nothing like the rumours say. We defended you, but I guess you didn’t feel like doing the same for us.”

Sirius stares at the ground. “I just didn’t think it was worth all the trouble,” he says softly.

“We weren’t worth it?” James asks. “Okay then, noted. We were wrong when we defended you anyway. You’re exactly like your ancestors. You’re a real Black. They can be proud of you.”

Sirius just stares at him for a while, face gone pale. For a moment, Remus thinks he’s going to tell James not to talk shite about his family, but then he just turns around and walks away.

Remus sighs. “I don’t think we handled that very well. What he does and doesn’t tell his parents is his own choice, after all.”

“But he’s been pretending to uphold their blood supremacy ideas!” James says defensively. “Or what if he’s not pretending with them, but with us?”

Remus shakes his head. “Prongs, we’ve known him for years! One letter can’t suddenly make him an entirely different person.”

James sighs. “I suppose you’re right. It’s none of our business if he wants to play the perfect pureblood son for his parents.” He looks hesitantly in the direction Sirius had gone off to. “Should I go after him?”

“Probably not right now,” Remus replies. “He’s upset, we’re angry and hurt. It’s probably best if we all calm down a bit and then have another conversation about it.”

They still have classes the rest of the day. Sirius doesn’t sit with them, and looks positively miserable. That’s enough for Remus to whish they had just talked it out right away. To make a bad day worse, they have to face Boggarts in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Remus is anxiously standing in line next to James. What kind of mad professor would think it okay to let students face their biggest fears in front of all their peers?

Soon enough, it’s Sirius’ turn, and Remus and James watch in amazement as the Boggart turns into his mother. Remus recognizes her from the glimpses he has seen at King’s Cross, but even if he hadn’t, it’s clear from her haughty air and typical aristocratic features. What’s also hard to believe, is that Sirius actually flinches when he sees her.

Even with having learned that morning that Sirius has been lying about their friendship to live up to his parents’ standards, it still comes as a shock to Remus that it’s actually Sirius’ biggest fear to disappoint his mommy. It seems so unlike Sirius, and quite frankly, it pisses Remus off that he cares so much about that lot’s good opinion. Judging by the way James’ jaw has tightened, he feels much the same.

They fully expect Sirius’ mother to begin scolding him, and they’re quite taken aback when she... smiles. It’s an approving and proud smile, and she looks at Sirius with admiration.

“Sirius, my son,” she speaks fondly. “You are truly a perfect representative of the Black family values. You’re exactly like your ancestors. You’re a real Black. We’re so proud of you,” she finishes with almost an exact echo of James’ words.

Sirius puts on a brave face, squares his shoulders, and casts a well-aimed Ridikkulus. The black stole his mother is wearing over her robes suddenly turns into a big, black dog, very reminiscent of Padfoot, who jumps on the ground and bites her in her arse. She jumps with a shriek and the Boggart retreats. Sirius turns around and walks out of the room not meeting anyone’s eye.

Students are whispering and Professor Flitwick looks confused. After all, why would someone’s biggest fear be their mother being proud of him?

Remus stares after Sirius. So he’s not afraid of falling out with his family and earning their disapproval. He’s actually afraid of fitting in with his family and earning their approval.

James grimaces. “We really buggered up, didn’t we?”

Sirius is sitting on the stairs with his knees tucked against his chest. James sits down on one side of him, and Remus on the other.

“We’re a bunch of berks,” James says. “If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, you have every right.”

Sirius shrugs. “You weren’t wrong. I have been hiding out friendship from my family.”

Without thinking, Remus wraps an arm around Sirius’ waist and he feels a tingle in his stomach when Sirius leans in to him. “We were just attacking you without giving you a chance to explain. We judged you without knowing the situation. We’re sorry, Padfoot.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“You did nothing wrong,” James argues.

“I made you believe I was ashamed of you. I hate that,” Sirius replies. “You must believe me when I say I don’t think myself better than you because of the bloody blood that flows through my veins! Quite the opposite,” he adds with a murmur.

“Of course we believe you!” James exclaims. He nudges Sirius with his shoulder. “How could we not? You just irrefutably proved that being like your family is your literal worst fear! We’d have to be massive idiots to not believe you.”

“Well...” Sirius says with a teasing smirk.

“Oi!” James shoves Sirius playfully.

Remus laughs, but something is still gnawing away at him. If Sirius doesn’t seek his parents’ approval, why hide their friendship from them? For that matter, they still don’t know why they never see him during the breaks. And his own mother being his biggest fear is just wrong, especially with the way Sirius flinched upon seeing her. Something is off.

But for now, James and Sirius are laughing together again. For now, Sirius is pressed up against Remus, resting his head on Remus’ shoulder, with Remus’ arm firmly around his waist. For now, it’s alright.

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #the most ancient and noble house of black #walburga black #marauders era

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petalsmooth · 3 years

Text

I know there are some Bughead shippers who didn’t like the direction the show took and acknowledge how Betty was being and even Lili that aren’t around anymore because it basically became a battleground between Lili/Betty and Cole/Jughead stans and in a way I feel bad about that. But you can’t keep putting disclaimers on every post that you know doesn’t apply to all Lili/Betty or Bughead fans. It gets too old to type. And honestly I can’t apologize for my negativity or the fact I can barely stand to see or hear Lili/Betty speak onscreen these days. Which makes it an even better decision to not watch her.

I’ll take some responsibility for this and their exit from fandom but honestly the main problems were twofold. Lili/Betty stans aided by some other fan groups that were jealous went hard core after Cole to attempt to destroy him. Literally destroy him. They wanted to see him never work again, destroy his reputation. Spread innuendo and lies, attack the people he knew. People made up fake DM’s about him, people made up RAPE accusations about him. He got doxxed. Cole left twitter basically for good as a result. You have tried to target his new GF to either hurt her or chase her away. I really don’t know how I could take the “high road” and safeguard their feelings when this is happening.

This doesn’t even bring in what Lili and her friends and her family did. It wasn’t possible to fight that war and still protect some innocent people from crossfire.

Second is there are SOME people who think protecting the character of Betty can only be accomplished by shelving Jughead, radicalizing the idea of Jughead falling for a woman who is not white and excusing everything Betty does while acting like Jughead is a cretin for saying what Betty actually did. What do you not all get about character assassination? Instead of being MAD at people who wouldn’t pretend this was ok you should have directed your anger at the show. Admit they destroyed her and not low key help them peddle the assassination by saying she is misunderstood or expecting Jughead fans to be ok with demonizing him to equal playing field. Jughead fans actually would have been onboard with you on this, I actually still AM onboard with this. I just don’t get the point in being the lone wolf, or one of them, when that fanbase wants to live in denial, attack Jughead AND the lead actress won’t defend her character because she’s too caught up bitterness to care about the integrity of this character anymore.

I will NEVER think it’s ok what Betty did to Jughead or that he should roll over and take it or that we should like THIS Betty. The Betty fandom may have acquiesced to TPTB and become their lackies by default selling out because desperate to keep up appearances all is well but I’m not. All is NOT well and I won’t become the Riverdale fandom version of the Alice Cooper stepford wife. Bitterly and pretentiously sniping at people while pretending the world isn’t on fire. Maybe I’ll do the first, but it will be without pretending this is 2017 and they are still a sweet young couple that communicates and loves each other to keep up appearances because that ship sailed when Betty essentially dumped Jughead for the fantasy Elmo was a white knighted hero with abs that was worth crushing Jug’s soul and stealing his scholarship.

Tabitha is simply a better person than Betty. As is Jughead. Maybe that alone isn’t reason to be a couple. Maybe you can find a way to forgive or even love someone again who hurt you the way Betty did Jughead. But I tend to think that requires the person to admit what they did, have real regret, TRY to make amends and even then...I wonder why he would when Tabi has none of the baggage but all of the traits and better that he thought his ex once possessed.

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

Tarnished

Summary: draco x little miss perfect slytherin!reader where they constantly argue because he is always trying to get under her buttons and one day snape decided he’s had enough so they both get detention. of course, the reader is now even more mad at draco since her “perfect” reputation is now “tarnished”. things get a lil steamy during detention once snape steps out

Warnings: maybe one swear word

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: i hope you’re all staying safe right now and i’m sending you all my love. xoxox (Gif is from google)

Although double Potions was usually quite enjoyable on your end, the migraine that was throbbing away under your skull was currently telling you today was not going to be as good. The dark corridors of the dungeons were helping the pain in your eyes, but the laughter and constant chatter that greeted you once your entered the class made you grimace.

You sat in your usual seat at the front of the class, taking your Potions book out and patiently awaiting Professor Snape to get on with the lesson so you could leave sooner. You loved your classes, but today was just not going to be your day.

A group of rowdy Slytherins led by Malfoy stormed into the room, laughing loudly and flicking paper balls at innocent students. You ducked your head down, hoping to stay out of sight until Snape arrived. Which thankfully, didn’t take long.

“Good afternoon, Professor Snape,” you smiled kindly, almost missing the very faint, forced smile he shot back at you.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N.”

As the class became quiet, Snape began to instruct the class on what was going to happen in the lesson. You opened your book to the instructions for a Draught of Peace and looked over the ingredients briefly.

Seemed simple enough. You only hoped you’d be able to complete the potion quickly enough and could head to the hospital wing with intention of curing your blasting headache.

“Before you all get rushing around, I will be assigning partners,” Snape’s cold voice made you shut your book hastily.

Partners? Great.

“Finnigan, with Marshall. Johnson, you’re with Keagen,” Snape started reading names off of the list in front of him, and you could only pray you got a decent partner.

“Crabbe and Parkinson,” he read aloud. You rolled your eyes as you heard the two share a dramatic high five.

“Y/L/N, you’re with Malfoy,” Snape read, and you swore you could practically feel yourself failing the assignment already. Of all people, why Draco Malfoy? The platinum headed idiot was nowhere near as good at potions as he should be. Besides, he was way too focused on his stupid ego to even try.

Lord have Mercy.

“Well, what are you all waiting around for? Get moving,” Snape snapped, causing the class to stand up and find their partners. You, however, didn’t have to get up because Malfoy slid quickly into the seat next to you, an arrogant smirk on his face.

“You seem to know your way around a potion so I’m not worried,” he said cooly, leaning back in his chair.

You forced a smile, “As long as you cooperate, we’ll be fine.”

You figured it was no use snapping at him. If you ticked him off he’d make this class living hell, and that was the last thing you needed. You stood up quickly and walked over to the cabinet, grabbing the necessary ingredients in a little basket before walking back to your desk.

A thick, black cauldron now sat on top of it. You placed the basket down to prepare everything you needed.

“Can you crush up this moonstone, please?” you handed over the stone to Malfoy, who reluctantly stood up from his chair.

“Fine,” he muttered, “Don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously. This class is stupid anyways.”

You bit your lip, picking up the unicorn horn and beginning to slowly grate it, making sure that it was the perfect consistency.

“It’s not stupid,” you replied calmly, not facing him, “Potions are extremely useful. You never know when you’ll end up needing one, it’s good to pay attention to every part.”

Malfoy smirked, “Snape isn’t standing behind you, Y/N. You don’t need to kiss his ass.”

You dropped the unicorn horn, eyes bulging out of your head as you snapped your head up to face him, “What? I am not — that’s not—,”

“Relax,” he held up his hands in fake defence, chuckling lightly, “Take a joke.”

You let out a huff of annoyance, looking back down to the unicorn horn and letting your hair fall into your face to hide the pink on your cheeks. You knew Malfoy’s talent was getting under people’s skin but you weren’t about to let him do that to you.

“Just powder the moonstone, Malfoy,” you muttered as you started working on the unicorn horn once more.

After you poured the unicorn horn into the boiling water, you turned to check on Malfoy’s work, only to find he hadn’t even touched the moonstone. You could feel the anger bubbling inside of you.

“Why haven’t you crushed the stone?” you asked, placing your hands on your hips, “You can’t just sit around and let me do all the work.”

“Why not?” he crossed his arms, a challenging expression on his face, “You seem to know what you’re doing, miss Goody Two Shoes.”

“First off, don’t call me that,” you spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to catch the attention of fellow students, “There is nothing wrong with being good at learning. Secondly, this is a group project, in case your thick head hasn’t noticed. So, do your part, partner.”

He squinted at you, “A little bit more fiesty when you’re ticked off, aren’t you?”

You took a deep breath, turning over to grab the porcupine quills in the basket, “Just crush the moonstone, it’s not that hard.”

He let out a chuckle, picking up the moonstone and holding it between his two fingers as if he were analyzing it. You wanted to question what he was doing, but you also wanted to avoid any and all conversation from this moment forward, so you didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll powder your stupid rock,” he placed it back down on the chopping board and did as he was told, grunting every now and then when things weren’t working.

When you completed with your porcupine quills, you put them into the cauldron and he did the same with the moonstone, the two of you continuing to work in silence. Until, of course, he decided he had something else to say.

“Your nose gets scrunched up when you concentrate, you know,” he said calmly. You snapped your head up from the page you were double checking the instructions off of and stared at him blankly.

“And you’re pointing it out why?” you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the strange fuzzy feeling that erupted in your stomach when he said it.

He shrugged, “No reason.” He began stirring the contents of the pot, ignoring how you were still looking at him, eyes a little wider than usual and your cheeks feeling a little warmer.

“Just stir the pot,” you grumbled, noticing how Snape was walking over to your desk to check out your potion.

“Yes, ma’am,” Malfoy grumbled right back, forcing a fake smile when Snape stopped in front of the two of you.

“Your potion looks acceptable,” Snape spoke cooly, looking down into the cauldron through the strands of black hair hanging in his vision, his expression unreadable as usual.

“Thank you, Professor,” you grinned, “I actually thought about grinding the porcupine quills smaller than usual, they dissolve quicker and the effect is still the same. I read about it in The Secrets to Succeeding in Potion Making.”

Snape turned to face you, squinting, “Although I usually discourage... risk-taking and experimenting in my classroom, I must admit myself impressed.”

You were positively beaming. It was rare Snape gave out compliments, and any time you got one, it rang through your head the entire day.

“Thank you,” you said again, “I’ve always wanted to make a Draught of Peace.”

Malfoy was looking back and forth between you and Snape, looking slightly disgusted. But, you brushed it off and smiled at the professor once more as he moved on to the group behind you, who had clearly done something wrong as their potion was bubbling a neon orange.

“That was quite possibly the worst case of sucking up I have ever seen,” Malfoy let out a low whistle, wiping the proud smile off your face.

“It’s not sucking up,” you defended yourself, not feeling like it was worth it but your stubbornness feeling otherwise, “I’m just genuinely interested in learning about potion making.”

He rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

You scowled at him, not thinking he was worth your effort, and turned back to face the potion, which was now the exact colour it was meant to be.

“Class dismissed, when we return next class you will be back in the same pairs and we will go through the step by step instructions and what many, many of you did wrong,” Snape addressed the class grimly, his lip curled in a disappointed frown.

You looked around, noticing students who were rolling their eyes and grimacing at their incorrect potions. Yours was pretty damn perfect, if you did say so yourself.

“Guess we’re back together next class, huh?” Malfoy smirked, “Great.”

You picked up your books and parchment, clutching them to your chest, “If you keep your mouth shut, it will go just fine.”

You stuck your nose in the air once more, walked out the class, and marched down the busy corridors to Transfiguration. You picked a seat next to a quiet looking Ravenclaw girl, hoping to avoid Malfoy’s commentary, and prepared yourself for another class.

— —

“We failed? But how?” you felt your heart sink to your stomach as you looked at the large F sitting on the paper with yours and Malfoy’s names. How could you have failed? You guys had done the potion perfectly, Snape even said he was impressed with your tactics. It didn’t make sense.

“Relax, Y/N,” Malfoy shrugged carelessly, “It’s not my first failure. It doesn’t actually affect you as much as you’d think.”

“No! I’m not going to relax! Professor Snape said he was impressed!” you groaned, slamming the paper down on the table, more frustrated than you cared to admit. Malfoy would think you were a fool if he knew how much that F had gotten under your skin.

You had never failed anything before, how could you have failed this? There had to be some sort of twisted, wrong explanation for this.

Before Malfoy could stop you, your hand shot straight up into the air, “Professor Snape!”

Snape, who was in the middle of handing back another grade, walked over to your desk with the permanent scowl still on his face.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” he spoke slowly, eyebrow raised.

“I was just wondering why I — I mean, why we — failed,” you corrected yourself, eyeing Malfoy quickly before facing Snape once again, trying to be polite but also wanting answers.

“Because, Miss Y/L/N, and Mister Malfoy, you had placed the ingredients in the wrong order, therefore the porcupine quills did not blend with your moonstone the way it was intended,” he spoke cooly, “After class was dismissed, your potion turned a vulgar shade of green.”

You nodded sadly, watching him walk away with a swoosh of his robes. You sat down, a sunken expression on your face. You couldn’t believe you let Malfoy’s annoying-ness get under your skin to the point where you hadn’t even paid attention to the order of inserting the ingredients.

You felt like a total fool. Sinking back into your chair, a pout was now formed on your lips. You were devastated. How could you have been so distracted?

“It’s not a huge deal,” Malfoy faced you, clearly confused as to why this was bothering you so much.

“You don’t get it!” you snapped, “I have never failed — ever. This is my first failure and it was your fault. You couldn’t just grind your stupid moonstone and get on with the task, could you? Maybe we’d have been able to follow instructions better!”

He seemed taken aback by your outburst. You had even noticed a few students around you turn to face you guys, evesdropping to see what the fuss was about.

“Wait, you’re blaming me?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest, “You’re the one who had the instructions! You’re the one who was paying attention to every tiny detail. Don’t blame this on me. This is on you.”

You could feel the fumes bubbling under your skin, “Me? No, this isn’t on me. If it weren’t for me, you’d have killed yourself with that potion!”

By now, the entire class was looking over. And to your extreme misfortune, so was Snape.

“Miss Y/L/N, I am very disappointed in your outburst,” he spoke loudly, a hint of loathing in his voice, “Detention. Both of you. My office, tonight at eight.”

You sat down, defeated, letting a harsh sigh leave your lips. Detention. Your first failure and your first detention in the same day. You were so disappointed in yourself.

“Detention?” you mumbled quietly, looking down at your feet, “I’ve sunk low.”

“Yeah, you have,” Malfoy spoke up, his irritating voice making you clench your hands into fists one more, “Can’t wait to share detention with the lamest person in school.”

You scoffed, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms, “I am not lame.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

— —

As eight o’clock rolled around, you found yourself sitting in Snape’s office, deadly silent, with Malfoy sitting by your side. He was dressed casually, the first time you had actually seen him without his robes, and he looked quite awake for this late in the evening.

“See here?” Snape finally spoke up, pointing to the shelves behind him where all his ingredients were stored, “I need you to organize them and make a list of how much of everything remains in my inventory.”

“How would you like the list organized, sir?” you asked softly, looking over at the messy shelves, dreading how long this was going to take. There were a lot of jars. Some even had what looked like body parts in them. Hearts, eyes, hair. It was pretty disgusting.

“Does it matter?” Malfoy asked, “Just write it all down. Not everything has to be in a perfect little list with a bow on top.”

You bit your tongue, holding back a snide remark as Snape rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with your childish bickering.

“Just do what I’ve asked and you can leave,” Snape said once more before turning around slowly and leaving his office, going god knows where at this hour. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure what your teachers got up to once school hours were over.

Did they all hang out? Did they sleep in the same quarters? Do they huddle around the fireplace and chat?

It was kind of weird thinking about your teachers’ personal lives.

“Hello?” Malfoy snapped, causing you to blink rapidly as you returned to the present moment, “I’m not doing this by myself.”

You glared at him, “You weren’t this rude in class, what changed?”

As you turned to the shelf behind you, noticing that the four bottles with hair in them were labeled the same thing, you put them into a little line so they were all together and easily accessible.

“Things changed once you were rude to me. Also, you got us detention. Couldn’t keep your temper under control, could you?” he replied without even looking over. You were about to reach for a tiny bottle of green bubbles, but his statement made you retract your hand and turn to face him.

“It’s not my fault I was rude,” you replied as he turned to face you, “You’re practically insufferable. You’ve been worshiped by your gang of cronies and now you go around thinking you’re some sort of royalty, it’s rather annoying, I must say. I don’t stand for people who better themselves.” Although you had never actually spoken back to him with such honesty to your words before, something about telling him off made you feel good.

He smirked at you — which was the last reaction you were expecting — and walked towards you slowly. Up until the point where your back was up against the shelves, but he didn’t slow down. Eventually, he stopped in front of you, his hands against the wooden shelves on either side of your head, and his face closer to you than it’s ever been.

You had never noticed the freckles on his cheekbones, or the scar he had above his lip. Or even the way there was a speck of green in his right eye. Or how being so close to him made your breath catch and your heart race.

Wait — what were you thinking?

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” his smirk was still evident, but the only thing you could focus on was the proximity of your bodies. If Snape were to walk in...

“You’re — uh — I don’t—,” you couldn’t find the words to say as he looked from your eyes to your lips. You had never been in a position like this with anyone before. It felt so intimate, so personal.

“You know, I gotta say I find you quite endearing,” he said softly, eyes staring into yours with such intensity your knees were weak. What the hell was going on?

“You — you do?” you found yourself questioning, suddenly very aware that you had no idea what to do with your hands. Do you put them down?

You settled on crossing them across your chest, almost as if challenging Malfoy.

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “You’ve got this innocent, know-it-all air about you. And I can’t help but feel weirdly drawn to you. Not that I mind, of course. You’re lucky you’re gorgeous.” Heat rose to your cheeks and you knew he was loving it.

“You find me gorgeous?” you smiled lightly, trying to distract him from teasing your blush.

He grinned, “Course I do. Infuriating as hell, but gorgeous.” You lost all self control, and without thinking, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down so his lips crashed against yours.

He wasted no time in responding, placing his hands gently around your waist and pulling your body flush against his, his lips moving slowly yet forcefully against your own. He was surpringly passionate for someone who seemed to have such a hard edge.

You felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip before clashing with yours, the pure feeling of bliss and energy moulding between the two of you. It was as if ice and fire had met, and the result was calmness and passion.

“Draco—,” his lips moved away from your lips and down to your jaw, and even lower to your neck. He left soft kisses all the way down to your collarbone, leaving you with goosebumps all over your body. He was surprisingly really good at this. Even you had to admit you were enjoying this.

He reluctantly pulled away from you, his lips a dark shade of red and his hair a little wild. It was quite possibly the hottest he’s ever looked.

“Don’t let this change anything, I still find you a pain in the ass,” you mumbled as you raised your hand to fix your hair, hoping no one would notice that you had gotten busy with Malfoy in Snape’s office of all places.

“Right back at you, darling,” he winked at you, causing your heart to flutter, “Shall we get back to work?”

—

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