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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years ago

Text

But professor… - c.9

Summary: Walter and Penny can almost welcome their kid, however Penny starts to become very anxious

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Just mentions of punching people

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter //

I’m thirty weeks pregnant and I know that I have around eight to ten weeks to go, however, this pregnancy has been pretty straining on my back, my pelvis and basically my entire body. Moving around is painful and my mom is over at our place a lot of the time to help me out. I’m thanking the heavens that I am not doing cosmetology school now as well, knowing for a fact that I probably couldn’t keep up at all.

If I’m not sitting on the couch reading, I’m crying because I am sitting in the nursery and think about having a little baby and all the bad things that could happen to them.

Walter is drained from a rough day of patrolling and he plops next to me on the couch. Just like any other day, I barely moved, however he still asks me the question.

‘How was your day, princess?’

‘Boring,’ I mumble. ‘How was yours?’

He simply shrugs, probably because something happened and he doesn’t want me to worry. I rest my head against his chest and without thinking it seems, he places his hand on my stomach. ‘Have they been good to you?’ he asks

‘They sure have been,’ I chuckle. ‘Just hate the fact that I’m practically glued to the couch.’

Walter nods, pressing a kiss on top of my head. I know he worries a lot and therefore confides to my mom, asking her what more he can do to help me out. Walter is being the perfect boyfriend, because even my mom said that he is doing literally all he can to help me out. One night I found him scrolling and searching for tricks to ease the pain and discomfort, though he never lets me in on it.

‘If you’re up for it, we could have dinner,’ he says, ‘somewhere other than our living room.’

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t know what you’re craving. I’m up for anything.’

‘Pizza?’ I ask. ‘I would really love a Hawaiian Pizza.’

Walter frowns for a second—probably remembering how I told him multiple times that I hate pineapple on pizza—but then he nods. ‘Of course, princess.’

✎ ✎ ✎

We’re sitting at a restaurant across from each other and it’s nice to be out and about again. I mean, I go to town with my parents a lot, I hang out with the ladies from the pregnancy class, but going out with Walter has been a while, especially because he has been working long hours and I’m tired after one trip to anywhere basically.

Walter actually stretched out his leg underneath the table, towards my side, so I can rest my feet on it. Every time I have a crust left, I hand it over to him and with a small smile he accepts them. ‘So,’ I say, ‘I’ve been thinking about a name.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I would say that for a girl we could call her Emma.’

Walter tilts his head. ‘Emma Marshall, sounds cute,’ he says with a smile. ‘You have a name for when it’s a boy?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I actually think they’re a girl.’

He starts to laugh. ‘Why do you think that, princess?’

‘Just a gut feeling,’ I chuckle. ‘What do you think?’

‘I have no idea,’ he says, holding out his hand for me to take. When I placed mine in his, he adds: ‘I actually have a name for a boy. Wanna hear?’

‘Always.’

‘Declan.’

Oh, that’s a lovely name. I don’t think I even know someone who is named Declan. ‘Declan Marshall. That sounds so cute. I absolutely adore it, Walter.’

Walter smiles and gives me a kiss on my hand. ‘We’ll see how we name them.’

‘Yeah,’ I chuckle. ‘Just around ten weeks or less,’ I say. ‘Kinda nervous.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s giving birth, Walter. That’s scary. All these other ladies are so confident and proud of what their bodies can do and all. I mean, sure, that’s awesome, but it also terrifies me.’

‘Understandable,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there for you, every step of the way.’

‘I know,’ I chuckle. ‘It’s just that… I don’t know. With being pregnant, it’s just all a fantasy. With a newborn, it’s the real deal.’

Walter nods, taking in my worries. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘you and I can manage.’

‘You’re being awfully nonchalant about it.’

‘That’s because I need to stay calm for you. Believe me, princess, I’m freaking out on the inside.’

I frown, because that’s the first time he actually told me those words. Usually he says that he cannot wait for this baby to arrive, though it is a little scary every now and then, but saying he is freaking out?

That’s new.

‘What?’ I ask him. ‘Are you serious?’

He nods. ‘I mean, being a parent is difficult. Growing up I didn’t have the love and support I needed. I basically raised myself and judging from the person I am today, I didn’t really do a good job.’

‘You did an excellent job,’ I retort. I know about his youth and how he had to raise himself, how you can still notice it in his day to day life. ‘Walter, please tell me about your worries. You don’t always need to be the protective big bear who prevents me from any harm. I’m a big girl and I need you to confide with me. Please?’

He sighs as he is looking everywhere but to me. This is hard, I can see it, but from the looks of it, he is gonna agree with me. ‘Okay, I’ll try.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Dinner ended not so great. As we were walking back from the restaurant to our car, two guys thought it was necessary to whistle at me (I didn’t even notice at first, but then Walter’s entire demeanor changed, so that’s how I was informed about the matter).

Let’s just say, it evolved into an argument and then one of the guys thought it was an excellent idea to push Walter. I applaud him for having the guts to push my boyfriend, but it was honestly one of the stupidest things for him to do, because Walter wouldn’t be Walter if he punched the guy and his friend.

Multiple times.

I have been ignoring him for the entire drive and once we’re home, I still don’t know what to say to him.

‘Princess,’ he whispers, carefully trying to approach me as I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in his shirt. ‘Please talk to me.’

I purse my lips together, as tears burn in my eyes.

He sits behind me, placing his hands on my upper arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Sorry for what?’

‘For scaring you. I was just protecting you, darling.’

‘What’s wrong with just ignoring the matter, Walter?’ I ask him, turning to the side so I can look at him without craning my neck. ‘You scared me back there.’

‘I’m not gonna let some dip shit whistle at you, especially not when I’m next to you,’ he defends himself.

‘You’re an officer,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t think this is proper behavior.’

‘I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you,’ Walter retorts.

‘That’s not the point. The point is you put yourself in danger.’

‘Hardly.’

I glare at him. ‘I don’t like this,’ I say. ‘Have you any idea how stressful it was for me? You know what, never mind. I’m going to sleep.’

He scoots back and I wrap my arms around the pregnancy pillow, with my back towards him. I love Walter, I really do, but this… I saw it all unfolding in front of my eyes.

It would start with an argument, some light pushing, until the other guys would pull out a knife, stab Walter, which would result in a trip to the hospital. Possibility of death. Me having to bury the father of my child.

I push my face in the soft fabric of the pillow, as hot tears slide over my cheeks. Walter sighs deeply next to me and starts to toss and turn next to me. His leg bumps into mine and it causes him to hold his breath. ‘Sorry, Penny,’ he says.

I dry my cheeks on the pillow. ‘Walter,’ I whisper, ‘you know I worry when you go to work.’

‘I know,’ he says, ‘but you don’t need to.’

‘You’re gonna be the father of our kid,’ I continue, ‘and I’d like to raise them with you, not in memory of you.’

‘Princess,’ he whispers, ‘we’re gonna raise this kid and eventual others together. You know, before I met you, I was an adrenaline junkie, detective or not. I got into a lot of shit, hence the reason I was suspended and started teaching. You, my love, made me realize that chasing danger like I used to, is not gonna get me further in life. Now I have you, I have the love of my life here with me and I’m never ever gonna do anything that’ll put me or you or our child in danger.’

‘Then why did you punch him?’

‘Because he started it,’ Walter says, only for him to realize how toddler like that sounds. ‘I just want to protect you against anyone,’ he says in a softer tone. ‘Because I love you, Penelope Townsend. You are my everything.’ He wraps his arm around my upper body, pressing a kiss against my temple. ‘I’m sorry I scared you, Penny. I never meant to do such thing.’

‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘Sorry for overreacting.’

‘No, no, no, you’re not overreacting. Maybe I was.’ He pulls me closer to his own body and places his hand on my stomach. ‘Just know that I will forever protect you and the baby.’

I chuckle. ‘I know that. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid anymore, not when I’m around at least.’

He smiles. ‘I’ll tone it down a notch, princess.’

✎ ✎ ✎

‘Is that that colosseum thing you were talking about?’ Walter gestures towards my chest and I look down, spotting two tiny wet patches near my chest area, before bursting into laughter.

‘Colostrum, Walter, not colosseum.’ Oh dear, he is totally blushing, because of his mistake. ‘Can you grab me another shirt?’

I barely asked the question, when he jumps up and rushes upstairs. I rub my stomach a little bit, slightly scared at how much it expanded. I’m close to the end of my pregnancy, having reached thirty nine weeks yesterday. I wonder how it’ll ever go back to normal.

Walter comes down again and without me asking he changes my shirt. ‘Have I told you I loved you today?’

‘A few times.’ I give him a kiss and whisper: ‘I’m proud of you.’

He frowns. ‘Why are you proud of me? You’re the one growing an entire baby here.’ He carefully places his hands on the side of my stomach. ‘The least I can do is to make things as comfortable for you as possible.’

‘But you always do it without complaining,’ I say. ‘I heard that Stacey’s husband is such a pain in the ass. Always complaining, groaning about how much he has to do nowadays.’

Walter scoffs. ‘Well, pregnant or not, I’d like to worship you, make your life as easy as I possibly can.’ He gives me a kiss. ‘What can I do for you, darling?’

‘Sex,’ I say, before I curl my lips in. Oh gosh, never have I been so straight forward. My cheeks heat up. ‘No, please, forget what I said.’

‘Is my girl asking me for sex?’ Walter starts to laugh. ‘The day Penny Townsend asked me for sex has finally arrived.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I laugh nervously. ‘It’s just been awhile.’ Awhile equals three months. I hate how he sometimes initiates, but I simply shake my head. It’s a combination of a very low sex drive, not feeling pretty and being in pain nearly twenty four seven.

He leans forward and kisses me. ‘Want to go to the bedroom, princess or is the couch acceptable as well?’

‘We can stay here,’ I whisper.

‘Then let me close the curtains and lock the door, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I mumble.

When he comes back, he takes off his shirt, so I can admire his beautiful strong body. There is something so special about Walter. He looks strong enough to left a car up with one arm, but he is a mushy man the second the front door closes and we’re together. He kneels in front of me, pressing open mouth kisses on my lips. ‘Shit, I love you,’ he says against my mouth. He disregards my shirt and admires me.

‘Stop,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

‘No, no, no, I could never stop admiring you.’ He places his hands on my expanded stomach and says: ‘You’re so beautiful.’

He gives me a long kiss and then I whimper. Not out of pleasure, but out of shock.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks me.

‘I think my water broke.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Twelve hours later, I am looking at Walter, who holds the little baby in his strong arms. He sits next to me on the bed and wraps one arm around my shoulders. ‘Penny, princess,’ he says, ‘I don’t think words can describe how proud I am of you and how much I love you.’

I nuzzle my face in his chest. ‘I love you too. Thank you for not freaking out.’

‘Externally freaking out you mean, because on the inside I was fainting,’ he chuckles. He gives me a kiss on my temple. ‘I’m a dad.’

I actually see some tears in his eyes and I cannot stop my own either. ‘I know.’ I place my hand on the little bundle and whisper: ‘We’re officially parents. It’s so surreal.’ I let out a deep and content sigh.

The little baby opens their eyes and I cannot stop my smile.

‘Hi, little one,’ Walter says. ‘Oh no, Penny, we’ve created an exact copy of yours.’

I chuckle. ‘Good luck saying no to him,’ I say. ‘We love you so much, Declan Marshall. So so much.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall #henry cavill x you #walter marshall x penny townsend #walter marshall x asian ofc #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x oc #asian ofc #penny townsend #but professor

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please-buckme · 4 years ago

Text

A Broken Heart.

Lee Bodecker x fem!reader

Chapter 4

Chapter warnings: none.

Chapter summary: You and Lee try and hash things out but there’s more to Lee than meets the eye.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

The drive started off very awkward and completely quiet. You both cleared your throats from time to time to defuse the tension, which didn’t make a lick of a difference. It’d been years since you rode in Lee’s cruiser and the last time you sat in that very seat he’d broken up with you. Your chest heaved at the memory. You still felt the phantom tears against your cheeks when he drove you to your house. Never would you have guessed you’d be right back here at his beck and call. You thought you were stronger than that, clearly not.

You thought Lee’s hold over you had disintegrated a while after you left town, but clearly it hadn’t. He says jump and you say how high. Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of it. He looked over at you which made you look over at him. His eyes were still that piercing blue that always left you speechless. His teeth were just as white as you’d remembered as you watched him toss a piece of candy in his mouth and grin.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, girl?”

You swallowed hard, “Heard you ain’t drinkin’ much these days. That why you’re eatin’ t candy now?”

He scoffed, “How did you get from drinkin’ ta candy? I can’t just have candy for no reason or just because I like the sweet taste on my tongue?” He smirked and suck the piece of candy into his right cheek. You watched him toss it around cheek to cheek before he spoke again, “And who told you that, anyway?”

You followed your arms and turned your gaze out the passenger side window, unable to answer him while watching him seductively eat a piece of candy, “I have my sources and I don’t ever remember you keepin’ a whole fuckin’ bag of candies in your car, is’ll.”

“Fuckin’ Karl.” He mumbled under his breath, trying to stay out of ear shout but you still heard him, “I stopped by Sandy’s on my way in and she gave me the candy, happy?” He asks rhetorically with a hint of sarcasm.

“Elated.” You answer him dryly anyway, “Why’re we goin to Ruby’s when there’re plenty of diners in town and are you even allowed to take the cruiser this far outta town, Bodecker?”

He sighs, “Why so many questions? I feel like I’m being interrogated.” He asks, already knowing the answer. When you’re nervous you can’t stop anything that passes your lips. You don’t like awkward silence and you’ll do anything to not have to sit in it. He always found that kind of annoying but aslo adorable at the same time. Eventually you’d start messing with his pens and steal a piece of his candy.

“Because I don’t trust you and I sure as hell don’t believe that bullshit about us ‘talkin things out so we can live in the same town again.’”

“Well, can you believe that maybe I just wanna catch up?” He asks, becoming a little frustrated.

“Why Ruby’s?” You repeated, stealing a piece of candy as Lee predicted. He missed having you around, he just wished it were under different circumstances.

“Because it’s your favorite.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered or something, that you remember my favorite diner?”

“Okay, you win. I officially regret this.” He sighs, slapping his hand down on the steering wheel. He seems annoyed but not angry. You watch his annoyed expression fall on you as he sighs. For some unknown reason you burst out laughing, leaning against the passenger door.

He laughs, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing it’s just.. you’ve changed so much and yet not at all. I still know every look and every sigh and.. every move you’re gonna make before you even do it. It’s kinda refreshing.. but I still hate you.” You watch his face turn up into a smirk, displaying his gorgeous teeth. He almost looked pained as if he hadn’t smiled in decades.

“God, I missed you.” He admitted, immediately clearing his throat. He didn’t mean to say it aloud but it clearly wasn’t up to him anymore, his heart was speaking for him too. He watched you fiddle with the candy wrapper as you processed what he said.

You could feel his hesitance. Did he really miss you or was it just him trying to make you feel comfortable? You didn’t know how to respond, so all you said was, “Okay.”

Once you got to the diner, Lee rushed you to the back booth. You knew why, of course. Everyone in town seemed to be appalled with your very existence, as if you’d done something. You wondered if they actually knew why they didn’t particularly like you or if they were just following the crowd. Like if one person were to speak on your behalf and say you’re a nice girl if people would treat you differently. You just have to find that one person.

Lee sat across from you in the sparkly red, plush booth, you thought he looked kind of silly, big, professional man in a tiny glittery booth, but you kept that to yourself. The waitress came by and gave you both a menu, taking your drink orders before walking away. You scanned over the many different food items, suddenly remembering you hadn’t had anything to eat all day. It was eight in the morning and all you could think about was the pancakes.

You eyed the pancake special, becoming a bit more giddy than expected and Lee noticed.

“What’re you so happy for?” He asked with a goofy smile of his own.

“Nothing, I just haven’t had breakfast and the thought of pancakes excites me, is’ll.”

Lee chuckled, “You can get whatever you want, doll. It’s on me.”

“Damn right it’s on you. This was your idea.” You remind him just before the waitress comes by with your drinks; two waters and a coffee.

“What’re we havin’?” She asks.

“Just coffee for me and pancakes for this one.” He says with a tilt of his head towards you.

“S’at all?” She asks, both of you nod. She takes your menus and walks away again.

“So, what did you wanna talk about, Bodecker?” You ask, taking a sip of your water.

“First of all, you’re killin’ me with this ‘Bodecker’ and ‘Sheriff’ shit just say my goddamn name.”

“Hmm, remind me what it was again?” You pretend to think, tapping your index finger against your chin.

“Lee!” He’s genuinely annoyed now.

“That’s right. Um, no. I think ‘Bodecker’ and ‘Sheriff’ work just fine, more professional, if you will.” You begin to fidget with the straw in your water, twirling it around in the ice. You didn’t like how this conversation started, you felt suddenly pressured to do something you didn’t wanna do and that made you nervous.

“Why are you bein’ like this?” He asked with a confused expression on his face.

“You wanna know why?” You came on a little stronger than expected as you felt your cheeks heat up. For being the one to cause your awkward situation, you didn’t think Lee would need an explanation. You were a little applaud he’d even ask for one, especially knowing what a touchy subject it is for you.

“Well, if you’re gonna get all pissy, then no.” He put his hands out in protest, giving you a bewildered look, wouldn’t wanna upset the Sheriff, now would we..?

You sighed, “I’m sorry, it’s just- I haven’t said your name once since.. the last time we..” you trailed off.

“’The last time we’ what? What do you mean?”

“Can we just drop it? I wanna talk about how we’re gonna deal with me living in town. You gotta get people to stop ignorin’ me or actin’ like I’m some exotic animal they ain’t never seen before.”

He chuckled, “what do you mean? How they act like you’re ’some exotic animal’?”

“They stare at me in awe, mouths wide open, along with their eyes. You’d think I’m famous or somethin’.”

“Well, I guess in Knockemstiff, you might just be famous.” He grinned.

“Thanks for that. Just put on my tombstone ‘here lies the girl who got dumped by the Sheriff’... that’s my legacy.” You fade off, thinking of how tragic that actually sounded. You suddenly felt a burning in your chest. Your anger was building and you knew just who to let it out on.

“No, that’s not your lega-“

“Why me, huh?” You ask before letting him finish. “Outta all the girls to torment, why me?”

“Because I loved you.” He said with glossy eyes as if he’d wanted to say that to you in particular for so long.

“You sure as shit coulda fooled me. I’ve wasted a lot of time on you, Bodecker. I mean when we dated and after we broke up. I was a mess and the only person to make it better was you and.. and you never showed up.”

“You don’t think I wanted to?” He asked, losing his temp on you.

“No, I don’t, not because you loved me, anyway. If anything you only would’ve showed up as a way to forgive yourself.”

He scoffed, “How could you possibly think that?”

“Because.. you gave up on caring about me and my feeling the second you chose her. The second you agreed to be with her, behind my back, and dump me, is the second you lost the privilege of being my person.”

“If I could go back in time and undo what I did, I would. I’m sorry, y/n. I really am.”

“For what? For what you did or for how it turned out?”

He sighed, “Both.”

“I know you’re miserable and I know you don’t love her. So, did you really give up on us because you were power hungry? Being Sheriff meant more to you than our future together?” Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Yes, but I regretted it the second I saw the first tear you cried that day. I wanted nothin’ more than to take it back, say I was jokin’ or somethin’ but I couldn’t. The look you gave me in that moment.. I knew I’d already lost you. And yes, I think about where we’d be if I didn’t completely ruin us.” He faded off as he told you the daydreams that never leave his mind, “I picture us renovating your momma’s house, puttin’ up a white picket fence, havin’ a couple babies on your hips, my babies. Everyday I imagine it’s you I drive home to, not Laura-Jean. Sometimes I just picture you sittin’ on the porch with me on a hot day drinkin’ your momma’s famous sweet tea. And if I close my eyes I can see you laughin’ and with sun shinin’ right down on you, kissin’ your beautiful skin.”

You look around awkwardly, trying so hard not to make eye contact. If you make eye contact you’re done for, he might as well take you out of the diner that second because you’re good as fucked. You wanted to believe every word Lee said, you wanted to chop them up and eat them with your pancakes, but you can’t. He did you so wrong in the past that you just don’t think you’ll ever believe him or trust him in the future.

Lee looked at you pained but you couldn’t see it.Your eyes counted the speckled dots on the table in front of you, desperate not to look up, until. “Y/n, look at me.” And you did. Why did you look up? “You loved me in a way no one ever had and I fucked it up. I’m truly, deeply sorry for that, y/n. Whether I’m sayin’ it more for me or you, I don’t know but just know that I live with this mistake everyday of my miserable life. But, hey, at least I’m the Sheriff right?” He joke, giving you a sad smirk.

The sadness in his blue eyes made you want to crumble, get up from your seat and wrap him in your arms, but you don’t. All you can think about is how he reacted when you wore the same except look.

“Yeah, at least you got what you wanted, besides the picket fence and two healthy boys to call your own, and me. Happily married and sun kissed” You brushed it off as if his daydreams of you being married with children meant nothing to you, when really your entire body was buzzing. “And, just so you know, I’m way past needing to hear your apology. Right now I wanna eat my pancakes and work this shit out. Being gawked at like an exotic animal has gotten old. I’d like to be invisible again.”

He gave you a weak smile, “Okay.”

“Alright, here’s your pancakes and syrup. Can I get you anything else?” The waitress asked after handing you the warm plate of pancakes.

“You chocolate milkshake for the road, Doll.” He smiled up at, making you miss the loving smile he used to give you.

“Comin right up, enjoy.”

You talked, well, Lee talked while you ate and came up with a plan. Anytime he heard someone in town gossiping or spreading rumors he would interfere and steer the conversation in another direction. He said he couldn’t exactly defend you because it would look bad, especially during the campaign season and word would get back to Laura-Jean.

“Has she asked you not to talk to me yet?” You asked, stuffing your face with the last bite of pancakes.

“How’d you know?” He wondered.

“I was her best friend for 15 years, I know how she is.”

“You know about her crush on me when we was datin’?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t believe you never saw it. I knew she liked me before I knew you liked me.” He admitted.

You felt a blush creep across your cheeks, “Why not date her then? Woulda saved us a lot of heartache, don’t ya think?” You grinned but felt the pit in your stomach expand, again.

“Girl, I knew I loved you the second you said my name. That’s why I wanna hear you say it so badly. It sounds so sweet comin’ from your lips.”

You cleared your throat, desperately trying not to fall for his games, “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Sayin’ your name is like a sin to me.”

“You never minded sinnin’ a little when you were with me, what changed?”

“Check please!” You motioned for the waitress. “I’m not feeding into this, Bodecker. I’ve played your mind games and I lost. You just worry about gettin’ everyone off my back and Laura-Jean won’t ever hear of us speakin’ or seein’ each other again, because we won’t be doin’ either.”

“You’re no fun.” He frowned.

“I used to be and look where it got me; Heartbroken and alone.” The waitress brought the check and the chocolate milkshake to go, “I’ll be in the car.” You said before standing from the booth and leaving the Diner.

The car was locked when you got there, so you stood and waited, twirling the straw around in the shake. You could help but think about Lee. How could he be so nonchalant about your past relationship?

Yours and Lee’s relationship meant everything to you. He was your first serious boyfriend and the love of your life. You felt like that meant nothing to him. Like you were some chick he had on the side for those 3 years y’all dated.

You sighed, taking a sip of your milkshake. Even with how angry he makes you, your mind slips away to the daydreams he has about you. He pictured y’all being married, which was no surprise to you because you guys talked about getting married all the time when you dated.

You closed your eyes, picturing it all. Two rowdy, little boys playing in the front yard, Lee sitting next to you on the porch swing with his arm wrapped around your waist. You could hear his boyish life ringing in your ears.

You were so lost in the daydream you hadn’t heard Lee walk up. You didn’t even know he was near you until you smelled his familiar musk and felt his hand touch your waist. Now you knew he was close, but before you could even think to open your eyes, Lee gently pressed his lips to yours in a quick peck, resting his forehead against yours when he pulled away. You hadn’t reacted the way you thought. You thought you’d recoil, spit in his face or throw your milkshake in his face. Instead, you felt the milkshake slip from your fingers, falling to the dusty ground as you grabbed his face, bringing him in for another kiss.

This kiss was deeper. You both felt every emotion you’d had bottled up for so long. Every tear that you shed and every crack in your heart was being mended just by the feel of his lips. You missed the feel of his freshly shaved, aftershave covered skin against your hands, the feel of his lips and how ridiculously plump and pink they were, or the little grunts he makes when you scratch at the nape of his neck.

You felt his protruding belly press against yours, pinning you up against the cruiser. The kiss became deeper once his tongue entered your mouth, causing you both to moan at the familiar tastes you both shared.

“T-take me home.” You pant against his lips.

“I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.”

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @haydens-moles , @c00lkidvibes , @tcc-gizmachine , @buckysm3talarm , @gogolucky13 , @cryptidcasanova , @heavenlyseb , @writersbuck , @teddy-bearbaby , @bbmommy0902 , @sweetllamaparadise , @thereblogcrusader , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @frostbytebaby , @jessyballet , @emotionallyandphysicallydone , @sarge-barnes-sir , @generalbagelcookieslime , @lady-loki-ren , @dime-piece-xo , @greeneyedblondie44 , @cherryblossomskye , @amelia-song-pond , @thedaughterofwandavision , @vghz82 , @vintagepigeon , @bxmaaa @steverogers123-blog , @quxxnxfhxll , @rhislean , @pinecrest , @jackiehollanderr , @girlfriday007 , @fanofalltheficsx , @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable , @krazykatkay456

Dm to be tagged :)

#lee bodeker x reader #lee Bodecker #lee bodecker fic #dark lee bodecker #lee bodecker fanfic #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker fanfiction #a broken heart series #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fanfiction #tdatt fanfiction #tdatt #the devil all the time

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stealanity · 3 years ago

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[ kim younghoon ] ꕤ i didn't forget

word count : 729 genre : a bit angsty, but full of fluff

« are you sure you haven't forgotten anything? » — another exasperated sigh left your lips. it was at least the fifth time that younghoon asked you this question, and you were seriously starting to lose patience. « come on younghoon, i already told you that no? leave me alone now, i have this writing to finish for tomorrow. go find chanhee, he said he needed you for whatever. » you saw his lips move into a pout, as he finally pulled away from you. he looked so sad taking his coat, before leaving your apartment, that your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. but now that he was gone, you could finally get down to business. grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you texted chanhee to let him know your boyfriend is coming to his home.

dialing sunwoo's number, you confirmed to him that he could come with the others to prepare younghoon's birthday surprise party. obviously, since this morning you acted as if you had forgotten his birthday, when you had only that in mind. you still had so much to do in such a short time that the help of all your friends was welcome. as you started putting decorations around the room, covering the walls with photos of you and the group, the apartment door burst open, revealing the cheerful faces of your cadets. haknyeon put the birthday cake directly in the fridge, while eric approached you to greet you while hugging you. « where are the others? » — you asked sunwoo, the latter answering you that they would soon arrive.

after an afternoon of joy and good humor, lulled by your laughter, chanhee was to arrive soon in the company of younghoon. the room was plunged in darkness, only the light of the candles could illuminate your face, while everyone else was squatting behind you. you could hear chanhee's voice behind the door, and within a second, the two friends entered the apartment.

« HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOUNGHOON ! » — everyone shouted at younghoon's shocked face, the latter not knowing what to say. all approached him to greet him and wish him another happy birthday, before he was in front of you, the cake between you two. « you didn't forget. », a big warm smile spread across your lips, shaking your head negatively, as tears crept to the corners of his eyes. seconds later, tears flowed down his cheeks as he blew out his candles, applauded by all his friends who were now enjoying the party.

after a few hours of dancing, singing and having fun, you all ended up asleep in the living room. sunwoo literally lying on changmin, while eric was sleeping on the back of your couch. everyone looked asleep, everyone except younghoon and you. his delicate hand tenderly caressed your cheek, as you looked each other in the eyes like teenagers in love. placing a kiss on the palm of his hand, you finally spoke up whispering so as not to disturb the others who were sleeping : « did you really think i was going to forget your birthday? ». your boyfriend nodded positively, his eyes suddenly keeping all the stars of the galaxy inside them. « i was soooo sad this morning when you didn't even pay attention to me. » — a small laugh escaped your lips as you slid your arms around him, pulling his body against yours. « i'm sorry love, but i had to keep it a secret. when i saw you sad, i wanted to run after you and cover you with kisses, but i had to resist. »

« maybe you can do it now, you know, kiss me. » — after a smile and a brief glance at his lips, you gently nodded, bringing your face closer to his. a kiss on the chin, a kiss on the forehead, and one on the tip of his nose, followed by two kisses on his cheeks. you just brushed younghoon's lips for a few seconds, a loving smile sweeping your mouth. « i'm madly in love with you, kim younghoon. i can't wait to spend another birthday by your side. » — and after this sentence and a last eye contact with the love of your life, you kissed him in the most loving way, wishing him a happy birthday.

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rebeccccccaaa · 4 years ago

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𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁

__________________________________

sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀᴏɢᴇʀs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You’re a hydra experiment gone wrong. Not to mention Steve Rogers hates you; and you have no idea why.

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: angst, substance abuse, alcohol consumption, enemies to lovers kingda but not really, smut 18+ (slight praise?, a bit of pet names? protected sex ;), riding, cockwarming, choking)

𝒶/𝓃: might do a part 2 blurb, but i’mbeginning to run out of ideas so send some requests! also thanks for 100 followers!! :,)

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 3.3k

___________________________________

You sat by the window of your room with a cup of coffee as always wishing life would be different; but also not. You were grateful for your life you’re able to have now; being with the Avengers, learning how to control the powers you now possess. Grateful to have a home again.

Years ago you were out with your friends for the fifth time that week, getting drunk and high off of anything you could get your hands on. Your fiance broke off your engagement for his secretary; typical. You got fired from your job the week prior. You were days away from being evicted from your apartment. You had no family; your life was falling apart.

You were also the perfect target. Stumbling out of the club black out drunk and high as shit you were taken into the darkness never to be seen again. You woke up surrounded by darkness freezing, shivering from the cold. You had no idea where you were, what day it was, who was staring at you from the shadows.

“Welcome home,” the voice taunted you.

You spent years in that cell. They wanted you to possess dark magic. And you did, oh did possess alright. You remember that night like it was yesterday; that night haunted your dreams every night.

You would sit in your cell, moving the toy blocks they left for you to use. You mostly practiced your magic with them considering no one taught you how to use them, they only wrote shit down whenever you saw them. No one ever spoke to you and whatever voices you did hear were whispers in languages you couldn’t understand.

Earlier that day so long ago, a ‘doctor’ injected you with this thick disgusting black liquid. They had been at your door all day waiting for something to happen. But they got what they were looking for; experimenting on you for.

Your back burned and ached as if there were nails clawing at your skin. You screamed in agony, begging someone to help you, to take the pain away. You could see your once blue veins that ran through your body turn black. Your skin ripped on your back, bruises forming, black feathers growing out your body.

Once they were entirely out of your body they applauded. They actually praised the ‘doctor’ who made you into this, this creature. They left you to deal with the pain. You shook in fear and agony. You had wings. Fucking black wings.

They called you the Fallen Angel. You possessed the powers of Lucifer himself. You didn’t fully know it however.

Months later the avengers infiltrated the base. Natasha found you; you were severely dehydrated and malnourished. But you recovered quickly and here you were staying with the avengers fighting alongside them taking down bad guys and shit.

There was a light knock on your door taking you out of your horrid memories.

“Hey, babe,” Natasha opened your door and peeked her head around.

“Hey, Nat,” you replied.

“How are the wings?”

Since you’ve been with the avengers you’ve become happier with your life again and your wings started getting light in color, they’re still not white however and you don’t know why.

“Still gray,” you chuckled.

“That’s so weird. You haven’t done anything and that goop that was in your system is filtered out. What’s making them gray?”

“I have no idea. Anyway are we even sure they're supposed to turn white? I mean I’m no angel; I had a shit life before all of this happened. Maybe it’s just baggage.”

“But it makes sense, you know,” she defended.

“Not everything makes sense.”

“You hungry? Sam was thinking chinese takeout, Tony said shawarma and you’re the tie breaker.”

“Awe man, you guys suck. What do you want?”

“Shawarma,” she whispered.

“Ok. shawarma,” you agreed.

She grabbed your hand and led you to the living where everyone waited for the tie breaker. Your wings were so big and they dragged behind you every time you walked, ran, anything. It was hard sometimes, they were heavy too but you got used to it.

“She said shawarma!” Nat shouted.

Half the crowded cheer and the other half whined. Delivery came fast thankfully and everyone gathered on the couch, Tony putting a movie on while you guys ate. You sat with Bucky and Nat; usually Steve sits with Bucky but Sam was also on the couch next to Buck.

Steve came up to you making your stomach drop; he was so handsome but here’s the thing, he hated you. Since you came to the tower, he always said they shouldn’t have brought you. That you were too dangerous and you could hurt someone; that hurt you.

You spent so long hating yourself for what you became but with the avengers help, excluding Steve, you’ve been able to learn to start loving yourself and appreciate how you can use your powers for good and saving people. But every time your name came out of Steve’s mouth, it was degrading and you hated yourself a little more each time.

And you don’t know why.

“Move.”

“I’m sorry?” you questioned, taken aback.

“I said move,” he said sternly.

“Steve, she was here first. Don’t be a baby. Go sit down somewhere else,” Nat said.

Steve stared at you making you look away in discomfort. He sat in the loveseat alone glaring at you like you had killed his mother or something. The movie continued however and people kept eating. Steve was still grumpy glaring at you whenever you laughed at a scene or said something out loud or literally did anything.

“Rogers, L/n. Briefing, now,” you snapped your head to the voice who was Nick Fury.

“You two doing anything?”he asked when you three were alone.

“We were-”

“Good,” he interrupted.

“I have a mission for you two. We’ve been getting hyperactivity on our radar at these coordinates for the past week now. We do have reason to believe it may be another hydra base trying to regroup maybe, get the band back together type of shit.”

“And you need us why? The rest of the team is in the living room,” Steve asked him.

“You two know hydra best and it’s too soon to put Bucky on a mission that involves Hydra. I’d like you two to complete this with no casualties. We have authorities ready to arrest them, they're just waiting for you,” Nick gave you both a file.

“I want you both on the plane in 5. And please for fuck’s sake, try not to yell at each other. Y/n, Steve is your captain just do what he says,” He walked out of the room and you rolled your eyes. Whenever you guys go on a mission together he always has you stand back and even stay on the plane with Bruce sometimes. You more than once rejected his instructions; now thinking about it might be the reason he hates you…

“Try not to kill yourself this time,” Steve said before leaving to suit up.

The mission was going well and all fell into place. Until while the bastards were under arrest getting ready to be transported, one of the Hydra agents recognized you. He mocked you and laughed at you. Taunted you and brought memories of your time with them back to your mind.

Tears formed in your eyes, you were so angry. You used your powers, developed from the darkness and began slowly killing him. He turned red and choked gasping for air. Steve watched you begin to get angry, feeling empathy for you. But when he saw you snap, he knew he couldn't trust that you’d cause trouble.

“Y/n, stop,” he said. But you didn’t stop; you wanted the bastard dead.

“Y/n!” you ignored him.

Your brain drowning all sounds except your breathing and his lack of. Steve grabbed your arms and dragged you, you bursted into tears, memories and trauma flooding back. Steve was pissed that you couldn’t go a single mission without doing something you weren’t supposed to. But he also knew that what you had gone through was torture and he felt sorry for you.

He somewhat knows about the torture that Hydra has inflcited in the past. Bucky talked about it with him and sometimes still has nightmares about it. His behavior probably doesn’t make you feel better. He didn’t mean it to get this far.

When Nat brought you on the plane, he was hesitant. But he knew if they left you there you would die in no time. After you rested, ate, and cleaned up, he was mesmerized. You were very beautiful but Steve felt like because of Peggy he shouldn’t love another person. Like she would be mad if he moved on.

So, he avoided you at first. Absence turned to frustration when you wouldn’t leave him alone like he had thought. Frustration led to insults and now you think he hates you with everything in his body. But he couldn’t feel further from hate for you.

Sure, he got frustrated when you didn’t listen to him on missions; primarily because you thought he was being a dick on purpose to antagonize you. But when you came home, safely, and laughed with everyone about Bucky tripping and falling on his face, he fell in love a little bit more with you and your laugh. You looked so happy; without him.

But Steve can’t let it happen, so now he stomped away from you pretending to be upset over something so stupid.

“Where are you going?” you yelled at him.

“I really don’t need your shit right now, Y/n,” he snapped.

“No, you’re gonna deal with it. It’s been more than a year, Steve! Grow up and talk to me like a real man! Why do you hate me so much?”

“Enough!” he boomed, scaring you.

“Leave me alone,” he said lowly, having more impact than if he were to yell.

“Please,” you cried, “Talk to me. What did I do?”

“You want to know the truth? You’re too powerful. You’re already reckless and if you knew the capacity of your abilities you'd become more reckless. If you’re more reckless you’ll die; and if you die, that's on me. I can’t let that happen,” there was sincerity in his voice for once; the truth but not the one he wanted to really admit.

“That doesn’t explain why you hate me.”

“God I don’t fucking hate you!”

“Then tell me the truth!” you yelled back.

“I hate myself. I hate myself for feeling the way I do. It's not fair to her.”

“Not fair to who?”

“To Peggy.”

“I thought Peggy passed away.”

“She did,” he went into his room and sat on his bed head in his hands.

“I’m confused.”

“I can’t help what I feel for you; and that’s not fair to Peggy. I feel like I should still be in love with her but I’m not.”

You stood by the closed door listening to him.

“You like me?”

“No, I think I fell in love with you. I thought I could stop by avoiding you but your so fuckin stubborn. You were determined to be my friend; and I don’t want to just be your friend. So I said a couple of mean things and it went too far. I never meant for you to hate me or for you to think I hated you. I was just stupid.”

“Yeah, it was little stupid,” he chuckled at what you said.

You walked towards him and stepped between his legs. He grabbed a hold of your hips and buried his face in your stomach. You held his head brushing your fingers through his hair softly. He looked up at you with soft eyes filled with regret and sorrow. You could tell he was frustrated.

“Is it wrong? To love you?” he whispered.

“No, Peggy wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life moping when you could choose to be happy, like she did. She would want you to move on, live life. And that doesn't mean with me. I mean in general. Does that make sense?”

He nodded sincerely.

He slid his hands to the back of your thighs and sat on his lap. You gasped and your wings fluttered behind you, expanding with excitement. Steve chuckled at that and you buried your face in his neck feeling embarrassed. He cupped his hand on your face and naturally you leaned into his hand looking into his blue eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You simply nodded before leaning up to him to connect your lips with his. Your wings once again expanded; lightly ruffling against each other. You pulled away and attached your lips to his neck peppering light kisses all around.

You connected your lips once again and it was Steve’s turn to attack your neck with pecks. You’ve alway worn shirts that were either very low in the back or cut to make room for your wings. Either way Steve slowly pulled your shirt over your shoulder trailing kisses along your chest and collarbone.

“I really care about you, Y/n. Please let me show you.”

You hesitated only because it’s been so long since you had been intimate with someone.

“We don’t have to-” he started.

“No, I do. I really do; it’s just been a while, you know? Being held hostage and all,” you joked.

“I understand. We still don’t have to.”

“Steve,” you whispered in his ear.

“I want you. I want you to fuck me.”

You heard him growl lowly before he stood up with you and almost laid you on your back.

“Steve, I can’t lay on my back!” you laughed.

“Oh that’s right! I’m so sorry,” you both laughed for a second.

He set you down on your feet and stripped his shirt. Your eyes shot straight to his chest, your hands reaching out to touch his chest. He smirked at you before taking his pants off leaving him in boxers; for now. He reached for your pants as well eyeing you to make sure he wasn’t moving to fast but after a smile and a nod he slowly pulled your own pants to join his discarded on the floor.

He kissed your thighs that were slightly scarred from your time with hydra. He stood up and you pulled your shirt down off your shoulders letting it fall to the floor. Steve’s eyes watched your breasts. His hands reached for them as you did to his chest when he took his shirt off.

You pulled in for another kiss until Steve had enough.

“I need to be inside you, baby girl,” he pulled his boxer down, taking your panties off after. He grabbed your hand sitting on the bed. His back leaned against the headboard and you crawled into his lap, your knees falling to either side of his hips. His hands rubbed up and down your thighs and hips.

He reached for a condom and handed it to you winking and smirking. You tore the foil with your teeth keeping direct eye contact with him, Steve getting harder and harder every second passing. Your took his cock in your hands, bigger than you thought it would be, and rolled the condom on squeezing a bit making his hips jerk up into your hand.

“Knock it off, pretty girl.”

You leaned forward and lined your entrance with his cock moving your hips around a bit teasing him before you actually sink down. Steve was so impatient though, he gripped your hips and thrusted quickly into you making you gasp loudly and moan not long after.

You moved quickly, breasts bouncing with each thrust. Steve groaned under you, fingers digging into your hips.

“My angel. You feel so fucking good,” he grunted.

You simply whined and moaned, feeling euphoric being around Steve. Your wings moved along with you guys gracefully expanding further as you got closer to your oragsm. Steve’s hand moved up your body to wrap around your throat, his thrust getting more sporadic. He squeezed gently making your eyes roll back; your wings getting bigger.

“Your fucking perfect, angel. You gonna cum soon? You gonna cum around my cock?”

“Yes, Stevie. Oh god!” you moaned.

Your moans got louder, echoing in the room. Skin slapping against each other mixing with the lude sounds of you both where you were connected. Steve released his hold on your neck and grabbed your waist moving wildly in and out of you.

Your pussy pulsed around Steve’s cocked. When the pressure building in the pit your stomach finally bursted your wings fully expanded and your back arched. You felt Steve’s dick throbbing until it went soft inside you. You collapsed on his chest trying to catch your breath again.

Steve moved you for a minute taking his cock out of you; discarding the condom in a trash bin. He grabbed a towel and iped you clean first then cleaning himself. He crawled into bed with you and you moved your knee over his hips as before making him laugh.

“What’s wrong, angel?” you liked that name he gave you.

“Can you…?” you mumbled into his chest.

“What was that?”

“Can you put it back in?” you asked louder.

“My cock?” you nodded shyly.

“Anything for you, angel.”

You laid on his chest with his cock settled inside you and you dozed off. Steve lightly scratched your back after turning his bedside light off. Before he fell asleep he saw a soft glow of wings turning white. He questioned it but ultimately fell asleep. He’d ask you about it tomorrow morning.

================

You woke up with your head on Steve’s chest, naked limbs tangled with the sheets. Steve was on his phone, his hand scratching your head gently.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, bug.”

“Sorry to keep you in bed,” you said sitting up; you pulled the sheet with you to cover your chest.

“Don’t be sorry, angel.”

“I’m really hungry.”

“Want to grab breakfast downstairs? We’ll come back up afterwards. We can cuddle some more,” Steve kissed you with a smile.

You stood up grabbing your shirt from last night and Steve handed you a pair of cledan boxers to wear. He dressed himself before walking with you downstairs to the kitchen.

You walked into the kitchen first everyone’s eyes wide. You thought at first maybe it was because they might have heard you and Steve last night but Nat spoke up before you could ask.

“Your wings! Their white!”

“What?” you asked shocked. You opened your wings so you could see them in front of you to see that they were in fact white.

“How did that happen?” Nat came up to you.

“They weren’t white last night.”

“They changed after you fell asleep, angel,” Steve spoke up; everyone’s heads snapping toward him, confused.

“They did?” you asked, he nodded and smiled coming up to you grabbing your hand.

“What the fuck?” Tony said.

“What the hell happened? I thought you guys hated each other?” Bucky asked.

“It’s a little complicated,” you said.

“Ok but that doesn’t really explain why they’re white now,” Nat spoke up.

“I think it’s because I wasn’t truly happy and fully free of my past until yesterday. I was able to move on and now being with Steve now makes me happy.”

“Really?” Sam joked.

“Yes, really,” you laughed.

“This is gonna take some getting used to,” Tony said.

“Did you guys…?” Nat asked suggestively.

Your eyes grew wide and you got hot. Steve only laughed which was enough of an answer for everyone.

“As long as you’re both happy,” Bucky said.

“We are,” you looked up at Steve, wrapping your wings yourselves and shielding a heated kiss with Steve.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers angst

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genderfluid-insomniac · 3 years ago

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"I'm Still Standing" singer!Hawks x reader

words: 1.4k

You saw him nervously pacing on stage and playing with his black leather jacket and red wings fluffed up due to anxiety, locking eyes with you and laughing nervously. Going over and putting a hand on his cheek, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do great!”

Keigo leaned into your touch and hummed, “I know. I just can’t help these pre-show nerves. How are you feeling, baby bird?” You sighed and rested your head against his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you while you do the same.

“I could be better,” you received a look from your boyfriend, “okay, I’m nervous but you are too!” He raised his hands in defense, “Fair point”. You both laughed and ran your hands over his jacket. The black leather complimenting the dark blue ripped jeans he had on and white shirt, not even mentioning how his vermillion wings stood out and accentuated his gorgeous features.

Glancing up and seeing him catch you staring, smiling as you got flustered, and continued to reach a hand up over his soft slightly chapped lips and below his eyes, tracing his black birthmarks around his eyes. You felt so lucky to have him as a partner for love and for singing, the confidence he gave off was infectious and he knew it.

You heard the manager call him over, kissing each other before he was on, sending you a wink and smiling excitedly. Keigo knew what he did to your heart and never stopped making it flutter, as he always did. You waved to him and crept closer to the wings of the stage.

“Come on, Keigo. You got this!” muttering under your breath. All of you had practiced for a week and tuned your skills, your lover had rehearsed his piano lessons up until tonight and refused to show you, insisting that the surprise would be worth it.

On the stage was a single old classic piano with a mic attached and a stool, lighted dimmed and tinted a navy blue. He walked over and sat on the stool, looking back up to you and your group, flittering his hands over the keys and his facing blooming with determination.

Running his hands over the keys and playing the first few notes, the music and lights giving a light pumped up feel, “You could never know what it's like, your blood like winter freezes just like ice.” The crowd picked up the beat and started swaying in their seats and you were doing the same dancing where you stood, glancing at the other performers beside you.

You could see Keigo’s eyes closed but keeping the rhythm and feeling himself, trying to stay seated as his feet tapped along with him, his head bopping up and down, angling his head so the mic could still pick him up. “And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you, You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use,”

His wings twitched and moved behind him, each feather feeling the energy of him, and syncing with it. He was in his own world, his blonde hair swaying and remaining in perfect shape, his whole body surging with joy as he sang his heart out. “And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm coming back again.”

“I got a taste of love in a simple way. And if you need to know while I'm still standing you just fade away” With every lyric he sang, the crowd responded and clapped along. The kids got up from their seats and dancing with their parents and the elders smiled as the handsome man captured a song they once heard beautifully.

You knew the chorus was coming and you met Keigo’s gaze as grinned, “Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did,” eyes brimming with happiness and wings flaring out slightly, “Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid” Shining with confidence as he sang the last couple words, his past was known between you both and he told you there were a couple of things that distracted him and made him feel free, singing was one of them.

The euphoria inside you was nothing compared to his, “I'm still standing after all this time,” you could tell how connected he was to those words and how true they were. “Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.” The audience was eating up the energy he gave off and giving it back twofold, they could feel the emotions through the song, it had a different meaning to each of them but all similar.

Whatever you did can’t stop me from getting better.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah”

Here I am, stronger than ever.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah”

Your friends bumped your shoulder and grinned with pride, inviting you to quietly dance with him and you happily accepted, catching Keigo’s eyes as he glanced from the keys to the mic. The emotion you both shared was undeniable, “Once I never could hope to win, you starting down the road leaving me again.”

Letting your mind drift through your memories as he sang the third verse, how he struggled to believe that things could get better and his life could change for the better. That’s when you both met, giving him a chance at hope and shifting his mindset by letting love into his life, as much as he grew to appreciate you, you appreciate him and how hard he fought every day.

“The threats you made were meant to cut me down, and if our love was just a circus you'd be a clown by now.” Some days Keigo came home depressed and hopeless, thinking back on all the times he was berated and gaslit. Trying desperately to not give in to those negative thoughts, knowing they went nowhere, learning it was okay to accept help.

Lovingly staring at him as you danced and spun with the others backstage, cheering loudly as he reached the chorus and stood up, pushing the stool over. “Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did? Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid!” Wings unfurling as he got swept up in the song and the crimson feathers catching the light of the spotlights,

Keigo looked to you full of pride and exhilaration and tearing up. You mouthed to him, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ and laughing as tears brimmed your eyes as well. “I'm still standing after all this time, picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind” By now the crowd was singing along and completely in the moment as your boyfriend was, hearing him press a high key a few times for effect.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah” It truly was a magnificent display, Keigo full of joy and hope singing fully heartedly into the mic and annunciating each word with meaning. “I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah” pounding out the final notes and finishing it off with a bang, hitting the keys and pushing away the piano as he jumped back.

The lights flashed and came back on, the overwhelming cheer from the audience and how loud it was, still shook up from singing, Keigo smiled and looked to you a bit nervous. Laughing you motioned to take a bow and he copied you, bowing at the hips and fanning his wings out as he did so, charming the crowd as he always did.

You applauded him and ran to him and soon as he got off stage, jumping into his arms and giggling as he spun you around, his hands firmly on your hips. “I knew you could do it, you were amazing! I don’t have the words!” Keigo laughed with you and held you close, his golden eyes bursting with joy, and kissed your lips.

#hawks x reader #my hero academia #pro hero hawks

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wy-van-sunshine · 3 years ago

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wesper fanfic!

Author’s note: I have read so many fanfics in which Wylan feels different from Jesper’s world and lifestyle, somehow out of place and he’s sad about it, but since I always want to see things from other perspectives I want to write something in which Jesper is the one feeling “wrong” for the way Wylan lives his life. I really hope you’ll like this!

The stage lights shone on the beautiful flautist’s red hair, enlightening his silver flute and isolating him in the only spot of warm light in the entire theatre: the music he played was so full of harmony and peace, it was as if Wylan existed in a parallel world made of his own music and emotions.

The public was lucky enough to be allowed to observe that world from the outside, taking part in it through the celestial notes that Wylan played in the most natural way, almost as if they were an extension of his soul.

Jesper was in a private place, hidden from the rest of the people but from where he could have the best view of his boyfriend: he often mocked him about his “graceful serenades”, but whenever he played on stage he couldn’t help but admire the unique talent the merchling had and fall in love with that music not so many months ago he didn’t even care about.

Jesper smiled. In any other occasion he would have called himself an idiot for that, but now he really couldn’t do anything else but keep that peaceful expression on his face, his chin resting on his hand as he stared at Wylan on stage, his gaze filled with love and admiration.

The magic lasted forever, but it was also so brief: before anyone wanted him to, Wylan played the last notes and he finally smiled, looking at the point where he knew Jesper was and bowing to the whole public who was applauding and cheering him hard.

Every time the redhead had a concert, the night was so difficult to end: he exited the theatre and almost everyone was waiting him there to see and talk to him. Wylan was so grateful for that, but at the same time he always met Jesper’s eyes among all people and some parts of him wanted nothing but run to him and hug him. However, he was a polite musician and he always stopped to talk with his public.

Jesper looked at Wylan’s blue, shiny eyes with pride: he was so happy everytime after a concert and the sharpshooter would have paid a million kruge to see that expression on him every second of his life.

“Hey there, boy!” Jesper turned his head to his left and saw a middle aged couple “You are the flautist’s boyfriend, am I right?” asked the man.

“Yes, yes I am” he answered smiling “Did you enjoy the concert? I don’t know much about this world, but I really think he’s the best out there”

The woman nodded “His music sounds so graceful! I bet he’d play some parts of Tchaikovski’s pieces like no one ever has”

“You’re right, my dear! And what about the concerts by Mozart? He would enchant the public! What do you think, boy?”

“Jesper, you can call me Jesper” said the Zemeni, then smiled, a little embarassed “I... actually, as I said before I really don’t know much about this musical world, but... well, I think Wylan would be amazing in any occasion...?”

Jesper couldn’t quite decipher the gaze the couple exchanged: they looked... disappointed in his answer, but what could he do about it? He had just been honest. Luckily, Wylan finally came and he didn’t have to think about it anymore.

“Jes!” Wylan called with a huge smile on his lips, throwing his arms around his waist. The sharpshooter released a breath and hugged him back “You were a Saint up there” he said.

The redhead hugged him harder, but then he felt a hand tap his shoulder and he turned his head, meeting the old man’s gaze. He smiled politely “Good evening, sir!”

The couple started talking with Wylan about the same topic they tried to discuss with Jesper, but this time they found someone who understood everything they said and the chat became more and more interesting to Wylan, more and more uncomfortable to Jesper.

He was there, trying to follow the conversation, but he got lost among weird composer’s names and numbers of concerts and operas. He could see how Wylan was loving all of that and how he was feeling comfortable, and suddenly he felt wrong.

Music was one of Wylan’s greatest passions and what did he know about it? Bach and Mozart were names he had only heard, “Cage” was a place to be imprisoned in, “Chopin” was a funny word similar to what you did when you went to the mall. He knew absolutely nothing about it. He knew nothing about one of the most important things to his boyfriend.

After minutes which felt like eras for Jesper, Wylan took leave of the couple and grabbed Jesper’s hand, smiling as usual “Shall we go home?”

Jesper tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. He just nodded and started walking. Their way back home was not long, but it passed in silence, Wylan thinking about the night and Jesper about how everything about himself felt wrong. Sometimes Wylan looked over the sharpshooter: he was silent and that was something to worry about, but he had no idea about what was going on in his head and he said nothing until they arrived home.

Without a word, Jesper placed a kiss on Wylan’s head and immediately reached for their bedroom, throwing himself on the bed and staring at the ceiling, his head almost in pain for his thoughts.

About fifteen minutes later, the merchling entered the room with a smoking cup in his hand, reached the bed and sit next to Jesper’s body, looking at him. He knew he was sad or worried about something: those were the only - rare - occasions in which the Zemeni didn’t speak, even though Wylan was sure his head was screaming. Anyways, he knew in those occasions Jesper loved to dissolve his thoughts in a cup of hot cocoa, so that was exactly what he had prepared for him as soon as they got home.

“Hey there” he said softly, placing a hand on Jesper’s shoulder “Take this”

The sharpshooter gave him a weak smile and took the cup in his hand: he sit against the wall in order to be able to drink it better. Still, he didn’t say a word.

“What’s wrong?” Wylan asked, now a little worried. Usually after the first sip of cocoa the sharpshooter started talking, but now he was silent and the redhead was silently panicking. Had he done something wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all he was not perfect, in fact he was the exact opposite of perfection.

“Ioneserveu”

Wylan didn’t understand what Jesper said as he murmured with such low voice, his eyes fixed on the cocoa.

“What? What is it?”

The sharpshooter released a long breath and he finally looked up at his boyfriend: meeting his beautiful blue eyes made him feel even worse.

“I don’t deserve you” he said with a painful smile.

Wylan felt a shot straight to his heart: the gray eyes that were looking at him were a storm, they were troubled, they were honest.

“What the fuck are you saying, Jesper?”

“There, I got you saying the f-word”

“Stop joking. What does I don’t deserve you mean?”

“It’s a very simple Kerch sentence. I don’t feel like I’m enough for you and I don’t think I actually am”

Wylan took Jesper’s hand in his and talked with broken voice “But why? We’ve been together for almost a year now, Jes. Where is this coming from?”

Jesper huffed, he was not comfortable with that talk. He wanted to tell Wylan how he was feeling, but he wasn’t good at dealing with emotions; moreover, what if his boyfriend hadn’t noticed his differences yet? What if he was the one to point them out to him and ruin their relationship forever?

“I feel like I’m wasting your time here. These months were amazing for me, but for you? Tonight I saw how your eyes shine when you talk about music and all those composers, and I see that same joy when you explain to me your impossible equations or the way you build bombs, and I smile and I nod because I know how much that stuff means to you, but I don’t understand anything and- how long can this last? How long before you get tired of-”

Jesper suddenly stopped: he couldn’t finish the sentence. If he said that last word out loud, the whole feeling would become real and he really didn’t want to burst into tears in front of Wylan.

...me? How long before you get tired of me?

The sharpshooter found himself in a whole new situation: in seventeen years of life he never once thought anybody could get tired of him, he did his best to be as energetic as possible and people loved being around him. But Wylan was no ordinary boy: he was so special and he didn’t deserve someone as ordinary as Jesper felt.

He stared at his merchling, looking for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear: but Wylan was smiling softly at him, not a sign of concern on his pale face. He got nearer to the sharpshooter and he kissed him, slowly dragging his body down with his. They were now laying next to each other, Wylan had for the first time ever Jesper’s head resting on his chest - it was always the opposite as their heights were clearly different.

After kissing Jesper on his head, Wylan spoke in a whisper “Are you happy with me, Jes?”

The sharpshooter was enjoing being cuddled by his boyfriend, he had calmed down a little, but he still felt like he didn’t deserve all those attentions.

“Yes Wy, I am happy. I am so happy. And because of that I’m afraid I’ll screw everything up”

“You want to know why I fell in love with you in the first place?”

Jesper grinned “Not if then you’re going to dump me because I’ve ruined everything”

Wylan gently slapped him on the neck “I would never want to be without you, you idiot”

“Fine then” Jesper allowed, his heart beating faster for what his boyfriend just said.

Before talking, Wylan started caressing Jesper’s dark hair “I have built bombs and explosives in my life, Jesper. And I know a lot of things about chemistry. When I met you, I felt like everything I knew about explosions was nothing compared to you. You are a living bomb, and I’m saying it with a positive meaning: you are like a constant explosion of energy, you don’t just burst once, you keep on doing it and that is the exact energy I didn’t know I needed in my life. You have no scientific explanation and I love it”

Jesper breathed heavily and Wylan thought the was holding back tears: he took his chin in his hand and he lifted his head, looking into his eyes just to find out they were actually wet. The redhead smiled at him.

“I don’t care if you don’t know things about music or maths or anything else, one boring nerd is enough in a coulple, don’t you think?”

Jesper laughed “You’re my favourite nerd, you know”

“I should hope so! Anyways, I asked you whether you’re happy with me and there’s a reason for that: when we got togther, I had the same worries about myself. You were a charming, extroverted thief and I didn’t feel like I could fit in your world. But then one day you hugged me and I thought I feel like I fit in these arms. I understood I was happy with you, and to me that was enough. If you’re happy with me as well, then we don’t have to worry about anything else”

“Saints, you really are a poet, Van Sunshine” said Jesper with a grin, but before Wylan could reply he reached for his lips and he kissed him for long, silently thanking him for everything he said, for everything he gave him not just in that moment, but every day since they met.

Maybe their worlds were different, but while kissing and hugging and looking for more, Wylan and Jesper couldn’t help but notice how perfect they were for each other: their lips matched, their hands coincided perfectly, their bodies completed each other.

They were happy together and they loved each other.

And yes, that was far more than enough.

#wesper #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wylan x jesper #six of crows #wesper fanfic

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erzaguin · 3 years ago

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Huntmira Week 2021 Day 4: Human AU

“Hey you’re the new transfer student right? My name is Amity and as your class rep I’ll be giving you a tour of the school. Follow me and don’t fall behind. We have a schedule to keep and we are already running late.” said the cotton candy haired girl as she started walking briskly away. “Come on I wasn’t kidding I will leave you behind if you don’t hurry.”

“Alright so you already know where the office is. If you get in any trouble this is where they’ll bring you. Down that hallway over there is the school library which you have access to at any time during school hours. Come on, we're already running behind schedule so we don’t have time to see it.” she stated as she continued walking forward at a fast pace.

“Now the school is essentially divided into four parts each of which is assigned to a different grade level. Essentially it is meant to give students more time in between classes so they can get whatever materials they need from their lockers. Speaking of which, this one is yours.” she noted as she came to a sudden stop. “The number and the combination are on the welcome packet you received at the front desk. As you may have assumed already this is the freshman hallway apart from electives all of your other classes will be here. Any questions? No? Good. Let’s keep moving.” without so much as a pause she turned on her heels and started moving at the same brisk pace.

“The hallway to your left leads to the juniors hall and the sophomore hall was the first hallway to your left when you entered the school. As for the senior hall that would be the separate building at the back of the school. The cafeteria is right at the center of the school and it also doubles as a social area. And this is the gym.” she stated as they reached a large oval shaped building separated from the rest of the school. “Hopefully nobody notices we are late” grumbled Amity under her breath as she opened the door.

As soon as the door opened a roar of cheers washed over the pair as they entered the building. The gymnasium was filled with the entirety of the student body who appeared to be completely enthralled by whatever the captain of the girl’s basketball team was saying. She along with the rest of the basketball team were standing at the center of the gym with the school principal standing a few feet to the side beaming with pride.

Amity ignored them completely as she tried to make out where her friends were in the stands. Without saying a word she tugged on the transfer student’s sleeve to get them to follow her.

“Hey Amity, you made it. Oh is this the new transfer student” whispered Willow as Amity took the empty seat behind her. “Yeah sorry we’re late I had to give them a quick tour before coming here.” grumbled Amity as she thought about how late they were.

“Oh don’t mind Amity she can be a bit grumpy in the mornings . . . and afternoons. I’m Willow by the way” she said in a cheery voice. “I’m Gus! Your family just moved to Gravesfield right? said the young man sitting next to Willow. “You’re going to need someone to give you a run down of what you need to know abouts Gravesfield. But never fear Gus is here.” Boasted the youth before proceeding to give the transfer student a rundown.

“The first thing to know is that Gravesfield athletes are mini celebrities in town. If there is one thing Gravesfield High is known for it would be our sports teams. And because there is only one high school everyone in town gets pretty into it.” explained Gus with excitement but before he could continue the school principal called for everyone's attention the gymnasium became quiet.

“Now that we have heard from our athletes who will be representing our school out in the field it is time to hear from our student council.”exclaimed principal Bump as a small group of students made their way to the center of the gymnasium.

Rather than applauding the student body stayed quiet as the youths continued to make their way to the center. There were only three of them but their presence alone commanded the attention of every individual in the gymnasium.

“Oh boy” mumbled Amity too herself as she saw her two siblings take center stage along with their best friend hunter.

The three stood in a line facing the other students with Hunter in the middle with Edrick to his left and Emira to his right. The tension in the gymnasium had started to increase when without raising his voice Edric said “Hey” giving the students a sly smile. Without any warning the entire gym burst into a cacophony of cheers. Which only intensified when Emira gave them a wink.

“They really are popular aren’t days,” noted Willow as she looked at Amity who was trying to shrink into herself from embarrassment.

“This must be really weird for you to see huh?” shouted Gus over the crowd to the transfer student. “ Yeah, if the athletes are celebrities then the members of the student council are royalty.” said Gus before pausing for dramatic effect.

“The twins are Edric and Emira Blight. Edric is the treasurer and Emira is the vice president. They are on the top of their class, always the leads in any school play, and probably the most charismatic people you’ll ever meet. Also if that name sounds familiar it’s because more than likely your parents bought your new home from their mom Odalia Blight. She is the most well known real estate agent in the area. Not only that but their family also owns a security company.You might have seen some homes with a sign that says “protected by Blight security."

"Some? Don't you mean all? Every building in Gravesfield uses Blight security. And aren't you forgetting one very important Blight?" Added Willow as she nudged her head towards Amity.

"Oh right Amity is also a Blight and she has the top spot in the freshman class she's als…"

"That's ok no need for my resume " Interrupted Amity with a face that shows equal amounts of annoyance and embarrassment.

"Suit yourself " shrugged Gus. "Anyway the blond guy between the twins is the school president Hunter Wittebane. If he looks familiar it's because he's on all the promotional posters with his uncle Mayor Belos. He is the most influential man in Gravesfield and Hunter will definitely follow in his uncle's footsteps. He is the captain of all the boys sports teams as well as the debate club, book club, and history club. Honestly he’s a very intimidating guy if you think about it.” mused Gus.

“You know there’s a lot of rumors of how he became school president during his freshman year. They don’t normally allow freshmen to run.” puzzled Willow not asking anyone in particular but was loud enough for other students to hear and joined in the conversation.

“I heard his uncle threaten the school” said a girl sitting in the row under theirs.

“I heard the twins charmed the school principal to let him run,” said the girl next to her.

“I heard a rumor that people added his name to the ballot when they heard he was dating one of the twins.” said a boy from somewhere above them.

“I heard he was dating both” shouted someone else from a distance.

“Silence,” a commanding voice rang through the gymnasium as all the students fell quiet. Hunter had stepped up to the mic and was now scowling the students in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said in an almost gloating tone with a smug smile on his face.

“It's good to see that everyone is so excited about school.” whispered Emira giving Hunter a sly smile causing him to roll his eyes.

“As you all know we are the current members of the student council. We are here to let you know elections will be coming up soon and we encourage anyone interested to go run for a position in the student council. Just know that we will also be running to keep our positions. Now if you excuse us we have work to do.” boasted Hunter before turning on his heels and making his way out of the gym.

The twins waved goodbye to the crowd causing the gymnasium to erupt into a fit of cheers which could be heard even after they had left the gymnasium.

"Do you two always have to be so extra?" Mumbled Hunter as he walked down the hallway.

"Oh don’t be like that Hunny" said Edric as he put an arm around Hunter and gave him a flirtatious smile.

"Yeah it's not our fault that the crowd loves us." chimed in Emira as she clinged to Hunter’s arm.

“Yeah right and don’t call me Hunny” scoffed Hunter who by now should be used to the twins' shenanigans but they always found new ways to annoy him.

Both twins let go of Hunter at the same time and let out a gasp as they feigned being shocked. “But you used to love us calling you Hunny” Groaned Edric while pretending to cover some tears.

“Our little Hunny is growing up. He's embarrassed of us now.” said Emira as she mimiqued her brother’s reaction.

Hunter let out a long sigh as he looked at his best friends pretending to cry. Even knowing there were no tears there he just could not bear the thought of upsetting them. These two had been his best friends, his only real friends since pre school. Because his uncle was such a powerful and influential man many people tried approaching Hunter as a means of getting close to his uncle. He understood that the twins felt the same because of how often people approached them for their families business connections and wealth. Then there were those who were too scared to approach any of them because they found them intimidating or just out of reach.

They had never cared about who his uncle was just as he did not care about their families business. He just couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if they hadn't approached him on their first day of pre-school.

The twins had stopped pretending to cry once they saw the expression on Hunter’s face. “Hey you ok?” asked Emira, genuinely concerned as she approached Hunter.

“If it bothers you that much we’ll stop” sniffled Edric as real tears were threatening to break through.

Hunter looked at the pair and could not help himself from smiling appone seeing their grief stricken faces. These were his favorite people in the world just as they were the most annoying.

“I hate you guys.” said Hunter with a smirk.

To this both twins lit up and latched on to either one of his arms as they continued walking down the hallway before saying in unison “Aww we love you too Hunny.”

“Stop calling me that” demanded Hunter as he let himself be pulled away by the two.

#toh fanfic #the owl house #emira blight #huntmira #huntmiraweek2021 #edric blight #amity blight #willow park #gus porter #toh hunter #gravesfield #goldric

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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

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The New Apprentice Part 12

Maul x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

WARNINGS: mentions to sex, FLUFF, the fluffiest chapter by far. Enjoy it cause I’m gonna hurt your feelings in the next one NGL

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

True to both parts of his word, Maul demanded that your suggestions be carried out; with little resistance from the government that Almec put together it didn’t take long for your plan to come to fruition. While the gears were turning Maul continued your training, an expansive space in the court yard was repurposed for sparring. To your delight, several members of the Death Watch accepted your invitation after promising to keep it purely physical, no ‘force magic’ as they put it. Their addition meant that Maul could continue to work with the syndicates and members of Mandalorian government to further his desires for power and you didn’t have to wait for him to be free to train. Of course, he made time for you every morning; discussing Sith philosophies and history while every evening you meditated together.

It didn’t take long for the tabloids to gather information about the Manda’lor’s generous gesture to restore farm lands to their original clan and to seed them; not with tax money but straight from the purse of the woman who had seized them to begin with. He practically gushed to himself in the privacy of his office at the praise from the people. He wasn’t even finished with your original plan and already he was coming up with more to gain the citizen’s loyalty. Maul was nothing if he wasn’t thorough in his scheming and when he discovered that the Mandalorians as a people had a long and strenuous relationship with the Jedi, to put it lightly, he resolved himself to arm every man and woman once again. By the end of his precise forty step plan, he would have not just an army but an entire planet up in arms should the Jedi come for him, his brother or his love. The last article he read ended with a question, a call to the Mand’alor to be present for the relighting of the oldest forge on the planet. Knowing good publicity when he saw it; he made the call to Almec to schedule it for as soon as possible and he made his way to go find you.

He smiled at the sight when he walked out onto the courtyard. You and Savage were back-to-back with your sabers twirling wildly and your stances shuffling. Several Death Watch surrounded you on foot while more flew around you with their jet packs, firing blaster bolts that, he hoped, were set to stun. He took a moment to watch you, admiring how far you’ve come with your saber skills while recalling how truly terrible you had been just a few months ago. Just a few months ago. That’s all it took to steal his heart and change his life. What a fickle thing time was. He spent a decade alone and distending into madness, accomplishing nothing, but in a matter of months. Months, his brother had rescued him, he had fallen in love and he was now a ruler on his way to being genuinely liked by his people. He shook his head at the realization as you and his brother redirected the bolts away skillfully, being sure not to strike one of your guard. Some of them were laughing wildly in excitement and he saw that you had lived up to your own word. You’d make them like you, it seemed like you were making good progress on that. It is quite cathartic to be able to shoot at the people or person who makes you uneasy, even if it isn’t lethal. Perhaps next time he would join you in this particular kind of training, you did make it look enjoyable as a smile was apparent on both Savage’s and your face.

One of the guards noticed Maul standing in their peripheral and called for a cease fire. Bodies clad in red and black Beskar fell into a rigid formation and a salute, he very quickly put them at ease stating he just needed to have a word with you and Savage. One of the women who you must have grown closer to elbowed you playfully before following her comrades back into the palace. Savage approached with you at his side, both grinning and sweaty from your training.

“I still think you should ask her out,” you teased Savage before turning your attention to Maul, eliciting only a huff from the golden Zabrak. “What is it you’d like to discuss my love?” you asked while he took your hand in his.

“Well firstly I’d like to applaud the both of you for performing so well in this unorthodox style of practice. It seems to be paying off quite well.” Both you and Savage exchanged a wide grin at his praises. “Secondly, my presence has been requested for the lighting of an ancient forge and I think it would be more than appropriate to have both my brother and my darling at my side.”

Savage was especially gleeful at the invitation; he had started to grow an affection on one of the Death Watch members and had taken it upon himself to learn as much about the culture as he possibly could. You were also quite excited at the opportunity to leave the palace grounds. Since that stunt you pulled during Maul’s coup, he had been more open about your relationship with the people within his proximity. He still wasn’t much for PDA but everyone knew you shared a room and a bed. He had also referred to you with your pet names in front of others rather than simply ‘apprentice.’ In fact, the more you thought about it, he hadn’t referred to you as his apprentice for a short time now; you still called him either Master or Lord Maul when you weren’t alone or with Savage. He seemed to understand that you demanded respect for him as much, if not more so, than he did for himself.

It was the following day that you had awoken alone in your bed but something caught your eye. He had sent up a silver tray with fresh hot tea for you with little biscuits and fruits. He had draped a long dress bag over the end of the obscenely large bed with a note filled with sweet nothings. For a Sith Lord and a murderer he really was quite the romantic. You gasped when you unzipped the bag to find a beautifully simple long black silken gown accompanied by cascading tear drop shaped ruby earrings and lovely crimson shoes with only a slight heel on them. You loved wearing his colors and he loved seeing them on you. After you had arranged your hair and painted a simple make up look on your face you found both Savage and Maul waiting you in the throne room, ready to depart.

They had presented themselves as the Lords they were as well. Savage adorned new robes in his dark navy color with charcoal grey accents while Maul stole your breath straight from your chest. He was still dripped in black but his robes were crafted of a similarly silken material to your dress. His trademark deep V allowed for the delightful view of his strong chest and tattoos that painted his skin. A delicate gold chain looped from his temporal horn to attach to a gold ring he wore in the top of his ear with another draped around his neck, following the lines of his exposed skin. You loved that earring and had told him every chance you could. He truly did look like a king and Savage, his right hand beside him. You greeted one another with bright smiles as you took the arm Maul had extended for you. Heat flushed your cheeks when he told you how you looked absolutely ravishing and whispered his more sinful desires to you through the force of what he would do to you the moment they returned.

Accompanied by three Beskar clad guards, you made your way to the ship that had been prepared for you. One of the guards you recognized as the particularly petite young woman that Savage had started to develop an interest in. Kiara, you liked her and had started to develop a friendly rapport with the young woman. When you noticed her continuously glancing at him you jabbed your free elbow into his ribs lightly and waggled your eyebrows at him. He simply bit back a chuckle but you didn’t miss how his cheeks tinged a deeper gold.

The ceremony was simple and utterly beautiful on the other side of the planet. Several clan heads had attended, wearing their beskar proudly as the appointed armorer for this particular forge, clad in gold coloring lit the forge with a torch after reciting the Resol’nare. She had given Maul a respectful nod when the sixth action, referring to the leader had been spoken to which he returned with a slight bow of his own head. You felt a surge of pride when the forge had been lit, knowing you played even a small part in giving these people a piece of themselves back to them. A few reporters had recorded the entirety of the ceremony and after it was completed, they turned to Maul asking for an interview which he politely declined.

“Today is an important occasion for every Mandalorian and I do not wish to draw away from it but I would be happy to partake in an interview in the near future so I may express my plans and course of action to see them through to every citizen,” and with that, warm handshakes were exchanged until your small guard had directed you back to the ship. He played politician as well as he played the syndicates. Dual tunes of light and dark and you thought for a moment how grey your lover truly was. You recalled the first time your minds truly, purposefully melded, that first night you were conscious on Zanbar, the first time you lay with one another. He was that last burst of sunlight during the dusk, just before it set.

When you had returned to the palace you could see several Mandalorians etching something into the stone above the main entrance to the Sundari Palace, upon closer examination you could read ‘Through Passion I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader all help us survive.’ Your eyes welled up with how beautifully the Sith code and the Mandalorian’s Resol’nare flowed so beautifully together; etched in stone for all to see and gain strength from. You could feel the pride of every Mandalorian who gazed upon the lettering through the force. Maul’s silent promise not to damn or forget about the ideals of his new people or his own.

Plans to throw a gala, inviting the heads and spouses of every major clan on the planet were drawn up immediately following the forge lighting. The intention to hear the needs and wants from the people directly. Once again, he didn’t draw from the well of the peoples’ taxes to throw an extravagant party, but used a small percentage of the wealth that was starting to accumulate from heading the various syndicates. A small detail that you admired and praised him for extensively.

The gala went better than anyone could’ve foreseen for a number of reasons. Firstly, to your own amusement, you recognized Kiara out on the dance floor with Savage. She wore a deep navy gown to match his attire and her silver toned Karta Beskar proudly, his large hand holding her small waist tightly. You wondered if either of their smiles would ever fade and you hoped they wouldn’t. Maul happily allowed him a ‘night off’ so to speak and kept you at his side during his conversations with the leaders of the various clans.

It was impossible to lie to a skilled force user so the second reason that the night had gone so well was the fact that the gifting of the farm lands, the relighting of the forge and even the small detail of the etching of the stone above the palace’s entrance had paid off in regards to the favor Maul was quickly gaining. He took their concerns to heart and responded eloquently, offering slight alterations to the more unreasonable requests and all but promising to see to the much more manageable ones and the invited reporters caught every moment of it.

Finally, when the formalities had ended Maul was free to take your hand and glide you across the dance floor. Despite his one cybernetic leg he moved as gracefully as ever and smiling endearingly at you. His eyes locked softly on your own. It was during this time you had noticed that his eyes weren’t so bloodshot. The creases in his brow that seemed so permanent had started to fade and his muscles, usually so ridged and stressed, moved with more fluidity and ease. Again, your heart swelled, this is what he deserved. Happiness. Love, adoration, respect from all who came within proximity of him. Long after the guests had left and Savage accompanied Kiara down to walk through the gardens; Maul led you to the terrace to dance slowly under the moonlight to a silent song only the two of you could hear.

The following day while you and Maul sipped caf in your bedroom during the early morning hours, the scent of sex and sweat still hinting in the air, you read through the articles written about the gala. As to be expected, Maul received high praise simply for inviting advocates of the people to speak with him personally along with slander towards Satine for never doing anything even remotely like what Maul had done. To your surprise as well, you had been mentioned a few times regarding your proximity to the Mand’alor and your kindness and competence had been quoted by a few of the leaders.

The last article you read had a picture you hadn’t realized was even taken. It showed you and your lover hand in hand, mid twirl out of the balcony in the dim light of the moon and the stars. The headline asking a faceless reader if a royal marriage was imminent. Maul chuckled as he read over the same headline and just as he opened his mouth to speak a loud knock sounded from the door.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance he called out, granting entry. Savage entered with a goofy grin asking if you were ready to spar much to your delight. You were eager to hear how the rest of his evening had gone with Kiara. You quickly dressed from your silken night gown into your typical training garb and kissed your lover goodbye before skipping after the larger Zabrak.

Maul sighed and smiled to himself, drinking the last of his caf and sending Almec a list of things he wanted to accomplish over the next two weeks for the people of Mandalore. He stood to get dressed but hesitated for a moment before leaving the confines of his luxurious bedroom, hand holding a small box in his pocket tightly.

When it had happened, he almost couldn’t believe it. Some saber-staffs are able to operate on only a single kyber crystal but his master believed he needed the power of two for his to function at maximum strength. He had sent Gar Saxon to Lotho Minor on a secret mission that even Savage hadn’t been aware of. The commander had managed to find the broken half of his saber-staff with the crystal still intact. It had taken Maul almost two weeks but he had managed to cleanse his corruption from the small crystal, restoring it to its soft blue glow.

What you hadn’t seen during the lighting of the forge was Maul had requisitioned the armorer to cast a ring from the metal of his broken half and set the stone inside it. She had slipped him the finished product during the gala.

He took the small box out of his pocket and admired her work again. He knew you favored a simple elegance over extravagant gaudy ones. His purified Kyber crystal shined brightly in the silver band and his heart swelled with hope. Since the night you had accidently shared memories, he wanted to give you his life, his very soul. This was closest thing to being able to do that as possible and he had to plan the perfect moment to do it. What he didn’t realize was that it would be much longer before he could even try.

#maul x reader #Darth Maul x reader #Darth maul #maul #sith apprentice #sith warrior #SWTCW #swtcw au #star wars #starwars au #Maul fluff #Savage opress #platonic savage #night brothers #Mandalore #maul x apprentice reader #dark side of the force

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