#Shakespeare inspired fic
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
AND I SAID " ROMEO TAKE ME SOMEWHERE WE CAN BE ALONE."
AND MY DADDY SAID " STAY AWAY FROM JULIET. "
“ I TALKED TO YOUR DAD, GO PICK OUT A WHITE DRESS. IT'S A LOVE STORY, BABY, JUST SAY "YES. ”
🌹 it was a tragedy but you were already hooked. if you die for me, i would die for you, as he always murmurs in your ears.
romeo!jj who knelt down for you the first time he saw you in that rose garden, on one of his knee, dressed in his shining silver armor. he was a fallen prince that reached for his sinned princess.
romeo!jj who complimented your sublime, long dress, a gift from your father, but who wanted to see you without it.
romeo!jj who helped you lace up your corset, but had to refrain from touching you in front of your servants every time your breasts bounced above the cleavage.
romeo!jj who helped you undo your dress, sliding the threads through his hands, while kissing your skin every time he undid a lace.
romeo!jj who liked to irritate your father because he was young and arrogant. romeo!jj who showed up at balls where he is not invited, drinks from the cup of wine of your dad before throwing it on the ground, and sneaking among the guests to find you. you. the woman he seeks and wants. romeo!jj who kicked out all the dance partners you had, just because he was the only one who can make you dance.
romeo!jj who fighting your father with his precious sword in front of everyone, while making you dance. he was meticulous, his blade never touched you.
romeo!jj who may loose the fight but will end up finding you on your balcony later while you wait for him in the light of the moon.
romeo!jj who kissed you passionately, with the love you deserved. romeo!jj who was all dirty after a long battle, messy sweaty hair that smell victory, bruises on his pretty young face, and blood but who refused to be far away from you.
you were his juliet to whom he wrote love letters with ink stains but you loved to smell his scent in every word.
romeo!jj who was not a music lover but such a fan of hearing you play the harp late at night.
you had tried to teach him but his hands were always somewhere other than on the tiny fragile ropes.
romeo!jj who forced you to leave your prison while your parents slept to take you to have fun. you threw yourself off the balcony and he caught you in his arms. but often complained about the size of your dress. sometimes, jj fantasized about seeing his princess in silver armor.
you had tried to push him away dozens of times, but it never worked because he was stronger than you at this game. romeo!jj wanted you, and even if he had to have the world against him , it didn't matter, because he would let this world burn for his only love.
romeo!jj who fought duels with all his rivals, and who took pleasure in capturing you whenever he could. he had a big white horse and took you for rides. sometimes he dreamed of being an evil prince and kidnapping you, and locking you in a giant tower. but you were too beautiful in his eyes to be hidden from the world.
you were his juliet, the one to whom he revealed his scars, to whom he let see his weaknesses, his true nature, weak and sensitive.
you were his juliet and he agreed to cry in front of you because of his father.
you were his juliet, a sin. but he was in love. no matter how much hell tormented him, he would descend there for your beautiful eyes.
he was your romeo, and he taught you how to use the sword, one hand on your waist, and another on his weapon. romeo!jj who had engraved the initials of your name on his blade.
he made you a soldier capable of fighting, but you remained his princess who would never be able to kill anyone. but you didn't have to worry, that was his favorite part. fighting for you.
he was dressed to kill every person that pissed you, and make him jealous, and you were dressed to be his favorite pure and soft angel. and in the future, his perfect wife.
romeo!jj who knew how much your families hated each other but couldn't stay away from you for more than five minutes. romeo!jj who planned to run away with you.
romeo!jj who knelt in front of you one day, “will you marry me ?” with the most precious ring in his hand. romeo!jj who had found nothing better than to make you cry on your birthday with his surprise. romeo!jj who wanted nothing more than for you to be his.
even if your father humiliated him yesterday because a capulet would never marry a montague. that the blood of your family was superior to others. that he would never have you.
there had been another fight between the two. he never gave up, even when your father placed a blade against his throat, forcing jj to go on his knees. you begged your father to not kill him. while you cried your heart out, jj's blood stained your dress, he whispered in your ear.
“ already in tears for me? i didn't fuck you well yet. don't be a crybaby, princess. your romeo will not die tonight. ”
you wanted to hit him. but you smiled at him when he got up.
but you knew that his own father had also beaten him for this betrayal and shame that was your love for each other.
“ my father is going to kill you.” you said with a soft voice, your fingers stucked in his blonde curls, while he was on his knees, his hands on your waist covered by your big princess dress. and his eyes all over you.
“you are the only one capable of killing me. and you've already done it a million times.”
“ don't die, jj. i forbid you. you think you can conquer everything like achilles, but you will die because of your ego. you are young and i still need you."
" you trust me ? "
"my father is a monster. he won't be afraid to kill you."
" are you afraid of dying with me?"
“nothing scares me more than dying without you., jj. ”
but you had let yourself be blinded by love and happiness, you could never have known, neither you nor jj, that it was the last time you kissed his cold and bruised lips.
and the saddest part was that you died without knowing where your romeo was. you had both been consumed.
you had forgotten god, and you had been punished with jj for that.
credits to @daddldee for the dividers <33 moodboards was made by me. and i'm proud fr 😭 yes, it's inspired by love story/white horse by taylor swift, dont ask me why 😔 i dont think it's really angst but yes, both jj and reader die at the end💀
#idk why i made this but it was on my mind all day#i'm proud of the moodboard ngl#romeo & juliet#obx fandom#slight angst#love story#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#rudy pankow#shakespeare#outer banks#obx moodboard#jj moodboard#jj maybanks angst#jj x reader#obx angst#obx fluff#jj maybank prompt#jj maybanks aesthetic#movie inspired#romeo and juliet#tragedy#jj maybank x you#taylor swift#love story taylor's version#white horse#fairy tale aesthetic#aesthetic moodboard#obx fic#swifties
215 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thus with a kiss, I die...
25 writing prompts compiled from Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare:
[Please feel free to use! I would love for you to tag me if you post any writing pulled from or inspired by this list so I can read all of your amazing work! <3]
Image: Gustav Klimt, The Death of Romeo and Juliet (detail), 1886–7.
"These violent delights have violent ends..."
"Don't waste your love on somebody who doesn't value it."
"Parting is such sweet sorrow..."
"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs..."
"I am fortune's fool..."
"Under love's heavy burden do I sink."
"You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them..."
"...dreamers often lie."
"It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut."
"Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorns."
"I must be gone and live, or stay and die."
"Give me my sin again."
"Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied..."
"...where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury."
"I have a soul of lead, so stakes me to the ground I cannot move."
"I love someone. She doesn't love me."
"Some grief shows much of love, but much of grief shows still some want of wit."
"There's no trust, no faith, no honesty in men..."
"What must be shall be."
"If love be rough with you, be rough with love."
"In truth...I am too fond."
"I have no more care to stay than will to go."
"Well, we were born to die."
"Tis not so sweet now as it was before."
"I long to die."
#writing prompts#writing#writer prompts#fic prompts#fan fiction prompts#theobsidianpage#William Shakespeare#prompts#creative writing#fanfic#fan fiction#one liners#sentence prompts#writeblr#writing community#writers of tumblr#writer stuff#fic prompt#sentence starters#rp starters#starter sentences#prompt list#dialogue prompt#dialogue prompts#Romeo and Juliet#Romeo and Juliet quotes#shakespeare quotes#writing inspiration#angst prompts#romance prompts
109 notes
·
View notes
Text
guys guys….. what if….. wHat if… rhaenicent retelling of macbeth
#this post inspired by me seeing macbeth live for the first time today#hotd#rhaenicent#macbeth#shakespeare#fic ideas#if i ever actually start fucking writing this will be the second thing i do
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
i heart ariel
#second pic inspired by pine on ao3#best tempest fic imo stay real forever#shakespeare#the tempest#ariel#ariel tempest#prospero#prospero tempest#artists on tumblr#fanart#theatre#my art
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay no still thinking about high school royalty/popular polycule midsummer night's dream au where they're the lovers, (this also goes with my if we were villains adjacent au because it's the same thing but worse)
brooke and chloe running away into the woods to be together, only to be followed by jake who is still in love with chloe, who is followed by rich who is in love with him
(really, it could be any combination of them. jake & chloe and rich & brooke, rich & chloe and jake & brooke, whatever works)
of course the fairies have to interfere with them
and its a popular polycule au, of course theyre going to end up together
#lohst.txt#bmc#be more chill#jake dillinger#brooke lohst#chloe valentine#rich goranski#popular polycule#high school royalty#maybe i'll add a third fic to the ao3 tag /hj#i need to read midsummer#and i need to stop basing aus off of shakespeare productions ive seen#(< is using the r&j show i saw as inspiration for the bapo au)
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ahh it's you who makes these fantastic crack videos! <3
I'm absolutely in love with them, and when it was on my YouTube recommendations just now I went straight to the group chat and yelled at my friends to go watch it.
Thank you for these, they really bring so much joy to me and make me incredibly happy <3
AKSFKCOSJKD YES IT'S ME
I'm so glad you like them!!! They're just something silly I love to do (and to help pass the time at my boring desk job lmao) so I'm always floored at how many people seem to watch and enjoy them. For you to be that excited that you immediately go running to your friends about it?? Absolutely makes my day 😭😭😭
(Also only bc I'm curious, which Lilo & Stitch one were you talking about above? I ended up using two different soundbites from it lmao)
#anyway ily ❤️#thank u for your love and appreciation#(it truly makes me feel like a fic writer getting comments lol)#((also this is hella inspiring for me to immediately go make more))#you have truly done more than your fair share in the role of [shakespeare voice] ✨️the audience✨️#ask
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prepare to be “Unmasked” with this next update for “Beautiful Creature of Darkness” 🌹🖤
Saurondriel|Rating E|37k
And a little soundtrack to go along with a dancing scene, because I enjoy titillating all my readers’ senses
From Chapter 25….
Celebrimbor chuckled, turning to follow his sight line into the winding crowd. Those pupils moved to and fro, following one lithe She-elf, crowned in leaves of victory and smiling across her unmasked face. “Annatar,” he teased softly, “I promise you, she won’t bite. My cousin certainly will give you a merry chase around the floor.”
“I’m not certain you can promise me my safety, Celebrimbor,” a smirk tugging at his mouth. “But a merry chase might just help pass the time until you present the king with his much needed weapon…”
“We present it to him, friend,” Celebrimbor turned an earnest look up at the tall emissary. “You’ve earned yourself more than a dance with the fair Princess, what with solving the mystery of a metal lost to the First Age with the fall of Gondolin.”
Annatar’s neck stretched, his mind obviously working furiously to assess his choices. His chances of being unmasked.
“Perhaps you are right in this matter,” he gave a dry, staccato chuckle.
“You may be the expert of the forge, but I can tell you Galadriel will show you a good time,” Celebrimbor fairly pushed him into the floor of swirling gowns and turning masks.
Sauron laughed to himself at the irony; if only one among them knew of just the good times he had already taken with the warrior queen of his heart. Or if they knew of how many times she would be taken, yet. A smirk across his thin lips, he stood straight, beginning to approach the dance floor just as the music began to slow and cadence. The corner of his eyes caught one long, hard and enraged glare—silver eyes beneath a silver mask.
Perhaps this would be more of a good time than even Celebrimbor could predict. He turned to look at Celeborn with a full grin before gliding into the circle of dancing guests. Steps wove and skipped, always graceful and flowing in that traditional elvish way. His arms wrapped around the back of some female, swinging around slowly. He could feel her gaze on the back of head, but his sights were trained only on one female, her mussed golden locks pinned loosely now, held down barely by her shining diadem of leaves. The moment Galadriel felt his gaze, she turned, that light of lust and devotion burning bright in her bright blue eyes.
A smile fluttered over her lips, knowing the next pass would land her right in his arms. One more turn, one more reach of her arms and then…
“Galadriel,” Celeborn’s voice sliced through her growing warmth, immediately chilling the need that festered in her body, that screamed to be satisfied. Her hand was crushed in a grip, her feet trapped by the flowing lengths of her gown as she was removed from the circle. “I’m sorry for our last exchange,” he pleaded, his eyes narrowing with regret. The perfect penitent picture. “I just couldn’t let you continue to think of me as controlling and scarred as your brother.”
“Then cease to be so,” she ordered, ripping her hand from his hold and adjusting her skirts, barely hiding her temper.
“I will,” he bent down to meet her eyes, “I am.”
“We shall see,” she sneered, turning as if to return to the dance floor, but that extraordinarily tall emissary had… disappeared. Heart sinking to her toes, she scanned every corner, only stopping once her eyes locked with Celeborn’s darkly amused smirk.
“Enjoy your dancing,” he smiled his most princely grin. “I will be nearby, should you change your mind and want a partner to guide your steps.” Then he bowed that silvery head of his and retreated into the crowd…
#totally inspired by the dancing from Shakespeare in Love#my fic tease#shapeshifting lovers are more fun#jealous Celeborn#super possessive Sauron#gal’s got autonomy 😂#the rings of power#halbrand#haladriel#lotr rings of power#Annatar#rings of power#saurondriel#lotr rop#haladriel fanfic#sauron x galadriel#saurondriel fanfic#sauron
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rosaline writes to her cousin about her life worshiping Diana at the Convent of St. Clair's.
talking to @cleverclove about Measure for Measure encouraged me to finally finish this fic from 2014!
Rating: General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandoms: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare, Hamlet - Shakespeare, Measure for Measure - Shakespeare
Characters: Juliet Capulet, Rosaline (Romeo and Juliet), Hermia (Midsummer Night's Dream), Ophelia (Hamlet), Isabella (Measure for Measure)
Additional Tags: Religion, convents, Magic, Female Friendship
Word Count: 686
#shakespeare#my writing#romeo and juliet#a midsummer night's dream#hermia#hamlet#ophelia#measure for measure#i know this wasn't an option on my poll earlier today but when inspiration hits you TAKE it!#despite the title this isn't actually an epistolary fic
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Went to Stratford upon Avon this week, it was rainy but nice
#not a reblog for once#froggi rambles#it was a trip with my English class it was simultaneously very fun and very frustrating#to cut a long story short: I hate my classmates but I REALLY like this guy a lot more than I realised holy shit#anyway expect an early 17th century England fic soon seeing Shakespeare’s new place was very inspiring
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
What You Will
A Thedan retelling of Twelfth Night.
Violet Hawke has no idea if her twin survived the chaos following the Chantry explosion. Fearing that those left in her care will be in danger if they are discovered with the sister of the infamous Champion of Kirkwall, she hides herself in Denerim behind a new name, a new look, and a different gender.
Things are going well enough until Violet is forced to play messenger between the man she has fallen in love with and the woman he dotes on. A very loose retelling that features a blue Hawke, her purple brother, and one very confused former Warden.
Excerpt below the cut.
Violet tried her best to be professional and not think about how charming the man’s blush was. He had to be in his thirties, at least, and yet he blushed like a schoolboy from her soft touch even under circumstances like this. She also was determined not to take notice of the upper curve of his bottom where it was exposed, or the hard planes of his chest that she could see peeking out from beneath his shirt. He was injured, and that took precedence over everything else.
Besides, she chastised herself. You’re a man right now. Or a boy, at least.
Unless he’s into that, a more wicked part of herself answered. She shushed both parts. There was work to be done.
She sat back on her haunches and looked at the man with a level gaze. He gingerly put his clothes to rights and met her stare with silence, one eyebrow raised in expectation that she would speak soon. She stuck her hand out.
“Name’s Cutter,” she said. He took her hand and gave it a couple of quick pumps before releasing it.
“Alistair,” he said. “You seem awful young for a surgeon.”
“Experience makes a surgeon more than years,” she hedged. “And I’ve loads, thanks to the Blight.”
“Fair enough,” Alistair said, face grim.
Read more on AO3.
#dragon age#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction#dragon age alistair#alistair theirin#now with more hawke twins#twelfth night#inspired by shakespeare#my fic
1 note
·
View note
Text
Just some random additions because I like this concept:
Danny eventually does learn how to do things like shapeshift and cast illusions on himself-- in addition to many other powers-- to make it seem like he's older, so when he does spend time in his 'natural' timeframe he doesn't look too out of place when standing next to his friends and isn't sent home out of hand when he tries to enlist/show up for the Wolrd Wars.
It becomes a game for him to keep an eye out for anything that references things he did in the past. Dear John letters in museums, paintings and sketches, statues and busts, accounts about important events, photos (mostly photobomb because he's not THAT reckless or stupid given how relatively close his normal life is to the invention of the camera), ancient legends, a couple cults, things he made whenever he decided to learn new skills and crafts like blacksmithing or sculpting, just anything that proves or hints about him being there.
There are a few 'side effects' about doing all this time traveling to the past and waiting it out to the present though. For one he is TERRIBLE at making plans in his home time period because he'll get the urge to go back in time for a few years/decades and by the time he gets back he's forgotten all about promising to meet for lunch that specific Saturday because he forgot the Nasty Burger existed until Tucker reminded him. Another 'side effect' is that he'll reference things, people, or events from a century ago and talk about them like it was last week and will base his strong opinions on more modern things on them, often confusing the hell out of his 'fellow teens' who wouldn't learn about Stalin photoshopping people out of pictures after he had them killed for years but apparently that's why Danny Fenton hates photoshop and AI art.
He has an unspoken agreement with himself whenever he crosses path with himself as they live through various time periods. Nod, wave, walk away. No spoilers, no warnings, no interaction beyond the barest minimum acknowledgment.
Instant Eternity
Time travel involving the infinite realms is truly a bizarre thing. Sometimes it follow one set of rules, and sometimes that set of rules may as well not exist. Usually, however, it works in one of two ways, the first is when the time travel is achieved through artificial means such as clockworks portals and allows for the altering of the timeline as one would expect time travel would allow. The other type of time travel is through natural means, portals usually, and it’s just that, Natural. That portal to the past opened up in the past the same moment it did in the present. If you step into the portal in the year 2000 then you already stepped out of the portal hundreds of years ago. It’s A Thing That Already Happened. Danny himself experienced this, as while chasing Vlad through time they fought in the middle of a Roman coliseum and, whoopsy daisy, set a really big fire. A fire which Danny had learned about years before he even had his accident.
So, the infimap can take the user anywhere, anywhen. And the infimap is just that, a map. It doesn’t make new roads, it just drags you across already existing paths. So it is a natural form of time travel, if you use it to go in time to kill your grandfather in order to insure your never born your interference will result in your grandparents falling in love and your birth.
Danny realizes that anytime he needs to heal from a battle or has gone 156 hours without sleeping or eating he can use the infimap to pop back to the past for a few days and then have the map bring back to the “Present”, exactly one second after he left. A three week vacation that lasted one second. At first he’s really wary about using this, worried about accelerated aging or getting lost in the time stream and a hundred other issues. At first.
It’s been months sense the accident. Sam and Tucker have both shot up several inches. Danny, on the other hand, hasn’t grown sense the accident. At all. They fought a ghost who could rapidly age opponents, a single slap turned Tucker into a decrepit old man. The ghost wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat and spent 5 minutes trying to strangle him while Danny bought time for Sam and Tucker to pull off the plan. The sucked him into the thermos, his influence on time ceased so Tucker returned to his proper state. “Jeez it sure is lucky he didn’t try and age me, right guys? Ha ha ha”. Danny gets blasted through a natural portal while making a trip through the zone and spends years trying to get home, not aging a day.
He can’t deny it after that, can’t ignore it. He’s immortal. He’s going to live forever. He’s going to watch his friends and family whither away and die out. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life wandering from place to place trying not to get outed as the same 14 year old who save someone’s great great grandma 100 years ago.
After having his first middeath crisis, suddenly the only reasons he had to not spend years on end wandering the world and the past is gone, even if he loses the infimap, worst case scenario he’ll just take the long way home. Suddenly, he’s dreading the next 80 years of the “Present”. He decides that if he’s going to watch his friends and family grow old and frail he’s going to make sure it’s takes as long as it possibly could, from his perspective. By the time they’re 20 Danny’s gonna have 200 years under his belt.
He becomes a temporal tourist, hopping into the past every time the late night fights and schoolwork become to much. Spends years in every civilization imaginable, mastering every skill he can, leaving legends in his wake.
I feel like Danny and his adventures do have a lot of potential for story’s, as it’s a pretty good setup for having Danny in any type of time period or historical event for extended periods of time, fighting in the trenches of World War I, exploring the Americas during the era of colonialism, sailing the seas a swashbuckling vigilante pirate. I, however, have most of my related ideas being based around crossovers. So most of that will be in part two, so that people who like to filter out all that can still see this post.
#danny fenton#danny phantom#dp au#danny phantom au#Danny’s Immortal#temporal tourist#Temporal Tourist AU#Danny the next time Vlad goes on and on about his TWenTy YeARs ExperIANce: That’s cute#He completely forgets about a English project for Lancer and when Lancers standing in front of his desk asking for it#Danny comes back two seconds later with the best project Lancer has ever seen. it’s autographed by Shakespeare#he had to ask what the project was before he left.#I have more ideas but whatever#I really do hope someone writes this#It would be great as a pure DP fic#And as a DP X DC fic#Or any crossover really#Just have Danny really fuck with people#He's an immortal that has been influencing history since before Babylon#He was born in the 1990s or 2000s#He's the godly inspiration for a dozen cults#It's really embarrassing#Most of them anyways#He got to name a bunch of stars and constellations!#He also may or may not have accidentally killed Alexander the Great due to bringing modern food or wine to a party#He's honestly not sure#He may have been drunk when it happened
277 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something wicked this way comes...
20 moody writing prompts compiled from William Shakespeare's Macbeth: [I would love for you to tag me if you post any writing pulled from or inspired by this list, so I can read all of your amazing work! <3]
Image: Karl Bryullov, The Last Day of Pompeii (detail), 1830–3.
"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires."
"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break."
"What's done cannot be undone."
"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it."
"I have no words; My voice is in my sword."
"Confusion now hath made his masterpiece."
"Better to be with the dead, whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, than on the torture of the mind to lie in restless ecstasy."
"The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love."
"Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell."
"The night is long that never finds the day."
"Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end."
"There is nothing serious in morality."
"Tis safer to be that which we destroy than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy."
"Sometimes when we are labelled, when we are branded, our brand becomes our calling."
"...who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?"
"I have supped full with horrors."
"...oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the Instruments of Darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray us in deepest consequence."
"No, not even fit to live..."
"...I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm is often laudable, to do good sometime accounted dangerous folly."
"Who could refrain, that had a heart to love, and in that heart courage to make love known?"
#writing prompts#writing#writer prompts#fic prompts#fan fiction prompts#one liners#theobsidianpage#William Shakespeare#Macbeth#prompts#creative writing#fanfic#fan fiction#sentence prompts#writeblr#writers of tumblr#writing community#writer stuff#fic prompt#sentence starters#starters#rp starters#starter sentences#prompt list#dialogue prompt#dialogue prompts#Macbeth Quotes#Shakespeare quotes#writing inspiration#writing inspo
99 notes
·
View notes
Text
Taming The Tempest (j.w.w)
pairing: jeon wonwoo x female reader
synopsis: “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-” you begin. You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead. Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes. or
when the angriest girl from high school settles for the quietest boy from uni.
genre: unadulterated fluff ; rating : 16+
word count: 3.7k+ (supposed drabble)
credits: our forefather Mr. William Shakespeare for the title- inspired by two of his plays . and my pesky bub @svtiddiess for helping me out in more ways than one. like every time.
warnings: hot tempered y/n and a soft hearted wonwoo, profanity, not beta read, you are right there are errors.
a.n. : this is set in the same universe as my upcoming fic- 'Mr. Steal Your Girl Man' ft Jungkook. don't be fooled by the banner, graphic design is my passion!
check out the masterlist here!
“And then Miss Jung slapped a detention slip onto Y/N’s hand, with that weird glint in her eye. I have never seen Y/N look more like a wounded puppy than at that moment.” “Hey I do not regret what I did for one second, she had it coming all this while. I know she failed me in Calc on purpose. Got in big trouble with dad for that F”
“Well, you wouldn't have had it coming had you not put Epsom salt in her drink Y/N! Epsom salt! Who does that? That was cruel what you did to her.” ‘I did that because she snitched on you to your parents and got you grounded! I was trying to serve her revenge for making you miss football tryouts!” “That you did.” And you look to see your best friend from across the couch, flashing you his bunny smile, like the whole reason you hadn’t gotten detention for a whole month straight was because you defended him.
Growing up, you and Jungkook were best friends that stuck with each other through thick and thin. Ever since Kookie moved to your school in kindergarten, a handkerchief pinned to his sweatshirt and a bunny-eared bottle hanging around his neck, you had vowed to protect this little boy who was much shorter than you back then.
When Evan thought it was funny to bully the new kid by excluding him from a game of tag at recess—leaving a teary, snot-nosed Jungkook crying at the end of the park bench—you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally
From that day forward, Evan dared not lay a finger on Jungkook again.
You had grown up with temper issues your parents had tried to find help for. They knew your choice of laying fists over words was going to be your downfall in the long run. But unfortunately for them, it did not warrant how loved you were by your principal.
You were sent into her office to speak to someone and sort out your anger issues, maybe put a stop to all this rage that comes out of you. Maybe venting to someone would cause someone to find the roots of your rage. It was genes, you knew that, but of course your parents would never admit owning a temper like this. Outside the principal's office, you were met with loud wails and sniffles.
“Baby please, one chance”
“No Walter, I gave you one too many chances, let go of me.” You round the corner and see Mrs. Altman struggling to free herself from the firm grip of a strange man. Rage fills your five-year-old body. If she told him to let go, why won’t he let go?
Thinking the only thought you had, you run over and promptly jump up and kick the strange man on his shin. You didn’t know the outcome, but every fight with your brother Mingyu that resulted with a kick there ended up with him on the ground writhing and calling out for mom. You knew the repercussions of using your legs over your words, but Mrs Altman looked scared and your instincts were telling you to fight the only way it seemed logically possible at that time.
The strange man had fallen back on the floor, probably out of shock, cupping his shin and cursing with all the words your mother had said were unfit to be used in this house.
Mrs. Altman took one look at you, scooped you up, and hurried off to call security. Thus began a lifetime allegiance between you and Mrs. Altman. “That girl has quite the temper, she is never going to find a man with that mouth on her.” “Y/N is fine Mrs. L/N, she is quite the fireball but she fights for justice.”
Although you were warned to take hold of your temper, more so by a pleading mother , you found it harder to as the days increased and people’s brain power decreased.
In middle school, Jungkook was sent to an all boys high school to the chagrin of his mother. “He’s not telling me but I know he’s being bullied, Yuri. Everyday he comes with a new scar and although I have raised several complaints to the school, they refuse to take any action on the matter. I am quite literally worried for my child’s safety. "You overheard Mrs. Jeon tearfully spill to your mother over afternoon tea.
“Well say no more Mrs. Jeon” You had muttered in your head.
The next day you jumped over the fence that separates your school from Jungkooks, the five pebbles you had collected from your fish tank secured well in your pocket and ran off to Kook’s park. There you beheld Tesak who had a hand on Jungkook’s nape as he dipped his head into the hedge, a mob of laughing middle schoolers watching the spectacle.
Rage filled you like no other, you were well taught in archery by your father. Standing at the end of the fence you throw the first pebble. Tesak didn't see it coming. Catching him off guard you run and land a blow under his jaw, effectively bleeding him. You knew the amount of trouble you’d get into should you do it. But this was Kookie, your best friend. Reasoning flew out the window when you know someone dared to hurt your soft hearted best friend.
Getting home that day was a nightmare. Your parents were fighting. You could hear it over the sound of the loud music your brother was playing from the room across. “She was defending her fiend Yuri, I will not punish her for doing the right thing.” “Honestly Chen, you are the reason she has turned up like this. Stop siding with her. This is not the right behavior”
“I am going out for beer, Yuri, do what needs to be done, but I see no harm in what the child has done, defending her best friend against a bully." You heard receding footsteps and almost immediately slid under the blankets, you didn’t want anyone to see that you were awake, lest that warrants another scolding. You feel a soft kiss on your forehead , and a soft ‘stand for the truth Y/N’ crooned near your head and you knew your dad was mighty proud of you for doing the right thing.
Teenage hood had you turning up to being an absolute monster. Your parents divorce had torn you apart in more ways than one, even more so since you were the one who was stuck with mom while Mingyu stayed with dad’s.
Sometimes even you couldn’t understand your feelings. You couldn't explain the rage you felt. When your friends got teased or picked apart for something they didn’t do and ended up sobbing about it, your body was quick to fuel with hatred.
Woe to the man who dared stand in the path of your wrath. Though you had outgrown the days of violence before words — a change spurred by a mother’s desperate pleas for restraint — you knew, deep down, there were moments when you still reached the precipice. You couldn’t deny it.
High school was insanity for you, A broody batch of teenagers in a school filled with cliques that created unwanted divides between the popular and losers? Because why did Sadie who peed her pants in kindergarten think it was okay to be mean to the other girls now? Why did Riwoo, the shortest boy in seventh grade think a sudden glow up gave him the right to beat up smart kids.
Nuh uh, not on your watch. No way were you going to let someone bully your friends and think it's okay to get away with it.
Inanimate objects were also not safe from your anger. But your constant breaking of objects did lead you to find the absolute love of your life.
The sudden pop quiz shoved on a class of groaning college students by Mr Huxley was no fun. You will never understand why this was merriment to anyone. In a state of irritation at the sudden exam you had not studied for, you had slammed your pencil against the table, effectively breaking the lead.
Great, you were now in an exam hall, with no way to pass the grade because you had broken your only mechanism to write.
From behind you feel it. The light feathery touch of someone who had poked you slightly. You are annoyed at the intrusion .Who dared to disturb your small tantrum ?
You turn around and catch the eyes of a man. And at first all you can see is - soft. He looks soft.
He offers you a sleek fountain pen, its polished body gleaming. A bead of ink rests at the nib, poised as though ready to leap onto the page and transform into words.
He had on him a hoodie that covered his fists and a pair of glasses that rested on his nose, a little crooked albeit. And all you want to do is, reach out and fix it for him. And probably kiss his stupid face.
You freeze. You didn’t feel for people. Oh no no. You were L/N Y/N, dubbed as the ‘angriest girl in high school’, surely it can’t be you who has this urge to bridge the gap and sit on his stupid lap and kiss this stranger boy silly? You scoff and turn forward. Not without a scathing warning look directed at him. “Don’t ever touch me again”
Fast forward to now, and the very same boy is by your side. His hand glides up and down your arm, fingers kneading gently, expertly. He’s doing his thing — the quiet ritual you’ve come to rely on — trying to pull you back from whatever dimension of rage you’ve locked yourself in.
He seemed to be doing a good job, because you most definitely were being calmed. Very promptly he whisked you to sit up straight and lean a little better against him. You place your cheek against his shoulder, the cheek that is puffing up in a mighty pout, scornfully glaring at Jungkook.
“And then Mrs. Jung said, “Y/N with this attitude of yours you will never get anywhere in life, your anger issue will land you in hot waters”
“And, and” you couldn’t catch head or tails of what Jungkook was saying, he had dissolved into a fit of giggles, slapping against the couch you had worked so hard to pay off for. “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-” you begin.
You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead.
Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Wonwoo knows you like the back of his head, knows that one sassy retort will come out of your mouth any second. And so he places one more small pinch against the back of your hand, before you go off at Jungkook.
Internally sighing, you turn up to look at Wonwoo with doleful eyes, hoping he’d show you some mercy. Can’t he see your best friend was being an absolute fucker right now?
Almost like he can read your thoughts, Wonwoo whispers, ‘he’s just doing that to get a rise out of you Y/N, don’t take the bait’.
So you leave it. For now, High school you would never. Not till at least a book was chucked across the head, But for Wonwoo, your quiet lover, you’d do absolutely anything.
You don’t miss the warning glare Wonwoo shoots at Jungkook, and you are mildly assuaged . At least your boyfriend has your back. With that thought, you fall asleep, lulled by Jungkook's unconscious humming and your lover's soft hands running across your arm. Not before you flip the finger at your best friend though.
“No you don’t get it hyung, this was who Y/N was like in high school. One time, Hardin came to give her flowers and guess what she did? She slammed him against the lockers and demanded to know who put him up to this? As if Hardin would never give her flowers out of his own will!”
Even though you were awake now, you pretended to continue sleeping, cringing at the memory of you shoving a boy against the lockers for confessing his feelings for you.
“Well, to be fair, Kookie, you were bullied a lot in high school. I’m sure she thought this was Hardin’s way of getting revenge for clocking him in the past.” Wonwoo had heard every detail of your high school stories, never missing a single one of your ramblings. He knew almost everyone from your school, despite the fact that you two had attended different ones.
“That’s true. Man, school was hell, I would never have made it this far had it not been Y/N defending me and fighting all those fuckers. Even though she bullies me too.” You hear the pout in his voice. “Hey, I never bullied you. I just call you out on your bullshit, like the best friend I am. Someone had to,” You protest weakly from where you were lying on Wonwoo. “I knew that bitch wasn’t asleep, I told you, she’s got a sixth sense for when she hears her name” Gukkie retorts.
You open your eyes to find Wonwoo’s brow raised, his gaze fixed on you with amusement as he watches your mindless banter with your best friend. It was in his best interest to never get between the two of you — a warning Mingyu had given him long ago, one he had learned to follow wisely
Leaning down, Wonwoo places his mouth near your ear, causing you to heat up and shiver at the proximity.
“Who’s Hardin?” Well oops. You hear his small chuckle at your instinct to close your eyes and turn around, fake snoring again.
So maybe you hadn’t told Wonwoo the list of everyone who had been on the receiving end of your wrath. To be fair, you didn’t think anyone with common sense should tolerate someone whose actions were almost always met with anger.
But you did change. Maybe you hadn't reached there fully, but you are getting there.
“Words baby, use your words” he’d say when the emotions ran high and the advice of your therapist fell on deaf ears and all you could do was resort to punching holes in the wall. “If you could just come to me instead of cooking up a whole story in your head, the behemoth of troubles we could have avoided.” You have no idea what behemoth means, you have no idea about any of the things he says half the time. All you can feel is tender love and affection as Wonwoo lifts you up and places you on the bathroom counter, tenderly rubbing your knuckles as he bandages it up. You were a tough cookie on the outside but on the inside, you were a crybaby. You hated pain. “Hey, hey none of that now Y/N”. Wonwoo was probably the only good thing in your life right now, the one person you wanted to be good for always. So when the only person who you have wanted to be vulnerable gives you a disappointed look, of course you cry.
Wonwoo had chuckled then. Turning to get a tissue and get you to blow your nose he begins to talk. “How you get the whole world to fear you when you are scared of an antiseptic, I will never know.”
You jutted your lip out. “Oh, does the baby not like being teased?” There’s mirth in his voice and for that you are grateful. Everything is better than a boyfriend who is disappointed in you. When the feelings bubbled in you and all you wanted was to churn out the boiling fury that blossomed in ways you could never decipher, you now resort to ‘think happy thoughts Y/N’. Against your mother’s belief, above your brother's disbelief and to your fathers utmost happiness, you have secured a boyfriend. Someone who was gentle and soft. Wonwoo never scoffed at you, never cursed you, never wished hell upon you. But he did have his moments where you knew he was teetering over the edge.
You still remember it like the back of your mind. Work had been frustrating, you had rushed into the kitchen, ignoring Wonwoo’s welcoming hug and dashed to eat your share of cake. But a quick rummage through the refrigerator and failing to see the last slice, rather a sheepish cake smeared Wonwoo behind the door had awakened demons out of you that you didn't know existed. What came out of that was a fight you didn’t think would ever happen. Out sprang a teary Y/N and an apologetic Wonwoo. Apparently you were not the only one with feelings in this house. He just knew better than to lose it. Wonwoo hadn’t slept the whole night, uttering apology after apology for having lost it. Truth be said, you didn’t really mind it. A serenity passed over you in knowing that your boyfriend took this much comfort in you to actually lose his frustration. But, never again did you want to see that side of him.
The high school reunion had left everyone speechless. First, they were stunned into silence when they saw Sadie Clark with her entire entourage of nine kids. But that was nothing compared to the second shock: there you were, strolling in hand-in-hand with a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend — Jeon Wonwoo? Of all people?
Sure, no one knew Jeon Wonwoo that well, except for the fact that he was the son of the town mayor and, apparently, the subject of every teenage girl’s romantic daydreams. The rumors were thick — he was mute, he had a boyfriend, he was part of an undercover gang, he was a part time cop, he only had sex with grandmothers . But you? With him? How did that happen?
Jungkook tried to stir up some shit again — “Hyung look, that’s where Billy was dunked face down into the toilet by Y/N." Before Wonwoo could act surprised you come to your own defenses. “Billy Parker was a pervert who had it coming for filming girls under their skirts” there was a proud lilt in your voice as you triumphantly walked hand in hand with Wonwoo.
One fine day, when you were nine, over a daddy- daughter date, your father had told you the story about the boy whose father made him hammer nails onto a fence every time he got angry. Back then, you didn’t care much about the nails or the scars on the door. Didn’t care much about the tale either. “Just get a new fence Appa” you had said over a mouthful of noodles. But now, you know the implications behind the story and what it means to leave scars behind. And for your boyfriend, you are willing to try ; to never let your actions be dictated by fury.
“Take a deep breath Y/N, think happy thoughts”
And for the happy thoughts you had, for the marriage you want to have, or the children you wish to have, you try to put a pin on your emotions.
Except when a Jeon Jungkook comes and changes all that
It was unmistakable, Jungkook was a boy with a great knack for playing games. Any games you picked, he owned it. But when he won every round of Uno, you had your sneaking suspicions that something was fishy.
Ain’t no way someone was winning for the thirteenth time in a row. Wonwoo had no problem losing in a game of cards, but agitation rose for you. How was this boy going to win every game ever?
When Wonwoo calls for a bathroom break, you cross the barrier between you and Jungkook, bunching him up by the collar and bringing your face dangerously close to his. Jungkook for the most part remains unperturbed, this isn’t his first rodeo, he knows how mad you get when you lose every time.
“Listen here you little fucker, I don’t care what games you are playing here but-” “Lovey”
There it comes, the soft yet dominant voice that warns you to think before you say the next words. And immediately you unclench around Jungkook’s tee, looking sheepishly back at Wonwoo. When had he come back so quickly from the washroom?
Your face burns, partially at the embarrassment of being caught and partially at the irritation that was rising listening to Kook’s grating voice as he laughs in glee.
It was pretty clear, Wonwoo hated cursing. Something about having an uncouth mouth didn’t sit well with him. Everything about Wonwoo screamed elegant and well mannered and everything about you screamed boorish. Boorish was a word he’d taught you when you asked why he couldn’t just swear like a normal person instead of saying “oopsie daisy ” at every odd circumstance.
When you’d sworn at your mother during Thanksgiving dinner, frustrated with her constant nagging, Wonwoo had simply sent you one look from across the table. Before his voice even had the chance to call you out, you were already apologizing to your mom.
“I used to pray for days like this,” she sobbed, crying into Wonwoo’s shoulder, thanking him for taking care of you and helping you change into a better person.
But like Wonwoo had said, “You didn’t change for me, Y/N.” And honestly, you had to agree with him.
It might have been a miracle to the world that the angriest girl in high school settled down with someone so gentle, so soft — someone as introverted as him, with ways so quiet and tender that showed his love and care.
But it wasn’t a miracle. It was a choice, one sealed over a pen that had been more than just an instrument for writing. It was the pen that helped you graduate college, the same pen that bonded you to him — the boy you wanted to change for, the boy you didn’t want to see scars on the fence for.
A.N : listen here- my bias is Seokmin and Seokmin only. But what is it about this Jeon Wonwoo that makes me wax poetry and write classic novels for? Sobs. I love this man. So much.
Please send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist.
Comments, reblogs, asks- I love those.
@skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee
#thediamondlifenetwork#svthub#k vanity#jeon wonwoo#seventeen#svt reader#svt imagines#jeon wonwoo reader#svt scenarios#seventeen angst#seventeen fluff#svt x reader#Seventeen fanfiction#wonwoo x you#wonwoo angst#wonwoo fluff#seventeen fanfiction#svt fanfiction#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo crack#jeon jungkook#svt fluff#soft jeon jungkook
464 notes
·
View notes
Text
pancakes for dinner ⠀⠀⋆·˚ ༘ *⠀⠀lando norris.
pairing. lando norris x gn!reader.
word count. 4k.
summary. after siking yourself out on a long plane ride to london, you finally have the courage to confess your feelings to lando, even if it ruins your friendship. inspired by pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine.
warnings. mentions of a possible plane crash, hurt + comfort.
ellis’ addition. i am sososo proud of this. since lizzy is my brand, i of course wanted to use one of her songs as inspiration for a fic, so here ya go. once again, inspired by pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine. for the lovely @lechrts ♡
the hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin, steady and unchanging, but it felt louder than it should, pressing into your ears like static. you shifted in your seat, the vinyl sticking slightly to your bare legs as you glanced at the glowing seatbelt sign above you.
the plane was still climbing, the ground was long gone, and clouds had swallowed the view. all that was left was the pale blue light filtering in through the window and the uneasy flutter in your chest.
you weren’t afraid of flying. you told herself that again and again, even as your fingers tightened on the edge of the tray table. it wasn’t the height or the turbulence or the fact that the plane felt impossibly heavy for something that stayed in the air – it was something else.
no matter how hard you tried to claw the thought away, it stuck in the back of your mind, a looming idea that poisoned your brain. no, what scared you wasn’t the plane at all. it was the though of him.
you could see his face in your mind, as clear as if he were sitting beside you. the messy hair he never bothered to brush, the crooked smile that made you laugh at all the wrong times, and the teasing like it wasn’t a big deal that you had heard it in his voice and no one else’s.
you closed her eyes, trying to block it out, but it didn’t help. you could still see him leaning against the doorframe the last night you two had hung out, his hand in his pocket, his gaze holding yours for a little too long before he cracked a joke to break the tension.
lando was an enigma – sort of a fungus that clung onto you for dear life. through his teasing and his sarcasm, he was still your friend at the end of it all. yet barely at this point as you started to view him as more of a lover you pined for than a disease that would never leave.
your stomach twisted, and you opened your eyes again, fixing your focus on the napkin crumpled on your tray table. the airline’s logo was printed in cheap blue ink. you smoothed it out, your thumb tracing over the words, but your thoughts didn’t stop.
what if the plane went down? what if you never got to tell him? the question gripped you, sharp and sudden, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. your heart hammered in her chest as the idea rooted itself deeper, impossible to shake.
it wasn’t some grand declaration. you weren’t brave enough for that, not yet. but there were smaller things you wanted him to know. like how you had watched every single race no matter the timezone difference, how you had memorized the exact way he ordered coffee, or how you missed him when he wasn’t around, even when nothing in your life seemed to change.
you grabbed your phone, your fingers fumbling as you opened the notes app. the cursor blinked on the blank screen, waiting. you felt the need to type out your feelings if you could even somehow put them into words. you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with lando, ultimately resulting in him distancing himself if he didn’t feel the same way – you knew it’d happen. but you still couldn’t shake the looming thought as turbulence hit, causing you to quickly begin typing like you were shakespeare drafting his next play.
it was a dull confession compared to your grand feelings for him, and you knew you’d never even tell him these words as the pilot announced you’d be landing in london soon. the paragraph of word vomit information sat staring at you, and you let out a shaky sigh as you locked your phone and shoved it into your pocket.
the plane landed with a shudder that rattled your teeth. the sound of tires screeching against asphalt dragged you out of your spiral of thoughts, but it didn’t erase the tension sitting heavy in your chest.
you moved through the motions like an automaton, gathering your bag from under the seat, waiting for the line of passengers to shuffle toward the exit, stepping off the plane and into the chaos of the terminal. your head buzzed with exhaustion, but your thoughts refused to quiet. lando was there, waiting somewhere beyond the baggage claim, which only caused your head to spin even faster.
your heart thrummed as you approached the carousel, watching strangers reunite around you – families embraced, couples kissed, and friends called out in excitement. you scanned the crowd for lando, your palms clammy against the strap of your carry-on bag. and then you saw him.
lando was leaning against a column near the exit, his phone in one hand, his other shoved into his jacket pocket. his hair was messier than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to tame it before coming here, and his sneakers tapped against the floor in a distracted rhythm. when he looked up and saw you, his whole face lit up. his smile was lopsided, and he waved with his phone like an idiot. you wanted to laugh. you wanted to run. instead, you froze.
the car ride was quiet, quieter than usual. lando had turned the music on – some rap music with a fast rhythm – but you barely heard it over the thundering of your own heartbeat.
lando kept glancing at you. not obviously, just quick flicks of his eyes, like he could sense something, was off. normally, you’d make a joke, deflect, steer the conversation back into the usual rhythm. but now, you stayed quiet, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
“you sure you’re okay?” lando asked finally, his voice gentle. the streetlights illuminated his face, showing every freckle and curve of his skin, causing you to grow sick all over again. he was perfect and it made your stomach reel, your heart doing backflips like some olympic gymnast.
you nodded quickly, too quickly, and tried to force a smile, “yeah, just tired. long flight – jet lag and all.” you forced out a laugh as if you were trying to pry back your friendly banter, but in the end, it was entirely useless.
lando didn’t press, but the furrow between his brows stayed. he knew something was wrong. lando could have his stupid moments, but he was far from dumb. you prided yourself on being a half opened booked, but lando had read the whole thing.
when you pulled into lando’s driveway, the motion of the car stopping felt like a jolt back to reality. the headlights illuminated the front of his flat, familiar and safe, but it felt different now, like the air had shifted.
“c’mon,” lando hummed softly, cutting the engine, “i’ll grab your bag.” you smiled softly at his kindess, but part of you knew he was doing it out of pity. lando knew something was up, and despite the fact he didn’t push for an answer, you knew he would as the night passed on.
you followed him up the steps to his flat door, your stomach twisting into knots. the closer you got, the more real it felt. you had been here a hundred times before, sprawled on lando’s couch or rummaging through his fridge, but this time was different. this time, you felt as if you were about to ruin everything.
lando unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first. the smell of the flat was familiar, some stupid cashmere candle he had bought that was practically nearly out of wax, but it smelt like home.
“you want something to eat? i bet you’re hungry after snacking on plane peanuts. i told you i would have bought you first class, but noo, you’re too good for that,” lando teased, setting your bag by the door before advancing into the kitchen, “or maybe a drink? i think i’ve got—”
“can we talk?” you blurted out, leaning against the kitchen island for some sort of support as you felt dizzy. you didn’t mean to interrupt lando, burt your mind was swimming a mile a minute, your skin itching at the fact you needed to say something.
lando froze mid-step, his hand hovering over the light switch. the easy smile on his face faltered, replaced by something softer, more cautious, confused at the fact you didn’t rebuttal his words or even laugh. “yeah,” lando spoke slowly, “of course. what’s up?”
you glanced around the living room, at the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, at the coffee table littered with takeout containers and a half-empty mug. everything about lando’s place screamed him. familiar. safe. but your chest felt anything but safe now.
“can we sit?” you questioned, your voice quieter now as you already started to make your way to the couch without even a nod from lando. your hands shook at your side, immediately resting on your lap and fiddling with one another as you took a seat, the plushness of the couch consuming you.
lando nodded and followed behind you, a nervous chuckle falling from his lips, “sure. you’re kind of freaking me out, though. is everything okay?” his body sat down on the couch next to you, his knee inches away from yours as his eyes began to search your face for any idea of what was going on inside your head.
you hesitated, your feet rooted to the floor for just a second too long before you let out a soft sigh. lando’s body sank down onto the couch, one arm draped over the back, as his gaze never faltered.
you inhaled slightly. if you didn’t say it now, you’d never bring yourself to try to convey your emotions to lando’s face again. the idea of what would have occurred if the plane went down played over and over again in your head, snapping you back into reality.
lando shifted on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze still locked on your nervous expresion. the concern in his eyes deepened, and you could see the wheels turning in his head.
“is something wrong?” lando questioned, his voice low and careful as his eyebrows furrowed, “are you okay? is it –” his jaw tightened softly, “is it your family?” his assumption shocked you at first, but it just came to remind you that lando cared despite what was about to happen.
you blinked, quickly collecting yourself, “what? no, it’s not –” “work, then?” lando cut in, his words coming quicker now, “did something happen at your job?” he tried to dig for answers, to push as hard as he could as if he was on track, and it barely gave you time to cool your mind.
“no! no, nothing like that!” you said quickly, your hands waving in front of you like you could physically push the idea away. lando exhaled a sharp breath and leaned back, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “okay, good. you were scaring me for a second there.” he let out a deep sigh, a chuckle interrupting his action.
you pressed your lips together, your stomach twisting. this wasn’t how you imagined this going – not that you had imagined it going smoothly, but still. “i’m fine,” you spoke softly, more to reassure yourself than anything else, “it’s not ... bad, exactly – it’s just hard to explain.”
lando tilted his head, studying you with that same careful expression he always wore when he was trying to figure something out, “alright, take your time, i guess. i’m listening.” the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. of course, he was listening, he always did. that was part of the problem.
you looked down at her hands, twisting your fingers together, your palms damp as if you were having a stroke. you felt lando’s eyes on you, steady and unrelenting, like he wouldn’t look away until he knew you were okay.
“you’re sure you’re okay?” lando asked again, softer this time – he was beginning to genuinely worry. you nodded, but the motion felt hollow. your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.
“i just need a minute,” you murmured, and like he had in the car, he didn’t press on. instead, he leaned back into the couch, giving you space, but his gaze stayed fixed on your frame. the silence stretched between the two of you, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
finally, he let out a quiet laugh, breaking the tension just enough to make you glance up at him with a hint of confusion. “you know,” he spoke, his tone light but his smile nervous, “if this is you telling me you’re moving to antarctica or something, i might actually cry.”
your lips twitched into a smile despite yourself, “what?” “i’m serious,” lando spoke, raising a hand in mock solemnity, “you can’t just drop a we need to talk bomb on me and expect me not to assume the worst. if you’re planning to disappear or something, at least give me some notice.”
you shook your head, a small laugh escaping her before she could stop it, “i’m not moving to antarctica or running away or anything – at least not yet.” your second attempt to bring back the usual friendly banter had began to work as you let out another chuckle. “good,” lando hummed, his grin softening, “because i don’t think i’d survive that.”
your heart twisted at the words, even though you knew he didn’t mean them the way you wished he did. lando was feeding into your jokes, trying his hardest to pry the confession out of you slightly, and you found it working as you let out another nervous sigh.
your sigh faded, leaving the air thick again. lando was looking at you, the teasing edge in his expression softening into something warmer, more patient. he wasn’t going to let this go, and you knew it. he never did.
you took a deep breath, your fingers now curling into the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not about antarctica,” you spoke, your voice quieter now, “it’s about you.” lando’s brows furrowed slightly, the easy grin slipping from his face, “me?” confusion filled the air and you couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or plain stupid.
“yeah,” you spoke, your gaze nervously dropping to your lap. you couldn’t look at him, not yet. “i’ve been thinking a lot about us. about all the things i want to do. not just, like, big things, but .. little things too.” the room felt impossibly still, your words hanging between the two of you. you pressed on before your courage dissolved completely.
“like .. i want to watch dumb movies with you – the ones you always tell me about but i never get around to watching. and i want to sit on your couch and argue about whose turn it is to pick dinner, even though we both know we’re going to give in and order pizza anyway.”
your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to keep going, “i want to have pancakes for dinner, just because we can, even though you’ll probably put too much syrup on them and make a mess. i want to watch a tv show together and if we’re too exhausted, we can watch it in bed.”
you glanced up at lando, your breath catching at the way he was looking at you. his expression was unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide like he didn’t dare blink as you began. “and i want ..” your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop, “i want all those things with you because they matter to me. you matter to me. more than i ever thought someone could.” the words felt like they had been wrenched out of you, leaving your chest hollow and aching. your hands gripped the couch cushion, waiting for lando to say something, anything.
for a long moment, he didn’t. lando just stared at you, his brows furrowed like he was trying to process what you had just said. “you want .. pancakes for dinner?” he asked finally, his voice so soft it made your heart ache.
you laughed, the sound weak and trembling, but it felt like a release. you couldn’t fathom that out of all of that, that’s what he was confused about. “yeah,” you spoke softly, “i want pancakes for dinner. with you, and everything else.”
lando’s lips twitched, and then, slowly, a smile broke across his face. a real one, not the teasing, lopsided grin you were so used to. this one was softer, warmer, like he was looking at you for the first time.
the smile on lando’s face lingered, but it quickly gave way to a softer, almost uncertain look. he took a breath, like he was trying to gather his thoughts, but he still didn’t break eye contact. “you have no idea how badly i want to say that sounds perfect,” lando spoke quietly, his voice carrying a weight of honesty you hadn’t expected. your heart skipped, but you swallowed the hope rising in your chest, unsure where this was going.
“but ..” lando hesitated, the hesitation enough to make your stomach drop, “but i’m not great at this kind of thing – saying my feelings and shit,” he continued, his gaze flickering away briefly, his hands fidgeting. “i’m a mess with timing, and i’m not always around, and, you know, i can’t be that guy who just shows up whenever, especially when we’re not always in the same place. it’s easier to say i want all those things, but actually ..” he trailed off, his words fading, and you saw the conflict in his eyes, the worry.
you bit your lip, your chest tightening. lando feels the same way, but he's scared. the realization hit you like a wave, pulling you under with the weight of it. you opened your mouth to respond, but lando beat you to it.
“i know it sounds like an excuse, and i don’t want to make it seem like i’m backing out of anything, but i’ve got this tendency to overthink everything,” lando spoke, his voice thick with vulnerability, “i don’t want to promise something i can’t follow through on, and i hate that i’m not better at being here – at being present. and i hate how much i want to say yes, but i’m scared.”
your heart clenched as lando looked at you, the rawness in his gaze making your heart ache for him. your heart was beating as fast as it possibly could as you tried to hide the overwhelming emotion on your face. you tangled your fingers together again, taking a deep breath.
“i just don’t want you to think that it’s you, or that i don’t care because i do – so much, too much,” lando reached out then, his hand hovering between the two of you for a moment before he placed it gently on yours. the contact felt like an anchor, grounding you in the storm of his words.
“i want all those things with you too,” lando whispered, his thumb brushing over your hand like he couldn’t help it,“pancakes for dinner. arguing over pizza. nights in – all of it, but i don’t want to let you down.”
you felt your breath catch in your throat, the mix of relief and uncertainty flooding you all at once. the long distance, the uncertainty, the timing – it all felt so complicated, yet here he was, laying it all out, just like you had.
you squeezed lando’s hand gently, your heart full of more than you had expected. “i don’t need you to be perfect,” you spoke softly, your voice steady now, as your confidence grew, “i don’t need every moment to be planned. i just need to know that you want it too – that you want me. even if it’s messy, even if we’re not always in the same place.”
for a moment, the two of you just sat there, the quiet between each other not awkward, but comfortable. your hand in lando’s, the soft weight of his fingers against yours grounding you, soothing the chaos you had been carrying.
“i want you,” lando spoke up, his voice so certain now it made your heart flutter, “more than anything. i just ..” he took a deep breath and squeezed your hand back, “i guess i was just scared you wouldn’t feel the same way.”
your breath caught, and you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that spread slowly across your face. “i do,” you hummed, your voice filled with the kind of certainty you hadn’t known you were capable of, “i feel the same way.”
the silence between both of you deepened, but this time, it wasn’t filled with uncertainty or hesitation. it was filled with the space where everything unspoken lived – the things you both knew, but hadn’t dared to say out loud until now. lando was still holding your hand, but now there was something more in the way as his fingers curled around yours. it wasn’t just comfort anymore. it was a promise.
“i don’t know how easy this is going to be,” lando spoke softly, his voice more vulnerable than you had ever heard it. “i don’t know how many times i’ll mess it up or how far apart we’ll be soemtimes, but,” lando paused, gathering his thoughts as if the weight of them were settling in, “but i know i don’t want to keep walking away from something that feels this real.”
your heart skipped once again. you didn’t realize how much you needed to hear him say that until the words were out. the words seemed all too poetically beautiful for lando, but you knew he was speaking his mind, even though his thoughts were complex.
“me neither,” you murmured, squeezing his hand tighter, “i don’t care how messy it gets, i just don’t want to keep pretending it’s not there.” lando’s smile was small but genuine, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “yeah,” he agreed quietly, “pretending just doesn’t work anymore, does it?” “no,” you spoke softly, “it doesn’t.”
the both of you sat there for a moment longer, both lost in the gravity of the decision you had just made – realizing that, despite the complications, despite the distance and uncertainty, you were choosing each other. even if it was hard, even if it didn’t make sense.
“you know,” you spoke up again, your voice hesitant but growing steadier with every word, “i think i’m okay with things not being perfect. in the end, nothing is really perfect, and i like it that way.” lando nodded slowly, a small smile christening his face, his hand still holding yours, “me too.”
you looked at lando, and for the first time, you didn’t see the nervous, unsure guy who’d been so cautious before. you saw someone who was ready to take that leap, even if it scared him, even if there would be highs and lows.
“i don’t want to waste any more time,” lando spoke, his voice breathy, “so, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. no more second-guessing. no more running away. no more hiding our feelings.” your heart swelled at his words, the promise behind the two of you feeling like everything you had ever wanted, but thought you couldn’t have. “yeah,” you whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “no more running.”
lando leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against your forehead in a soft, slow kiss. it was simple, but it felt like everything. the weight of all your unspoken feelings was there, in that moment, and you knew it wasn’t just about what you had said, it was about the choice you were both making.
“i don’t know what comes next,” lando spoke after pulling back, his voice still soft, “but i know i don’t want to do it without you.” your chest tightened in that familiar way, the warmth spreading through you like sunshine, “me neither.”
#ellis' works#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando imagine#lando norris smau#ln4 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#formula 1#f1 smau#f1 imagine#f1 fanfiction#lando norris smut#ln4#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic
513 notes
·
View notes
Text
...Is Love, Sweet Love (Part II)
Summary: Eight months later, (Y/N) and her daughter Molly have settled in well at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, with (Y/N) teaching a Classical Literature class and six-year-old Molly taking courses while learning more about her telepathic skills. Charles, having fallen head over heels for the school's new professor, debates whether or not to act upon his feelings.
Pairing: Charles Xavier X F!Reader
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings/Disclaimers: None
A/N: Yes, I know, it's slightly unhinged to write a Part II to a one-shot that I published over 2 years ago, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and here's what I came up with! Again, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" by Jackie DeShannon partially inspired this fic, so you should totally give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :)
…Is Love, Sweet Love May 1980 Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester (Previous Chapter)
Despite living in his family’s mansion for the majority of his life and spending countless hours of his childhood eagerly exploring its sprawling grounds, Charles Xavier hadn’t truly grown to appreciate the tranquility that the estate provided until he’d re-started Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sight of young mutants happily playing on the playground and partaking in group sports without feeling the need to hide their differences away brought a smile to Charles’ face, and the cheerful laughter of his students paired with the beautiful spring sunshine inspired him to once again enjoy his lunch outside with a good book…although, it was difficult to deny that he spent far more time listening in on Professor (Y/L/N)’s nearby Classical Literature class than actually reading his novel.
“Can anyone tell me why the characters of King Lear worship the pagan gods and not any form of Christianity?” (Y/N), who was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her small class, arched a brow as she surveyed the silent group of teenagers before her. “C’mon, guys, you know this. We went over the background of the play during our last lecture, and I seem to remember some of you even taking notes…” After a moment, a timid hand went up from the red-headed girl in the front and (Y/N) smiled. “Yes, Jean?”
“The play is set in ancient Britain, long before the arrival of Christianity.”
“Very good, Jean!” Jean Grey’s shoulders relaxed and beside her, her friend Jubilee gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now, why would Shakespeare choose to set this play in this specific time period? Think about the time period in which Shakespeare lived, and what the social and political climate in England was like.” A dark-haired boy towards the back of their group raised his hand. “Go ahead, Remy.”
Remy LeBeau lowered his hand and began fiddling with his deck of playing cards as he spoke in his distinct French-Creole accent. “Well, Professor, that was when there was a lil’ trouble brewin’ ‘tween the Catholics and Protestants over there, right? He prob’ly didn’t wanna ruffle any feathers by puttin’ a popular religion in his plays, so he had his characters worship the gods from ol’ Roman mythology; anybody who’d be offended would’ve been long dead, so Willy did what any guy’d do to keep his head on his shoulders.”
Charles smiled to himself as the class laughed and (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a reluctant grin. “A little unorthodoxly put, Remy, but you’re absolutely correct. In the play, Lear states that-” She was cut off when the familiar sound of the school bell rang out and her students started to pack their things away. “Remember, on Monday we’ll begin performing your assigned scenes so be sure to work on memorizing your lines with your groups over the weekend. Have a good rest of your day!”
While they laughed and talked amongst themselves, the students headed back towards the mansion for their next class and with a fond smile on her face, (Y/N) looked away from them and finished packing her binders and books into her messenger bag. The novel in Charles’ hand was all but forgotten in favor of admiring his colleague and friend, who’s effortless beauty almost always succeeded in making him stutter over his words and caused him to blush in a way that he hadn’t since he was a schoolboy; she was dressed casually in a striped button-down blouse tucked into a faded pair of high-waisted jeans and well-worn Birkenstocks, with her (Y/H/C) hair pulled away from her face by a blue headband and her reading glasses dangling around her neck by a colorful beaded chain. Charles took in all of her striking figure, but it was her content smile and the happy gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes that made him release a lovelorn sigh and look down at his lap.
Charles was infatuated with Professor (Y/L/N). Well, it perhaps started out as a simple infatuation, back when she’d first arrived on his doorstep pleading for him to help her daughter; her kindness and caring nature in regards to Molly’s safety and well-being was touching, considering how many parents he’d met who were overly eager to pass their mutant children off to a complete stranger just to be rid of them. After hearing their story, he knew that she couldn’t bear to be separated from her five-year-old and so, he asked that she stay and teach at the school to ensure that they would remain together. That was eight months ago and since then, the infatuation had evolved into a full-blown romantic crush; Charles was captivated by (Y/N)’s capacity for compassion, enchanted by her quick wit and natural beauty, in awe of her progressive idealism in regards to mutant rights and more than appreciative of her boundless consideration in regards to his disability.
Yes, Charles was enamored by his school’s newest professor, but he was also plagued by insecurity. The last woman he was romantically involved with was Agent Moira MacTaggert of the CIA, all the way back in 1962 when he was a dashing young man who’d just earned his doctorate and possessed an egotistical streak wider than the English Channel; nowadays, his ego was tempered and his youthful good looks were beginning to give way to wrinkles and streaks of silver. While a ten-year age gap between two consenting adults was hardly an insurmountable obstacle to a happy relationship, a part of him couldn’t help but think that (Y/N) would be happier with someone younger than him. Both Alex and Hank thought that he was overthinking the situation, and perhaps they were right but whenever he started to consider asking her out, that little voice of doubt whispered on in the back of his mind.
“Hi Charles!”
Looking up, Charles’ face reflexively broke out into a grin when he saw (Y/N) approaching the bench he’d parked his wheelchair beside. “Hello, (Y/N)! Holding your classes outside today, I see?”
“It’s such a beautiful day, so you could hardly blame me for taking full advantage of it.” The professor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and tilted her head as a teasing smile played across her cherry-red lips. “Enjoying your lunch outside today, I see?”
“Touché, Professor,” Charles chuckled, slipping his bookmark into his novel to mark his place and tucking it into his wheelchair’s saddle pack. “Hank seems to believe that my vitamin D levels are too low, so I decided that eating outside was the quickest way to get our resident worrywart off of my back. Not only did I soak up plenty of sun, I had the added pleasure of listening in on your fantastic lesson on Shakespeare’s King Lear; no offense to the Bard, but it’s refreshing to see an Classical Literature professor teach her students about one of his historical plays instead of one of his romances.”
(Y/N) shrugged nonchalantly, but the way she began to fiddle with her pendant revealed the bashfulness she was attempting to mask. “Well, I remember what it was like being fourteen; you’re around the same age as Romeo and Juliet, yes, but you don’t know a damn thing about love and it’s not easy to understand why they do the things they do.”
“As a former fourteen-year-old, I heartily concur. At that age, I could scarcely understand myself let alone an emotion as complex as love, no matter how beautifully Shakespeare described it,” Charles replied, looking out across the manicured grounds as he recited, “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep-’”
“‘-The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’” (Y/N) finished and when their eyes met, Charles’ heart fluttered and he could feel his face beginning to warm; his brows rose in surprise when the professor hastily turned her head to try and hide her besotted smile, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight. “I, um, I-I should go and find Molly…”
“She’s at the playground with Alex’s second graders. Speaking of which, I need to speak with Alex about tomorrow’s scheduled book delivery…” Charles awkwardly cleared his throat before giving (Y/N) a tentative smile. “Would you allow me to escort you there?”
(Y/N)’s own smile widened at that. “Of course!”
While Charles wheeled himself along the stone pathway and (Y/N) kept in step with him, they eagerly discussed the school’s ongoing library expansion and all the new books they’d obtained for the students; any progress made at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters filled him with a sense of accomplishment, but expanding his ancestral home’s library was one of his greatest desires and he was thrilled that the children would soon have access to more knowledge than many of the country’s best private schools and universities. (Y/N) was just as excited about the expansion as he was, and he couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm written across her beautiful features while he listened to her talk about all the lesson plans she’d brainstormed involving their new books.
They reached the playground sooner than Charles would’ve preferred, but his disappointment was set aside by the sight and sound of his school’s youngest students happily entertaining themselves on the elaborate structure; so many of them came from broken homes and were sent away without any second thoughts by families that couldn’t care less about them and while Charles couldn’t change their heartbreaking pasts, he did all in his power to give each and every one of his students a loving home and bright, promising futures. For the first time, I find myself truly understanding the blinding rage that fills Erik in regards to mutant rights, he thought with an inward grimace before glancing over at (Y/N) and smiling as the human woman affectionately watched her mutant daughter play, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my faith in humanity’s innate goodness.
“Hi Mommy!” Molly exclaimed from the top of the structure, a toothy grin stretching across her face as she gave them both an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Professor ‘Zavier!”
“Hi Molly-Bear!” (Y/N) called back while a beaming Charles returned the little girl’s wave with one of his own. He’d always maintained that a good professor shouldn’t have favorites, but no one would blame him if he came out and admitted that Molly (Y/L/N) was – hands down – his favorite student; she was as exuberant and carefree as any human six year old, but her mutant abilities as a psychometric telepath meant that she was more insightful and tended to see the world around her with sage eyes. In truth, Molly reminded him so much of himself when he was a child and knowing first-hand how challenging having telepathic abilities at that age can be, he was grateful that he could help her by teaching her how to control and accept her gifts.
While Charles scanned the playground for Alex, he caught (Y/N) looking over at him and the tender expression on her face nearly took his breath away; she quickly looked away and pretended to adjust the fasteners of her messenger bag, but not before Charles noticed the glimmer of affection in her gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes. A familiar whistle cut through his racing thoughts and when he glanced over, he spotted Alex leaning against a light pole that bordered the playground; a knowing smirk curved across the younger man’s face, widening as he brought a hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers to signal for Charles to read his mind.
“I told you so.”
“Alex…”
“(Y/N)’s into you, Charles, and you’re clearly into her. So, what’re you gonna do about it?”
After taking a steadying breath and running an anxious hand through his hair, Charles cleared his suddenly dry throat and hesitantly spoke. “(Y/N)?” The professor looked over at him expectantly and his finger drifted upwards to loosen his shirt’s collar while he clumsily continued. “I, ah…well, I-I was wondering if I…(Y/N), would you and Molly care to join me for dinner sometime? There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant in Salem Center and a little movie theater just down the street from it that I think you’ll enjoy…”
(Y/N) blinked, looking dumbfounded but slightly hopeful as she took a moment to find her voice. “Charles, are you asking me out on a date?”
Charles nodded and offered her the barest of smiles. “Over the past few months, I’ve grown…immensely fond of you; I wake up every morning looking forward to our usual discussions over breakfast, I find myself spending far too much time styling my hair and picking out what to wear in the hopes that you’ll take note and every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat.” The professor shyly smiled at that and he couldn’t help but lightly chuckle, the weight in his chest already feeling lighter with each confession he uttered. “Yes, just like that.”
“And you…you wouldn’t mind Molly coming along?”
The anxiety that filled (Y/N)’s eyes as she awaited his answer nearly shattered Charles’ heart; based on what little she’d disclosed to him about her past, he knew that she’s struggled with dating as a single mother and he could only imagine how disillusioned with romance she’d become as a result. “Of course not, (Y/N),” He softly replied and in a bold move, he reached forward and took her hand in his. “You two are a team, after all; Molly is your entire world, and I want you to know that I respect that more than anything. It’s also…well, let’s just say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone on a date, and I’d…”
“Like to go slow?” (Y/N) gently offered and when Charles wordlessly nodded, she gave him the smallest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and calling out, “Molly? Sweetheart, can you come here for a second, please?” After coming down the slide, Molly skipped over to them and the professor knelt down so that they were eye-level, her hand still holding onto his. “Professor Xavier wanted to know if he could take us out for dinner and a movie. Does that sound all right to you, Molly-Bear?”
The little girl’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied Charles, and he was forced to mask his amused chuckle with a cough when she brought a mitten-clad hand up to her mother’s ear. “Like on a date?” Molly loudly whispered, and (Y/N) pursed her lips to keep from chuckling as she nodded; her daughter lowered her hand to reveal her excited smile and she gave her mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me!” Molly looked back at Charles with a conspiratorial giggle. “Mommy likes you, Professor ‘Zavier.”
Charles arched a playful brow as his eyes flicked between the embarrassed elder (Y/L/N) and the beaming younger (Y/L/N). “She does, does she?”
“Mm-hmm, she likes your eyes and your smile and your hair and your-”
“Okay, young lady, that’s enough out of you,” (Y/N) hastily interrupted, tickling her daughter’s neck with both hands and smiling when she shrieked with laughter and scurried back to the playground. Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she stood and glanced back at Charles, who was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Well, I guess that settles it. Does six o’clock this Friday work for you?”
He emphatically nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s perfect!” He felt himself begin to blush at his obvious enthusiasm, and it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle as he awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again. “…I-I mean, Friday at six o’clock works for me.”
“Good. I guess that Molly and I will see you then.” The professor turned to walk away but took Charles by surprise when she turned back around and bashfully smiled at him. “I’ve…I’ve grown immensely fond of you too, Charles.”
Before he could say or do anything, she’d bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek, an infatuated gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she flashed him one last smile and left to meet her daughter on the playground. A broad grin slowly spread across Charles’ face and while he watched her walk away, he leaned an elbow onto his wheelchair’s armrest and rested the side of his head against his palm, releasing a love-struck sigh and barely taking note of the familiar figure that moved to stand beside him.
“See what happens when you actually take my advice?”
Charles straightened his posture and glanced over at Alex, who was wearing the smuggest of smiles on his faces as he stared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an impertinent ass, Alex Summers?”
Alex’s smirk widened. “Heard it all my life. So, when’s the big date?”
“This Friday at six o’clock. And since you and Hank have taken such a keen interest in my love life, I’ll be requiring your assistance on Friday.” The younger man quickly sobered and with a grin of his own, Charles chuckled and patted his arm. “There’s a good chap. Now, about tomorrow’s book delivery…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Although it was a far cry from the hazy evenings spent at Oxford’s many lively pubs and in the company of the college’s most flirtatious female students, Charles’ date with (Y/N) and Molly was undoubtedly the most enjoyable one he’d ever been on. He’d met the mother and daughter in the mansion’s foyer with two bouquets in his hands – daisies for Molly and vibrant pink roses for (Y/N) – and he happily watched them admire their flowers while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was studying (Y/N)’s figure; the professor was wearing a knee-length yellow dress with long billowing sleeves, a bright pink sash tied around her waist and matching high heels, and her carefully styled hair was pulled back by a pink headband. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be going out with the likes of him, but his fears of inadequacy were quickly alleviated when she looked over at him and smiled.
Hank and Alex drove the three of them to Salem Center in Charles’ maroon 1959 Jaguar Mark IX, the pair of them opting to stay in town and catch a showing of the newly-released The Empire Strikes Back while they dined at La Mensa. Sensing Molly’s apprehension with being around so many non-mutant strangers, Charles distracted her by playing ‘tic-tac-toe’ and ‘hangman’ with her on her paper place-mat and (Y/N) threw him a grateful look as she asked her daughter about her schoolwork; while they enjoyed their food, (Y/N) entertained them with stories of her students’ antics and after some goading by Molly, she even balanced a spoon on the end of her nose much to her daughter and Charles’ delight. After dinner, they made their way down the street to the small movie theater and while many of its patrons were queued up to watch the latest Star Wars film, the three of them decided on watching the re-release of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp; Molly adored the classic cartoon and while Charles was impartial to the film, he thoroughly enjoyed exchanging enamored glances with (Y/N) over the little girl’s head.
Molly fell asleep on the drive home, cuddling against her mother’s side as she lovingly brushed her fingers through her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair. In low whispers, (Y/N) assured Charles that Molly had a wonderful time and that she hadn’t seen the little girl so happy since before she’d come into her mutation; although aware that Hank and Alex were clearly eavesdropping from their front seats, Charles quietly asked her if she’d care for a quick nightcap in his study after putting Molly to bed, and he was thrilled when she readily accepted his invitation. When they arrived back at the mansion, (Y/N) carried the still-sleeping Molly inside, but not before giving Charles one last smile as he maneuvered into his outside wheelchair.
“So…” Hank arched a curious brow as he walked beside Charles’ wheelchair and steadied it when they reached the top of the ramp, where Alex was waiting with his motorized indoor wheelchair. “How was it?”
“Charming, but I could’ve done without the rather offensive Asian and Italian stereotypes-”
“Not the movie, Charles, the date,” Alex interrupted and when Charles chuckled in amusement at his friends, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you finally ask out the woman you’ve been head over heels for and you’re not gonna give your two best friends the four-one-one?”
Shaking his head in faux exasperation, Charles shifted himself into his motorized wheelchair and arranged his legs as he airily answered, “(Y/N), Molly and I ate a truly magnificent meal at La Mensa that we followed up by watching a classic Disney film at the movie theater. What more is there to say?”
Alex heaved a sigh but moved to allow Charles to wheel himself into the mansion. “A little help here, Hank?”
“Oh, he’s having far too much fun messing with us to stop.” The scientist tucked his hands into his jacket pockets while a mischievous smirk played on his lips. “But speaking as the school’s resident genius, I couldn’t help but notice the good professor clearly checking (Y/N) out before we left and blushing when she smiled at him just now.”
A reluctant blush warmed Charles’ cheeks at that. “Don’t you two perverts have morning classes to prepare for?”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday, lover boy,” Alex smugly countered, nudging Hank’s arm with his elbow as they walked beside Charles’ wheelchair down the vacant hall to his study. “Well, Beast, there’s no doubt about it: Charles here’s got it bad for our lovely Professor (Y/L/N).”
When they reached his study’s door, Charles nudged it open and wheeled himself inside, but not before giving both men a look of genuine sincerity. “Thank you, for your assistance tonight and for your encouragement; the pair of you can occasionally be a pain in the ass, but tonight couldn’t have happened without you.”
Hank’s smile softened. “You’re welcome, Charles. We’re just happy that we succeeded in making you do something selfish for once.”
“Yeah, you’ve helped us both out so much over the years and it was high-time we returned the favor,” Alex added as he clapped Charles on the shoulder, his earnest expression morphing into a knowing smirk while he continued. “Enjoy your nightcap with (Y/N), and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lover boy.”
“Oh, and don’t forget protection!”
“Goodnight, gentlemen.”
Chuckling, Alex and Hank left the study and closed the door behind them; after pausing for a moment to take a calming breath, Charles wheeled himself over to the oak cabinet near his cluttered desk and unlocked it, pulling out a glass decanter of scotch and two glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. He bit his lip as his eyes surveyed the messy state of his study, cursing himself for not tidying up earlier, but a part of him knew that (Y/N) wasn’t the type to mind a little clutter; she liked to joke that the best professors had the messiest studies because they spent all their time teaching instead of worrying about how others perceive them. It was the good manners instilled in him from birth that saw him gathering stacks of loose papers, binders and leather-bound books and unceremoniously shoving them behind his desk before lifting himself out of his wheelchair to sit on the couch; with nothing else to distract himself from the anxious anticipation building up within him, Charles plucked the maple-colored queen off the chessboard and nimbly twirled it around his fingers as he waited for (Y/N).
Minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door of his study and after scrambling to straighten up his chessboard, Charles called out, “Come in!” The door opened and (Y/N) stepped into the room, her gentle smile widening when she spotted him seated on the couch. “How’s Molly?”
“Out like a light.” (Y/N) crossed the room and sat on the couch beside him, her fingers playing with the flowing yellow material of her dress’ skirt as Charles poured their drinks. “She wanted me to tell you that she had a really fun time tonight, and she wanted me to thank you.”
“She’s been working so hard these past few months to complete her schoolwork and training, so if anyone deserves to have a little fun it’s undoubtedly her,” Charles replied, a surge of fondness for his youngest student and her kindheartedness bringing a smile to her face as he turned to (Y/N) and offered her a glass of the amber-colored liquid. “As do you, Professor.”
Accepting the glass, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully before holding it up and angling it towards him. “In that case…to having fun.”
“To having fun,” Charles repeated, lightly clinking his glass of scotch against hers and taking a sip, his eyes appreciatively roaming along the professor’s figure while she took a sip of the strong liquor. “Do you like it? It’s top shelf scotch whiskey, all the way from Scotland.”
(Y/N) arched a playful brow as she crossed her leg over her knee and angled herself to face him. “Expensive, imported liquor? Are you trying to impress me, Professor?”
“Well, that all depends…” Following his instincts, Charles set his glass down and rested his elbow on the couch’s back cushion, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Is it working?”
Her (Y/E/C) eyes softened and after setting her own glass down, she rested one of her hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Charles, I was impressed by you before the top shelf scotch, before the fancy Italian restaurant, and before I ever laid eyes on this beautiful mansion.” His brow furrowed in confusion but she merely smiled and rubbed small circles along his knuckles with her thumb. “Eight months ago, the letter that I sent you asking for help with Molly was my Hail Mary; I had nowhere to go and no way to protect my daughter from the people who hated her for who she was, so I decided to write to the one person I knew could help her. And when you sent me a letter back – that incredibly kind and empathetic letter – you gave me hope, hope that I hadn’t felt in so long. So, you see? You managed to impress me before we’d even met, Charles Xavier.”
Charles, touched by her sincerity and feeling a little emotional, reached forward with his free hand and carefully cradled her warm cheek in his palm. “Oh, my darling (Y/N)…you’re not the only one who’s had their hope restored; I gave up any hope for romance not long after I lost my legs, choosing to focus my attention on the school and my fellow mutants. Over these past several months, however, you helped me to see that there was still hope.” His thumb traced along her cheekbone as he smiled and slowly began to lean in. “And now, I would very much like to kiss you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
(Y/N)’s smile widened. “I’d like that very much as well, I just…” He could feel her cheek flush beneath his touch, and a look of embarrassment flashed across her face. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. Would it be silly to say that I’ve got butterflies in my stomach?”
“Not at all, darling. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous myself,” Charles murmured, his eyes flicking away from hers to stare at her enticing lips before glancing back up. “The last time I kissed a woman was in 1962, so you’ll have to forgive me if my technique has gotten slightly rusty over the past eighteen years.”
“Well, we won’t know unless we give it a go, will we?” (Y/N) breathed and her (Y/E/C) eyes burned with desire as they both inched closer. “Charles, dear…please kiss me.”
Wanting nothing more than to please the professor, Charles’ eyes fluttered closed as he tentatively brushed his lips against hers. (Y/N) wasted no time in returning the kiss, kissing him softly and sweetly as her hand left his to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair and eliciting a blissful groan from him; with one hand still cupping her cheek, he rested the other on her waist but soon found himself winding his arm around her in an effort to bring her closer. (Y/N)’s lips were soft and oh so addictive, slowly but firmly caressing against his as her fingers carded through his locks, and Charles surrendered himself over to the woman wrapped in his embrace.
Eventually, they were forced to separate for some much-needed air, the both of them out of breath and almost dizzy from their impromptu make-out session; Charles felt a surge of pride as he took in (Y/N)’s kiss-swollen lips, heaving chest and the dazed smile on her face, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers. When he pulled back, he huffed out a breathless chuckle at the incredulous look that she was giving him. “That’s a rusty technique?”
“Mm-hmm. Dreadful, wasn’t it?”
(Y/N) giggled at his joking question and pretended to consider it. “You know, I think I need another example before I can definitively say.” They both laughed but when Charles moved in for another kiss, a sharp twinge in his lower back caused him to recoil with a hiss of pain. “Charles, are you okay?!”
He mutely nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he straightened his posture and leaned his back against the plush couch cushions. “I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm.”
“Is it…?” (Y/N) trailed off and when Charles finally opened his eyes as the pain began to fade, he could see the worry written across her face. “Is it because of your spinal cord injury?”
“That, and I’m afraid that I’m getting on in years; I’m not as young and spritely as I was in 1962.” Instead of stammering out a string of apologies and getting up to leave as Charles feared she would, the corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a lopsided grin that left him slightly confused. “(Y/N)?”
The professor shifted closer to him. “Did you know that Molly’s father was fourteen years older than me?” Charles’ brow rose in surprise and he silently shook his head, watching as she reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You could say that I’ve always had a thing for older men…” Before he could think of something witty to say, (Y/N) swung her leg over his to straddle his lap and rested her hands on either side of his face; Charles couldn’t help but grin and, inspired by her delectable boldness, he placed his hands on her waist to hold her securely to him, his grin widening as her breath hitched. “Go ahead and read my mind if you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
Shaking his head, Charles rested his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at her, softly smiling as one of his hands traveled upwards to cradle her cheek. “I believe you, darling. Would it be too sappy to say that I don’t want this night to end?”
“Not at all, dear,” (Y/N) shook her head before closing the distance between them and captured his lips in another passionate kiss; when they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and returned his blissful smile with one of her own. “We can make this work, can’t we? Balance the two of us with running the school and raising Molly?”
“I believe that you and I can do just about anything, so long as we’re together,” Charles replied, his thumb and forefinger moving to guide her chin forward and pouring all his emotions into another kiss; there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than in the arms of the lovely Classical Literature professor who’d captured his heart and judging by the way she kissed him back, it was clear that she was thinking something along the same lines.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I had so much fun dipping my toes back into the Fox X-Men Universe (I still have a massive thing for 80's Charles Xavier and his flowing brown hair lol) and I loved that I finally resolved Charles and (Y/N)'s mutual attraction with this cute Part II! I may or may not have a few ideas for a possible Part III, so let me know if you'd be interested in reading more! Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!
Story Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl @holb32 @f1uveryysblog Marvel Tag List: @brooke0297 @deadlymistletoe Permanent Tag List: @momc95 @crowleysqueenofhell @groovy-lady @yasmin12312
#what the world needs now...#...is love sweet love#charles xavier x reader#charles xavier x f!reader#professor x x reader#professor x x f!reader#charles xavier#professor x#alex summers#havok#hank mccoy#beast#erik lehnsherr#magneto#jean grey#jubilation lee#jubilee#remy lebeau#gambit#x-men#x men fanfiction#x-men fanfic#x men: days of future past#x men: first class#marvel#marvel comics#20th century fox
462 notes
·
View notes
Text
A "The Picture of Dorian Gray"!- inspired Nanami fic in two acts (From my Jjk Penny Dreadful Series-here)
*°࿐ Synopsis: After a harrowing escape from the hell of Shibuya, Nanami Kento finds a dark, twisted method to conceal the deep wounds forever etched on his flesh and spirit. He relocates to Malaysia, shedding his former identity in search of s fresh start, driven by the allure of an hedonistic lifestyle. He quickly resigns himself to a solitary existence, prioritising secrecy above all else's -that is, until one evening at the theatre, when your paths fatefully cross. What will happen next in this unfolding tale of tragedy and rebirth?
*°࿐Tags: Act 2- Nsfw + dark content (Katoptronophilia- mirror kink, softdom!nanami, fem! masturbation, pinv, breeding kink, graphic description of scar and injuries)
This work is part of the SPOOKINKY 2024 event hosted by @tsukimefuku 🖤
"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -Oscar Wilde
࿐✧˖*° Fic Moodboard here✧˖*°࿐
Beneath the dim, flickering glow of the bakery where you work everyday, you move like a shadow, wiping the counter where the day’s sweet offerings linger—croissants, chocolate éclairs—fragrant remnants of a life half-lived. The scent clings to you, comforting yet oppressive, as you linger on the past. A year has passed since you fled into this quiet corner of Malaysia, seeking escape, yearning for the hum of the ocean outside your window. Here, in the solitude of this bakery, you’ve become a ghost—part of the background, invisible to all but the clock and the empty tables.
Yet tonight, something stirs deep within you. At the end of your shift, you return to your cozy apartment, heading to your bedroom to let your fingers graze the golden ticket on your nightstand, a silent promise of a dream that has been lingering in your personal space for weeks: The Tempest. Tonight, the magic of Shakespeare’s world will finally become your own. You slip into the emerald night dress you bought for this occasion, catching a fleeting glimpse of a brand new woman reborn in the mirror, staring back with a defiant gaze.
…
The air of the theater hums with electricity as you step inside, your dress shimmering like a forest at dusk. Eyes turn, glances linger. The crowd falls into a hush, a soft murmur ripples through the room. You feel their gaze—a strange, unknown sensation, both exhilarating and disquieting- you’re definitely not used to being the focus of the attention around you. As you navigate the rows to your seat, eager to find yours and hide among the crowd of faces, a chill runs down your spine. There, across the balcony, a familiar figure watches you—a tall, elegant man, poised in a timeless black tuxedo.The tailored jacket hugs his athletic frame, the deep midnight black fabric contrasting strikingly with his fair complexion. A white pocket square elegantly peeks out from the breast pocket, while a finely knotted bow tie adds a sophisticated touch. His reserved nature, shadowed by a hint of intrigue, seems to enchant every woman in the auditorium, inviting curiosity from all who cross his path. With an air of mystery that surrounds him, he garners attention effortlessly, embodying both charm and enigma in every subtle movement.
It’s him—Mr. Nanami, the enigmatic man who has haunted the bakery for months. Always at his corner table, always with a book in hand, always distant, as though carved from some distant age. His gaze is now fixed on you, unblinking, his caramel eyes drinking in every movement you make. Even among the crowd, he is a statue, an artifact of mystery, his blonde hair gleaming under the theater’s lights, his presence too immense to ignore.
«If by your Art, my dearest father, you have
put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out.»
The character of Miranda finally speaks, signalling the start of the play. Lights go off, the world fading into darkness around you, but his gaze never wavers. It pulses between you, an electric current that thrums in your chest. Even as the actors bring the stage to life, Nanami’s attention is all on you. His eyes trace the delicate curve of your neck, they notice the way the silk of your dress clings to your feminine figure—every movement, every breath amplified. In the silence between the scenes, memories of brief encounters in the bakery flood both of your minds—small gestures, the fleeting brush of hands as you served his command. Every mundane act now seems to acquire a deeper meaning, hinting at the long buried electricity now resurfacing in all of its power.
The actors' words echo in your mind, their tale of rediscovery mirroring your own. You feel the thread between you and Nanami tighten with each passing scene. Your heartrate is accelerates inexplicably, his hands itch imperceptibly. By the play's end, the applause is drowned by the weight of his gaze, a fleeting glance that feels like an unspoken invitation. The crowd fades, and you are lost in the depths of his eyes—amber pools that seem to hold unspeakable secrets. What darkness lingers behind them? What truths lie hidden beneath his composed exterior?
In that moment, you are both spectator and part of the story, caught between the stage and the gaze of the man who watches you from the shadows, as if you are both part of the same forgotten tale.
The applause swells, a rising tide of sound that drowns everything around you. The faces blur, the claps echo like thunder, and your senses are swept into the frenzy. Yet, goosebumps rise along your exposed back, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. In the midst of chaos, your consciousness fails to identify the tall figure slipping quietly behind you, a shadow stretching long across your seat. But your body doesn't: every fiber of your being tenses in alert, time stretching as if waiting for something to happen at any moment.
Nanami’s hand lingers for a heartbeat before resting on your shoulder, a firm, yet gentle touch. The unexpected pressure makes you gasp, the sound barely a whisper.
"Mr. Nanami... What a surprise," you murmur, turning to face him, your voice trembling like a prayer as you feign surprise. His name spills from your lips, the remnants of the performance still thick in the air.
"Good evening, Mrs... I apologize for the intrusion," he says, his tone softer than you expected. "I saw you in the crowd and... I couldn't resist."
His apology is followed by a smile—small, sincere, and unlike the elusive stranger you’ve come to know. You blink in disbelief, caught off guard by this sudden warmth.
"Good evening," you reply, your words stammered. "No need to apologize. I’m glad you noticed me." Beneath the surface, you are deeply surprised by the fact that he did really recognize you, a simple waitress, a face everyone easily forgets.
He chuckles softly, eyes flickering with interest as he watches you. "The actors were amazing tonight, weren't they?" he continues, easing into the conversation. " Yes, indeed” you answer “I've always been fond of drama... the way music, scenery, poetry, and dance all blend into one living thing."
He catches the spark igniting your eyes as you speak, lost in your own enthusiasm. "Yes, I think it's the perfect kind of art... a fusion of all forms. A single experience woven from many threads."
He watches you, entranced by your remarkable passion for arts. Nanami always secretly thought you looked beautiful, admiring your kind nature from afar while you served tables at the bakey. But tonight he can't help feeling drawn to your every movement, noticing every detail of you, the most attractive woman he has ever laid eyes on in a while. Suddenly a low chuckle escapes him, catching you by surprise: "A real aesthete, aren’t you? I think I’ve finally found a worthy companion for my abstract musings." He muses.
You smile back, amused by the compliment. "So…you are... an ‘aesthete’ too?" you ask playfully.
"Ah... I prefer the term hedonist. There's a difference. An aesthete merely appreciates beauty for its own sake. A hedonist seeks to immerse themselves in it, to live for the pleasure it brings. Do you understand?" He smiles wryly.
You nod, half-missing the full meaning. "It makes sense to me... though 'hedonism' isn't a word you hear much these days."
At your remark, something flickers in his eyes—a momentary hesitation. His gaze drifts away, as though lost in a distant thought. Then he snaps back,as shaken from a dream.
"I have a question for you," he says, his voice now heavier. "Since you’re so drawn to this kind of topic... what do you think? Does life imitate art, or is it art that imitates life?"
You blink, caught off guard. His question is as profound as it is unsettling. Sensing your confusion, he continues, voice tightening with a quiet vulnerability.
"I know it sounds tautological... contradictory, even. But these thoughts are born from years of reflection, of trying to make sense of life."
He pauses, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken tension. The weight of his words settles around you, and you sense his inner battle—fear of revealing too much.
"Life is indeed the most intricate of masterpieces," you say softly, your voice soothing the strain in his words. "But I believe we create it. We choose the colors, the shapes, the shadows of our existence."
His eyes soften, a long, silent moment passing between you. Then, as though the walls around him have cracked, he sighs, and his words spill out.
"I’ve always had a special sensitivity... but my past... it hardened me, consumed me. I spent years hiding from it, burying my feelings beneath logic and calculation. And when I finally faced those demons, I realized..." He trails off, the confession hanging between you.
You wait, breath held, as he collects his thoughts. "I thought the pleasures of art and literature were gone forever. I thought I had lost them. But then..." He falters again, lost in the depths of his own emotions.
You try to simplify his cryptic confession. "So... you retired early and moved to Malaysia, didn't you? It's not something to be ashamed of, it's common practice here, Malaysia is such a dreamy place. I myself have left everything behind and fled here…" You try to make him feel at ease, failing to notice the deeper meaning behind his words.
His lips curled up in a faint smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. How could such a pure soul like yours grasp the horrors hidden behind his elegant appearance? "Yes... escaping a life I didn’t recognize anymore seemed the only choice I had a year ago."
You smile back, unaware of the weight of his past, yet moved by his vulnerability. "It seems like we both needed to escape something,then" you say gently.
He watches you intensely, and for a moment, the shadows of his past flicker in his gaze, along if something else- quiet admiration for your spontaneous genuineness. Then, without warning, he clears his throat, inviting you to continue your discussion elsewhere:
"I hope you won’t misunderstand," he says, his voice low and hesitant. "But...would you join me for a drink tonight? I’d love to continue this conversation... and perhaps share a book with you. If you'd allow me."
You accept without hesitation, the thrill of the unknown surging through you. Walking side by side along the moonlit shore, your steps are light, the air thick with possibility. The evening unfolds before you, a path leading to an unseen discovery, your heart fluttering, unaware of the darkness that lurks just beyond the light of the moon, reflected inside his golden irises.
The ebony door creaks open, a haunting sound that reverberates through the dimly lit corridor as Nanami, with an air of quiet dignity, unlocks the entrance to his home, his quiet sanctuary. Leaning forward, he flicks the light switch, and with a courteous gesture, steps aside, allowing you to cross the threshold. Click. A warm, golden light floods the space, spilling like liquid amber into the darkness, inviting you into the treasure trove that is Nanami's home.
As you step inside, the musty scent of aged books mingles with a faint undertone of turpentine, whisking you away to a distant realm where art and literature reign supreme. The air is thick with stories untold, whispers of creativity echoing off the walls. Each available inch of wall space is claimed by an eclectic mix of paintings, their colors vibrant against the deep shadows. Books of every genre crowd every angle of the refined, tastefully furnished open space that stretches before you. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops; you are mesmerized, trying to absorb every intricate detail of this artistic sanctuary.
"I hope this is to your liking," Nanami's amused chuckle pulls you from your reverie, his voice like a gentle breeze stirring the still air.
"This... all of this... is yours? The paintings, the books, the antiques? How...?" You stammer, incredulous, as you survey the vast collection that feels both intimate and monumental.
"Yes," he replies, a contemplative smile gracing his lips as he leans against the doorframe, the shadows dancing across his features. "This collection is my legacy, the thing I’m most proud of..." His voice trails off, and as you admire his possessions, you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with a blend of longing and admiration. In his mind, your figure blurs with the contours of the most graceful of Aphrodites, the missing piece of his collection, the first soul to step into his sanctuary after a long, lonely stretch of time. He watches you spin around his living room, a vision of grace in a flowing dress that clings to your curves like a delicate drapery on a marble statue.
He could grow accustomed to this sight, to you... And in that fateful moment, he lowers his guard, granting you access to the most secluded part of his soul, a realm he has shielded jealously over the years. "Why don’t you take a tour of the house while I pour us a drink? What do you prefer: Cabernet or Whiskey?" he asks, his genuine smile like a rare gem in the dim light.
"Thank you, I’d like to explore your collection further… as for the drink… you choose, surprise me," you reply chuckling mischievously, a thrilling tension crackling in the air as your eyes lock with his, an electric connection that sends shivers down your spine.
The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you venture deeper into the labyrinthine layout, navigating narrow corridors flanked by towering shelves that groan under the weight of Nanami's extensive collection. Each step draws you further into his world, a place where dreams and memories intertwine.
As you explore, you ascend the stairs to the first floor, stumbling upon a cozy library. A plush, crimson armchair beckons you, piled high with dog-eared paperbacks and a precarious tower of art monographs. The adjacent bookshelf stands as a shrine to literary giants—Austen, Dickens, Joyce—their timeless works nestled alongside a first edition of Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."
You are about to descend when something catches your eye: A door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar, challenges you, invites your curiosity. A thrill courses through you, an all-consuming desire to uncover the mystery hidden within. Drawn by an unseen force, you approach, your heart racing as your trembling hand hovers over the doorknob. With a gentle push, you swing the door open, and a sudden burst of light slices through the darkness, momentarily blinding you. As your vision clears, you find yourself staring at your own reflection, an astonished figure in a green dress, caught in the web of shadows.
Stepping further into the room, you realize you’ve entered Nanami's peculiar bedroom. A quilted round bed dominates the space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that create a dizzying effect, reflecting your image endlessly in the dim light. Your gaze travels, and you find a portrait hanging on the wall—a blond man who looks strikingly like Nanami, but marred by burn scars that crisscross his body like a roadmap of pain, telling a story of flames that once ravaged his skin. His eyes, a deep, piercing gold, seem to harbor the weight of those infernos, a flicker of fire still smoldering within.
“Is this... Nanami?” you whisper to yourself, disbelief coursing through you.
"So you found out..." a faint, emotionless voice emerges from the shadows, and you immediately turn: Nanami stands on the threshold, his attractive features marred by a mask of suffering and resignation. He holds a single book in his hands: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
"Nanami... I didn’t mean to intrude. The door was slightly open, and I..." you stammer, searching for an excuse. " But…What is this? Who is the man in the portrait?" you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling with confusion.
His gaze drops to the floor, a deep sadness enveloping him. "I wanted to lend you this book…maybe it would have helped you better comprehend this situation of mine. I’ve always related to Wilde’s work…and its Preface holds everything I’ve painfully learnt about life” his words ring hollow in your ears, emptied of any meaning. “This portrait... It represents the state of my soul. This... is what I really look like." His voice is heavy with truth, and the weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud.
A storm of questions swirls in your mind, casting you into a sea of panic, while your gaze flashes between him and the man of the picture "This... it can't be real. Nanami, what really happened? What is this story about?"
"Please, listen to me..." he interrupts, his tone now urgent, demanding your full attention. "Over a year ago, I was involved in an accident in Shibuya,on the night of Halloween and got severely injured. I barely managed to survive, but half of my body was burned, damaged irreparably..."
He takes a step closer, his expression lost as he struggles to share his truth. "When I woke up in a hospital bed, I took a look in the mirror, and realized I would have never been the same man I was.” He pauses, trying to steady his accelerated breath “ seeing my condition, an old friend of mine decided to set off, travelling the world for weeks in search of a way to restore my appearance. And I thought he had returned victorious at first, when he proposed to me an ancient curse allowing me to channel all of my pain and ugliness into that portrait. So I ended up switching places with the man now hanging above my bed. My friend helped me escape to start anew in this secluded place of Earth, but the truth is that this was never meant to be a blessing…with time I fell prey of the illusion of my appearance, trapping myself in a cage of mirrors, constantly afraid to see my real aspect resurfacing…I’ve been such a fool to forget the real nature of this expedient: a curse will always be always a curse"
He retreats, hiding behind a wall of shame and guilt. "I don’t expect you to understand. You know nothing of the world of sorcery from which I came... and...I wouldn't blame you if you turned your back at me now, pointing at me like a devil…"
As he fights to suppress the lump in his throat, you stand in front of him, your knees threatening to give in at every word spilling from his mouth. But it's in this moment that you see his true nature for the first time—a broken man, whose defenses are now crumbling under the weight of his long-buried secrets. "I’ve missed my chance with you, I cannot hide from the monster I’ve become," he whispers, his voice cracking with guilt and regret.
Without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you. Nanami's breath hitches as your hesitant hand cups his chiseled jaw, grounding him in the moment. It is high time to free him from the demons of his past. "Destroy the picture, Nanami... don’t let that portrait weigh down your soul any longer."
Your words provoke an earthquake into Nanami's world: his eyes widen, meeting the compassionate determination in your gaze. "And this doesn't change anything, I’m not leaving…You don’t have to hide anymore, not from me," you say softly, knowing in your heart that this moment could be the key to unlocking the darkness that has held him captive for far too long.
…
His resolve wavers as he gazes upon your lips, mere inches away from his, a tantalizing promise lingering in the air. The last thread of self-control snaps when you pull him closer, pressing your curves against his sculpted form. In that intoxicating moment, he crashes his mouth to yours, a desperate kiss that spills forth your insecurities in a breathless plea for understanding. Lips collide, and the world fades, leaving just the two of you suspended in a cocoon of time and space.
Fingers roam restlessly, exploring, dancing over each other’s bodies in a fervent embrace, like lightning illuminating a starless sky with passion's raw energy. The kiss deepens, heats, igniting flames of longing as he pins you against the cool surface of the mirror, your bare back shivering at the sudden chill. He looms over you, strong and commanding, tension rippling through his broad shoulders before he seizes the lower edge of a golden-framed picture, throwing it to the ground with a shattering crash.
The echo reverberates through the room, breaking the spell that held you. As the cursed image lies in shards, you blink to find the real Nanami before you, a man sculpted by both fire and fate, his scars merely facets of a twisted charm. He holds his breath, waiting for your response, his vulnerability laid bare in the depths of his eyes.
You stay silent at first. Your trembling fingers deftly start to unbutton his shirt, tracing a path from fine fabric to the rough, fibrous tissue of his burned skin. “You look even more handsome in my eyes now,Nanami... ripped at every edge but still holding your original charm, like the finest masterpiece” you finally speak, voice thick with emotion “you’re strong, you can heal. Let me help you, please... let me…” The weight of your invitation hangs in the air, a siren's call that stirs something deep within him. He hesitantly captures your wandering hand, “Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, a silent confession of both uncertainty and deep care.
In answer, you push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands gliding over the contours of his biceps, igniting a wildfire in his chest long thought extinguished. You offer him compassion and heartfelt affection, and in that moment, he feels worthy of love again. “I am sure, Nanami… give me all of you without restraints tonight…show me you’re willing to start anew”
“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. “See how stunning you look? You are too much for me now,do you understand it?” He desperately spits out through gritted teeth “but if you choose to give yourself to me tonight, know that there will be no turning back. I won’t accept being left alone tomorrow...” His breath tickles your neck as he nibbles at your soft skin, pulling back to meet your gaze with a gravity that sends shivers down your spine. “What do you say? Do you accept my condition?”
“Yes,” you simply breathe out, eyes locked on the reflection before you, feeling small yet cherished in his powerful embrace. “I guess I am the luckiest of men, then…” His warm breath cascades over the delicate flesh behind your ear, a relieved smile curling against your skin as you tremble between his arms.
“I could hold you like this forever…” he whispers, tracing the line of your spine with his index finger. His hands find the thin straps of your dress, gently coaxing them down your shoulders. The silky fabric slips away, pooling at your feet, revealing you in all your glory. “You are a masterpiece here, the most exquisite work of art I have ever seen.”
His gaze drifts to the mirror, breathless as he drinks in the sight of your curves, fingers exploring the valley between your breasts, brushing against your hardened nipples with a soft touch that ignites a deep groan from his throat. “Look at you; I’m going to worship every inch of your delicious body tonight, just like a painter brushing the pure canvas in front of him, I will paint your body with pleasure and reverence” With a confident caress, his hand glides down, cupping your sex, igniting a spark of longing that makes your breath hitch.
“Nanami,” your voice is a prayer, each syllable infused with need as he parts your folds, cool air colliding with your now exposed clit. His experienced fingers start to explore your womanhood and a shiver dances along your spine “So soft,so wet for me already… keep those beautiful eyes open for me,I want you to watch as we create a work of art of pleasure tonight.” his other hand cups your chin, preventing you from looking away from your entwined image.
He moves with purpose, fingers drawing delicate circles on your sensitive nub, escalating your breaths into gasps. “You know, I’ve always believed that sex is a form of art—the highest, perhaps. The sensations it creates, the way bodies merge in a symphony of unbridled passion…” His rhythm quickens, pressure mounting until you scream his name, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you.
“Let it happen, just like that, give in to it, feel the way your body yearns for mine” he encourages you, guiding you throughout your climax with his confident ministrations. “Look at you now,” he cups your jaw, tilting your head to see the beauty of your flushed cheeks and wild hair. “You are alive… the essence of beauty.” His kisses scatter across your skin, igniting every nerve, his hardness pressing against your plush curves, a testament to his hunger.
His veiny hands unfasten his belt, pulling down his elegant pants to reveal himself to you: a glorious display of manhood, standing proud and ready in the mirror facing you. The base is girthy, the long shaft crossed by a single bluish vein up to the swollen tip, already for glistening with precum “look what your beauty does to me” his hips jacks forward instinctively as he notices the hunger in your eyes “Ready?” he asks once more, searching your gaze for any hint of doubt before entering you slowly from behind, his eyes locked on yours in the reflective surface, watching as pleasure and pain intertwine on your face.
He’s barely halfway in but you already feel him everywhere, a melding of flesh and desire driving you mad as he fills you completely. A strangled groan escapes him. “fuck, you're too tight… "His eyes flutter shut as he revels in the sensation of your snug channel stretching apart for him, sweaty pearls coaxes his forehead, brows furrowed in concentration “you were made for me.” He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he stills for a moment, savoring the connection of your entwined bodies.
When his hips begin to move, there is no gentleness—only a primal need. He slams against you, each thrust sending you gasping against the mirror, fingers clutching the golden frame for support. Your body turned into a canvas painted with pleasure: head tilted back, throat exposed, breasts heaving with each fervent thrust, trembling legs on the brink of surrender. The smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberates, a wild melody echoing in the room as you surrender to the rhythm of ecstasy, bodies swaying in perfect synchronicity.
Together, you reach the precipice of bliss. The mirror captures the art of your union, an abstract painting of two entwined souls—calling out each other’s names, your bodies slick and sticky, pressed together in a tender embrace. In that moment, you know that this is more than just a union of bodies; it is a celebration of art, love, and the unyielding spirit of desire.
Nanami’s eyes roll back as he feels you envelop him in a fierce grip, but he forces his gaze open, eager to witness the masterpiece unfolding before him. “I'm almost there…” He announces, grunting in your ear as he surrenders to your magic. Warm spurts of his very essence paint your walls white, making you his in the most primal of ways. He groans in pride and delight when the glass reflects the lewd sight of his overflowing seed dripping down your leg. Turning to face him, a loving smile dances upon both of your lips, the calm after a storm. “That was incredible, my diamond… thank you for sharing this masterpiece with me,” he murmurs, placing gentle kisses upon your closed eyelids, the warmth of his damp hair brushing against your forehead. “You’ve shown me that with you, I can finally find my way back to beauty.” He nuzzles your noses together, laughter bubbling forth as he regards you with a playful glint in his eye. “But I fear I need more from you tonight… are you ready for another round?”
You nod, a spark reigniting within you, a shared yearning to delve deeper into the connection that has blossomed between you in the stillness of the night. Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, effortlessly cradling you in his arms, bridal-style, and carries you toward his round bed, laying you down upon the luxurious velvet sheets. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gaze up at him, wide-eyed with wonder.
He kneels at your feet, crawling onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your calves, thighs, and stomach, until he reaches your lips. For a moment, he pauses, studying your moonlit features, before pushing himself into your inviting warmth once more. This time, there is no urgency; instead, he makes love to you with a tenderness that transcends flesh, his thrusts slow and deep, punctuated by soft kisses and feather-light caresses. You gaze upward at the mirror hanging from the ceiling, capturing your supine figure beneath his muscled torso, tensing with every intimate movement.
In that sacred moment of Epiphany, the truth unfurls before you: together, you and Nanami create a beauty that has always eluded you both, a beauty that defies the boundaries of time and space, a masterpiece beyond convention. You were each other’s missing piece. Each creak of the bed beneath you resonates with magic, a spell binding you to this moment of bliss and rebirth, witnessed by every mirror surrounding you.
“We are art,” you lean in and whisper into his ear, your voice filled with newfound conviction, as the night wraps around you like a cloak, and the shadows dance in celebration of your fateful union.
Thanks for reading this far!🙏
Comments and Reblogs are appreciated 💕
Don't repost my works without permission.
#jjk#spookinky2024#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk fandom#jjk smut#nanami kento#jjk scenarios#jjk imagines#jjk imagine#jjk oneshot#kento nanami#jujutsu nanami#nanami x you#kento nanami x reader#nanami x reader#nanami smut#kento nanami x you#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x reader smut#nanami kento x reader#jjk kento#jjk au#pennydreadfulseries#fanfic blog#nanami
187 notes
·
View notes