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handspunyarns · 2 years ago

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You Were Marked: Day Three.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6.6k

summary: The Dahls rise to mate.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! , Mando'a and English cursing, unprotected PiV sexual situations, non-con sexual situations

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<-You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din awoke the next morning the same way he had the previous morning: flat on his back, floating in a fragrant cloud of herbs and dried flowers. He slowly opened his eyes to see golden diffused sunlight streaming in angles across the dark curtains that surrounded him. A light breeze luffed the fabric panels, revealing triangles of bright sunshine. He felt warm from a deep, dreamless sleep that was restful rather than restless. He heard the clatter of a metal pot lid, the hiss of meat hitting a hot pan. He sat up, rolling his left shoulder that was always stiff upon waking up, the shoulder that would always make a hard click noise when he moved it. He tilted his head to the left side, then to the right, relishing the series of cracks his spine made, realizing that his usually sore back did not hurt at all this fine morning. Rolling to his feet, he parted the curtains, and looked down to see the carcass of a partially eviscerated dead furry animal of some sort on the floor.

Well, good morning to you too, he thought. He looked over to the fire to see Marathel cooking with her usual brisk efficiency. Grogu sat on the table, playing with what appeared to be some smooth stones. His gaze returned to the dead critter. “So . . . What happened here?”

Marathel took a quick glance over her shoulder. “The Dahls brought you a gift.”

“This is their idea of a gift?”

“There were actually three of them. I’ve already got two skinned and gutted, but I thought you’d like to at least see one of them.”

Din nudged the carcass with the toe of his boot. “What was this thing?”

“A gochgoch.”

“Well, that tells me nothing.”

Marathel shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, other than that’s the noise they make, and they’re not good for much other than dried meat.” Din picked up the carcass between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it over to Marathel. He laid it on a wooden board on the counter where she had processed the other two critters. “You should feel very privileged. Dahls are not known for sharing food. You must have impressed them much.”

“I’m sure that has more to do with Grogu than it has to do with me.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. He is easy to love. You, however . . .” She left the thought unfinished and went back to her cooking pots. “Are you hungry?”

“Not especially.”

“Gochgoch guts too much for you?”

“No,” Din said, turning to the table. “I just feel that I am being too idle and eating too much.” He stacked three of the stones for Grogu to knock over. Grogu squealed. “Grogu, on the other hand . . . I sometimes worry that he does not have time to play. To be a child.”

Marathel looked over her shoulder to see Din stroking the child’s ear. Grogu purred with contentment, gazing up at his foster father. The sight tugged at her heart, reminding her that her own childhood was far different. A thought occurred to her. “Have you taught him how to fish?”

“Fish? Not yet.” Din hadn’t gone fishing in years. The idea was tempting.

“The boys here learn to fish and hunt. I sometimes fish myself, but I don’t often have time.” She rummaged around in her stack of baskets until she found her lengths of dry line and hooks. Within a few minutes, she had packed a bag with the fishing gear, some food, a jar of water, and a blanket. “This should work. If you keep going past the necessary, you will see a path. Follow that past my vegetable garden, and it will go down towards the sea. There is a river that feeds into it. There are tidal flats that Grogu will enjoy running on.”

Din reached for the bag. Their fingertips touched. Time stopped for a moment. Din recovered first, taking the bag from her. “Bait?”

“I put some gochgoch meat in there. It should be enough for you to catch some bait.”

“What will we be catching?”

“At this time of day? Probably just bait.” Marathel shrugged with a smirk. “Do you have a knife in that basket of weapons?”

Din wasn’t going to tell her he had a knife in his boot. Possibly two. “I have a knife.”

“Then you’re set. I must tend the garden, but I will come down later to make sure you don’t get dragged away by the Great Godynferth.”

Din tilted his helmet. “I assume there’s a story there.”

“Maybe you’ll get to hear it. If you’re lucky.”

Din and Grogu followed Marathel’s directions and found the tidal flats that she described. It seemed to be an ancient lava field that had flowed from the mountain where the Mist originated. The tide had gone out, leaving the tidal flats empty, save for the occasional low wave that spread out over the rocks. The river was a sizeable one that fed into the sea. Din talked Grogu through the process of tying a hook to the line, and how to bait it before casting the line into the river. After a few false starts – Grogu had thrown the entire line into the shallows a few times – Grogu toddled through the shallow water, dragging the line behind him, enticing small fish to nip on the gochgoch bait. Din found a long reed to use as a pole, cutting a slice to thread the line through the end, wrapping the line down the pole so that he could feel with his fingers if there were a bite on his line. Marathel was correct: they only caught the kind of fish that was good as bait. Grogu, of course, preferred to eat the fish, instead of allowing Din to cut them up. Then Grogu realized he could just levitate the little fish out of the water using the Force, abandoning the fishing line altogether. Din lost count of how many times he said put it down, Grogu as Grogu happily splashed in the water, surrounded by little flying fish. He eventually gave up and removed Grogu’s robe and pants so he could play unencumbered. Din set his pole between two rocks beside him, in case he got a bite – and settled back against a large boulder to watch Grogu scamper over the tidal flats. The child brought Din little treasures: some pretty shells, a crab, a curled piece of driftwood. Din traded these for the bits of dried fruit and meat Marathel had packed for them and arranged the shells and driftwood on a large flat stone next to him, allowing the crab to scuttle away.

It was sometime later when he felt the ping of a small stone hitting the top of his helmet. “Wake up, Bounty Hunter.”

“Wasn’t sleeping.” This was technically true. Resting his eyes was not sleeping.

Marathel came up beside him. She had a light wrap around her head and neck to keep the sun off her, and she carried a large basket of vegetables in one arm and a wooden rake over her shoulder. She looked out at Grogu. “Well, if that isn’t the cutest little bare green bottom I’ve ever seen.” She set down her load and sat down next to Din, stretching out her legs and crossing her dirty feet in front of her. “What did you catch?”

“Bait.”

“Unfortunately, there’s not much on this side of the Hold. They fish on the far side of the Hold, away from here. Big fish over there.” She found the clay jar of water and took a long drink from it. “Your armor must keep you terribly warm.”

Din shrugged. “The sun is always shining when you’re wearing a metal helmet,” he said sagely.

Marathel burst out laughing, finishing with a most unladylike snort that caused Grogu to turn to her. Upon seeing her, he ran towards her, giggling. He leapt into her lap for hugs, which Marathel was more than happy to give. She picked out a large orange berry-looking fruit from her basket and tore it in half, giving a piece to Grogu. Grogu relinquished the clam shell he had been playing with, took the fruit, and toddled back to the tide flat. Watching him go, she bit into her half of the fruit, juice dribbling down her chin. Din gazed at her while she wiped her chin with her sleeve. “How ever did such a charming child end up with the likes of you?”

Din turned his eyes back to Grogu. “He was a bounty. Some . . . very bad people wanted to cause him harm. I kept him with me instead of turning him over to the bad people.”

Marathel frowned, trying to think of the words. “It was good of you to keep him safe, even though I do not understand what a bounty is, or why you hunt them.”

“I do it for the money. It pays well enough.” He didn’t feel the need to discuss how dangerous it was.

“Money? I don’t understand.”

Din was not surprised in the least that she didn’t know what money was. “When I find people, I receive a reward.”

“So,a bounty has . . . worth?” Din nodded. “And when you bring me to the Hold, with the eggs . . . you will receive a reward?” He nodded again. “What is my worth?”

Din was silent for a moment. “I was offered 167 Ossum Aurodium coins for you.”

“Is that a lot?”

“If they are in fact Aurodium, from Ossum, minted into coins, that would be worth an exceptional lot.” Marathel looked down to her hands, dirty from digging in the dirt. She slipped them into her sleeves. The fact that The Bishop would offer a stranger from another planet what was apparently something so valuable for her . . . it added another layer of dread to her thoughts. So much for the thin thread of hope that The Bishop would forget that she existed. Her eyes drifted closed in despair. “What I don’t understand, though,” continued Din, “is . . . why . . . there would be Aurodium coins here.” Marathel’s eyes flashed open. That was not what she expected him to wonder about. “It doesn’t make sense that this self-sustaining Hold you have here would have anything like Aurodium to trade or offer. You know nothing about the history of your planet, right? How your people got here?”

Marathel looked down to her knees. “No. Nothing. The Hold has always been there. The Elders have always been there.”

Din was tapping his finger in irritation on one of the shells next to him. “The Elders.” He turned to her. “Were you . . . betrothed to this Bishop? Why is it so important that you go back to him?”

Marathel opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again. After a long time, she said, “I was . . . supposed to be a Whyn, but when Diwhyn Olba realized I could hear the Dahls when no one else could, she knew it was . . . safer for me to be out of the Hold.”

“That also doesn’t make sense. And what is a Whyn? There’s something more to it than just a girl who has grown up, isn’t there?” Marathel lifted her head, but then her attention was suddenly and completely stolen from Din’s words. He noticed that she was no longer listening to him but was focused on Grogu in amazement. He looked over to see Grogu levitating a tentacled creature, larger than he was, over his head. The creature was slowly twirling like a gyroscope.

“Frith in heaven,” she breathed. “What . . . How . . .”

Din sighed. “Yeah, he does that too.”

“He can . . . heal, and he can . . . lift things?”

“Grogu has powers with the Force. His people were Jedi.”

Marathel frowned. “Magic, then?”

Din tilted his head. “Well, no, not magic at all. The Force is . . . an energy that flows through the universe, and certain people, they can . . . harness and use it. I don’t understand it much myself.”

“That must make your life interesting.”

After a moment, Din answered, “It is an adventure.”

They sat quietly for a long time. Din wanted to keep asking her questions, but when he turned to look at her, he saw such sadness in her face that he remained silent. She drew her legs under her to stand. “We should go, so that we are not caught out in the darkness. The Dahls are restless, and when they’re restless . . . they can be dangerous.” She walked out to collect Grogu, removing her headscarf to wrap around the little green body. Din pocketed the shells and driftwood and collected Marathel’s basket and rake. She raised her head to look at him, standing on one hip, holding her basket like it weighed nothing, the rake over his shoulder, armor reflecting the sunlight. She felt a hitch in her heart, and then chided herself for thinking foolish thoughts. If only the straight-line path of her life could go in a different direction. She may be currently sidetracked, living Holdless as she was, but her future loomed larger as she heard the Dahls louder and louder in her head. Tired, Grogu’s head clonked against her shoulder. She pressed her cheek to his, and a single tear dropped from her eye to land on his petal-soft ear. Grogu lifted a tiny hand to her mouth, which she kissed, and felt better.

It took a while to walk back. Marathel seemed to get more distracted as they walked along. She kept slowing her pace to gaze out over the distance. Sometimes she just stopped walking to close her eyes and take deep breaths. Din frowned at her under his helmet. Had he managed to upset her with his questions? Was she falling ill, or experiencing some after-effects from the Mist? He finally ended up walking ahead of her, depositing the heavy basket of vegetables in the kitchen, replacing the rake, and then meeting her back at the steps to collect Grogu. He took Grogu from her, headscarf and all, accidentally taking hold of her tunic as well. He muttered “Sorry,” under his breath, but then kept out a hand for her to assist her up the steps, which surprised her. Surely, he didn’t think I needed help to go up three steps? she thought. Still, she took his gloved hand, and he did give a slight pull on her as she ascended into the hut. Dropping her hand, Din unwound the wrap from Grogu. “He really should have a bath,” he said. “Is it all right if I bathe Grogu in the sink?”

Marathel nodded. “Of course.” She set about adding hot water to the reservoir, finding towels, bringing the jar of soap off its shelf. She noticed that Din kept his gloves on to bathe the child rather than remove them in her presence. As she chopped vegetables for dinner, she stole glances over to the sink on the other side of the hob, smiling as Din created stand-up curls of soapy hair on the green child’s head. “You are a good parent to him, Bounty Hunter.”

Din considered that high praise, coming from her. “I try.” He poured a cup of water over Grogu’s head. He didn't know why it was so easy to speak to this woman, but being around her loosened his tongue. “I wish my own parents had lived longer, so that I could have learned more about how to parent from them.”

Marathel was immediately saddened. “You lost your parents when you were young? I am so sorry.”

Din lifted Grogu out onto a fluffy towel. “A foundling raising a foundling seems appropriate. You probably got to grow up with your family in the Hold.”

Marathel put her knife down. “I actually don’t know who my mother is.” Din paused in his drying of Grogu to look at her. “All the children are raised together in the Hold. All the Whyns who give birth raise all the children together. There are no families.”

This struck Din as incredibly sad. In the covert, although the children were also all raised together as a village, each child who had parents in the covert knew who they were and lived in their family units. Even the foundlings had the fortune of being apprenticed to an adult Mandalorian who served as a foster parent. “Diwhyn Olba was not your mother?”

Marathel moved on to slicing meat. “She might have been. If she was, I never knew. She did not tell me.”

“What of your father?”

Marathel stood still for a moment. “I know who my father is, yes.” Her tone indicated to Din that she would not continue on this subject, and she returned to her slicing. Din went back to drying Grogu. Then he heard Marathel hiss, “Oh, for the love of Frith!” Din looked over to see that Marathel had cut her fingertip quite badly. He took a step towards her. “I’m fine!” she snapped, sticking her finger in her mouth. Din did not offer to help her again and dressed Grogu in clean clothes. She wrapped her finger with a bit of towel and began slamming things in the kitchen in irritation. She couldn’t find the herbs she wanted; the meat cooked unevenly; the pot of grains boiled over. Din stayed silent, entertaining Grogu on the steps, giving her wide berth. She finally served the dinner, and Din fed Grogu on the steps. Grogu seemed to be happy about what she had made, but then he would eat anything that would remotely be food. Din set the child down to run around the yard, and he brought the dish back to the kitchen. He saw Marathel sitting on the bench closest to the fire, her back to him, elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. He didn’t want to raise her ire, so he placed the dish in the sink without a word, the clunks of his boots making his presence known. Marathel sat up and sighed. “Forgive me. I am . . . cranky.”

“Naas baatir.”

“And that means . . .?”

“’It is nothing.’”

“At any rate, thank you.”

“Naas baatir.”

She softly snickered at that and got up to make their late afternoon tea. His with a saucer, hers without. Din was already at his usual place on the steps; Marathel placed the tea at his hip and sat at her usual place on the other end of the steps. The late afternoon shadows were already creeping across the yard. Marathel held her mug in both hands, hunched over, her elbows on her knees. Her head was bobbing slightly as if she were hearing a staccato drumbeat in her head. Din watched her out of the corner of his eye as her thumbs began tapping on the edge of her mug. This went on for some time. He finally turned his head to ask what the shab was wrong with her, but she must have noticed his movement, as she turned her head and snapped, “It is . . . It is naas . . .Naas . . .”

“Naas baatir.”

“Naas baatir. As you say.” Marathel put her mug down on the step -- a bit harder than she had intended -- and pushed herself into a standing position. She ran her hands roughly through her hair, piling it up on top of her head with her hands, then letting it fall. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath, before walking out to Grogu in the yard. Calmer now, she sat next to Grogu and began to weave the pile of flowers he had picked into crowns and necklaces, all of which she draped over him. By the time she was done, Grogu was twice his size, the floral crowns piled high on his head, bracelets from his shoulders to his hands, and so many necklaces only his eyes were visible above them. Grogu happily trotted off to show Din, who laughed, stood up and then bent into a deep and formal bow, proclaiming, “Your Majesty!” Marathel laughed too as Din picked up Grogu and held him high above his head, flowers falling and bouncing off his helmet. Din lowered the boy and tucked him into the crook of his arm. Marathel sat where she was, elbows wrapped around her knees, watching the armored man interact with tiny green child, her smile falling from her face. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The Dahls were getting noisy again in her head. She grimaced and looked out towards the tall grasslands, wondering how she was going to get through the night. Finally, she stood up and walked into the stream up to her ankles, the setting sun to her back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, forcing herself to breathe as naturally as possible.

Din watched her as she stood ankle-deep in the cold stream, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath, the sunlight reflecting on her silver hair, turning it into a burnished gold color. Something was wrong with her; he knew that much. She had said the first day that eggs would be coming in four or five days, and this was day three of his time here. He decided that she was nervous about having to go to the Hold to deliver the eggs; it was more than obvious she feared The Bishop.

He felt Grogu growing heavier in his arms; the child had a long, exciting day, and the flowers were lulling him to sleep. Din carefully removed all the garlands from Grogu and made a bower of the floating pram, laying the dozing child in the center of the flowers. “Sweet dreams, buddy,” whispered Din as he shut the lid of the pram. He wondered for the briefest of moments if there might be insects in the flowers, then figured that Grogu could have a midnight snack if that were the case. By the time he looked up again, Marathel had left the yard. Looking around, he noticed that she was walking through the stream, past the hut and away, deep in her own thoughts. Din picked up the mugs and took the opportunity to lift his helmet enough to drink his tea, thinking that he needed to find out what herbs were in it before he left this planet. He put a little hot water in her mug of tea to warm it up, leaving it on the table. After a moment’s thought he put the saucer over it. After another moment’s thought he put one of the fallen flowers on top of the saucer. Then, worried that she might misconstrue the gesture, he removed the flower. He was standing there, overthinking a silly flower, when Marathel stepped back up onto the platform at the back corner. “What are you doing, Bounty Hunter?”

His head snapped around as if she’d caught him stealing her entire stash of bread. “I, uh . . . warmed up your tea.”

She stood there, staring at him silently with a quizzical look on her face. She reached over, removed the saucer, and took the mug. “I think I will lie down. Excuse me.” She turned and disappeared behind her curtains. Din glowered down at the little yellow flower in his hand, as if it were the source of his confusion and irritation. With a small sigh, he walked over to the steps the furthest away from her curtains as possible – as loudly as his steps could be, for her benefit -- and sat down. After a while, Din tucked the little yellow flower away in the inner pocket that held the shells and driftwood from earlier that day. He leaned against the post, and stared into the sky as the stars began coming out, listening to the yip-yip-yehs of the Dahls in the far distance.

Marathel could not sleep. She could not relax. She tried to stay as quiet as possible, knowing that the Bounty Hunter was probably still awake and able to hear every move she made as the rushes in her sleeping tick crackled. Damn these rushes, she thought. Damn my desire to be comfortable. She wished for her worn-out pallet that she had in the Hold. It had been very thin, and she had felt every stone of the kitchen floor underneath it, but it didn’t make any noise to announce that she was not sleeping. She rolled to her back, stretching her arms out, trying in vain to let her body receive any cool breeze it could, but the air was still, and the yip-yip-yehs of the Dahls carried easily in the night air, but they were even louder inside her head, reverberating with her heartbeats. With a soft grunt, she rolled to her feet, giving up on any kind of sleep. She left her curtains on the kitchen side, hoping not to attract attention. She wanted cool water, but all she had was what was left in the reservoir. The fire had gone out, but the water there was still too warm. it was too dark -- even with the moonlight -- to see if her hanging waterskin still held water, so she grabbed the small lantern that she kept above the dry sink, shaking it to wake up the glow worms inside, giving off a pale light.

It was the light source that made Din turn his head in her direction. He had been sitting quietly, still leaning against the post, facing her curtains. He had been listening to her toss and turn, and heard her get up. The floating pram was quiet. He was surprised to see that she had any kind of lantern. She lived like a farmer – up with the sunrise and down with the sunset. The lantern hardly gave off any light at all, and all he could really see was her outline as she held her hair on top of her head with one hand as she held a wet cloth to the back of her neck with the other. As his eyes dragged down her back, he could see that she was wearing a thin gown with a wrap over it. He stood, hoping not to startle her, his boots announcing his presence on the wooden plank floor. She took a deep breath, dropped her hair, tossing her cloth on the counter, moving past her curtains and out of sight. He followed her. He turned to his left, just past her curtains, when he saw her leaning against a post, her back to him. Her arms were wrapped around the post tightly as she hugged it.

Din crept closer. “What is wrong?”

Marathel gave a raspy sigh. “It’s the Dahls.”

Din stood quietly, listening to the cries of the Dahls. “They are very loud tonight.”

She dropped her forehead to the post. “They’re rising to mate.”

A long pause. “I see.”

Marathlel’s breath grew faster and more ragged. “I can hear them.”

“I hear them too.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No! I . . . hear them. Not just in here,” she said, indicating her ears. “But here . . .” she put her hands on her head. “In here,” her shaking hands crossed over her chest, and her wrap fell to the floor, leaving her only in a whisper of a nightgown. “And here . . .” her hands slid down her breasts to her belly.

Din took in her words, the full truth finally getting through to him -- then he breathed out, “Oh.”

Marathel panted, wrapping her legs around the post, pulling herself close to it with a low moan. Din stepped forward and bent to retrieve her wrap. As he straightened up, Marathel suddenly leaned back, holding the post, and her spine met his beskar cuirass. Her head shot up with a gasp, and she immediately tried to press harder against him.

“I’ve . . . always been alone before . . .I don't . . . I haven't . . .” she whimpered.

Din stood motionless, holding her wrap with one hand. He closed his eyes tightly, knowing that he should back off, that he should leave her, that he should just take Grogu and walk off into the night, but just then she dipped her knees, rubbing her backside against the front of his breeches, where he did not wear beskar. His eyes opened, his penis twitching into life against his will, and from that moment, there was no existing force that could make him leave. She mewled deep in her throat, grabbing at the cuisses he wore on his thighs, pressing her round buttocks harder against him. She turned around slowly, taking hold of whatever piece of armor or flight suit she could grab, desperately pressing whatever part of her body she could against his. She scrabbled at his cuirass, pulling him towards her against the post, her teeth bared, her eyes gone dark and glazed, her breasts heaving against the thin fabric of her gown. Din grabbed at the post with the hand holding her wrap over her shoulder, his own breath growing ragged. He heard her growl as she clawed at his chest armor, breaking her fingernails. He reached up with his free hand to release the catches and the armor fell to the floor. She clutched at his now-exposed flight suit, straddling his thigh, rubbing herself hard against the armor there, her own thigh pressed firmly into his crotch as his erection grew. He automatically rutted against her thigh, pressing his whole body against hers, pinning her to the post, feeling the weight of her breasts against his flight suit. She quietly growled again, sliding her hips to his center, curling her spine, thrusting her pelvis against his, her barely covered vulva against his clothed tumescent cock, matching his rhythm. His knees were slightly bent to accommodate her, so she wrapped her own legs around his, placing her bare feet on the backs of his calves, and climbed him like a tree until her thighs were wrapped tightly around his ribs, continuing to thrust her hips against his, her arms clutched around his shoulders. Gasping, he reached under his helmet to rip his glove off his free hand with his teeth, and he reached between them, shuddering at her heat, her wetness, her unspoken pleading against the back of his bare hand. He could barely register the thought that he was touching her with his bare skin as he clumsily loosened his breeches and opened them enough to let his cock spring free, aching, desperate for her. He felt his tip touch her hot wet center, thinking that he should go slow into her, thinking that he should be gentle, thinking that she didn’t have control of herself, that this wasn’t Marathel before him but a woman with a mind and body possessed, when she lowered her chin, her dark eyes flashing at him, her teeth bared in a snarl, and she dropped her weight enough to impale herself onto him, forcing his cock as deep into her as it would go. She gave a small cry, throwing her head back against the post, her knees squeezing his ribs hard enough to break them, her thighs going into spasm as she immediately, powerfully, exquisitely, came. He felt the flutter of her quim against his cock, and he thrusted madly against her, pinning her to the post, his hand not holding the post clutching a cheek of her round, sweet, soft, ass, losing all control of his previous thoughts of gentility. Her thighs continued to squeeze, her quim continued to clutch, her cries continued to peal against his helmet, as she rode out not so much a series of orgasms as one long continuous one that seemed to ebb and flow as she moved her hips in counterpoint against his. With every thrust, Din grew weaker and weaker, the greyness that had been just around the very edges of his vision growing stronger and stronger. Her return thrusts grew more determined against him, harder, faster, her quim clasping his cock as if she were sucking the very life out of it, and Din began to feel that he might just pass out before he came if she kept this up.

At that moment, she thrust her hips furiously against him, squeezing her thighs even harder than he had thought possible, locking her ankles together, driving her heels into his spine, rendering him motionless with a ragged cry before she dropped her face against his chest, biting him hard through the flight suit as she trembled and fell apart at the peak of her long-riding orgasm. The pain of her teeth sinking into his chest sent him right over the edge, grunting, his hips convulsing against her as he finally released into her. First spasm, second spasm, gasping against her shoulder as he willed his body to finish before he fell to the floor. He twitched his hips, he had more that he desperately needed to fill her with, when he sensed, he felt, her body change against his. Her gasps of frantic pleasure were now gasps of panic; he felt her whole body stiffen, her head drawing back against the post, her hands pressing against his chest with a need to escape as Marathel came back into herself, displacing the raw need of the mating Dahls that had just completely possessed her. All this happened in the tiniest of moments, but he needed a bit more time, so he kept her captive, whispering, “Wait, wait,” into her ear, as he felt his pelvis and testicles clench. Third spasm. Marathel gasped. “Shhhhhhhh,” he breathed. He grunted again as the fourth and last spasm finally went through him and into her. Marathel gasped again, this time with a little cry. “Shhhhhhhh”, he whispered again. “You’re okay. You're okay.” He kept himself pressed against her, his upper arms holding her thighs against his sides, willing his breathing back to normal, as his erection faded. Her body was still completely tensed up, ready to spring away at the slightest opportunity. He slowly, carefully reached between them, the back of his hand touching her again, causing her to whimper as he removed himself from her, tucking his now-flaccid penis back in his breeches. He then used that same hand to gently remove her trembling left leg from his waist, carefully setting her foot back on the floor, smoothing down her nightgown against her thigh. He switched hands on the post, performing the same task with his other hand on her other leg. Still keeping her captive against the post, he pulled his head back to see her staring with wide eyes at his left pauldron. He took the wrap, miraculously still in his hand after all this, and carefully draped it over her shoulders, covering her front to grant her some modesty. He looked down at her. She continued to stare at his shoulder, trembling, biting her lips. “Hey,” he said softly. Her wide eyes shifted to his helmet. “All right?” She nodded and looked away. He took a half-step back, turning his head so that he would not see her gown, which had been captured at her waist, fall back down to her ankles. Finally released from his grasp, she turned and launched herself off the platform and into the night.

Din took one shaky breath, then a second, and then collapsed with his shoulder against the post. Dank ferrik, he thought weakly. It hurt his shoulder, but at that moment he was thankful for that damned post, otherwise he would have face-planted on the floor. He released the catches on his helmet and quickly pulled it off, feeling the cool air on his face and hair as sweat dripped into his eyes. He looked off to where Marathel had run and saw nothing. The lantern was much dimmer now, but he figured he didn’t have much time before she came back. He went to the sink, grabbed the cloth she had used on her neck, resoaked it in the now-cool water from the reservoir, and quickly wiped his face, head, and neck before replacing his helmet. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and still didn’t see her, so he quickly opened his breeches to clean himself up, making sure the cloth ended up in her dirty laundry basket. He replaced his glove and reached down to pick up his cuirass when the fabric of his flight suit dragged across his chest, reminding him that she had wounded him.

He went to the lantern, which was now almost completely dimmed out. He gave it a shake as he had seen Marathel do, and the glow worms within glowed brightly again. He opened his vest to find that she had indeed bitten him rather badly. As he sought out a clean cloth and her jar of soap, he saw Marathel returning, clutching her wrap around her tightly. He turned his back to her so as not to expose the wound – or his bare chest -- to her as he cleaned the bite mark. A ridiculous move, he thought, considering that they had just fucked like blood-hungry womp rats against a post, but he did it anyway. She climbed up on the platform, decidedly not looking at him, and went to the sink to wash her hands and brush her teeth. Glancing over his shoulder again at her bent form, he said, “You bit me.”

She froze for a moment. “Is it bad?”

“It broke the skin.”

“I, um. . .” Putting down her toothbrush, she reached up past his shoulder and brought down a jar that looked familiar. Her breasts brushed against the back of his flight suit, and she jumped back. “Use this salve. It will keep infection away.” She went back to the sink and her toothbrush.

Din used the salve as directed and closed his flight suit. Lifting his cuirass over his shoulders he asked, “Does your cycle follow the Dahls’ cycle?”

Marathel fell still again, and her face grew hot as she realized what he was asking her. She swallowed and said, “No. No, it does not.”

Din nodded. “You should be okay anyway; I’m fixed.”

“I’m sorry?”

Din clicked the last of the catches on his armor. “I’m shooting blanks.”

Marathel softly said, “Oh,” and went back to brushing her teeth. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, but she knew that she did not have the courage to ask. She returned her toothbrush to its proper place. Din walked back to the floating pram, glad that it was still completely shut. He was not ready to have that conversation anytime soon. They each moved to their curtained partitions, but they both paused, both knowing that words were being left unsaid and both unsure if they would – or should -- stay that way. Din turned to look at Marathel. Marathel had half-turned, but her eyes were downcast. She stammered, “I . . . good night,” and escaped behind her curtains for the second time that night. The pale fabric fluttered closed. Din stepped behind his dark curtains and laid down, flat on his back, and linked his fingers together across his stomach. He blinked into the darkness and thought, Well, that was different.

Marathel sank down to a sitting position on her sleeping tick, staring off into space for a long time after the Bounty Hunter had fallen asleep. Over and over in her head she thought, dear Frith in heaven, what have I done?

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

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breitweisergallery · 1 year ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Omg okay! Check down below the cut because otherwise this will be long!

the flowers of springs past blossom again - The surprising part, the unpredictable part, is the way his eyes linger on Vincenzo Cassano, the way they follow each movement as Vincenzo slips his suit jacket off and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, flicking that damn lighter open and closed again.

The surprising part is Joonwoo’s sudden resignation from Wusang after her the second he lays eyes on Vincenzo. “I learn better from you, sunbae,” Joonwoo says with a shrug of his shoulders and a slight smile that misses the usual flirtatious tone he takes with her.

Chayoung isn’t stupid. She notices the way Vincenzo’s eyes linger on Joonwoo as well, taking him in a way that is just slightly left of his usual sizing people up. Even more surprising is the lack of fight he puts up when Joonwoo starts camping out in Jipuragi. There’s the slight tilt of his lips in amusement when he slaps a stupidly large set of files into Joonwoo’s hands and tells him to put them away, and a surprising lack of complaining from Joonwoo at being demoted to even lower than he had been at Wusang.

false illusions and truthful liars - “When did you start?” Moonjo asks. They’ve finished eating and Moonjo has gotten comfortable, stretched out with his head on a pillow on the floor. Jongwoo leans back against the cool glass of his balcony door and hums under his breath.

“The army?” he says hesitantly. Moonjo turns and looks at him. “I didn’t do my first then. A couple of the guys I was with, they started this fighting ring. Got my ass handed to me the first few times, but the money was good. Taught myself to fight then. You?”

“Nine,” Moonjo says. He raises his hand and picks at his nails without getting up. “Not intentionally. I liked fires as a boy.”

Jongwoo pictures it; a boy, tall for his age, with limp black hair too long, black eyes, watching a house go up in fire. The light flickers against pale skin and he covers his mouth with a sleeve and coughs. When Jongwoo returns to himself, Moonjo has rolled over and is watching him. “Your imagination is incredible,” Moonjo says, nothing short of admirable. Jongwoo flushes.

the thing about fate is (across a distant memory) - Yohan sees it in action that night. Elijah is in her room, either working on her assignments or sleeping- he hasn’t gone to check but it’s no doubt one of the two- and Gaon is on the couch in his office, a book open in his lap. Yohan spares a brief glance up, and then a second, and then a third. The image is familiar, too familiar.

Gaon sits, leaning against the left side of the couch, his legs crossed and underneath him, and the book held up to his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, isn’t parted as Gaon usually wears it, but closer to Yohan’s own preferred style of leaving it down in his eyes at home.

Gaon is the spitting image of Isaac. The way he holds himself, the way he holds the book, his hair.

It’s purposeful. Yohan knows it is. He looks away, back to the documents on his desk, but when he glances up, again, for just one more look, Gaon is smiling.

Smug bastard.

restless constructions (don't leave me) - It doesn’t occur to him just how much Yohan loves him, until Yohan leans against him and rests his head on Isaac’s shoulder and sighs. Yohan, who simply does not like touch, leans against him and doesn’t pull away even when Isaac wraps his arm around Yohan and pulls him closer. “Hyung?” Yohan murmurs, and the depth of his voice astounds Isaac for a full minute before he hums his reply.

Yohan doesn’t say anything else, though, and Isaac dismisses it from his mind. He pulls his fingertips through the ends of Yohan’s hair, detangling the knots that have formed in the shaggy mess that Yohan probably needs to get cut, and feels rather than hears the sigh Yohan lets out as he leans into him further. “Can I sleep in here?” Yohan asks finally.

dreaming of flying - Karna likes the quiet of the night in the Meat Lands. It’s not quiet like the cities she’s used to — there’s no time when most fall asleep only to rise early again with the Bulb in the sky.

The quiet that falls is a peace of sorts; no one chooses to attack at night. It wouldn’t make sense to do so, when one’s pride and power comes with victory, and where better to do so than in the daylight?

#took answers #thank you friend ily #friend tag!!#sass tag #fic stuffs #악마판사 #the devil judge #dimension 20 #vincenzo #strangers from hell

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projectbluearcadia · 2 years ago

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Memo: Don't Tease Luci

Lucifer: What’s wrong, Annelie?

Lucifer smirks as she glares back at him.

Annelie: I’m going to kick your ass one of these days.

Lucifer: Oh really?

Annelie jumps as Lucifer brings his hand back.

Lucifer: Hahaha.

Annelie: Not funny. Inflicting pain is never the answer.

Lucifer: Remind me, who was it that cried out "harder?"

Annelie flushes.

Annelie: Th-That was under duress!

Lucifer: I’ll show you duress.

Annelie: Hiii!

Annelie starts running, and Lucifer chuckles.

Lucifer: Run all you like, but you won’t get away from me.

I wonder if I could get Lucifer to play tag... Wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe if I stole his D.D.D. he’d chase me. Oh, that could be good, sweet vengeance...

Annelie: Watch me!

Asmo emerges from his room and trips while carrying a small crate of beauty products.

Did I hear a crash?

Asmo: Wait, Ellie!

Annelie: Eh?

Annelie glances towards Asmo and just barely stops herself from walking on the broken glass scattered onto the floor in front of Asmo’s open door. In the process, she falls in the opposite direction, straight into Lucifer’s arms.

Asmo: Whew. Seeing your feet all bloody would have ruined my makeup with tears. Are you okay, Ellie?

Lucifer: Thanks to me, yes.

Annelie: I avoided that fine by myself.

Lucifer: Make sure to clean it up properly.

Asmo: But I just painted my nails.

Lucifer: Asm—

Annelie: I’ll help you if you stop being so stubborn.

Asmo: Ellie...

Lucifer: Annelie, don’t encourage him.

Annelie: It was an accident, Lucifer.

Lucifer: And? It’s your turn to cook; don’t think you can avoid it by cleaning glass off the floor.

Asmo: Ellie’s cooking?

Annelie groans.

Annelie: Yeah. Apparently I lay around the house too much.

Granted Lucifer never even remotely implied that, and I think he just wants to torture me.

Asmo: Then I’ll take care of it~ I can’t wait for breakfast.

Annelie: ...you guys have way too much faith in me. I might be better at cooking than Mammon, but I’m nowhere near Satan’s level...

Lucifer: And who do you imagine taught him? I'm plenty capable of making sure your cooking skills improve.

Annelie: I think he’d rather die than learn from you.

Lucifer: ...

Annelie: Sorry.

Lucifer: He was very reluctant, to say the least. Most of the time, he’d just stare at recipes and ingredient preparation, and he’d never ask me for help...

Annelie: Why do you sound like a constantly-working dad that watched his son grow up without him?

Asmo claps a hand over his mouth and turns away struggling to contain his laughter.

Lucifer: ...I don’t think that description is completely off the mark, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you never to say that in front of Satan.

Annelie: I don’t have a deathwish.

Lucifer: I should hope not. Now, I believe you were making breakfast?

Annelie groans again, and Lucifer chuckles.

Lucifer: Don’t be so stubborn. After all...

Lucifer leans closer to whisper in Annelie’s ear.

Lucifer: You don’t want to sit down right now, do you?

Hold on, is he still turned on?

Asmo: Hmmm~?

Annelie: Lucifer’s obsessed with my ass.

More accurately, smacking it.

Lucifer: What was that? Did you want to be hung from the ceiling instead?

Annelie: ...no sir.

He looks so pleased with himself... I’m not sure if I want to smack him or if I just think he looks cute... Curses; I can’t stay mad at that face. Ugh, god, why did you make him cute?! This isn't fair!

#obey me #obey me lucifer #self indulgence #shameless #obey me shall we date #fanfiction #spicy #punishment #LuciAnne

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leiazher · 2 years ago

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Language is important to me. I was thinking about it earlier, how many of mine and my mother's disagreements seemed to boil down to definition

For instance, "Dirty" and "Messy" are two very different things in my world. Dirty is... dirt. Messy is... clutter, a mess. You clean dirt, and you tidy messes.

So when mom told me to clean my room, I lift my messes up, cleaned under them, and put the mess back down. In my world it was clear as day, I had cleaned my room.

Mom didn't see it that way, which frustrated me to no end. My room was clean, like she'd asked. Next time, she told me to tidy up, and I did, and the juice stains and sand and dust remained. I had tidied up, she didn't see it that way.

It's all down to definition. You clean dirt, you tidy messes, a place can be messy and clean, or tidy and dirty. It can be clean and tidy, or dirty and messy. I still hold tight to those definitions.

One of my cousins said she was irked a few days ago. Which to me is 'mildly irritated'. And then she started a furious tirade about a phony landlord who'd stolen quite a lot of money from her. She was so angry she blushed. And... I didn't know why my first reaction was to be upset that she'd used the wrong word, instead of looking past it, realize that I knew what she meant regardless, and just sympathize with her current plight.

I didn't tell her she should've used a different word, I'm not that much of a fool when it comes to social interaction, but the whole thing sat wrong with me.

And... It's a silly thing to get hung up over. Or so I thought, before I thought about it a bit deeper.

Every single social skill I have has been taught, not like a child might see an adult say 'please' and 'thank you' and imitate, or be told to say it and then say it. But rather like... trying to find X the day after you learned what 3+3 is. Crammed, studied, investigated, taught. Taught through endless repetition I couldn't make myself understand no matter how hard I tried. And so I started to look at social interaction like an equation.

There's a script to it, to each and every single interaction you can possibly have. I taught myself how to write those scripts, and I've tweaked them after every single time someone's told me to use a specific word to get my meaning across, I've tweaked those scripts until the slightest deviation of definition throws the whole thing all out of whack.

If someone doesn't use the right word for their feelings or the environment or anything really, my scripts become useless and I'm left floundering and feeling wrong. I get agitated, because the moment I don't understand something is the moment someone will point it out and make me upset, as if I'm not trying by the second to navigate a world that talks in circles. I'm trying. But it seems they think it's their god-given fucking right to point out my mistakes. And of course they do it with a condescending smile.

"Did you mean x, not y?" They ask me. And maybe I did mean X instead of Y, but they were the ones to toss out the script in the first place, by using the wrong word, or by putting a new and personal definition and interpretation of the right word. And I'm left, once again, to tweak my scripts, and maybe, maybe, I can avoid their pitying looks the next time I try to keep up with conversation.

And people wonder why I think social interaction is exhausting...

It's exhausting to be expected to let their errors slide, but gods forbid I make any error of my own. If I say something wrong, or use the wrong word, I'm suddenly nothing more than a child to be lectured in their eyes.

"It's okay that you didn't understand!" They say. "But now you know until next time." And they smile, and when 'next time' rolls around, they've changed the rules again.

Language is important to me. Because it's the one way I've found to keep up at least a little. You can't tell me to clean up and expect the place to be tidy afterwards. That's not how that works, and that's not how I think.

Language is important. Language gives me way to categorize the entire world. It gives me synonyms and antonyms by which I can sort the entire constellation of human emotion. Subtract, add, multiply, and write a script so that the next time someone tells me they're irked, I can be ready, I can keep myself afloat, I can anticipate that they're going to be angry, and it won't come as a shock and throw my carefully scripted interactions in the dump.

I let their words slide. I wish it wasn't too much to ask of them to let mine slide. But apparently it is.

(Also remembering the time I failed a lemon meringue pie, and mom said it was fine. But it wasn't fine, it wasn't fine at all, it had separated and it looked wonky and the pie shell hadn't set properly, it wasn't fine at all. It wasn't until I'd gotten some distance from the situation that I managed to piece it together. The pie wasn't fine, but it was good anyways. It didn't matter what it looked like so long as it tasted fine, and it did. But mom kept saying it was fine and good and I got so irritated I couldn't even look at her. I know I'm mired in my definitions, but more often than not, they keep me afloat. The pie was good anyways, it was good enough. It wasn't fine. Good anyways.)

#autism #autistic #personal #language is awesome for the most part #now if we could just keep to the dictionary definitions for the most part #I'd be very happy #I'm going to a social interaction group starting in february #don't really know what it's all about or how it'll work but I guess I'll give it a chance #also nt challenge: say what you mean

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roronoacherries · 2 years ago

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𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 | roronoa zoro

1.030 words

content: stupidest little self-indulgent fic based on this old headcanon; reader uses she/they pronouns; sfw, fluff; zoro comforts reader when they need to hear someone use they/them.

note: this is so self-indulgent i don’t know if i should post it. it’s a little pride month gift to myself; i hope someone else finds comfort in it.

“i’m fine. really, zoro.”

you were being honest. you were okay; a little sad, but it was nothing to worry about. you’d get over it.

but zoro wasn’t buying it. the soft smile you gave him before kissing his cheek and rushing off wasn’t enough to convince him that what he saw in your eyes wasn’t sadness. there was something bothering you; he was certain of it, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

if you wouldn’t tell him, he’d do something about it himself. the least he could do was spend a little more time with you.

he carried you to the crow’s nest with him when he worked out; he sat around you when you were busy with something; he took his naps wherever you happened to be; he dragged you along to nap with him when he decided you needed a break from everything too.

and it helped. being around zoro always made you feel a little lighter, like nothing mattered when you were with him. still, zoro could see that your eyes didn’t glow the same way when you smiled and that when you were lost in thought there was a sort of emptiness in your gaze.

he kept a close eye on you — if not to figure out what was on your mind, then to make sure he was there for you if you needed him. it’d be easier if you would be honest with him, but he understood and respected your silence. it wasn’t long before it dawned on him anyway.

first, when luffy asked you to go play with him and zoro told him no, — “you’re not the boss of her, santoryu,” luffy had said. he remembered, then, that he’s the captain and is the boss of you both. zoro still refused to play tag with him. — you’d smiled in amusement at your captain, but there was that air of melancholy around you again.

he saw it again when nami questioned him in the crow’s nest, “have you seen y/n? i need to talk to her but i can’t seem to find her anywhere,” not seeing that you were there with him. (zoro shrugged at the navigator, as if you weren’t sitting across the room, but you laughed softly and gave a nami a quiet, “i’m here,” before following her down to the deck — though not before giving your grumpy boyfriend a quick kiss.)

and he noticed it at dinner, when usopp commented on the delicious meal sanji prepared, thanking the cook for the meal. sanji shook his head. “y/n taught me this recipe. she’s the one you should compliment.”

“there’s really nothing she can’t do. thanks, y/n.”

“it’s true. marimo doesn’t deserve her.”

“she’s the bestest. thank you, y/n!”

while everyone at the table praised you and thanked you for the meal, you blushed and smiled widely, but zoro still felt something was off. he noted you were uncomfortable, and something told him it wasn’t simply because of all the attention.

you excused yourself to your room earlier that night, leaving zoro to wonder whether he should act on his assumptions or not. rather than sit around and question it, he made his way to you, knocking softly on your door (though he opened it without waiting for a response).

you were studying your reflection in the mirror, discontent with what you saw. there was no denying that you were upset anymore, not with the look on your face. it pained zoro to see you look at yourself that way.

“oi, you kind of look like my girlfriend,” zoro smirked, closing the door behind him. “‘cept they’re not usually so pouty.”

“zoro, are you drunk?” you stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion but when he approached you, there was only a faint hint of sake on his breath and zoro was most certainly not a lightweight.

he stood behind you, watching your reflection as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing soft kisses to your neck. “they smell just as pretty as you too. like flowers.”

“zoro, your hair is tickling me,” you giggled, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks.

“they’ve got these pretty eyes that light up whenever she smiles.” zoro’s eyes met yours and it became harder to pretend your face didn’t feel hot.

“my boyfriend is never this sweet. he hates sweets, actually.” you turn around, bringing your hands to zoro’s face. “what’s gotten into you?” you’re not complaining, the smile on your face makes that clear.

zoro ignores your question, pressing kisses to your temple and your cheekbones between sentences. “they’re sweet as candy, ya know? sweeter than an angel. prettier than one too.”

you press your lips to his, words failing you. but the swordsman keeps talking between kisses. “their lips taste better than any sake.”

his hands travel down your body, resting them where he loved most and lifting you up. “swear, their thighs are heavensent…”

“what is it with you and my thighs, roronoa?” you laughed against his lips, but the swordsman didn’t answer you. he brought his lips to yours again as he carried you over to your bed, and didn’t let you pull away until you were both out of breath.

“i think i’m the luckiest bastard, just cause they love me,” zoro said, smiling down at you and resting his forehead against yours. closing his eyes, he muttered a quiet, “i love them so much…”

“zoro…” he knew. you hadn’t said a word to him, not wanting to make him worry when what had been bothering you was something that felt so stupid. you loved the straw hats and you knew they loved you — that they didn’t mean any harm — but it was tiring. to only hear ‘where is she’s and ‘i haven’t seen her’s. as insignificant as it might seem, it left you trapped in your own head sometimes. “zoro, how did you-”

“i love you.” enough to know when you’re not fine; enough to know when you need me. zoro pressed his lips gently to yours, saying with three words and a kiss everything you needed to know.

taglist: @maaarshieee @zorobraun @lyriczhou @idiotlittleme @tinkywinky27 @zoros-4th-sword

taglist | masterlist

#୨⎯ sol escribe ☼#zoro x reader #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece x reader

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biconderoga · 4 years ago

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Part 1: Here

Scenario: The death of Itadori hung over Y/N’s head at every waking moment. The circumstances were shrouded with mystery, and Y/N couldn’t do anything but carry on with a heavy heart. Minor Spoilers ⚠️ (Just briefly mentions the way Itadori was revealed to the first years).

Word Count: 2,069!! (My longest piece to date-)

“It’s me! The dearly departed Itadori!”

Megumi liked to think he could take a joke. He could handle teasing on his behalf. Gojou was relentless in that field, so it wasn’t a foreign experience for him. Years of dealing with the blindfolded sorcerer taught him to deal with sometimes tasteless jokes.

But this…this was the most distasteful joke he had ever seen. It left an incredibly bad taste in his mouth. He would rather chug curdled milk than deal with the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. His so called dead comrade was wheeled in by Gojou, and surprise surprise! He was alive and well.

Megumi closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a very deep breath. He opened his eyes again, and glared at Itadori. Itadori, sensing the tense atmosphere, feebly made jazz hands in hopes of alleviating the mood.

It did not work.

“So, um,” Itadori rubbed the back of his neck, and continued in a quiet rushed tone, “Sorry about not telling you I was alive and all...”

Nobara’s eye twitched at his apology while Megumi turned around to join the second years. The shikigami user didn’t have time to deal with this. The Goodwill Event currently took priority. Perhaps after it was done, Megumi could properly wrap his head around Itadori’s revival.

He didn’t know what to feel. If anything, he felt anger. Anger on Y/N’s behalf. How would she feel about Itadori’s return? She didn’t know how he died, and would especially not understand the fact he was alive. Megumi was not one for strong emotions, but the swelling of anger in his chest was too great to ignore.

“Oh? What’s got you so pissy, Megumi?” Maki leaned against the wall as she placed her head on the back of her hand, “You seem upset. Shouldn’t you be a bit more relieved about Itadori?”

Megumi silently huffed, “It’s nothing.”

Nobara, who was marginal to Maki, rolled her eyes, “Always so secretive.”

“You know you don’t have to keep visiting me…”

Megumi merely nodded at Y/N’s statement, “I know, but it’s only fair that I check up on you.”

Y/N groaned at his statement, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to babysit me. I may have been Itadori’s girlfriend, but I’m not nearly as rash as he was.”

He nodded once again. Megumi himself didn’t understand why he habitually returned to Y/N’s residence. She didn’t properly know him, and if anything she most likely associated him with Itadori’s death. He wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was just being polite. She easily could’ve been putting up a facade as she silently seethed on the inside.

“You can say you hate me,” Megumi paused as he chose his next words, “You can kick me out if you want. I know you probably blame me for Itadori’s death, I know I blame myself.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Megumi ended his miniature spiel. She shook her head before she firmly placed her hands onto his shoulders, “We haven’t known each other for long, but Itadori did tell me you were strong. I’m not sure where your strength lies, but I do know it’s not your fault. Itadori’s stupid mistakes don’t have anything to do with you. If anything, I hate myself for not asking him more questions,” She lowly whistled, “and I would be lying if I said I didn’t blame Itadori. He was always doing the most, and never took a break.”

Itadori was right, Megumi did like Y/N. Despite the fact she knew absolutely nothing about the circumstances of his death, Y/N was still able to continue forward. She was hurting, but she still took her time to confirm her faith in Megumi.

“Before he…” The sorcerer paused and swallowed thickly, “…died. Itadori told me I would like you.”

Y/N weakly laughed, “And do you?”

“You’re nice…” Megumi smiled, “Itadori got lucky.”

With the goodwill event said and done, Megumi found himself back in his dorm. His blinds were shut, and he was curled beneath his covers as he nursed a headache. No matter the occasion, Megumi found himself injured…

A quiet knock resounded throughout his room followed with a weak, “Hello?”

Megumi shifted under his covers and huffed, “Who is it?”

Silence was heard before the voice mumbled,“Itadori.”

‘Ah,’ Megumi thought, ‘He’s alive’ Following all of the hustle and bustle of the festival, Itadori’s miraculous revival was the last thing on his mind. Megumi processed his answer. He liked his lips before he uttered a, “Come in.”

Itadori entered the room and stood awkwardly by the entrance. He rubbed the back of his head, before gathering the courage to speak. “I heard you made everyone the meatballs I taught you how to cook…”

“Yeah,” Megumi sat up, “Everyone liked it.” The black haired male scratched his head. Itadori was usually a straightforward and happy-go-lucky person, this tense small talk was beneath him. “What do you need Itadori?”

“Ah! Well-you seem distant? Are you still mad at me?”

Megumi shrugged and feigned indifference, “I was never mad. I’m just not used to dead people being revived.”

“Oh, true!” Itadori visibly calmed, “Well if your not mad, can I ask you something?”

Now there was the Itadori that Megumi knew, blunt and straight to the point. The male raised his eyebrow, a silent indicator for Itadori to continue.

“So um…about Y/N…” The vessel fiddled with his hands, “She’s probably real mad I went M.I.A without telling her. Especially, after going a two months without contact! Can you be my excuse? Like we can say we were on a surprise field trip in the middle of the country.”

Megumi sighed at Itadori’s rambling. It seemed to be an ongoing trend that he was the bearer of bad news. First, it was Itadori’s death to Y/N. And now, it was the fact Y/N now thought Itadori was dead. What was first an act of kindness on Megumi’s part was now a huge problem for Itadori.

“So whaddya say?”

“She thinks you’re dead,” Came Megumi’s blunt reply, “If you’re ever going to talk to her again, she deserves the truth. She isn’t going to blindly trust you after thinking you were dead. It’s the least she deserves.”

Itadori’s eyes widened into saucers, “Who told her? Gojou-sensei said no one would—“ He threw himself to the floor and rolled back and forth, “He said since she was a regular person no one would bother telling herrrrr.”

As Itadori continued his senseless bemoaning, Megumi took in a deep breath. The black-haired male rose from his bed and approached Itadori. He gently kicked his side (in a silent hope that it would shut him up) before he spoke, “I did.”

“You did? I thought you hated doing that type of thing.”

“I do,” Megumi rolled his eyes, “But it isn’t fair that she would’ve been waiting for a dead person to call her.”

“But I’m not dead!”

Megumi’s vein nearly popped out of his forehead, “Well I didn’t know dumbass!”

“Can you pass me the ginger paste?”

The male nodded as he foraged through Y/N’s fridge. Once found, he tossed it to her. The girl fumbled to catch it, and playfully glared at Megumi when she did.

“Did Itadori teach you how to make the meatballs?” Megumi queried, “He taught me how.”

“Yeah right, it was me who taught him.” Y/N kneaded the meat in the bowl, “He failed to mention that didn’t he?”

The stutter of the subway cart knocked Megumi out of his thoughts. To his right was Itadori, who appeared to be contemplating something. They exited the cart, and like many times before, they started on the familiar route to Y/N’s residence.

This current predicament eerily mirrored his first meeting with Y/N. Except this time, Megumi brought good news instead of bad news. Hopefully Y/N would take it well and not blow up in anger. She had every right to be angry, but Megumi had an inkling she would hear them out.

“Should I surprise her like I surprised you and Kugisaki?” Itadori pumped his fist, “She’ll probably swoon and fall into my arms! It’ll be super romantic!”

Megumi deadpanned, “I don’t think she’ll appreciate that.” Was Itadori truly that dense? Didn’t he see how Nobara reacted to his revival? He could only imagine how his actual girlfriend would react, “Didn’t you see how Kugisaki reacted?”

“True…” Itadori pouted and placed his hands on his hips, “She looked like this, and she kept glaring when I spoke.”

“I wonder why…” Megumi rolled his eyes at Itadori’s theatrics.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suppose I should break it to her…” He ruffled his black locks, “Then when she’s ready you can come in.”

“Alright…”

With a nod, Itadori walked out of view. Megumi took a deep breath, before he knocked on the door.

“Where do you keep running off to? The second years keep nagging me whenever you skip training.” Nobara crossed her arms, while she tapped her foot on the ground as she waited for Megumi’s answer.

“To visit Y/N,” Came his short answer, “After I told her about Itadori’s death we exchanged numbers and kept in contact.”

“Oh…” Kugisaki murmured, “Tell her we should meet up sometime. Maki’s the only girl I’ve talked to on a regular basis,” She pinched her nose, “There’s too much testosterone here.”

“So…what is that you need?”

“Uh, can we sit down?”

“Right, ok...”

Megumi awkwardly trailed behind Y/N as she led him to her couch. He tugged at his uniform’s collar. Was his uniform always so stuffy? No, it was just the nerves. Megumi was at a lost about how to break the news. He wished it was as simple as watching a YouTube video titled ‘How to tell a girl their boyfriend isn’t dead!’. But alas, here he was, with a choked up expression painted on his face.

“What is it Megumi? You’re freaking me out.”

“Itadori isn’t dead.” Megumi truly needed to practice on his execution. His forward way of speaking could easily rub someone the wrong way. The poor guy couldn’t help it! His nerves always loosened his mouth. It wasn’t normal to just vomit information like that. His execution was so poor that he couldn’t help but internally cringe.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You’re joking. This has to be a sick joke.” She leaned back onto her couch, “Then again you’re not really one for jokes.”

Megumi slightly recoiled from her subtle insult. It may have been nothing malicious on Y/N’s part, but Megumi was still irked. He could tell a joke! Instead of pursuing the matter any further, he kept his mouth shut. It was inappropriate to complain now.

“I found out a couple of days ago. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with school.” He started, “It would’ve been unfair of me to just tell you over the phone.”

“C-can I see him?” Y/N mumbled, “Is he here now?”

He nodded, “I’ll grab him for you.”

Within minutes, Itadori is ushered into Y/N’s living room. Megumi quietly excused himself as he was not keen on being caught up in a couple’s quarrel.

Itadori was uncharacteristically silent as he witnessed the tears falling from his partner’s eyes. Itadori’s arm slightly raised out to her, but he ultimately faltered. He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he was unsure if the situation called for it.

“Y/N please don’t cry—“

“Two months.” Y/N hiccuped, “Two months I thought you were dead. I got no explanation. I didn’t even get to see your body.” She tugged down her sleeve to wipe her eyes, “Megumi was the only person I could talk to. He couldn’t give me a reason, but he respected me enough to tell me.”

“I’ll explain everything to you, I swear.”

“You’re an asshole for this…you tell me you transferred to some fancy school, and then you die! This isn’t some drama Itadori, you better not have joined some cult!” As her tangent ended, Y/N stumbled over to Itadori and threw her arms around him, “Please trust me, tell me everything from the beginning.”

Itadori tightly returned the hug, and littered kisses on her forehead. Once done, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“So you did join a cult.”

“Y/N I swear it’s not like that-“

#imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #itadori imagine #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #jjk sukuna #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #Itadori angst #megumi x reader #gojou satoru #jjk yuuji #jjk megumi #jjk nobara

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amjustagirl · 3 years ago

Text

storm chaser outtakes: his baby girl brings home a boy

genre: parenthood fluff warnings: sex ed talk. wrap it up, kiddos! wc: 910

a/n: set in the storm chaser universe and you can read Atsumu’s other exploits with his daughter here!

Miya Atsumu knew this day would come.

‘Samu told him he’s stupid if it didn’t happen sooner rather than later. Meian had gloated about it. Even Kita, two hours away by train, told him it was an inevitability. Still, that didn’t stop his brain from short circuiting when he’d opened the front door on a Thursday afternoon.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?”, he’d roared at the sight of Meian Makoto playing tongue hockey with his precious princess.

He’s going to need to burn the sofa tonight. Or throw it out. Whatever works.

At least Makoto had the grace to get off the sofa, even if he looks like he’s praying for the floor to swallow him. Shino, on the other hand, scowls at him, looking uncannily like her mother, growling - “Dad, don’t be unreasonable.”

“I’ll deal with you later”, he grounds out. “Go to your room.”

“I’m staying right here” she yells back stubbornly.

“Go to your room, Shino!” Atsumu thunders, almost a snarl. “Now!”

He doesn’t have time to process the look of betrayal Shino shoots him before the door slams. He turns to stare at Makoto, who keeps his gaze locked on feet. Atsumu fights the urge to bury his face in his hands, opting to pinch the bridge of his nose instead.

“Sit”, he says, pointing at the sofa. Makoto complies, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Please tell me Meian taught ya how to use a condom - or do I need’ta teach ya myself?” he deadpans.

Makoto’s mouth falls open. Then he promptly chokes, trying his best to cough his embarrassment and lungs out of his chest. “Y-yeah”, the boy says, cheeks flaring red. “I - uh. Dad mentioned. B-but. We’re not..doing that yet.”

Yet. Atsumu’s eyes narrow.

“D’ya need a refresher course? Y’know it’ll fail if ya don’t do it properly, right? I’m too young to have grandkids, please spare me.”

Drama king, he can already imagine his wife scolding him, but that doesn’t deter him.

“Yes, Uncle ‘Tsumu” the boy mutters, looking so young and frightened it strikes a chord, even though it’s his precious baby princess the kid was fooling around with mere minutes ago.

Atsumu sighs heavily, dragging a chair from the kitchen, childishly refusing to sit on the sofa.

“Couldn’t ya have waited ‘til y’all were thirty to get together or somethin’?” he complains, glaring at the boy. “Y’all are just kids - for gods sake, ya haven’t even graduated from high school.”

“I really like Shino”, Makoto says quietly, fiddling with his fingers. “And I’m pretty sure she likes me too.”

“Well - I’m sure of that, considering the way y’all were all over each other on my damn sofa”, Atsumu retorts, amused when the boy flushes even redder.

“But look, ya and Shin-chan both wanna go pro right after high school. One pro athlete in a relationship is hard enough, let alone two. I just don’t want to have to be the one picking up after ya if yer relationship with Shino fizzles out and ends on a bad note.”

At this, Makoto finally meets his eyes.

“It wont”, the boy - no - the young man says simply. Between his unflappable demeanor and the seriousness in his eyes, Atsumu shivers, reminded strongly of his former captain and early morning drills. Damn Meian for tormenting him more than a decade since he retired.

“I love Shino”, Makoto continues steadily. “I’ve loved her ever since we were kids and I would never do anything to hurt her.”

The kid has guts. Colour him impressed. Still, they’re babies, barely formed and completely unready for the harsh reality the world has in store for them.

“Kid, let me give ya some advice. Love isn’t gonna be enough to make your relationship last. Relying on it alone is like jumping off a cliff. It’s shit in your pants scary, and you won’t know where yer gonna land, y’know?”

“I’ll work for it”, Makoto replies, a stubborn set to his jaw. “We’ll work and talk things out together and take each day as it comes”.

Fuck. It’s unreal how this kid is more mature at seventeen than he was at twenty three.

He almost misses how Makoto smiles, almost bashful, a little giddy, but certainly starry eyed.

“At the end of the day I want her to be my person, and I want to be hers, hopefully for the rest of my life.”

With that, Atsumu’s heart swan dives into his stomach and soars back into his chest. His baby girl’s got a boy who truly, truly loves her. He doesn’t know whether to celebrate or mourn. Probably both, preferably in Kaiyo’s lap at the end of the night.

He sighs again, reaches out to clap Makoto on the back.

“Yer a good kid”, he finally says, almost begrudgingly. “Be good to my princess or I’ll kill ya. Then your dad will kill me, so best that doesn’t happen, yeah?’

“I will, Uncle ‘Tsumu”, Makoto says, and it sounds so much like a promise that Atsumu’s heart clenches.

“Right”, Atsumu shifts uncomfortably. “Could ya go get Shino? I probably should apologise for shouting at her like that. Her ma’s gonna rip me a new one.”

Makoto obligingly trots off, but immediately calls out - “Uh. Uncle ‘Tsumu?”

“What?”

“I think Shino climbed down the fire escape.”

“She what?!”

Kaiyo is definitely gonna kill him. Now to figure out which one of her uncles Shino ran off to complain to.

m.list~ taglist.~

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x you #storm chaser universe #storm chaser #Storm Chaser Outtakes

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ave-immaculata · 2 years ago

Note

Hey, I want to preface this with that it's kind of long, that however it maybe reads it isn't frustration with you, your post about recovery and things being debiliating brought up some feelings

You're not obliged to read all this, and I see you as sympathetic so don't think any of the open ended questions are directed at you rather than... being said to an empty theatre

So I hope you have a good day, and if you're wise you'll skip everything after this as is your right to do

If you'll forgive an anon about that post you made, the truth is...

I mean... I try... I try to work on things in my life. I don't know if I try to recover, but I try not to stand still. I got myself my place, I got my mom's trailer cleaned out, I slowly work on cleaning up my place even though no one taught me how

...and it just feels like... do I have to fix myself too? I don't want to be here, I've wanted to kill myself for years, but I haven't so I know I can't stand still or I'll be stuck. Is that not enough for people? Must I fix myself too?

I've been quite literally so alone for my whole life. This pandemic, everyone else was really bothered by lockdown, but I didn't even notice because I was just living my life like it was any other day. That's what I mean when I say alone

So despite being alone, do I have to make myself happy too? Do I have to mend every bit of myself alone? Is it not enough that I slowly try and teach myself how to take care of thing when I was never taught how by anyone (as in I'm having to clean up after my mom, you think she taught me cleaning)?

Just... is help too much to ask for? And... yes... it is

I have more friends on here than I have in the past, but even here... I try hard to tell people that they're doing a good job, that I appreciate them and see their hard work and the quality of their character... I tell them the things I'm dying to hear. No one really thinks to say the same things back to me, maybe they're just not true about me, most likely it's just hard to be there for each other

I'm tired, and I'm tired of any time I let my gormless we'll figure it out attitude drop (which I only do here) and I'm honest about how I feel, everyone feels like so bothered by it I feel like I'm supposed to just patch myself back together

It feels like moving your arm and showing that your intestines are spilling out and having everyone just want you to fix it because it's uncomfortable to look at

I managed to push money around that despite not being able to get out of bed enough to get a job, I got my middle of nowhere house, the last affordable house in america and my perfect home... but that's not enough, I need to find a way to be happy alone

I haven't seen a friend face to face in probably over a decade, one of my friends on here who was talking about coming out and visiting just kind of suddenly changed their mind and has never told me why

As far as I can see it's impossible to love me and I will always be alone surrounded by people. It's just like high school, everyone genuinely likes me, but not enough to ever see my outside of school and now... not enough to see me ever

Based on my history, I'd say instead of killing myself like I want to and ought to, I'll make my little dream come true of running classes out of my basement and teaching people woodworking and whatever else I pick up, give them the chance to learn things I wish I'd had

Everyone will like me, I'll be totally alone. No one will ever love me, everyone will be glad I finally stapled my guys closed and even if things aren't back how they need to be at least no one's uncomfortable seeing it anymore

That's a good life, that's my honest and optimistic prediction. I think it's quite likely and I mostly like it. It's so lonely an embittering I wish I'd just quit putting things off and end it like I want to. It's exactly what I figured would happen when I was thinking as a teen, except I thought I wanted to go into medicine, so a change of scenery

I don't know what recovery is. I don't think I want it. I think if people want me to actually feel good and ever see any good in myself I'd like it if they tried, I'd like it if they told me the way I try to keep telling my friends cause I know I could say it 1000 times and it still probably can't internalize for them because of their own trauma

I don't think I want to recover, but years ago I realized I can't stand still, so I haven't, and as much as... I keep getting through everything I can figure out and going oh lord it's only the hardest tasks left, and yet again I'll drag myself kicking and screaming and get those tasks done too, and I'll do it alone like always and it's be mostly good

I'll forever be well liked and totally alone... and I'll work on functioning better alone, but I don't think I want to get better... is being happy in total isolation... is that actually getting better, or is it getting better act coping with a broken situation?

Anyway, you didn't deserve this. You don't have to figure out a response to this. I hope you took my advice and didn't read it. Tumblr shouldn't let asks be this long and I shouldn't send it but... well... I hope you can at least get why I did

I hope you have a good day, and I really am sorry about the way too many words that in the end just say nothing

There is nothing to apologize for.

I think you expected this of me, but I don't have a good answer. I do know, though, that ironic as it is, that feeling of complete isolation itself connects you, it just shouldn't be the only way forever, because you deserve more.

"I am one who has known affliction under the rod of God’s anger, One whom he has driven and forced to walk in darkness, not in light; Against me alone he turns his hand— again and again all day long. He has worn away my flesh and my skin, he has broken my bones; He has besieged me all around with poverty and hardship; He has left me to dwell in dark places like those long dead. He has hemmed me in with no escape, weighed me down with chains; Even when I cry for help, he stops my prayer; He has hemmed in my ways with fitted stones, and made my paths crooked. He has been a bear lying in wait for me, a lion in hiding! He turned me aside and tore me apart, leaving me ravaged. He bent his bow, and set me up as a target for his arrow. He pierced my kidneys with shafts from his quiver. I have become a laughingstock to all my people, their taunt all day long; He has sated me with bitterness, filled me with wormwood. He has made me eat gravel, trampled me into the dust; My life is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is; My enduring hope, I said, has perished before the Lord." Lamentations 3:1‭-‬18

This is Old Testament, this is despair that is so deeply familiar to some of us, older than the Incarnation. God had such reverence for this suffering that it's part of Sacred Scripture - and the chapter ends with hope somehow.

"But this I will call to mind; therefore I will hope: The Lord’s acts of mercy are not exhausted, his compassion is not spent; They are renewed each morning— great is your faithfulness! The Lord is my portion, I tell myself, therefore I will hope in him. The Lord is good to those who trust in him, to the one that seeks him; It is good to hope in silence for the Lord’s deliverance. It is good for a person, when young, to bear the yoke, To sit alone and in silence, when its weight lies heavy, To put one’s mouth in the dust— there may yet be hope— To offer one’s cheek to be struck, to be filled with disgrace. For the Lord does not reject forever; Though he brings grief, he takes pity, according to the abundance of his mercy; He does not willingly afflict or bring grief to human beings." (Lamentations 3:21‭-‬33)

Humans are very good at suffering, and we can become accustomed to it so much that we would rather stay in it forever than experience the pain of coming out. I know it's familiar, and I know that feeling, but you deserve more. You can be tired, you can be weary, but you deserve the fruits of recovery.

You will not mend yourself alone, you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us. I know this was about a post that made it beyond Catholic tumblr but this is all I know how to give. You've given me a good excuse to remember my Rosary today, thank you.

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cqlfeels · 3 years ago

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@lansplaining encouraged me to finish this random meta nobody asked for, so let's talk about Meng Yao, Meng Shi, and 孟母三遷 (mèng mǔ sān qiān), a proverb about good parenting.

A warning: this is super long (even for me!) and is less quality meta and more my ADHD brain jumping around a maze of loosely related ideas. Proceed with caution!

Let me start by briefly going through why I decided to write this, because it’s important. In haunting Meng Shi’s tag in my starvation for Meng Shi content, I’ve multiple times come across the idea that Meng Shi pushed Meng Yao too hard, that she should’ve been more careful with teaching him to seek his father’s approval at any cost, and that she was too naïve. I’ve never reblogged this kind of post because 1) I personally think it’s rude to go out of your way to ramble about how much you disagree with someone on their own post and 2) if this was an isolated incident I wouldn't care either way, so I didn’t want to direct this rant at anyone in particular. It’s more to do with a tendency, primarily (as far as I can tell) from fans who haven’t had much contact with Chinese culture, to oversimplify Meng Shi and make her relationship with Meng Yao slightly disturbing, and I think part of it is due to CQL basically cutting out her entire storyline (so fans simply don’t have info about her to assess her fairly) and part is due to misunderstanding what a good parent is supposed to act like in the context of Ancient China.

[Of course, Ancient China is not a very useful historical concept, not any more than “ye olde Europe” - things change a lot based on time and place - but you know. It’s fantasy. Extremely broad trends are okay in this case.]

Anyway, the idea behind the posts I mentioned is, basically, that Meng Shi (usually through no fault of her own) is to blame for Meng Yao’s obsession with power, since his desire for approval was inherited from lessons she taught him. Just to start with, I’d argue that Meng Yao isn’t power-hungry as much as he craves security and respect, but that’s a different meta. Let’s assume that she really did teach him to be Like That. Was she wrong to do so? I’m not looking for “does that make for a happy, well-adjusted childhood?” or “would you raise your own son as Meng Shi did?” - I’m trying to figure out, would she have been considered a bad mother in the context of the society she lived in? I don’t think she would’ve.

It is surprisingly hard to find texts about the obligations of parents in Ancient China. Their main obligation is to raise filial children, but I feel like that’s not very useful: whether or not parents are good parents, children are expected to be filial, so a child being filial really says more about the child than about the parent. Maybe the parent completely missed the mark and society at large was what taught the child to be filial!

We can assume, of course, that parents were to raise good people, and that by learning what a good person looked like, we could figure out whether the parent was successful, but once again, I feel like that’s pinning things on the outcome, not on the process - the best of parents can end up with an awful kid and vice versa.

While thinking about all this, it took me a frankly embarrassing amount of time to remember the story of Mother Meng and Meng Zi, but once I did, it wouldn’t leave my mind - in part because the Meng here is the exact same Meng of Meng Shi and Meng Yao (yay! fun if useless parallel!), and in part because this is a story about how a woman can successfully raise a son by herself.

Okay, so important note: one of the most influential ancient Chinese thinkers is Meng Zi (孟子 Mèng Zǐ), who is known in the West as Mencius. If you've never heard of him - he's perhaps second in importance only to Confucius. When Mencius was still a young child, his father died, so he was raised by his mother, who is usually known only as Mother Meng (in Chinese, 孟母 Mèng Mǔ.)

Mother Meng's story is told in Biographies of Exemplary Women (列女傳 Liènǚ Zhuàn), which for around 2000 years beginning around the 18th century BCE, was the most commonly used book used to educate women. The book is divided into sections, each one showing a different way women could be honorable and good. Mother Meng's story is told in the Maternal Models section (母儀傳 Mǔ Yí Zhuàn.) The story has a few parts, some of which I'll quote, always from Kinney's 2014 translation.

Before I go on to quote it, though, I'd like to establish that Mother Meng's story is so, so famous that even if Meng Shi had never read this particular book, I'm almost certain she would've been familiar with at least the outlines of Mother Meng's story. I'm not cherry picking a suitable chapter from the book, I'm literally going with the most famous story in it because Meng Shi would be most likely to know this one if she knew no other story.

Okay, the first part of the tale takes place when Mencius is a young boy and Mother Meng is a widow raising him.

The mother of Meng Ke of Zou [a different name for Mencius] was called Mother Meng. She lived near a graveyard. During Mencius’ youth, he enjoyed playing among the tombs, romping about pretending to prepare the ground for burials. Mother Meng said, “This is not the place to raise my son.” She therefore moved away and settled beside the marketplace. But there he liked to play at displaying and selling wares like a merchant. Again Mother Meng said, “This is not the place to raise my son,” and once more left and settled beside a school. There, however, he played at setting out sacrificial vessels, bowing, yielding, entering, and withdrawing. His mother said, “This, indeed, is where I can raise my son!” and settled there. When Mencius grew up, he studied the Six Arts, and finally became known as a great classicist. A man of discernment would say, “Mother Meng was good at gradual transformation.”

According to the translator's footnote, "gradual transformation" is "a childrearing technique, whereby a child is morally formed through daily exposure to correct models of behavior."

From this story comes the proverb 孟母三遷 (Mèng Mǔ sān qiān) - "Mother Meng moved three times." It's come to mean that a parent - especially the mother of a male child - should spare no efforts to provide an environment that will give their child a good education, paying particular attention to what models are surrounding them.

I'm sure I don't need to say if Meng Shi was at all familiar with this proverb (and she would probably be), she must have been very stressed out over literally raising her son in a brothel. (Here I must mention sex workers in ancient China were often essentially owned by the brothels, so literally "moving three times" wasn't really an option for Meng Shi even if she could miraculously pick up another trade.) Meng Shi did however at least try to surround Meng Yao with the accomplishments appropriate for the son of a cultivator:

Xiao-Meng, are you still learning those things lately? [...] The things your mom wants you to learn, things like calligraphy, etiquette, swordsmanship, meditation… How are those things going? [...] His mom’s raising him as a young master of a wealthy family. She taught him how to read and write, bought him all those swordsmanship pamphlets, and even wants to send him to school.

Meng Yao actually talks a little bit about “those swordsmanship pamphlets” in the only time in canon he directly shares memories about this mother:

Lan XiChen, “Your [guqin] skills are also considered quite fine outside of Gusu. Were they taught by your mother?”

Jin GuangYao, “No. I taught myself by watching others. She never taught me such things. She only taught me reading and writing, and bought a handful of expensive sword and cultivation guides for me to practice.”

Lan XiChen seemed surprised, “Sword and cultivation guides?”

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, you haven’t seen them before, have you? Those small booklets sold by the common folk. First jumbled sketches of human figures, then deliberately mystified captions.”

Lan XiChen shook his head, smiling. Jin GuangYao shook his head as well, “All of them are scams, especially to fool women like my mother and ignorant children. You won’t lose anything by practicing them, but you definitely won’t gain anything either.”

He sighed in a rueful way, “But how could my mother have known this? She bought them no matter how expensive they were, saying that if I returned to see my father in the future, I had to see him with as much competence as possible so that I don’t fall behind. All of the money was spent on this.”

See what’s happening? Meng Shi cannot physically take Meng Yao to cultivators, but she spares no efforts in giving him the closest thing she possibly can -- figuratively, we might say she moved three times.

Of course, these booklets don’t work, but as Meng Yao says, how could she have known this? The cultivation world is very closed off - think of how the entire Mo household gathers to see Lan juniors, and how Wei Wuxian mentions once that “Cultivation families, in the eyes of common folk, are like people favored by God, mysterious yet noble.” Not just noble, but mysterious. That tracks, too - I mean, they live in inaccessible households and mostly leave to night hunt or visit each other, neither of which is an activity that would allow commoners to get much more than an occasional glimpse of them.

Now, if Meng Shi doesn’t even know that a pearl for Jin Guangshan was just a trinket, if she doesn’t know even the wealth of a major sect, how can she read booklets and decide whether that’s genuine cultivation or not? All that she sees is a chance for Meng Yao to be surrounded by the ideas and skills of the people she wants him to emulate - cultivators - and therefore she does everything she can to get him that chance. Mother Meng moved three times.

Okay, but maybe the argument is not “Meng Shi shouldn’t have pushed Meng Yao to cultivation” but rather “she should’ve pushed him, just not too hard." To that, I present another tale from Mencius' childhood:

Once, when Mencius was young, he returned home after finishing his lessons and found his mother spinning. She asked him, “How far did you get in your studies today?” Mencius replied, “I’m in about the same place as I was before.” Mother Meng thereupon took up a knife and cut her weaving. Mencius was alarmed and asked her to explain. Mother Meng said, “Your abandoning your study is like my cutting this weaving. A man of discernment studies in order to establish a name and inquires to become broadly knowledgeable. By this means, when he is at rest, he can maintain tranquility and when he is active, he can keep trouble at a distance. If now you abandon your studies, you will not escape a life of menial servitude and will lack the means to keep yourself from misfortune. How is this different from weaving and spinning to eat? If one abandons these tasks midway, how can one clothe one’s husband and child and avoid being perpetually short of food? If a woman abandons that with which she nourishes others and a man is careless about cultivating his virtue, if they don’t become brigands or thieves, then they will end up as slaves or servants.” Mencius was afraid. Morning and evening he studied hard without ceasing. He served Zisi [a great scholar whose grandfather was Confucius] as his teacher and then became one of the most renowned classicists in the world.

Notice that Mother Meng moved three times to ensure Mencius would have the highest of aspirations - to become a scholar. But just aspiration isn’t enough. Not by any means. Now that Mencius is actually studying, Mother Meng is willing to take an extreme action to ensure he's taking it seriously. Mencius doesn't have a father to smooth his path to success. He has to learn that aspiring to greatness isn't enough. He'll have to put in the effort as if his life depended on it. And if he doesn't persist in his hard work, everything he's done thus far will be useless. Sounds like a lesson imparted on young Meng Yao, doesn’t it?

A lot of fandom rage towards Meng Shi would apply to China's Best Mom Contender, Mother Meng. She gives her son big dreams, and teaches him how to go about achieving them in a society where failing is easier than succeeding. Yes, it's fair to say that Meng Shi taught Meng Yao to refuse to settle for anything less than being “Jin Guangshan's son, a respected cultivator.” Yes, it's also fair to say that she probably didn't allow him much time to play like children his age did. But unfortunately, in the world of MDZS, poor children probably wouldn't get to play anyhow, the difference is that they'd usually be working, not studying. Studying is a privilege! It’s a privilege Meng Yao could not afford but was given to him anyway, through his mother’s many sacrifices. We can even say that while she was alive, Meng Shi was trying to ensure Meng Yao would one day have a better life, at the expense of a fun childhood - and that's very Mother Meng of her, whatever our modern Western sensibilities might have to say about that.

Finally, I’d skip other tales (which show Mother Meng and an adult Mencius) and go straight to the poem that ends the Mother Meng section:

The mother of Mencius

Was able to teach, transform, judge, and discriminate.

With skill she selected a place to raise her son,

Prompting him to accord with the great principles.

When her son’s studies did not advance,

She cut her weaving to illustrate her point.

Her son then perfected his virtue;

His achievements rank as the crowning glory of his generation.

I’d like to focus on the last verse - “His achievements rank as the crowning glory of his generation.” All that Mother Meng wanted was for Mencius to not completely ruin his life, but he became great. You can so very easily see a parallel with how Meng Shi hoped Meng Yao would be a cultivator but he became Jin Guangyao, Chief Cultivator, styled Lianfang-zun, one of the Three Venerable, hero of the Sunshot Campaign.

Of course you can say “Jin Guangyao did many Very Wrong Things to get there, though!” Which, sure, okay, fair point. How many and how wrong depends on which canon we're discussing, and your own interpretation, but there’s no version of the story in which Jin Guangyao is 100% an innocent child uwu. But blaming that on Meng Shi is just... straight up weird? I don’t see anyone going “If Jiang Fengmian hadn’t adopted Wei Wuxian, he’d never have dared become Yiling Laozu!” and that’s pretty much the same logic. Would street kid Wei Wuxian have invented a new type of cultivation if he had never been taken in by the Jiang? Probably not, but raising undead armies is very much not something Jiang Fengmian could’ve predicted. In the same way, how could Meng Shi have predicted that teaching her pre-adolescent son “You are the son of a cultivator, act like one and earn your place in society” would’ve ultimately resulted in innocent deaths? How could she predict “You’re not destined to having the same horrible life I did, you can get something better than this” was a bad thing to teach? I quite honestly don’t know.

Finally, I'd like to point towards a much flimsier evidence that Meng Shi did great as a parent. And that is Meng Yao’s love. Nie Huaisang at some point comments Meng Shi is someone who Meng Yao "cherishes more than his life," and I think his assessment is correct.

Even putting aside the fact he built a whole temple to get his mother to reincarnate into a better life, and even putting aside how he refuses to flee the country without her remains, there's still crystal clear evidence that Meng Shi must've done something right. Because a lifetime of people using his mother to bully him doesn't seem to have made Meng Yao resent her. Had their relationship not have been very strong, odds are he'd feel bitter and/or ashamed of her. That doesn't seem to be the case. He's attached to her even decades after her death.

I want to be very careful with equating mutual affection with good parenting, though. When I was a rather rebellious teenager, my mother (in typical Chinese fashion) used to say that parents and children don't have to love each other as long as they're dutiful to each other, by which she meant that a parent-child relationship isn't informed by warm and fuzzy feelings, but by whether you'd be willing to do anything for each other. Specific to my case, she meant "I don't care if it makes you hate me, you will do as you're told because that's what's best for you." (That may also be the reason why people more familiar with Chinese culture see the Jiang family less as outright abusive and more as #complicated, but that's another meta.)

Whether your kid wants to hug you every time they see you is of no consequence to traditional Chinese thought - raising them to be the best they can is all that matters, because at the end of the day, you won't be around forever, but you can definitely set up your kid's life so that it goes smoothly and virtuously. How that's accomplished varies depending on many factors, but to have the goal be "I want my child to love me" rather than "I want to raise my child right" would've been considered selfish as hell.

So even if all that Meng Shi had given Meng Yao had been stern lessons about the need to go get his birthright, she would've still have been considered a good mother!! In fact, she would've been doing everything she was supposed to do, under extremely difficult conditions! (Remember the importance of environment? That Meng Yao grew up to want to be a cultivator despite having probably never even met one speaks wonders about Meng Shi's childrearing powers!!)

But just based off how over the top Meng Yao's filal dutifulness is, I'd go a step further and say that even as she did the impossible, she was also loving enough to inspire genuine affection. This is complicated because children who have present fathers could expect their mothers to be tender with them. The first century BCE text 禮記 Lǐ Jì or The Classic of Rites says that:

Here now is the affection of a father for his sons - he loves the worthy among them, and places on a lower level those who do not show ability; but that of a mother for them is such, that while she loves the worthy, she pities those who do not show ability - the mother deals with them on the ground of affection and not of showing them honour; the father, on the ground of showing them honour and not of affection.

But when the father figure is lacking for any reason, the mother must abandon her tenderness because someone must guide the child, and without a father, the role falls to the mother. A single or widowed mother had to be very careful to not smother their children with affection and raise useless, spoiled kids, or so it was thought. (The presence of Qingheng-jun and Lan Qiren is why Madame Lan can be so affectionate with the Lan boys, by the way - if she was raising them by herself she would've been expected to be much more practical. AUs where she just gets her kids and runs away could do very cool things with this idea. But I digress!)

Where was I? Oh, okay. Because Meng Yao seems to not just respect, but actively miss her, it seems that Meng Shi somehow managed to deal with her son on the ground of both honor and affection, to paraphrase.

So basically, all things considered, it seems not only would Meng Shi have been considered a great mom (if people could look past her being a prostitute, anyway) but she also went above and beyond the bare minimum. She truly spared no efforts on any front to make sure her son had everything your average gongzi would have - someone to teach him and someone to love him, access to education and confidence in his birthright. That she couldn't actually make him a cultivator, that she couldn't actually raise him in a proper home with no one being cruel to herself or him - that's immaterial. Even Mother Meng couldn't control what her neighbors did, only what she taught her son! The key point is Meng Shi tried. She did everything she could to educate her son right. You couldn't ask more of her, and quite honestly, you should probably be asking less.

Of course we can't err on the other extreme and say she was Perfect. Given MXTX only ever writes flawed characters, we can safely assume that if we'd known more about Meng Shi, we would've seen many flaws. Indeed, just the fact she didn't teach Meng Yao the guqin when he apparently wanted to learn it might point to some conflict we don't know enough to speculate about (maybe she focused too much on cultivation when Meng Yao's interests lay elsewhere? Maybe she wasn't able to sufficiently shelter him and he felt it'd be a burden to ask her to teach him anything? Maybe maybe maybe, go wild with your fics.) Nevertheless, I would never hold a female character to a higher ideal than a male character - if the male cast of MDZS can be a hot mess and still be admirable for what they're trying to do, then so can Meng Shi.

At the end of the day, when I look at Meng Shi - and I've made myself a document with all the references to her in the novel canon so I could easily contemplate her life and character - all I see is a woman every bit as determined and resourceful as her son, willing to do everything it took to raise her little boy into the sophisticated and ambitious man he became.

Finally, here's a fun little parallel that I'm 100% sure was unintentional but I still love. I said Meng Shi couldn't have moved three times. She couldn't, but I think maybe she taught her son he was worth moving three times for. Qinghe Nie. Qishan Wen. Lanling Jin. Isn't that super fun to think about?

Alternatively, tl;dr: Oh My God I Can't Believe We're Blaming Women For The Actions Of Their Adult Children In The Year Of Our Lord 2k21, Meng Shi Was Doing Her Best, Chill!

#drinking game #take a shot every time i say 'finally'#this post refused to let me get to the end of it lol #i think because i'm extremely salty about fanon stage mom meng shi #(to not say tiger mom meng shi which crosses into outright racism. but i'm giving people the benefit of the doubt)

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oscopelabs · 3 years ago

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Isn’t Everything Autobiographical?: Ethan Hawke In Nine Films And A Novel by Marya Gates

When asked during his first ever on-camera interview if he’d like to continue acting, a young Ethan Hawke replied, “I don’t know if it’s going to be there, but I’d like to do it.” He then gives a guileless shrug of relief as the interview ends, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. The simultaneous fusion of his nervous energy and poised body language will be familiar to those who’ve seen later interviews with the actor. The practicality and wisdom he exudes at such a young age would prove to be a through-line of his nearly 40-year career. In an interview many decades later, he told Ideas Tap that many children get into acting because they’re seeking attention, but those who find their calling in the craft discover that a “desire to communicate and to share and to be a part of something bigger than yourself takes over, a certain craftsmanship—and that will bring you a lot of pleasure.”

Through Hawke’s dedication to his craft, we’ve also seen his maturation as a person unfold on screen. Though none of his roles are traditionally what we think of when we think of autobiography, many of Hawke’s roles, as well as his work as a writer, suggest a sort of fictional autobiographical lineage. While these highlights in his career are not strictly autofiction, one can trace Hawke’s Künstlerromanesque trajectory from his childhood ambitions to his life now as a man dedicated to art, not greatness.

Hawke’s first two films, Joe Dante’s sci-fi fantasy Explorers with River Phoenix and Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society with Robin Williams, set the tone for a diverse filmography filled with popcorn fare and indie cinema in equal measure, but they also served as touchstones in his development as person drawn to self-expression through art. In an interview with Rolling Stone’s David Fear, Hawke spoke about the impact of these two films on him as an actor. When River Phoenix, his friend and co-star in Explorers, had his life cut short by a drug overdose, it hit Hawke personally. He saw from the inside what Hollywood was capable of doing to young people with talent. Hawke never attempted to break out, to become a star. He did the work he loved and kept the wild Hollywood lifestyle mostly at arm’s length.

Like any good film of this genre, Dead Poets Society is not just a film about characters coming of age, but a film that guides the viewer as well, if they are open to its message. Hawke’s performance as repressed schoolboy Todd in the film is mostly internal, all reactions and penetrating glances, rather than grandiose movements or speeches. Through his nervy body language and searching gaze, you can feel both how closed off to the world Todd is, and yet how willing he is to let change in. Hawke has said working on this film taught him that art has a real power, that it can affect people deeply. This ethos permeates many of the characters Hawke has inhabited in his career.

In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) tells the boys that we read and write poetry because the human race is full of passion. He insists, “poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.” Hawke gave a 2020 TEDTalk entitled Give Yourself Permission To Be Creative, in which he explored what it means to be creative, pushing viewers to ask themselves if they think human creativity matters. In response to his own question, he said “Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of the sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life and ‘has anyone ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse, something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can’t even see straight, you know, you’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art is not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.”

Throughout many of his roles post-Dead Poets Society, Hawke explores the nature of creativity through his embodiment of writers and musicians. Often these characters are searching for a greater purpose through art, while ultimately finding that human connection is the key. Without that human connection, their art is nothing.

We see the first germ of this attraction to portray creative people on screen with his performance as Troy Dyer in Reality Bites. As Troy Dyer, a philosophy-spouting college dropout turned grunge-band frontman in Reality Bites, Hawke was posited as a Gen-X hero. His inability to keep a job and his musician lifestyle were held in stark contrast to Ben Stiller’s yuppie TV exec Michael Grates. However in true slacker spirit, he isn’t actually committed to the art of music, often missing rehearsals, as Lelaina points out. Troy even uses his music at one point to humiliate Lelaina, dedicating a rendition of “Add It Up” by Violent Femmes to her. The lyrics add insult to injury as earlier that day he snuck out of her room after the two had sex for the first time. Troy’s lack of commitment to his music matches his inability to commit to those relationships in his life that mean the most to him.

Reality Bites is also where he first positioned himself as one of the great orators of modern cinema.” Take this early monologue, in which he outlines his beliefs to Winona Ryder’s would-be documentarian Lelaina Pierce: “There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.”

Hawke brings the same intense gaze to this performance as he did to Dead Poets Society, as if his eyes could swallow the world whole. But where Todd’s body language was walled-off, Troy’s is loud and boisterous. He’s quick to see the faults of those around him, but also the good things the world has to offer. It’s a pretty honest depiction of how self-centered your early-20s tend to be, where riding your own melt seems like the best option. As the film progresses, Troy lets others in, saying to Lelaina, “This is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You, me and five bucks.”

Like the character, Hawke was in his early twenties and as he would continue to philosophize through other characters, they would age along with him and so would their takes on the world. If you only engage with anyone at one phase in their life, you do a disservice to the arc of human existence. We have the ability to grow and change as we learn who we are and become less self-centered. In Hawke’s career, there’s no better example of this than his multi-film turn as Jesse in the Before Trilogy. While the creation of Jesse and Celine are credited to writer-director Richard Linklater and his writing partner Kim Krizan, much of what made it to the screen even as early as the first film were filtered through the life experiences of Hawke and his co-star Julie Delpy.

In a Q&A with Jess Walter promoting his most recent novel A Bright Ray of Darkness, Hawke said that Jesse from the Before Trilogy is like an alt-universe version of himself, and through them we can see the self-awareness and curiosity present in the early ET interview grow into the the kind of man Keating from Dead Poets Society urged his students to become.

In Before Sunrise, Hawke’s Jesse is roughly the same age as Troy in Reality Bites, and as such is still in a narcissistic phase of his life. After spending several romantic hours with Celine in Vienna, the two share their thoughts about relationships. Celine says she wants to be her own person, but that she also desperately wants to love and be loved. Jesse shares this monologue, “Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly, like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because. . . I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself, I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something. That I had excelled in some way than that I’d just been in a nice, caring relationship.”

The film ends without the audience knowing if Jesse and Celine ever see each other again. That initial shock is unfortunately now not quite as impactful if you are aware of the sequels. But I think it is an astute look at two people who meet when they are still discovering who they are. Still growing. Jesse, at least, is definitely not ready for any kind of commitment. Then of course, we find out in Before Sunset that he’s fumbled his way into marriage and fatherhood, and while he’s excelling at the latter, he’s failing at the former.

As in Reality Bites, Hawke explores the dynamics of band life again in Before Sunset, when Jesse recalls to Celine how he was in a band, but they were too obsessed with getting a deal to truly enjoy the process of making music. He says to her, “You know, it's all we talked about, it was all we thought about, getting bigger shows, and everything was just...focused on the future, all the time. And now, the band doesn't even exist anymore, right? And looking back at the... at the shows we did play, even rehearsing... You know, it was just so much fun! Now I'd be able to enjoy every minute of it.”

The filming of Before Sunset happened to coincide with the dissolution of Hawke’s first marriage. And while these films are not autobiographical, everyone involved have stated that they’ve added personal elements to their characters. They even poke fun at it in the opening scene when a journalist asks how autobiographical Jesse’s novel is. True to form, he responds with a monologue, “Well, I mean, isn’t everything autobiographical? I mean, we all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know. Have you ever seen that little one page note to reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel, right? You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of all the moments of our lives, and that, anybody who sits down to write is gonna use the clay of their own life, that you can’t avoid that.”

While Before Sunset was shot in 2003, released in 2004 and this monologue refers to the fictional book within the trilogy entitled This Time, Hawke would take this same approach more than a decade later with his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness.

In the novel, Hawke crafts a quasi-autobiographical story, using his experience in theater to work through the perspective he now has on his failed marriage to Uma Thurman. Much like Jesse in Before Sunset, Hawke is reluctant to call the book autobiographical, but the parallels to his own divorce are evident. And as Jesse paraphrased Wolfe, isn’t everything we do autobiographical? In the book, movie star William Harding has blown up his seemingly picture-perfect marriage with a pop star by having an affair while filming on location in South Africa. The book, structured in scenes and acts like a play, follows the aftermath as he navigates his impending divorce, his relationship with his small children, and his performance as Hotspur in a production of Henry IV on Broadway.

Throughout much of the novel, William looks back at the mistakes he made that led to the breakup of his marriage. He’s now in his 30s and has the clarity to see how selfish he was in his 20s. Hawke, however, was in his forties while writing the book. Through the layers of hindsight, you can feel how Hawke has processed not just the painful emotional growth spurt of his 20s, but also the way he can now mine the wisdom that comes from true reflection. Still, as steeped as the novel is in self-reflection, it does not claim to have all the answers. In fact, it offers William, as well as the readers, more questions to contemplate than it does answers.

The wisdom to know that you will never quite understand everything is broached by Hawke early in the third film in the Before Trilogy, 2013’s Before Midnight. At this point in their love story, Jesse’s marriage has ended and he and Celine are parents to twin girls. Jesse has released two more books: That Time, which recounts the events of the previous film, and Temporary Cast Members of a Long-Running But Little Seen Production of a Play Called Fleeting. Before Midnight breaks the bewitching spell of the first two films by adding more cast members and showing the friction that comes with an attempt to grow old with someone. When discussing his three books, a young man says the title of his third is too long, Jesse says it wasn’t as well loved, and an older professor friend says it’s his best book because it’s more ambitious. It seems Linklater and company already knew how the departure of this third film might be regarded by fans. But it is this very departure that shows their commitment to honestly showing the passage of time and our relationship to it.

About halfway through the film Jesse and Celine depart the Greek villa where they have been spending the summer, and we finally get a one-on-one conversation like we’re used to with these films. In one exchange, I feel they summarize the point of the entire trilogy, and possibly Hawke’s entire ethos:

Jesse: Every year, I just seem to get a little bit more humbled and more overwhelmed about all the things I’m never going to know or understand.

Celine: That’s what I keep telling you. You know nothing!

Jesse: I know, I know! I'm coming around!

[Celine and Jesse laugh.]

Celine: But not knowing is not so bad. I mean, the point is to be looking, searching. To stay hungry, right?

Throughout the series, Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke explore what they call the “transient nature of everything.” Jesse says his books are less about time and more about perception. It’s the rare person who can assess themselves or the world around them acutely in the present. For most of us, it takes time and self-reflection to come to any sort of understanding about our own nature. Before Midnight asks us to look back at the first two films with honesty, to remove the romantic lens with which they first appeared to us. It asks us to reevaluate what romance even truly is.

Hawke explores this same concept again in the 2018 romantic comedy Juliet, Naked. In this adaptation of the 2009 Nick Hornby novel, Hawke plays a washed-up singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. He had a big hit album, Juliet, in the early ‘90s and then disappeared into obscurity. Rose Bryne plays a woman named Annie whose longtime boyfriend Duncan is obsessed with the singer and the album, stuck on the way the bummer songs about a bad breakup make him feel. As the film begins, Annie reveals that she thinks she’s wasted 15 years of her life with this schmuck. This being a rom-com, we know that Hawke and Byrne’s characters will eventually meet-cute. What’s so revelatory about the film is its raw depiction of how hard it is for many to reassess who they really are later in life.

Duncan is stuck as the self-obsessed, self-pitying person he likely was when Annie first met him, but she reveals he was so unlike anyone else in her remote town that she looked the other way for far too long. Now it’s almost too late. By chance, she connects with Crowe and finds a different kind of man.

See, when Crowe wrote Juliet, he also was a navel-gazing twentysomething whose emotional development had not yet reached the point of being able to see both sides in a romantic entanglement. He worked through his heartbreak through art, and though it spoke to other people, he didn’t think about the woman or her feelings on the subject. In a way, Crowe’s music sounds a bit like what Reality Bites’s Troy Dyer may have written, if he ever had the drive to actually work at his music. Eventually, it’s revealed that Crowe walked away from it all when Julie, the woman who broke his heart, confronted him with their child—something he was well aware of, but from which he had been running away. Faced with the harsh reality of his actions and the ramifications they had on the world beyond his own feelings, he ran even farther away from responsibility. In telling the story to Annie, he says, “I couldn’t play any of those songs anymore, you know? After that, I just... I couldn’t play these insipid, self-pitying songs about Julie breaking my heart. You know, they were a joke. And before I know it, a couple of decades have gone by and some doctor hands me... hands me Jackson. I hold him, you know, and I look at him. And I know that this boy. . . is my last chance.”

When we first meet Crowe, he’s now dedicated his life to raising his youngest son, having at this point messed up with four previous children. The many facets of parenthood is something that shows up in Hawke’s later body of work many times, in projects as wholly different as Brooklyn’s Finest, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Maggie’s Plan, First Reformed, and even his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness. In each of these projects, decisions made by Hawke’s characters have a big impact on their children’s lives. These films explore the financial pressures of parenthood, the quirks of blended families, the impact of absent fathers, and even the tragedy of a father’s wishes acquiesced without question. Hawke’s take on parenthood is that of flawed men always striving to overcome the worst of themselves for the betterment of the next generation, often with mixed results.

Where Juliet, Naked showed a potential arc of redemption for a father gone astray, First Reformed paints a bleaker portrait. Hawke plays Pastor Toller, a man of the cloth struggling with his own faith who attempts to counsel an environmental activist whose impending fatherhood has driven him to suicidal despair. Toller himself is struggling under the weight of fatherhood, believing he sent his own son to die a needless death in a morally bankrupt war. Sharing the story, he says “My father taught at VMI. I encouraged my son to enlist. It was the family tradition. Like his father, his grandfather. Patriotic tradition. My wife was very opposed. But he enlisted against her wishes. . . . Six months later he was killed in Iraq. There was no moral justification for this conflict. My wife could not live with me after that. Who could blame her? I left the military. Reverend Jeffers at Abundant Life Church heard about my situation. They offered me a position at First Reformed. And here I am.” How do we carry the weight of actions that affect lives that are not even our own?

If Peter Weir set the father figure template in Dead Poets Society, and Paul Schrader explored the consequences of direct parental influence on their children’s lives, director Richard Linklater subverts the idea of a mentor-guide in Boyhood, showing both parents are as lost as the kid himself. When young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) asks his dad (Hawke) what’s the point of everything, his reply is “I sure as shit don’t know. Nobody does. We’re all just winging it.” As the film ends, Mason sits atop a mountain with a new friend he’s made in the dorms discussing time. She says that everyone is always talking about seize the moment—carpe diem!—but she thinks it’s the other way around. That the moments seize us. In Reality Bites, Troy gets annoyed at Lelaina’s constant need to “memorex” everything with her camcorder, yet Boyhood is a film about capturing a life over a 12-year period. The Before Trilogy checks in on Jesse and Celine every nine years. Hawke’s entire career. in fact, has captured his growth from an awkward teen to a prolific artist and devoted father, a master of his craft and philosopher at heart.

#ethan hawke #boyhood #before trilogy #before midnight #before sunset #before sunrise #reality bites #first reformed #dead poets society #a bright ray of darkness #film writing #film essay #musings #oscilloscope laboratories

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fics-n-stuff · 3 years ago

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Pairing: Kaz Brekker × Reader

Summary: Y/N and Kaz were once childhood friends, later reunited in the Barrel. After a business dealing went awry, Y/N has been in hiding for almost a year and the time apart has brought up a lot of feelings for Kaz.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: touch aversion, alcohol consumption

A/N: I haven't actually read SoC yet but I have done my research so I really hope I wrote Kaz accurately enough 🤞🏽 Let me know!! I left the reader gender neutral so all parties can enjoy 😁

Update: Pt 2 here!

You stared out of the window, watching the nightlife of the Barrel in full swing below you. It had been almost a year since you had been able to be a part of it all and, even though you had lived in Ketterdam all your life, you felt like an outsider now.

There was a knock on the door and you froze, head tilting to listen out for any threat. After a moment there was another knock, loud and heavy – certainly not the result of somebody’s knuckle hitting the wood. With a sigh, you stood up from the window ledge and crossed the room to the door.

Kaz was waiting on the other side, looking unamused as ever, and you waved him inside quickly and hurriedly shut the door behind him.

“I am one of three people that knock on your door, Y/N.” He said flatly, removing his hat and placing it atop your desk.

“I can’t be too careful, never know when someone might come sniffing around here.” You replied with a shrug. Kaz hummed shortly in acknowledgment before producing a small stack of envelopes from his coat. You snatched them from him eagerly, but careful to ensure that your fingers made no contact with his gloved ones.

“I’m getting tired of being your courier.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of being in hiding.” You huffed, leafing through your letters. “But I’d rather not walk around in a city where I’m actively being hunted.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten caught then.” Your head snapped towards Kaz at that, and you raised your eyebrows challengingly.

“I should slap you for that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Kaz’s face remained largely unchanged but you could see the shine of amusement in his eyes.

You had first met Kaz as a child, while visiting family in the village where his family lived. He was a sweet child, and you had struck up a fast friendship in the few months you spent there. You had even written letters back and forth for a couple of years until one time you never got a reply.

When you met again years later, entirely by chance, Kaz was a changed person. Your family’s fortune had taken a steep downturn and you found yourself alone, living in a tiny room in a boarding house in the Barrel, when Kaz came across you pickpocketing outside the Crow Club. He had recognised you, but you hadn’t recognised him at first. Everything about him was so departed from the sweet boy that you had known as a child.

He refused to tell you what had happened to change him in this way. He never gave you a cause for the ruthless person he had become to climb the ranks of the Dregs and earn the name Dirtyhands, never even told you what had brought him to Ketterdam at all other than that his father had died. He never pushed you away though. Kept you at arms length, yes, but he never tried to dissuade you from sticking around.

The longer you knew him the more you realised that he wasn’t as cold as his demeanour portrayed. He was fiercely loyal, you could see it in the way that he was with his Crows, and you were certain that he would do anything to protect those he cared about most. You admired that about him.

“You don’t have to come, you know. You could send Inej with my letters, she already delivers me food.” You said, turning away at the realisation that you had been looking at each other in silence for a few seconds too long. You went to sit down, picking up the envelope from the top of the pile and pulling up the wax seal. Kaz didn’t respond for a long while. You tried to read your letter but found yourself distracted with anticipation of what he would say, if he said anything at all.

“I commend your commitment to your business.” He said finally, and you smiled at the compliment. “Eleven months trapped in this apartment and you’re still keeping up with it all.”

“Being in hiding is no excuse to get lazy. If anything, it gives me more of a reason to keep on top of things. Work keeps me sane and keeps coin in my pocket.”

“And how long do you intend to keep conducting your business through letters and underlings?”

“For as long as I have to, Kaz. You know that.” You answered with a quiet sigh, setting down the letter that you definitely hadn’t been reading and turning your head to face him again. You saw his jaw tense and the grip on his cane tighten, but you didn’t know what it meant. You were worried that somehow you had done or said something to upset him.

You had learned, in the few years since your reunion, that sometimes even the most seemingly innocuous things could put Kaz in a black mood. You had caught on quickly to the way that he avoided touch at all costs, and adapted your behaviour accordingly. He had still never told you why being touched triggered such a strong reaction in him, but he knew that you would always respect that fact.

It didn’t matter to you what traumas Kaz had suffered to create these traits in him, only that you knew how to navigate being in his space without violating his boundaries, because deep down you knew that Kaz was the most important person in your life. He took you in and offered you support when you needed it, given you structure and taught you skills to survive without even necessitating that you use those skills to serve his gang, all because of the friendship that you had shared as children. It didn’t matter how heartless people said the Bastard of the Barrel was, you knew that Kaz cared; perhaps not in the same way that you had come to care for him, but he did care.

“Maybe you should go, I’m sure you have work of your own to do.” You mumbled, your eyes drifting downwards anxiously. “And anyway, I have letters to read.”

“I could protect you.” He blurted. His voice was a little louder than usual, his tone less flat, and your brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “We could. The Crows, and the Dregs.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“But you’d have it.”

You turned fully in your chair, straddling it with one leg either side of the backrest, and leant your forearms on the top of it. There was something in Kaz’s eyes that you’d never seen before and, although you prided yourself on being able to tell how Kaz was feeling and what he might be thinking about, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Do you know something that I don’t?” You questioned.

“Of course not.”

“Do you suddenly not trust my ability to keep myself safe?”

“Nothing like that, Y/N.”

“Then what?” You rested your chin on your arms, looking up at him expectantly. He held your gaze, but you could see the cogs turning in his brain as he calculated his next sentence. You were preparing for an argument to start, so you certainly didn’t expect the words that came from him next.

“I’m concerned about how long you’ve been alone here.” He answered. You blinked.

“Concerned?” Your voice cracked a little with your surprise, and Kaz clenched his jaw as he averted his eyes from you.

“I just thought that maybe all this time on your own might have had some affect on you. And I... hold a certain sense of responsibility.” His voice never wavered or faltered, other than the one pause there was no suggestion in his speech that the words held any significance to him, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight grip that he maintained on his cane.

You narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to examine his face and his demeanour. Everything about him was wound tight, like he was making a particularly tricky deal rather than talking to a friend – you hoped that he considered you a friend – and though he was looking in your general direction you noted his avoidance of eye contact.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were saying that you miss me, Mr Brekker.” You said, your mouth turning in a small smirk. You saw Kaz’s chest tighten as he silently took in a sharp breath, and you chuckled lightly. “I’m fine, Kaz. Inej visits often enough, and I’m happy to see you when you deliver my letters. I will say though, I miss drinking with your Crows.”

Truthfully, you did feel rather trapped in your tiny apartment. For almost a whole year your entire world had consisted of only three rooms, and even if you didn’t admit it you were going slightly mad. Not being able to leave was frustrating, and living your whole life in one room (because really, who spends that much of their day in the bathroom or kitchen?) made you feel like a caged animal.

He didn’t reply. He also didn’t move. You watched him, standing straight and stiff as ever in the middle of the room, for a few moments. Usually he would have said something or made a move to leave, so you knew that he was deep in thought about something. You slouched further down against the backrest of your chair.

“If you’re planning on sticking around then you should at least sit down.” You sighed. “I have some kvas, or whisky if you’d prefer.” Kaz shook his head no to the drink but made a move towards the window seat. You watched him cross the room and sit down, his grip remaining on his cane as he placed it between his knees. “What’s on your mind, Kaz?”

“It’s not important.”

“That can’t be true.”

“And why is that?” He questioned dully.

“Because you’re still here, with me, staring into space like you’re waiting for the wind to tell you a secret.” He looked at you then, and you could see a conflict swirling behind his eyes. You resisted the urge to furrow your brow in worry. He still didn’t say anything, and that didn’t do anything to ease your concern because Kaz Brekker was not often one to be at a loss for words. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” He murmured, his head nodding slightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked softly. He looked into your eyes for a few seconds before turning his head away, clearly deciding not to answer. You were almost expecting him to get up and leave the apartment right then, remove himself from the uncomfortable situation like he had been known to do before, but he made no move to stand.

You stood instead, abruptly moving through to the tiny kitchen and pouring a glass of whisky for yourself. You took a long sip as you came back out into the living space, picking up a wooden staff on your way. You kept up your combat training while in hiding, though it wasn’t often that you got an opponent.

“Humour me, will you?” You smiled, spinning the staff in your hand and setting your drink down.

“There’s not much space in here.” Kaz commented.

“Then we’ll be careful. Get up and fight me, coward.” You goaded. He gave you an incredulous look but stood anyway, tossing his cane up and grabbing it at it’s middle as he came towards you. Your grin broadened, and you waited just until the was in your range before you swung at him.

Your staff collided with his cane, moved up just in time to block your attack, and he watched you with challenging amusement. You let him make the next attack, knocking his cane away when he swung it towards you.

You exchanged blows, each of you managing to block all of the other’s attacks but you were starting to corner him. It seemed like you were about to get the upper hand when he swiped his cane towards your middle, making you jump back, and before you could move to swing on him he had pushed the crow’s head handle into your chest, not so hard that it was painful but with enough force to knock you backwards.

You landed on the edge of your bed with a groan, letting the staff drop from your hand in defeat.

“No fair, your cane is basically an extension of your arm.” You grumbled. Kaz let out a short breath, the closest thing to a laugh that anyone could get from him.

“You picked the fight.” He shrugged, lowering his cane and righting it at his hip. “I could have told you that you wouldn’t win it.”

“Mean!” You exclaimed in exaggerated offense, sitting up. When you looked at Kaz his expression was soft, the worry behind his eyes seemingly eased, and you smiled. “I could beat you if it was hand to hand.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He replied, the almost compliment catching you by surprise once again.

It had been a while since you and Kaz had spent any significant amount of time together. He was a busy man, particularly so over the last few months it seemed, so other than his brief drop-ins to deliver your letters you hadn’t seen him. It was nice to have his company again, even if he was a little off.

“Do you remember those drawings of Ketterdam that I used to send you with my letters?” You questioned softly, tucking your knees up to your chest. “I used to walk around the city looking for spots to sketch. I’d spend hours sitting on the street with my pencils trying to get the picture perfect to show you what it was like. I think, now, you probably know the city better than I do.” You smiled wistfully, resting your head on your knees as you looked up at Kaz. You saw his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow.

“You miss it, don’t you?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“You could go out there, stop hiding. You know I would look out for you.”

“I can’t put that burden on you, Kaz.” You chuckled lightly. “Enough people want you dead already, you don’t need to be looking after me while I’m being actively hunted.”

“How long do you plan on staying locked in here then?”

“As long as it takes, we went through this earlier. I have a big deal coming up, with the money from that I’d be able to smooth over some edges and maybe I could come out of hiding in a few months.” You theorised. “I’d still have to watch over my shoulder all the time but it would be an improvement.” Kaz’s jaw tightened again, and he bristled with agitation.

You hugged your knees tighter, doubt and worry overcoming you. Was Kaz not okay with coming to see you here anymore? Was he trying to get you out of hiding to lighten the burden it had put on him, getting your letters delivered to the Crow Club and having to bring them to you? The thought of not being able to rely on his short visits was enough to fill your chest with a mixture of dread and guilt.

“Like I said before, you don’t have to keep coming if that’s the problem.” You added, hiding the dejection in your voice. “Inej can-"

“No.” He interrupted bluntly. You blinked, pressing your lips together in contemplation. Was he upset that Inej was bringing supplies for you? Or worse, had something happened to her? Was that what was bothering him so much tonight?

“Why not?”

“Because I-" He cut himself off. He took a step back as if regaining his balance, his gaze falling to the floor, and you watched him flex his fingers around his cane as he organised his words. “Do you remember how you got sick while you were visiting your family?”

“Kaz.” You murmured tentatively, craning your neck to try and get a better look at his face that was turned away from you. Kaz didn’t like to talk about the past. Even bringing up the letters that you sent each other had been pushing it, but for him to choose to talk about your childhood was something he had never done before. Still now, it looked like the mention of the past was making him nauseous as he moved to sit down in the window once again. Your curiosity was growing by the second.

“You got sick and you could hardly get out of bed for almost a fortnight.” He continued, dismissing your concern. “I went to visit you every day. I picked flowers for you to make you feel better, and your mother baked oatmeal cookies but I refused to have any unless you did because you weren’t eating enough.”

“I remember.” You nodded. “You never let my glass of water get empty. It was sweet. But why does it matter now?”

“I can’t... I can’t stop worrying about you. But unlike when we were kids, I can’t just walk up the street and check on you every day.”

You felt as if all the air had been knocked out of your lungs and for a second you genuinely wondered if you had made that up in your head. Kaz very rarely expressed any emotion – the mask he wore hardly ever slipped – but here he was telling you that he worried about you. For Kaz, that was practically him baring his soul for you to see.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” You said shakily. “I’ve been fine so far, haven’t I?”

“But what if you’re not fine for much longer? As long as you’re holed up here I can’t keep you safe, and I can’t come to check on you because if I come here too often people might notice. Honestly, it’s a miracle that they haven’t already.”

“I didn’t think you believed in miracles.” You mumbled. Kaz glanced up at you, and the vulnerability on his face was unlike anything you’d seen before. It struck you in the heart and made you feel a need to comfort him, to put him at ease. “I can take care of myself, Kaz. I promise."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze downcast once again, then he took a deep breath and spoke.

“I think I’ll take that drink now.”

You watched him for just a second before you got up, crossing over to your desk and picking up the glass of whiskey that you had left there. The glass was half full since you had admittedly poured a little too generously.

You held it out to Kaz, who reached for it without looking. Although you were careful to hold the glass at the very top, his gloved fingers still brushed slightly over yours as he took a hold of it. He immediately stiffened, and you were quick to pull your hand away, taking a step back to give him space. He downed the drink in one, his face scrunching just slightly at the burn it left in his throat as he set the glass down by his feet.

“I just want to be able to watch over you.” He said, his voice barely more than a whisper, and you could practically see how difficult it was for him to verbalise his feelings.

“I think... I understand what you mean, Kaz. But I’m safer staying here than being out there, even with the Dregs protecting me. You have to know that, right?”

Kaz pushed a peice of hair out of his face, his gloved hand smoothing over his head as he let out a long and quiet sigh. Finally, he looked up at you.

“I know.” He answered.

“I appreciate your concern though.” You smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t think you cared about me that much. Or, well, I knew you cared but I just didn’t think... nevermind.”

“You didn’t think what?” Kaz’s question made you pause, anxiety pooling in your chest as you contemplated coming clean about your feelings. You thought about lying, about keeping your secrets to yourself, but Kaz had been so sincere it only felt right to return his honesty. With a deep breath, you worked up the courage to finally tell him the truth.

“I didn’t think that you cared as much as I do.” You replied. The sentence hung in the air for a moment as you moved back to sit in your desk chair, heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve kind of found myself caring a lot, actually. I think it’s only fair, really. I mean, I kind of owe you my life and all so it makes sense that I care. That’s not to say that it’s sensible but it is at least understandable, I guess.”

You bit your lip to stop your rambling, dropping your head so that you didn’t have to look at Kaz. There was a long stretch of silence.

“I care more than I might show.” He spoke softly, much more softly than you think you’d ever heard his voice. When you looked up Kaz was gazing right back at you, your eyes locking and his stare going deep into your soul. He didn’t need to say more, that simple sentence and the look in his eyes were enough to tell you what he was confessing. A smile pulled at your lips.

“Be careful what you admit, Brekker, or I might think that you’re going soft.” You joked, and he shook his head lightly in amusement. You leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, letting go of the anxiety that had been coursing through you.

“I'm serious, Y/N."

“I know. You don’t make a habit of saying things that you don’t mean.” You nodded. You glanced up at the clock on your wall with a sigh. “You really should get going, it’s dangerous for us both for you to stay too long.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He muttered.

He stood after a moment, his hand flexing over the crow’s head handle of his cane. You reached back to pick his hat up from the desk, and he held a hand out for it, but instead of passing it to him you placed atop your own head. It was too big, and you had to push it back on your head so it didn’t slide over your face.

“You know, I rather like you without the hat.” You smiled.

“Is that so?”

“Yep. I can see your face better this way so I can tell when your emotions manage to break through.” Kaz’s lips quirked upwards a little as he took the hat from your head and put it on his own. You jutted your lip out in an exaggerated pout and he let out a huff that seemed suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Do you have any letters you need me to send out?”

“No, not this time.”

“Alright, then I’ll be on my way.” He gave a quick nod and turned towards the door. He had only taken a couple of steps when you twisted in your chair and called after him .

“Kaz.” He stopped and turned back to you. “I’m doing what I can to get out of this apartment, I promise.”

“That’s not something that you owe me, Y/N. It’s your freedom and your safety. But I await the day that you come waltzing into the Crow Club ready to make Jesper lose all the coin in his pocket.” He replied lightly, making you smile. “And if you need anything then I’m here, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you, not just for this but for everything. Everything that you’ve given me since that night outside the Crow Club. I might be dead if it weren’t for you.” You let sentiment out freely, finally feeling able to show your heart to Kaz now that you knew that your affections weren’t one sided. His expression softened, and he seemed to contemplate something deeply, before he took a single step back towards you and held out one gloved hand.

You hesitated, unsure if he was initiating what you were thinking, but he maintained eye contact. He gave a small nod, a mix of permission and encouragement, and you tentatively reached for his outstretched hand.

Kaz took in a deep breath when your hand made contact with his, and you watched him carefully ready to pull your hand away. After a moment he released the breath, wrapping his fingers lightly around yours and running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You’re the closest thing to home that I have.” He croaked. “I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t.” You affirmed. Kaz released your hand, and you found yourself missing the feeling of the leather glove. He took a small step back, trying to hide the shake in his breathing.

“I’ll come back soon, as soon as it’s safe to.”

“Okay.” You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

Kaz left the apartment without another word between you, he paused before closing the door after himself just to look at you for a moment longer. You watched out of the window to see him leave the building and start off through the street, a broad smile on your face.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone netflix #sab #sab netflix #soc #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker oneshot #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #bastard of the barrel

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starryhyuck · 4 years ago

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falling star (m) | prince!hyuck

pairing: donghyuck x reader

words: 7k+

summary: you’re betrothed to the handsome prince donghyuck, but when your life is put in danger, you’re unsure if you can trust him.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: prince!donghyuck, princess!reader, soulmate!au, mentions of death, unprotected sex, public sex, sex in prison lmao, impregnation, little bit of voyeurism

basically i rewatched moon lovers and i turned this fic into a kdrama,,, thank you for 1k followers!!

terms to know:

gongju - princess

jeonha - king

seja-jeonha - crown prince (next in line for the throne)

wangja - son of a king and a concubine

daegun - prince, but not made to be king

You first experience heartbreak when you are only three years old.

You watched as your mother faded before you, her life escaping her body as she consumed the dark poison hidden in her tea. You remember all of the servants rushing to her aid, screaming for someone to fetch the physician. It wasn’t until minutes later that someone realized you were still in the room, carrying you away as you cried for your mother.

Since that day, you’ve carried yourself with a heavy heart.

There were numerous whispers roaming around the castle — most of them talking about how you were a witness to your mother’s death, and how you never recovered. They weren’t wrong.

Your mother’s killer was never clearly identified. All of the servants in the palace had been thoroughly questioned but many false accusations were made and your father, who was in the depths of his grief, decided to kill the wrongly accused. He never launched a full investigation and instead, attended to you and your siblings to prolong the mourning period.

Your father became a more gentle king after his wife’s death. Wars ceased and the plantation in the kingdom became more fruitful after your father diverted the kingdom’s expenses. He did not take on any more lovers and focused on his palace and his children.

You, however, became cautious as you grew up in the palace, afraid that your mother’s killer still walks before you.

“Gongju, shouldn’t you be carrying out your duties?”

You blink when Mark rounds the corner, taking a seat beside you. The both of you rest peacefully underneath one of the blossoming trees, but you should know that your brother cannot keep silent for long.

“Donghyuck arrives today.”

“Good for him.”

Mark sighs. “I know you do not wish to be married, but-“

“But nothing,” you hiss, standing up and brushing off the dust on your skirt. Chaeyoung, your attending lady, rushes to your side once she sees your movement. She bows deeply in recognition of your brother’s presence. “If Taeyong wants to marry me off so carelessly, then so be it.”

“You know that’s not true-“

You don’t allow him to finish his sentence, walking off with Chaeyoung in step behind you. She says nothing but you can tell she wants to interfere.

Chaeyoung has been your best friend since you were younger, assigned to be your personal lady when you both were only eight years old. Chaeyoung knew you better than anyone else, and she understood your hatred towards your upcoming marriage.

It was only days ago when Taeyong, your oldest brother and crown prince, decided to persuade your father into finding you a suitable marriage. You were of age to be married and if you did not find a suitable partner in time, the palace would begin to murmur.

Donghyuck was a prince from a neighboring kingdom, sent by his brother, Moon Taeil, to arrange a marriage between you. Since Donghyuck was a result of one of his father’s affairs, he had no chance of becoming the king of his own palace. Taeil still loved his brother dearly and wanted to find him a good match.

Unluckily, that match was you.

You run into Taeyong on your way back to your quarters, and you offer him a bow.

“Seja-jeonha, nice to see you.”

He smiles tightly at Chaeyoung and asks her to excuse himself as he pulls you aside.

“You are supposed to be on the palace steps to greet Prince Donghyuck. He traveled five days just to meet you, you know.”

“Such a long time for something so disappointing.”

It’s clear Taeyong is distressed by your blatant disobedience. It’s not often a princess rejects a marriage offer, but you can’t help but be displeased. You’ve never wanted a conventional marriage and you hoped your father would never set you up for one.

“You’re lucky that Donghyuck accepted the offer. You know that most of father’s advisors wished to send you off like we did with Naeun. I’m grateful for Donghyuck so we could still have you in the palace.”

You know deep down that Taeyong means the best. He hates when his family is separated, and all of you were particularly saddened when Naeun was married off a year ago, leaving the palace to be with her husband. Because of the long travel and royal duties, you haven’t been able to see her since she left.

You understand why he wants you to get married so quickly. If you don’t marry Donghyuck now, your father’s advisors would convince him to marry you to another prince from a far kingdom.

You sigh. Although you don’t want to get married anytime soon, you’d rather stay in the palace than be forced to leave. “I understand, Taeyong. I’ll play my part if I need to. Is he at least good-looking?”

Taeyong laughs. “Yes, he’s quite handsome.”

“Excuse me, seja-jeonha.” Eunuch Kim bows deeply as he stands in front of you two.

“You can just call me Taeyong, Doyoung. We’ve been over this.”

You know, however, that no matter how many times Taeyong says it, Doyoung could never go against the honorifics.

“Gongju’s presence is requested at the front of the palace. Prince Donghyuck is arriving soon.”

You purse your lips. “I’ll be right there.”

He nods, bowing before stepping away. Taeyong envelopes you into a hug.

He whispers in your ear. “This is what’s best for you, forgive me.”

“You don’t need to be forgiven,” you mumble back, feeling slightly guilty that you’ve made your brother think so.

Once you part, you smile at Chaeyoung, who has been waiting patiently for you.

“Shall we?”

You two make your way to the front steps of the palace, where most of the palace is eagerly waiting to see the prince.

“Jeonha,” you greet your father, occupying the spot next to him. He smiles at you.

“You look lovely today. Excited to meet Donghyuck?”

You offer him your best fake smile. “Of course.”

Soldiers announce Donghyuck’s arrival before the gates of the palace are opened up for him. He comes in riding his horse, stopping in front of the palace steps and dismounting. He’s quick to bow and you’re a little taken out of breath.

Taeyong was right. He’s very handsome.

“Welcome, Prince Donghyuck,” your father shouts for the palace to hear. You can spot your other two brothers, Jeno and Seokmin, murmuring with each other as they eye Donghyuck. “We’re grateful that you have made the long trip to our kingdom.”

Donghyuck is listening to the king’s words yet he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.

“Yes, I appreciate that jeonha has so graciously allowed me into the palace.”

You stare at him the same way he stares at you, and your father grins happily.

“Eunuch Kim will show you to your temporary quarters.”

Jungwoo is pushed forward by Doyoung, who gives him a stern expression. Jungwoo was new to the palace and Doyoung often needed to take care of him since he was head eunuch.

Donghyuck is escorted off and your eyes follow his figure.

Your father chuckles. “You two will get along just fine.”

—

Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck hasn’t visited you since his arrival.

You’ve spent days waiting for him in your room, working on your studies and watching your door in case it swings open. You’re disappointed by his lack of interest in you, especially because you can still feel the warmth of his gaze from your first meeting.

You find out later from Jungwoo what he’s been up to.

“Wangja has been having trips with daegun, did he not tell you?”

Your eye twitches. “Donghyuck has been with Mark this entire time?”

“Yes, gongju. They have been eating together in the dining hall. I apologize for not telling you earlier.”

Jesus, was Donghyuck trying to marry Mark?

“It’s fine, Jungwoo. I’ll find them myself.”

He bows and you take off in search of your brother and fiancé. You ask Chaeyoung to stay behind and she takes to arranging your room in the meantime. You find the two figures near the river, and you narrow your eyes.

“Having fun?” You call out, and both of them turn around. Donghyuck bows at the sight of you.

Mark chuckles. “Yes, we were actually just speaking about you. Come join us.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll leave you two to be acquainted with each other. It’s not like I’m the one marrying him after all.”

Mark rolls his eyes at your tantrum but Donghyuck seems to be thoroughly alarmed at your distress.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

You, however, are highly offended and turn the other direction. You hear footsteps quickly follow you.

“I apologize, gongju. I did not mean to upset you.”

You sigh at the sound of Donghyuck’s voice. “Why have you not come to see me?” You question in a small voice.

You can hear the smile in his tone as he walks alongside you. “In all honestly, I have never been in the presence of such beauty before. I hope you can understand that I was a little intimidated.”

You cough, slightly embarrassed. “Where did you learn that from? I know Mark couldn’t have taught you that.”

He chuckles. His eyes are once again focused intently on you.

“I’m afraid no one has taught me anything. I was telling the truth, much to your dismay.”

You two walk on the palace grounds as the moonlight illuminates your figures. The servants nearby whisper at the sight of you two together.

“Well, regardless of your fear, I would enjoy if you would take my company. We are going to be married in case you’ve forgotten.”

He grins at the clip in your tone. “I remember quite well. I would love to have dinner with you tomorrow if you desire my company so badly.”

You ignore the smirk playing at his lips.

“Tomorrow shall be acceptable. I hope you will be able to step up in the future, Donghyuck, as I am not content with marrying a man who doesn’t speak to me.”

He laughs. “I apologize for disappointing you.”

You turn to face him as you stop in front of your quarters. His eyes are locked with yours, and he seems intent on staring at you until you grow more and more bashful. You think he’s about to lean in until-

“Ah, there are the two lovebirds!”

You huff at the disruption. Seokmin slides next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Has my sister been living up to your expectations, Prince Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck smiles and you can tell he’s a little upset by Seokmin’s arrival. His heavy gaze is still focused on you.

“She’s been exceeding every possible expectation if I’m being truly honest,” he murmurs.

“Well, that’s the first time I’ve heard someone say that.”

You elbow your brother’s side. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Nowhere else to be but with my lovely sister and her fiancé!”

You roll your eyes and shove his arm off of you. You step forward to open the doors of your personal area in the palace.

“Well, I’m going to bed.” You turn around once again to face Donghyuck. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He smiles. “I’ll count the minutes. Sweet dreams, gongju.”

You enter your quarters in time to hear Seokmin say, “Smooth talker, aren’t you?”

You shake your head and smile, closing the doors behind you. You chew on your bottom lip and laugh. Who knew a prince would turn your insides into mush?

You greet the guards awaiting by your bedroom door and settle inside. Chaeyoung has made you your nightly tea, something you drink each night to help you sleep. You often had sporadic nightmares about your mother’s death and it was hard to fall into slumber most days.

As you raise the cup to your lips, the smell wafts through your nose.

It’s the same smell from when your mother was poisoned.

“Guards! Guards!” You call frantically, and they burst into your room, eyes scanning for any intruders.

You drop the cup of tea, watching as it shatters all over your floor. “Gongju!” One of the guards yells, rushing over to you and pulling you away from the scene.

It all happens frantically then — your father and brothers are all brought over when they hear that you’ve almost been poisoned. Jeno holds you as your father commands all of the guards to find the perpetrator.

The only thing you’re able to envision is your mother’s body lying on the floor, completely lifeless before your eyes.

—

“It wasn’t her!”

“How can you be so sure? She’s your closest servant and the only one who would have access to your room during those ungodly hours!”

“It’s not Chaeyoung!”

“Enough!” Your father commands, his voice booming throughout the throne room. You scoff and turn away from Taeyong.

He’s convinced that Chaeyoung was the one who put the poison in your drink, but you would never believe that she would bring harm into your life. You trusted her with every fiber in your being.

The rest of your brothers are oddly silent, and you presume that they agree with Taeyong. Your father is stricken by grief at the idea of losing one of his daughters like he lost his wife. His judgment is clouded, much like it was seventeen years ago.

“Please jeonha,” you beg him. All five of you are facing the throne and you almost sink to your knees. “Please do not allow this person to get away again.”

Your father glances at you solemnly.

“It has to be him,” Jeno speaks up. All of your eyes dart over to him. He stands proudly, eyes locked on your father. “Lee Donghyuck just arrived and our sister was almost poisoned. This cannot be a coincidence.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “It’s not him! I’ve been spending the past few days getting to know him.”

“He’s spent the past few days deceiving you,” Seokmin hisses at his younger brother. “I agree with Jeno. I was just outside of gongju’s quarters with him when she almost consumed the poison. It is too suspicious for us to not investigate, jeonha.”

“He wouldn’t,” you frown, coming to Donghyuck’s defense. You had only known him for a matter of days but you knew, deep down, that he would never try to maliciously hurt you.

“You trust too easily,” Jeno scolds. He turns his attention back to the man sitting on the throne. “I think we should launch a full investigation on both Lee Donghyuck and Park Chaeyoung.”

“It’s not them!” Your exclaim in horror, trying your best to undo your brothers’ words. “Please, jeonha! Please don’t convict the wrong murderer!”

You try your best to plead with your father, but he’s made up his mind.

“Jeno and Seokmin, I want you to conduct the investigation immediately. Find out who did it.”

You drop to your knees, sobbing in frustration at your father’s ignorance.

—

It’s late at night when you sneak into the palace prison.

You’ve managed to climb out of your window, hidden beneath one of your dark ensembles. Mark has been helping you unlike the rest of your family, distracting the guards long enough for you to enter the prison grounds.

You scramble against the cell door when you catch sight of Chaeyoung. She looks like she’s in incredibly poor shape — her face is completely drained of color and her body is limp against the wall.

“Chaeyoung!” You whisper, awaking her from her sleep. Her eyes widen at the sight of you, rapidly getting up and crawling to the door.

“Gongju, I did not do it, I swear-“

“I know you didn’t, Chaeyoung,” you assure her. She relaxes at your words. “I’m going to find out who did. Can you tell me what happened when you brought the tea into my room?”

“I just did my normal routine,” she explains breathily. “I brought the tea to your room, left a cup out for you, and went back to my own quarters. It’s the same thing I do every night. I didn’t notice anyone unusual when I left.”

“And the guards? What about them?”

“They were in their usual positions, standing beside the door and waiting for you to return from your walk with Donghyuck. That’s all I can remember, I swear.”

You nod. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m going to get you out of here. Just tell Jeno and Seokmin exactly what you told me.”

You hear a commotion outside and your body stiffens. You can hear Mark’s voice trying to distract the guards and you quickly stand.

“I’ll come back to see you again, okay? Don’t worry.”

Just as you’re about to exit the prison, you hear another voice calling out to you.

“Not even going to acknowledge your loving fiancé?”

You pause. Mark is slowly making progress outside, choosing his method of distraction as telling the guards a story about how he once ran straight into a wall.

When you turn, you see Donghyuck in his own cell, knees bent to his chest as he leans against the cold wall. You feel guilty that he’s put in this place but you’re reminded of what your brothers said — you barely know this man. For all you knew, his true intentions coming here were never to marry you.

“Did you?”

There’s a pause. He laughs. “Do you think I did?”

“I’m not in the mood to decipher your encrypted messages.”

“Gongju, when I confessed to you that night, I truly meant it. I’ve never been with a woman before and seeing such a perfect one become my fiancé took me by surprise. I thought we had a mutual understanding of one another.”

“We barely know each other,” you reply under your breath.

“But you felt it, didn’t you? You felt that connection between us. The astronomers say that when the timing is right and the stars align, soulmates find each other.”

You’ve heard the tale before. Your mother used to tell it to you when you were younger. Astronomers used to tell her that when there was a falling star, soulmates would align for each other. Your mother always liked to say the story of how you were born under a fallen star, your soulmate being brought to you by the universe. You believed her stories when you were younger but as you grew up without a mother and never feeling her warmth again, you could no longer believe in such tales.

“Do you think that’s what we are? Soulmates?”

He stares at you again, his eyes acting like dark hooks in your soul. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before the guards burst in through the door, and you can distinctly hear Mark shouting from a distance.

“I’m sorry, gongju, but you must be escorted back to your quarters. You are not allowed to see the prisoners.”

You glance at Donghyuck, who for the first time, isn’t looking at you. He’s merely staring at the floor.

“Very well then. Please escort me.”

As you trek back to your room, you question your head guard, Johnny. “Did you see anyone enter my room that night?” He immediately shakes his head.

“No one unusual, gongju. It was a very normal night, but I do not believe that Chaeyoung would bring something so vile into your place of comfort. I hope I’m allowed to speak on these matters.”

“You’re more than allowed, Johnny,” you guarantee him. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Of course.”

Before Johnny brings you inside, you glance up at the night sky. There are two stars huddled together, perfectly placed in the darkness.

Was Donghyuck your soulmate?

—

It’s only a day later when Moon Taeil arrives on palace grounds in search of his imprisoned brother. He’s clearly irate, dismounting from his horse and grabbing the nearest guard.

“Show me where he is!”

“Seja-jeonha!” You cry out, rushing over to him and pulling the guards away from him. He turns his attention to you.

“Is this how you treat my brother after I sent him to marry you? Excuse my manners, gongju, but I did not bring Donghyuck here for him to be put to death.”

“He won’t be! Please, seja-jeonha, let’s speak privately,” you plead. He finally comes to his senses, gazing around to see servants and eunuchs watching the scene unfold. He straightens his outfit and nods.

“Fine. Show me the way.”

You accompany Taeil to a nearby building, away from the prying eyes of the palace. You know you don’t have much time to speak before your father finds out of his presence and instructs a formal meeting in the throne room.

“My brothers suspected Donghyuck because of poor timing but I know he has not committed any crime. I need you to help me prove that he’s innocent.”

Taeil scoffs at your request. “What kind of game are you running around this kingdom?”

“Please, seja-jeonha. I don’t want Donghyuck to be convicted either.”

“Because you’re soulmates?”

You freeze. “How do you know that?”

“You two were born a month apart and on each of your birthdays, a fallen star was spotted in the sky. Our astronomers noticed it when they first came to visit your palace.”

“Wait, Yuta was your astronomer?”

Taeil chuckles. “Yes, he was. His father used to document star patterns and when Yuta visited and learned of your birth date, he informed Donghyuck immediately.” Taeil smiles at the thought of his younger brother. “Why do you think we arranged a marriage for you two so quickly?”

Your head is spinning. Donghyuck has known this entire time that you two were soulmates, and that’s the reason Taeil pushed the marriage between you two. The gravity of the situation dawns on you, especially now that your soulmate rests behind the bars of the palace prison.

You grab Taeil by the shoulders. “Tell jeonha immediately. He believes in this — he believes he and my mother were soulmates. He will spare Donghyuck if you tell him.”

The doors to the building swing open and Eunuch Kim takes a deep bow in recognition. “I apologize for interrupting, seja-jeonha, but jeonha is requesting your presence.”

Taeil gives you another look before following Doyoung back outside. It isn’t long until Mark finds you, his arms embracing you into a hug when he sees your stricken expression.

“What is it? What happened? Is Taeil threatening a war?”

You shake your head and bury yourself into his shoulder. He holds you steady.

“Donghyuck is my soulmate.”

You think Mark would be deep in thought or surprised by what you revealed, but he simply giggles.

“He mentioned that.”

You pull away and frown. “What are you talking about?”

“When we were by the river, he said you were his soulmate and that he was destined to be with you. I thought he was just trying to impress me since I’m your brother. Now that I think about it, maybe it wasn’t a joke,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head.

You almost see red. You tackle Mark to the ground and he screeches. Some of the servants file in, attracted by the noise.

“You dumbass! You let me throw my soulmate in jail!”

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know!” Mark shouts, shielding his face as you slam your palms down on his skin.

Jungwoo rushes in, pushing the servants away and clambering over to the two of you.

“Gongju, daegun! Please don’t fight!”

You huff, separating from your brother and standing up. You straighten your chima and stare down at him with fire in your eyes.

One of your ladies ends up pulling you away while Jungwoo helps Mark off of the floor.

Seojeong, who has been your main attending lady since the accusation against Chaeyoung, looks at you worriedly as you storm off. She follows behind you along with the rest of your attending ladies.

“Gongju, are you alright?”

“I need you to do something for me, Seojeong,” you murmur as the palace prison comes into view. There are still ten guards blocking the entrance and you need to talk to Donghyuck before your father makes a decision about his fate. You fear that your father will feel guilty for imprisoning Donghyuck and he’ll send him back with Taeil.

“I’ll do anything,” she promises.

You turn her body so that she’s staring directly at Johnny. “Do you see him?” When she nods, you proceed with your plan. “I need you to go up to him and tell him that jeonha instructs for all of the guards to be in the throne room.”

She stutters at your request. “But jeonha never said-“

“I know jeonha never said. Tell Johnny anyways.”

You give her a little push forwards, ignoring the timid look on her face. You quickly dismiss the rest of your ladies and hide behind a nearby corner, peeking out to see Seojeong approach Johnny anxiously. You hear her small voice fill the air.

“J-Jeonha requests for t-the guards to be in the throne r-room,” she says, eyes glancing down at her feet.

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “Our orders are to stay here until a verdict is made.”

“Um,” she mumbles, trying to think of what to say next.

“Come on, Seojeong,” you hiss under your breath. You can see her gathering enough courage before she speaks, eyes ablaze.

“Don’t you understand? You have new orders! Hurry before jeonha gets angry at your blatant disrespect!”

That gets Johnny’s attention. He grabs his right-hand man, Jaehyun, and all of the guards scramble frantically towards the throne room. You smile at Seojeong’s work and once all of the guards have left, she gives you the okay.

You rush over and hold her hand. “You’re a lifesaver, Seojeong.” She beams at your compliment. “Keep an eye out for me, okay?”

She nods and you enter the prison building, descending down the concrete steps. You gasp when you see Donghyuck in his cell, body slumped over against the wall.

You fall to your knees and struggle to open the door. He wakes when he hears the commotion. His mouth slowly turns upwards when he sees you. You finally manage to throw the door open, swinging it to the side as you crawl over to him. You cup his face in your hands and he laughs.

“Excited to see me?”

You don’t waste a single second, pressing your lips to his. His hands fly down to your waist, pulling you in closer. He groans when you straddle his hips.

He pulls away, a little breathless. “Is she asleep?”

“Who?”

“Chaeyoung,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers through your hair. “Is she asleep?”

“I-I don’t know. I didn’t check on her.”

He calls out Chaeyoung’s name and when he gets nothing but silence, he pushes your body onto the floor. You gasp when he attaches his mouth on your neck, licking and sucking at the flesh.

“D-Donghyuck, we shouldn’t. We’re not married yet-“

“We’re soulmates,” he whispers against your skin. “Isn’t that enough?”

You moan when he reaches underneath your clothing to run a finger over your slit. You feel dirty on this prison floor, letting Donghyuck take you the way he wants. He brings his lips to yours again and you cry out when his tongue enters your mouth. He frantically undresses you and you’re embarrassed when he strips you down until you’re in your sokgot.

“Don’t be shy,” he speaks softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

You whimper when he fully rids you of your clothing. He sits up to undress himself and your mouth waters as he exposes himself to you. He discards the rest, throwing it to the side and leaning back down to kiss you. His hand cups your breast and your body twitches when he flicks his finger over your nipple.

“Such a good girl,” he praises you.

You gasp when his cock prods at your entrance. Your eyes dart down and they widen at the sight of him. He’s massive, and you’re unsure if he’s going to fit inside of you.

“Wangja, um, I don’t think-“

He snickers at your reaction. “Don’t think you can take it, baby? Don’t think you can take my big cock?”

You groan. “N-No, I can take it.”

“Good girl,” he smiles. He grabs his base and runs his tip over your folds. You moan at the feeling.

Both of your eyes widen when you hear voices outside, and Donghyuck pauses.

“Seojeong, I’m not sure what you mistake us for, but we do not enjoy being treated as fools.”

“Fuck, baby, we have to be quick. Can’t have anyone seeing their gongju acting like a whore,” he hisses.

You whine. “Hurry, Donghyuck.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” he assures before pushing his cock inside of your weeping pussy. You cry out at the burn, tears brimming at your eyelids.

He releases a long groan when he bottoms out and you close your eyes, trying to adjust to his length. You can faintly hear Seojeong’s voice.

“I thought jeonha needed you! I didn’t know, Johnny, really-“

“You good, baby?” Donghyuck speaks lowly to you, brushing stray hairs away from your face so he can properly look at you. When you don’t respond, he rubs your hip gently. “Baby, tell me how you’re feeling.”

Your eyes flutter open when the pain begins to subside. “Good, good,” you blubber incoherently. You reach out for him and he intertwines your hands. “Hurry.”

He starts thrusting into you and you whimper. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

“So dirty,” he hums. “What would the palace think of their graceful gongju getting railed in the filthy prison cells? Can’t wait until you have our baby, then everyone’s going to know how much you like to get fucked.”

“Want to show them,” you murmur, eyes rolling back as his thick cock abuses your small pussy. “Want to tell them I’m your whore.”

“Yeah? You’re just my filthy whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all yours, wangja.”

You feel the pleasure building inside of your tummy, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he pounds into you. You swear he’s going to split you in half.

Seojeong is doing her best to distract Johnny outside.

“I need to tell you a story!”

Johnny is far from amused. “I have to check on the prisoners, Miss Seojeong-“

“It’s about the princess!”

Jaehyun sighs. “Seojeong, we don’t have time for a story-“

“But listen!” She exclaims, the gears in her brain turning. There’s a long beat of silence. “Um-“

Johnny rolls his eyes, entering the prison building and moving down the steps. He briefly pauses when he hears your moan.

“Wangja, please, please, please!”

Jaehyun thinks that you’re in danger and runs past Johnny, stopping in his tracks when he sees you and Donghyuck. The prison cell door is wide open, fully exposing the both of your figures as Donghyuck plows into you. Jaehyun immediately diverts his eyes when he catches a glimpse of your breasts.

He hurriedly pushes the men away from the sight, although none of them are able to get a peek.

“Move back! Move back!” Jaehyun orders. The guards scramble on the steps as Jaehyun forcefully moves them.

You wail when your orgasm hits, stars exploding in your vision. Donghyuck soon empties inside of you, painting your walls with his cum.

You’re both left panting and he kisses you gently, hand cupping the side of your face.

“Got to explain to your guards what you were doing.”

You laugh. “I was getting fucked. What is there to explain?”

He growls. “Dirty mouth on you, gongju.”

“Only for my wangja.”

—

Jaehyun can’t look at you in the eye when you exit the prison doors. Johnny has an idea of what happened down there, but he doesn’t want to even picture the idea of you doing such a lewd act.

They both escort you back to your dwelling after Johnny gives you a light scolding for breaking the rules again. When you arrive at your bedroom doors, you turn around and offer them a small smile.

“Sorry.”

No other words need to be said, and the redness of Jaehyun’s ears say enough.

Johnny coughs. “Jeonha spoke with Taeil earlier today and Donghyuck will be released tomorrow. I thought you would like to know.”

You cough. “Um yes, that’s good to know. Thank you, Johnny.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the doors, still feeling embarrassed that your guards caught you in such an intimate position. You turn around, frowning when you see that you have company.

“Seokmin? What are you doing here so late?”

Your brother smiles at you, sitting down at the small table near your bed and gesturing for you to join him.

“I thought we could have a talk.”

You shrug, wincing as you sit across from him. Your legs still feel like jelly after Donghyuck gave you a good fucking.

Seokmin pours a cup of tea for you and puts it in front of you. He gives you that friendly grin of his.

“What have you been up to all day? I heard you almost killed Mark.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s being dramatic. I barely scratched him.”

He chuckles at your dismissive nature. He eyes the cup in front of you and gives it a small push.

“Drink up. I know you like to have tea before bed.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking the cup in your hands.

Seokmin starts speaking about how Jeno lost in combat today and you hum, raising the tea to your lips. You pause when you smell it.

The poison — you could smell it from miles away.

You pretend to drink while you watch your brother. There’s no way it’s Seokmin, your loving and devoted brother who used to play hide and seek with you when you were feeling upset. The brother who protected you when the palace was invaded by rebels. The brother who cared for you so deeply.

But you didn’t have time to think. Only time to act.

You slam the cup down and call out for Johnny. Seokmin lunges across the table at you and you release a bloodcurdling scream.

Johnny and Jaehyun storm inside and Johnny pushes Seokmin off of you. Jaehyun pulls you aside, checking for any bruises on your body.

“Stupid bitch! Why can’t you just drink your fucking tea-“

“Daegun, daegun!” Johnny bellows, trying to get a hold of your brother.

You’re in a state of shock, attempting to register the sight before you. Your brother just tried to poison you.

Jaehyun gets you on your feet and pulls you away from the scene. Soon enough, the palace hears Seokmin’s screams and Taeyong is the first to rush to your aid.

“What happened? Is that Seokmin?”

“Daegun tried to poison gongju,” Jaehyun explains. You’re still rooted in place, staring at your quarters as multiple guards flood inside.

“What?”

Mark is the second to arrive but before he can ask what’s wrong, Seokmin is dragged out of the building, screaming and thrashing under Johnny’s hold.

“You’re traitors! All of you!”

You watch as your brother is taken away into the same prison where your fiancé sleeps soundly.

—

You swear you can hear crickets chirping. You and your siblings have been called into your father’s bedroom after Seokmin’s arrest. The room is eerily silent for no one knows exactly what to say.

Taeyong clears his throat. He’s been crying, and you know this hurts him more than you can imagine.

“Why? Why would he try to hurt his sister?”

Your father sighs. He’s been pacing back and forth, struggling at what to say. You need an explanation from him as you cannot accept that Seokmin grew to hate you overnight. It wasn’t in his nature to ever accept that form of hatred.

“Jeonha, please,” Mark begs, on the verge of tears. “Why has he done this?”

“We need an explanation,” Jeno adds.

Your father finally glances at all of you, troubled by the grief in your expressions. You look exactly as you did when your mother passed.

“Seokmin is not your mother’s child,” he explains. All four of your heads dart up. “He- he was conceived through a concubine, but your mother was gracious enough to raise him as her own. We’ve accepted it since then. Seokmin was raised no differently than the rest of you, and we loved him just the same.”

You blink, rubbing at your temples to try and process this information.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, but the damage is done. “I never wanted to tell him because I feared this would happen, but I guess he found out somehow.”

Something clicks in your memory.

“Where is his mother?”

He exhales, running a hand down his face exasperatedly. “She was a servant here in the palace, but she left shortly after your mother passed away. She didn’t want anything to do with raising Seokmin.”

Your mind starts putting the pieces together. “She was a servant — a servant who had access to mother’s residence?”

Taeyong’s eyes move to you, catching what you’re implying. You step forward and look at your father dead in the eye.

“Don’t you see, jeonha? She was the one who poisoned mother. She was the one who had access to her room, the one who brought her tea every night. She’s the reason why Seokmin tried to hurt me, she must’ve brainwashed him into believing that we no longer care for him.”

Your father stares at you, taking in all of the information you’re telling him.

“But Seokmin knows,” Jeno interrupts. “He knows we care for him. I refuse to believe this! He was probably put up to it by that nasty Lee Donghyuck!”

“Hey!” You swivel around, growling at your brother. “Do not speak that way about him.”

Jeno scoffs. “What? Have you fallen for him?”

“They’re soulmates,” your father explains.

“Come on. Tell me you don’t believe in that!”

“Lee Jeno, I swear-“

Mark quickly holds you back before you charge at your brother.

“Listen,” your father’s voice booms throughout the room. You all freeze. “I know you are all upset by what Seokmin has done, but we are going to do our best to reverse whatever his birth mother has done to him. I’ll have the guards and soldiers search for her so we can bring your mother justice. In the meantime, I want you all to remember that we are a family. You grew up together and only we know the faults of our family.”

You eye Jeno and he narrows his gaze at you.

“You all are siblings, blood related or not. Do you understand?”

“Yes, jeonha.”

—

Seokmin is released from his confines a week later.

He cries when he sees you, enveloping you into his arms and sobbing into your shoulder. He apologizes profusely for his actions, stating that he would never try to bring harm to you again.

For five days, you all spend time together as siblings in an effort to turn Seokmin back into his normal self. You hold no grudges against your brother, loving him with all of your heart despite his brief wrongdoings.

Seokmin’s birth mother is arrested and taken into the palace, where she awaits your father’s verdict. You have a feeling about what future lies before her, but you would rather not speak of it out loud.

Donghyuck is released with Chaeyoung shortly after the incident. You embrace him fully when he returns and Chaeyoung becomes your main attending lady again.

You and Donghyuck are arranged to be married tomorrow. Taeil is still a little hesitant on having his brother live in a place that treated him so cruelly, but Donghyuck finds a way to convince him that he’s safe. Taeyong says that Taeil’s only fine with it because he sees the way Donghyuck dotes on you. He’s attending the wedding tomorrow before he has to return back to his own kingdom.

Donghyuck is supposed to separate from you until the day of the wedding, but he’s been sneaking into your room every night, pounding you into the pillow until you cry for mercy.

It was more difficult for him to sneak out tonight as your brothers wanted to officially welcome him into the family with a special party. He managed to get away when Jeno stands on the table, trying to dance but failing miserably.

He currently has your legs bent to your chest, thrusting deep into your weeping pussy.

“Such a tight pussy,” he hisses down at you, wiping the tears falling down your face. “Made for my fat cock, aren’t you?”

You respond incoherently, drunk on the feeling of him. He reaches down to rub at your clit and you sob louder, muscles aching.

“Good thing we’re getting married tomorrow, baby. Would be too suspicious if you got pregnant so fast, wouldn’t it be?” He questions, smirking at your loss for words. “Is my gongju fucked dumb? Can’t remember how to talk, baby?”

“F-Feels so g-good,” you blubber. “You feel s-so good i-inside me.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, plowing into your pussy faster. “Baby likes when my cock stretches her small pussy? I wonder how your brothers would feel about me if they knew I dump my cum into their sister every single night. Jeno would probably hate me even more.”

“G-gonna cum, gonna cum!” You screech, hands flailing. He pins your arms down and snarls.

“Cum all over my cock. Show me how much you want your wangja.”

You cream his cock and your back arches in ecstasy, moaning loudly at the pleasure overtaking your body. Donghyuck shoots his cum inside your womb, hissing as he empties himself.

He collapses next to you and you whimper when his cock leaves your hole. He brings you into his arms and kisses the top of your head.

“Can’t wait to be married to you.”

You laugh, your chest still rising from your heavy breathing. “If you had only waited 24 hours, we would already be.”

He chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You bask in the silence as his cum starts to spill out of you.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Good.”

He attaches his mouth to yours and you moan when his fingers part your folds. He lines himself up to your entrance once again.

“Let’s make sure.”

And so Donghyuck fucks you until the sun rises, marking the long awaited wedding day with your soulmate.

You thank the heavens for giving you your falling star.

#nct smut #nct scenarios #hyuck #haechan smut

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aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

Text

Irrational

Characters: Ganyu, Jean, Keqing, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,100

Warnings: Alcohol

Premise: Emotions aren’t always rational, a fact easy enough to ignore when one is happy or in love, or in any similar situation. However more negative aspects aren’t always as easy to ignore.

In which the reader’s s/o is jealous.

Author’s Note: This is our welcome for Jean! I have to admit she was really enjoyable to write. Especially in a prompt such as this, my guilty pleasure trope.

Not proofread because I’m tired will do so tomorrow.

Ganyu

Relationships were still something that often eluded Ganyu. Friendships, work dynamics, love, they all spun around in her head, and though she sometimes found her bearings, relationships still felt like walking on a tightrope high above a dark and churning sea.

These thoughts and feelings still lingered in her mind, even now when her relationship with you was rock solid she still worried. Ganyu was a mess of repressed emotions; isolated from most of humanity she still felt the need to be absolutely perfect near you, to never let her emotions get the best of her, to be the best partner one can be.

Which is why she hated those stupid love notes.

They’d started arriving about a year and a half into your relationship. At first you’d thought it was from her, but your look of happiness quickly turned to one of embarrassment and slight discomfort when she revealed she had no idea who was leaving little gifts and notes at your desk. Although you made a point to get rid of them as soon as you’d read the contents of the letter they still kept coming, and every day Ganyu saw one of those pink little envelopes on your desk she grew more and more irritated.

And yet Ganyu still didn’t want to tell you, for she was afraid that you would think she was suspecting you in some ways. You couldn’t control what was going on after all, why should she burden you with her fears, with the emotions that threatened to squeeze all the air out of her lungs and tear her thoughts to shreds. No, she wouldn’t burden you with this, she’d take care of it herself. You wouldn’t want to be bothered with her stupidity anyways, it’d only cause more problems.

“I really don’t understand who’s doing this.” You groaned, entering the office one morning to the sight of a rose on your desk, the telltale envelope attached to the stem with a red ribbon. Walking over to it, dragging your feet in a way that made Ganyu, who had been standing behind you, giggle you tore open the letter in one nonchalant movement.

“What does it say?” Ganyu kept her voice as soft as possible, trying desperately to ignore the emotions that were threatening to cut off her throat. How long was this going to go on?

“Oh listen to this,” you scoffed, turning towards Ganyu, a wry sort of smile plastered across your face, “my dear friend – as if whoever this creep is would ever be a friend of mine. I noticed recently that you’ve become quite close to the secretary of the Liyue Qixing. I would never question your decisions – oh of course not – but I find that work romances never last. Perhaps if we were to meet I could explain to you why, though I’m sure you already know the reasons yourself and would never dream in participating in such a thing. Still, I await you reply. Sincerely, your secret admirer.”

With a flourish you bowed, before promptly chucking the letter in the trash. “Well at least they seem finally to be catching on to the fact I’m disinterested. Honestly though, I don’t know what this person is thinking. I really ought to complain to the department, see if they can’t find out why this is happening.”

“I agree,” Ganyu couldn’t help but let disgust fill her voice, “this is harassment. You really ought to tell someone about it.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, before sighing. “I’d hate to be a pain though…”

“You aren’t!” Ganyu shook her head, indignant at the insinuation. “Protecting yourself isn’t being a pain. This isn’t merely distracting, it’s concerning. You deserve better.”

“Thank you Ganyu.” You smiled; glancing around to make sure no one was there you gave her a soft peck on the cheek. “You’re always looking out for me.”

“Of course I am!” Ganyu replied, her face burning slightly. “I love you.” She added softly.

“I love you too.” You smiled. Sitting down you glanced at the rose as if it were a weapon rather than a flower. “A pity they keep sending flowers, I hate to throw out the poor things.” Hesitating you took it in your hands, smiling sheepishly as you stuffed it into your desk drawer. Ganyu smiled back, attempted to ignore the small twinge of annoyance that rattled in her and whispered that she should burn the reminder of her suffering.

The two of you had worked later than usual that day, and it showed the next morning as you failed to show up at your usual spot. Although Ganyu might’ve normally waited for you, today she glanced around her before quickening her pace as she made her way towards the Qixing headquarters. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, and though she felt slightly bad about sneaking around behind your back she was also at her wits’ end, and if she wasn’t going to tell you then she was surely going to figure out once and for all what was going on.

The door had been left open by the last person who entered, and Ganyu wrinkled her nose at the irresponsibility of such a thing before walking inside herself. The office was mostly dark, and the contrast of your light being the only one visible throughout the hallway immediately put her on high alert.

Her suspicions were justified when she walked through the door. A man was standing at the edge of your desk. In one hand was a bouquet of flowers and in the other was an all too familiar note. Although Ganyu might’ve normally been merely frightened and appalled she now found herself more angry than anything else, and her words were spat out with a vehemence she hadn’t entirely known she’d possessed.

“What in Teyvat do you think you’re doing here?” She asked, voice shaking slightly. The man jolted and turned around, relazing when he saw who it was. That was a mistake.

“Ah it’s the secretary,” His smile was mocking and the way he bobbed his head made it clear he thought nothing of the half-adeptus in front of him. “I was wondering who would catch me eventually. Didn’t expect it to be the Tianquan’s personal servant.”

“Answer my question.” Ganyu spoke once more, completely unfazed by the insults of a man who was so utterly loathsome. “What are you doing here.”

“You’re rather dull aren’t you,” the man’s tone was a dismissive as before, “I didn’t realize this needed any explanation. I think it’s very clear that I’m here to deliver something to this office’s owner.”

“Do you even know their name?” If Ganyu hadn’t been so angered perhaps she would’ve found the man’s expression hilarious. He seemed to be completely malfunctioning.

“Of course I know it!” He finally let out. “It’s written on the plaque outside the door if you’ve forgotten. But I doubt you would. You seem awfully close to them recently.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh but it is.” The man’s smile was utterly enraging. “They’re very important to me after all.”

“They aren’t even aware of your existence.” Ganyu spat. Approaching closer she drew herself up as tall as she could. “They’d never have anything to do with someone as worthless and creepy as you.”

“What exactly am I doing that’s creepy?” The man backed away slightly, slight panic mixing with defensiveness. “I’m only showing them how much I care for them! What’s wrong with that? You’re just jealous aren’t you. You want them for yourself, don’t you. Well you can’t have them, because they’re mine.”

“They don’t belong to anyone.” Ganyu replied, voice made soft and hoarse from the anger burning in her chest and pounding in her ears. “And if you can’t see that then you’re even worse a person than I thought you could be. You may think them something to possess, and you worthy to possess them; but in reality you’re lower than dirt and they owe you nothing, not even the air you breathe. You should leave now. You may have no respect for privacy, or rank, or profession. But the Liyue Qixing are nowhere close to incompetent. And if you value a life not spend in total societal isolation or, Morax forbid, behind bars, I suggest you never return.”

“You really ought to listen to her.” Your voice was music to Ganyu’s ears after what had just passed. Turning her head slightly she saw you leaning against the door, a grim smile painted across your face. “She’s the person in this office least likely to simple chuck you out the window.”

Gulping slightly the man finally moved. Shooting one last glare at both you and Ganyu he scuttled out into the hallway. Only when she heard the front door close did Ganyu breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” She said, flushed with embarrassment and the lingering anger she felt. “I shouldn’t’ve threatened them, or lost my temper like that.”

“You were utterly in your right.” You smiled. “In fact you were quite gallant if I do say so myself!”

“I lost control of myself,” Ganyu shook her head, “I wasn’t thinking about doing the right thing, or protecting you. I wasn’t thinking of anything. I was only angry. Angry and… well I don’t know.”

“Jealous?” You suggested. Flushing, Ganyu glanced at the ground.

“Maybe.” She whispered.

The half-adeptus glanced up in surprise as you wrapped you arms around her. After a while she returned the gesture, and for a while there was simply silence as you two basked in each other’s presence.

“You shouldn’t feel bad about being jealous.” You spoke after a while. “Every feels jealous sometimes, it’s completely normal. And in this case it was positively valiant! Even if you weren’t thinking of me, you still stood up for me. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“I lost my temper.” Ganyu was stubborn in her conviction that what she’d done was wrong. Lessons that she’d taught herself about displaying her emotions passed through her thoughts. “It’s not good to be jealous. I’ll only end up pushing you away if I keep losing myself to my emotions.”

“Being jealous is only a problem when it spirals out of control,” you replied, “being offended at the way someone speaks about your partner, or disliking the fact your partner is getting sent weird letters every day is something that any normal person would be jealous about. Even if the person turned out to be such a lout like that one.”

“You aren’t angry?” Ganyu ventured, still skeptical. You drew away slightly so she could see your face. You were smiling brightly.

“Not a bit.”

“Good.” Ganyu smiled back.

You nodded your head. Apparently satisfied you moved to grab the stuff you’d left in the doorway. Still somewhat unsure Ganyu walked over to you.

“Um, can I ask something?”

“Sure!” You replied. “Anything.”

“Um… can you get rid of the rose in your desk?”

You paused for a moment before giggling. Walking over to your desk you took out the offending flower, opening the window and throwing it out onto the lawn.

“There we go.” You turned around. “I’m sorry if that was making you uncomfortable. Tell me next time you’re feeling jealous, alright?”

“Okay.” Ganyu whispered.

Relationships were confusing. So many invisible lines that one might trip over. Still Ganyu would gladly learn where the lines were in regards to you. For she loved you. So very much.

Jean

Jean didn’t like work parties at the best of times, but now it was all she could do not to scream as she watched the young knight next to you begin to break into verse, proclaiming to all the – hopefully blacked out – knights around you that he loved only you.

Normally Jean was pretty dismissive of the antics of her coworkers. Being the Acting Grand Master she saw it as her duty never to be too punishing, always aware not only of the power she held in such a position, but also of the respect that she had garnered, that she had worked tirelessly for. The Knights of Favonius, from the highest ranked captain to the lowest foot soldier, was comprised up of well meaning, enthusiastic workers. Despite all their faults she cared deeply about them all, and could often sidesteps their antics as the result of their camaraderie.

This time however felt different. Even if Jean knew full well that the knight probably meant nothing serious by it, knew that he was simply drunk and having a good time, she still couldn’t help the coil of emotions that wound taught into her stomach. Scowling slightly into her drink she cursed herself. Maybe she was the tipsy one, for only a fool would be jealous in a situation like this.

“Feeling already Grand Master?” Kaeya’s voice was as cheerful and as unassuming as usual, not at all revealing the fact that he should’ve been utterly plastered. Now he simply sat down across from his irritated coworker, taking another swig before glancing over towards what was capturing Jean’s attention.

“What do you want Kaeya?” Jean asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from its obvious ending. Kaeya was currently the only member of the knights who knew of the relationship between the two of you, and though he took that honor very seriously he was also quick to tease, something made only worse by his current state.

“Ah I see what’s going on.” Kaeya smirked, refusing to cooperate. “What’s going on here? A lover’s quarrel perhaps. No. Our dear adventurer seems hardly happy with the situation. What could it be then?” He let out a sudden gasp. “Is our dear knight jealous?”

“Neither they nor I are ‘our dear’ anything.” Jean pointed out, rolling her eyes. “And I’m hardly jealous. Only pitying the poor soul for the embarrassment he’s going to feel tomorrow if he or anyone in his regiment remembers this.”

“Ahh, I see.” Kaeya replied, tone of voice making it plenty obvious that he didn’t believe Jean one bit. Shooting him a dirty look Jean sighed, once more raising the beer she was drinking to her lips. She didn’t much like beer really, but it was sort of the signature drink of Mondstadt – unless you were rich enough to afford Dandelion Wine on the regular, which few were – and Jean felt the compulsion to blend in with those around her in taste and in manner. Although in this case it was becoming difficult to do so.

Was she jealous? Although Jean would like to say surely not she wasn’t so naïve or so optimistic. She knew very well that she was jealous, but there really was no reason to be so. It felt somewhat below her, to be so blatantly upset by this pseudo-flirtation. Wasn’t she more aware, more mature than that? The answer became very clear when the knight stopped his verbal rambling and attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to grab your hand.

“Sir Heinrich.” Jean’s voice had taken on the authority that she rarely liked to use in casual company. “Might I ask you to control yourself in the presence of our guest.”

Heinrich, apparently not so drunk as to be unable to read the now somewhat tense room, immediately and somewhat dramatically, snapped into attention. “G-Grand Master Jean! Yes, of course! I’m so sorry.” Bowing quickly he promptly burst into tears and, proclaiming that he’d betrayed his Grand Master, was dragged outside by some friends, hopefully to sleep off his inebriation.

The tone of the party quickly returned to its jovial origins, anyone still in attendance at 3:00 was either Jean, you, Kaeya, or too drunk to care about what had just happened. Jean, however, was somewhat surprised, and extremely embarrassed, by her sudden outburst. Sinking down on the stool next to you she put her head in her hands.

“I’m going to have to apologize for that tomorrow.” She sighed. Glancing over towards you she reached out her hand, which you quickly took, palm sliding gently into hers. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! I don’t mind a bit of flattery, but that was becoming… a bit much.” You let out a giggle, the glass next to you an indicator that you were probably a bit tipsy yourself. “Besides, you’re very cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” Jean scoffed, blushing slightly. “You and Kaeya I swear, incorrigible.”

“How am I not surprised he picked up on it too,” you laughed, smiling fondly. “I don’t mind it, at least not in cases like this. By all means, be as jealous as you want.”

“I’m not jealous.” Jean insisted, shaking her head violently.

Laughing you leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the head, ignoring the scandalized gasps from the remaining crowd.

“Whatever you say, my dear knight in shining armor.”

Jean let out a nervous giggle. What was she going to do with you, now that she loved you so much.

Keqing

Keqing wanted to make it very clear that she never became jealous. Absolutely not, under no circumstances.

She had more respect for herself after all, more respect for you. It was below your relationship to be worried over something such as jealousy, and Keqing for her part resolved never to lower herself to such a level, even if you were somewhat more dismissive of the idea than she was.

“Jealousy is an emotion,” you explained when she asked you why you were so cavalier in regards to the notion, “and since I know both you and I are hardly likely to spin out of control if it were to happen, I don’t really find the idea repulsive.”

“You’re very strange.” Had been all Keqing could respond, not wanting to argue with you about it. It would never happen anyhow. No point in fighting about it.

Now Keqing was somewhat regretting that statement as she watched the woman next to you chatter away while she stood, still as a rock, trying desperately to bite back the retorts that were running through her mind at everything this random lady was telling you.

“It really is such a pleasure to see you again!” You smiled at the woman, some friend of yours and, from what Keqing gathered, a long forgotten one at that. “It’s really been too long.”

“I agree!” The woman replied eagerly, her smile so syrupy that Keqing was surprised it wasn’t melting in the sun. “We really must go out for coffee and catch up.”

“Absolutely!” You nodded, ignoring the stare that Keqing was now focusing on you. “Maybe sometime in the summer?”

“Sounds like a plan! Now excuse me, I have to go.” The woman smiled. Nodding towards Keqing, evidently she wasn’t completely oblivious, she waved before walking away. Waving back you turned around towards your partner, a smile on your face.

“Thanks for stopping for me, I realize that took a little while.”

“It was nothing.” Keqing’s voice was sharp and flat, and she ignored your puzzled look as she turned back towards the Qixing headquarters, determined to forget this entire conversation, and the dark emotions it had managed to dredge up.

The rest of the day was somewhat quiet, though Keqing could tell you wanted to talk about your old friend. She knew that she was being exceedingly rude by ignoring your cues, but she couldn’t help it. The whole situation made her uncomfortable, and she didn’t know how to process that. If she admitted it you’d just chock it up to jealousy and not only would she feel somewhat invalidated, but she’d have to deal with the knowledge that all her boasting had been for nothing. Or, to be more explicit, that she’d been wrong.

“Want to have dinner together?” Keqing glanced at the clock on her desk. The day had long ended, and now it was just the two of you.

“Gladly.” She smiled at you, getting up from her chair. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

“No worries!” You waved your hand. “I wanted to spend some time with you anyways.” Unlike you did earlier today? Keqing bit the retort back. It would be cruel to say that, and somewhat revealing. Besides she really did want to walk home with you, and wouldn’t taint the experience with her own emotional turmoil.

The walk was a lovely one, for the day had been somewhat hot and now a cool breeze brought in by the sea blew lazily. You were discussing one of the transactions you’d had to check, when Keqing spied your friend up ahead. Before she could change your course the lady noticed the two of you however. Calling your name she waved her hand wildly. Distracted from your conversation you waved back, running up ahead and leaving Keqing behind in the dust.

“Fancy meeting you here again!” You exclaimed. “I was just walking home from work.”

“I was stopping by one of the stalls.” Your friend gestured towards the temporary structure behind her. “I forgot to buy groceries, so I suppose it’s grilled Tiger Fish tonight.”

“It happens to the best of us.” You laughed. Keqing couldn’t stand the atmosphere anymore. The conversation was insipid, the participant who’d brought it up even more so. Unable to stop her frustration Keqing walked, or rather stomped, over towards you. Huffing slightly she grabbed your hand. Turning around your face betrayed surprise, but it was quickly replaced once more with a smile. “Ah, I almost forgot. Lily, this is Keqing!”

“Oh, a pleasure to meet you!” The woman, Lily apparently, smiled. “Are you coworkers?” Keqing felt a flicker of resentment at not being directly addressed. Surely she didn’t need a translator.

“My partner.” You corrected, smiling and squeezing Keqing’s hand, something which did little to relieve the tension she felt.

“I see.” Your friend smiled her saccharine smile. “Nice to meet you Keqing.”

“Pleasure.” Keqing replied, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice, after all wasn’t she known for being blunt? “Now we really ought to get going, if we aren’t going to be eating in the middle of the night.”

“Sorry for dashing on you,” you apologized, something which Keqing deemed completely unnecessary. “See you around.”

“See you around!” Lily replied. As she turned back to the stall Keqing started moving again, half dragging you through the streets and to her apartment.

Finally arriving home Keqing breathed a sigh of relief. This, however, was quite short lived.

“What was that all about?” There was amusement in your voice, and though Keqing was glad you didn’t seem irritated with her, she certainly wasn’t happy about the mischief in your smile.

“It was getting late.” She replied curtly. “I’d rather not be cooking dinner in the dark.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Your voice was slightly sing-song and Keqing rolled her eyes, knowing immediately where this was going.

“Of course, what other reason could there possibly be?”

“I don’t know, maybe you were a little jealous?” You shrugged your shoulders dramatically. Keqing tensed for a moment, before shaking her head.

“Why in Teyvat would I be jealous? After all, they’re just a friend.” Although she hadn’t meant to emphasize that last bit Keqing couldn’t help but feel somewhat irritated. It was just a friend, she was sure of that, sure of you. And yet it had irritated her. It had irritated her intensely. And what was that but jealousy?

“Of course they are.” You smiled gently. “They’re just a friend and you’re just the person I love. But Keqing?”

“Yes?” Keqing found her voice somewhat unsure.

“I don’t mind if you’re a little jealous. As long as you never doubt my affections for you, then it’s okay to be a little selfish. Okay?”

There was a pause, before Keqing walked over to you, wrapping you into a tight hug and burying her face in your neck. Drawing back slightly she pressed a soft and somewhat impatient kiss to your lips.

“Are you sure?” She asked, pulling away once more.

“Very sure.” You replied, before leaning in to kiss her in turn.

Keqing was glad to be carried away by the content feeling of being in the embrace of one’s love. She found today incredibly embarrassing and just wanted to forget the whole matter. And she knew you’d let that happen, for even if Keqing felt irritated, even if she resented your friend for accosting you and not leaving you alone she still trusted you more than anything.

And that was what counted.

#ganyu's is so long lol #it's a theme #anyways this was really fun #also jean is a new writing fav #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #ganyu #jean #keqing #ganyu x reader #jean x reader #keqing x reader #requested #scenarios #my writing

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johnsamericano · 4 years ago

Text

𝓓𝓪𝔂 7:

тєи ℓєє

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @curieouscapt @whathamelon @unknown5tar @ajhdr @silent-potato

warnings: the reader is soon-to-be engaged to someone 12 years older, virginity loss, extreme lack of experience from the reader, dirty talk, Ten’s a sweetheart 😭

“He’s here!” Your mother clapped her hands excitedly, asking the butler to answer the door.

You sat with both hands squeezed on your lap. You’d never seen a male tailor, let alone be dressed by one. Would it be uncomfortable? Just as your mind was about to drift away, a man with at least four rolls of fabric entered the room.

“Good evening, my lady.” Was he even real? He looked straight out of a painting, just like the ones hanging on your wall.

“Good evening, sir.” You bowed your head gracefully, just like you'd been taught to do.

“There’s no need to be so formal.” He smiled cheekily, his eyes disappearing just the slightest and making your heart flutter with excitement. “Let us have a seat and chat a little about what kind of dress you'd like.”

Everything went so naturally with him, from sitting down and talking about the event you'd be wearing the dress to, to his hands surrounding your waist, taking your measurements.

“I was thinking of something white, my lady. After all, the goal is to get a certain gentleman to ask for your hand, isn't it?”

“How did you...?”

“Your mother is quite a chatty lady.” You sighed. She certainly had trouble keeping things a secret, the whole town probably already knew by now.

“Then I guess you already know we've known each other since we were kids, well, since I was a kid. He's twelve years older.” You sounded so excited talking about that guy that it made him smile. “Are you married, sir?”

“God, no!” He was quick to explain. “I want to devote myself to work, that's what makes me happy.”

“But imagine yourself, waiting for your beautiful bride at the church, ready to join your lives for what is left of them. Just to think about it gives me goosebumps.” To him, what you'd just said sounded like agony. Dedicating himself to another person for the rest of his life? He’d rather jump off a cliff.

“I just don't think I'm good husband material, that's all.”

As the days passed by, you got to know him better. He’d often tell you about his job, how many dresses he'd confectioned that week, how much money he'd earned, every single little detail of it. He made it sound like a dream, he spoke so passionately about it that you wondered whether you'd ever find something that would make you feel that same way.

“Good morning, my lady.” He kissed your knuckles, a devilish grin extending through his lips as he admired your flustered face. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He extended a big, white box with a red velvety ribbon keeping it closed.

“That was fast!” You opened it to reveal a pretty, lacy dress. It was exactly what you’d asked for, but then why did you feel so sad?

“What is it, my lady? Do you not like the dress?”

“No! I love it.” He smiled, pulling out the dress from it’s confinement to let you have a better look at it. It was, indeed, beautiful.

“Would you like to try it on?”

You soon found yourself behind a room divider, slipping the soft dress on. The texture was marvelous, like wearing a cloud. It would definitely draw Johnny’s attention, that’s for sure.

“How do I look?” You stepped out, spinning around to let his critic eyes have a look at his masterpiece. He squinted his eyes as if he wasn’t pleased. “What is it?”

“Your corset.”

“Huh?”

“Truth to be told, I knew this dress wouldn’t work with a traditional corset, so I might have made a special one for the occasion.” You walked to the full body mirror, taking a look at yourself.

“It looks fine to me.”

“You look too innocent, my lady.” You furrowed your eyebrows, eyes connecting with his through your reflections. “This dress wasn’t made to make you look innocent, but to make you look like a sophisticated, upper class woman.”

You went through your options and finally decided to listen to the expert.

“Do you happen to have that corset at the moment?”

“Yes, but the problem is, only I know the right way to adjust it. Would you be okay with me doing that?” You could feel cold sweat running down the back of your neck.

Only your mother and some servants had seen you naked, but never a man. It wasn’t supposed to happen unless the couple was married. However, you felt the urge to accept his proposition.

“A-alright.” He nodded, keeping a straight face as he started undressing you.

He slowly started undoing the ribbon that kept your corset in place. Still in front of the mirror, you could see his concentrated features, not looking at anything but your back. Your mounds were finally liberated, and for a split second, you could see the tailor’s eyes staring at them.

“Raise your arms please.” Was he really not going to do anything? This was the part when the two main characters exchanged a heated session of kisses according to the novels you'd read. But he kept the same stoic face all the time.

“Ten?” This was the very first time you'd called him by his real name, well, his nickname.

He didn't seem bothered by it, concentrated on adjusting your corset.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Am I not attractive?” His hands accidentally tightened the ribbons too much, making you wince.

“Sorry.” He apologized, loosening the piece of clothing. “But why are you asking me this?”

“Well...” You were ashamed to admit it, but your curiosity got the best of you. “Aren’t men supposed to go wild over breasts? At least that's what I heard.” Ten would've never expected such an inappropriate comment from you, though he couldn't say he didn't like that new boldness of yours.

“I guess so.”

“Then why didn't you go wild over mine?”

The room was filled with nothing but silence for a couple of seconds before he finally found an appropriate answer for your question.

“I’ll ask you something first.” you nodded. “If you knew men had a thing for breasts, then why did you let me do this?” You would've liked to say that it was because you deeply trusted him, but you both knew that deep down, it wasn't completely true.

“I don't know.”

“Did you want to seduce me or something like that?” You were about to reply, but his deep laugh interrupted you. “Well, since you answered my question, I shall answer yours.” he finally finished adjusting your corset, placing his hands above the curves of your waist and leaning down to whisper something. “You have the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen. They look round and soft, the perfect size to hold them with my hand. But I can't allow myself to go wild over you, not when you're about to get engaged to someone else.” So the things wrote in novels weren't entirely fantasy, things like that did happen in real life. “Trust me, I wish nothing but to pinch those pretty, perky nipples and have you begging for more. But we can't.”

“Yes, we can.” With a newly found courage, you guided his hands up until they reached your mounds. They did, in fact, fit perfectly between his hands.

“My lady-”

“Y/n.” You held his hands against your warm body. “Please, my name is y/n.”

“Stop playing with fire.” His voice had become lower, hands shaking the slightest under yours.

“I want you to play with me, Ten. Use me, do whatever you want with my body. Alleviate the ache I'm feeling between my legs.” That was his breaking point.

His expert fingers quickly undid the knots, allowing his hungry eyes to have a look at your naked torso.

“Touch me.” he turned you around, so you were directly facing him.

“So greedy.” His hands covered your chest once again, this time with no fabric in between. His palms felt so warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but sight. “Tell me, how does your little cunt feel?”

“I-I’m sorry?” His right hand went down, rubbing circles over your undergarments. Immediate relief washed over your body.

“Do you know what an orgasm is?” You shook your head, gasping as his fingers pinched your hard nub. “It’s the only way to relief the ache you feel here.” He tapped your entrance with his middle finger, feeling your wetness under his digits.

“How can I have one?”

“You’ll have to trust me, alright?” His dominant demeanor had changed to a softer one, kissing your jawline as hands sneaked inside the fabric, a new, pleasant feeling making your legs shake. “How does this feel?”

“Nice.” He retrieved his hand, you whined at the loss of contact. “Hey!”

“Jump.” He instructed, lifting you up with both of his hands below your thighs. He guided you all the way to the nearest wall, your back pressed against the concrete surface. “Sorry for this.” He muttered before ripping your undergarments apart.

Skillfully, he lowered his pants, his hard member springing up. The moment his tip started slipping into your whole, an immense amount of pain made you scream.

“Stop!” Ten frowned, pulling away but still holding you against the wall.

“Have you changed your mind about this?” There was a hint of pain peeking through his voice.

“It hurts a lot.” As if to back up your words, a small tear rolled down your cheek.

“I know, sweetheart. But that's the way it's supposed to be.” If it hurt so much, then why did people do it so often? “You just need to get used to it and it'll start feeling better, I promise.”

“Really?” For you, it didn't make any sense.

“We can stop whenever you want, just give it a try.” You hesitantly nodded, letting him align with your entrance once again. “Deep breaths, darling.”

It was the worst pain you'd ever felt, even worse than that time when you fell off a horse. But just like the tailor had said, that unpleasant feeling was soon replaced with something else...something that made your tummy feel warm.

“You're doing so well.” He praised as if he wasn't the one doing all the hard work while you held onto his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I need to pee.” You gasped, letting your head rest against the wall.

“Don't hold it back, darling. It means you're close.” His large hands caressed your sides, holding you tightly.

“Ten...” You whimpered, biting his clothed shoulder to stop yourself from screaming in pleasure. Something inside you exploded, making your body shake in ecstasy.

“Y/n.” You both whispered your names, pleasure taking over your minds.

“May I kiss you?” There was no response from him, his length still pulsating inside you. “If you don't want to that's-”

“Kiss me.” Your lips came closer to each other, barely millimeters away when a loud knock abruptly interrupted the moment.

“Miss y/n, Mr. Seo is here to see you.” Johnny, you'd completely forgotten about him.

“I guess you better get dressed.” He pecked your cheek, setting a fire inside you.

“I'm sorry.” He helped you put on your dress again, smiling at the sight of you trying to stop your and his essence from dripping down your bare thighs.

“Don't be.” Ten fixed your hair, proceeding to gather his stuff before sending a wink in your direction. “I guess I'll see you in a week to help you get dressed...my lady.”

#nct smut #nct angst #wayv smut #nct au #wayv #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct 127 #nct #nct scenarios

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