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crazyotakugal · 3 years

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Soaring Hearts

Hawks/Keigo Tamaki x Reader Fluff Lemon

Authors Notes:

Thank y’all so much for all the support!! I’m so glad you enjoyed the story and like I said, here’s part Two!! I hope y’all enjoy!!

It’s been almost a month since your “encounter” with the Number Two Hero. You’ve been catching up with your family, seeing the sights, and wondering about your meet up with Hawks. Of course, you haven’t told anyone about meeting Hawks and the events that followed. However, there’s always the unexpected…

Part Two:

CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

“ Come on, y/n! You gotta check out this place next!” Your cousin, Fuyumi, waved you over to yet another sweets shop.

It was a nice day today and Fuyumi had the day off, so she decided to take your sight seeing/shopping. The district was actually really cool and had a variety of different shops, but you really didn’t have much money to spend. Since your dad ditched you, things have always been tight. If your uncle, the number one Hero, had not paid for your trip, you wouldn’t have been able to visit. However, you’d never tell your family about your financial situation.

“Oooohhh!! They have that awesome cake and milk tea!! Let’s get some!” Fuyumi grabs your hand and starts to drag you into the shop.

“Umm, Fuyumi, maybe we should slow down?” You really couldn’t afford it, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Oh no worries! Dad’s covering everything today! He insisted!” She beamed.

“Uuuuhhh…” You were at a lost for words.

You just decided to go along with it and allowed yourself to be dragged along. Despite your uncle’s attitude, he was actually a really kind person. You remember your mom calling him a monster and saying he was evil, but you just didn’t see that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Fuyumi were sitting at a table with a neon rainbow checkerboard tablecloth and a pink vase with white daisies inside. The place was really nice for being a sweets shop. It was cutesy kind of place with different kinds of teas and sweets and the atmosphere was relaxing. You just went with whatever Fuyumi ordered. She seemed to be really happy and enjoying hanging around you. To be honest, you were really having tons of fun and you were really happy you came to Japan.

Even your encounter with Hawks.

Even if it was just a fling and as much as it made your heart ache to want to see him again, you knew your best chance was on a screen versus in person. You didn’t regret spending the night with him, but you felt bad for how it ended.

~~~ FLASHBACK ~~~

It was either really late at night or very early in the morning when you had woken up. It was really dark and you were tempted to slip back into the lull of sleep. However, you had to pee really bad. Your body felt stiff and heavy. Nature calling, you rub your thighs together, feeling a sharp pain shoot between your legs, and a stickiness there.

‘Huh? Too early for my period.’

You try to shift to get up, but something was wrapped around your waist. It didn’t feel like your covers. It was warmer and heavier. As your brain slowly started to wake up, you realized the thing around your waist was connected to something heavy pressed against your back. You try to wiggle a little bit and whatever was around your waist tighten.

You felt a lump in your throat and carefully turned your head. Holding your waist was Japan’s number two pro hero! His gold locks even messier then normal and he looked absolutely breath taking asleep. You very carefully slide away from Hawks without disturbing him, gather your scattered clothing, and tippy toe into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, fully clothed. You glance over at Hawks sleeping form, feeling regret for leaving like this bubbling inside you. However, you weren’t going to put yourself through that. Even though what you two had shared was amazing, you weren’t going to kid yourself into thinking that there was anything there. You wiped a few tears from your eyes and quietly left his apartment.

~~~ End F/B ~~~

“Y/n? Hey, y/n, you there?” Fuyumi is waving a hand in front of your face.

“Oh! Oh I’m sorry!” You laughed. “I guess I was spacing out.”

A waitress comes over to your table, setting down your orders and leaves with a bow. The tea smelled amazing and the cake super delicious!

“I’m sorry, Fuyumi, what were you saying?” You take a sip of the yummy tea.

She takes a bite of the cake and swallowed it, “I was saying that there’s this big charity party that dad wants us all to attend tonight and was asking you if you had a dress you could wear?!”

You choke a bit on your cake, “What?! No! Noooo! I don’t have anything to wear that fancy! I really don’t need to go, I mean I’m just his niece!”

Fuyumi makes a slight pouty face, “But you are family! It’s for the family’s of that Camino incident, so it’s for a good cause! Dad even said we could go pick out new dresses!”

You feel really uneasy about that,” That’s not necessary! Really!”

Fuyumi just smiled at you, “Really! Don’t worry about it!”

Even though you were still getting to know Fuyumi, you knew her well enough to know there was no point to arguing with her once her mind was set. You just take a bite of your cake as she beams knowing she won.

~~~~~~

After the sweets shop, you were dragged to a few clothing stores. Fuyumi found a few dresses she liked/bought, the one she finally chose for the evening was a navy blue tie back dress that had silver glitter at the hem slowly decreasing almost non existent to the waist, almost like a starburst effect. It looked amazing on her. In fact, a lot of stuff did.

You found a few things you looked for everyday wear and lingerie, which she bought you despite your protests, but nothing you felt confident in or really suited you. Finally, Fuyumi dragged you into this one store with all kinds of clothing. That’s when it caught your eye. It was an off the shoulder dress with loop sleeves, form fitting torso with lace up front. There was a satin bow at the waist, the bow resting on your hip. The skirt flared out into two layers, the top layer was sheer parted down the middle with tiny little diamonds (not real) that ruffled at the edges. The second layer was a satin material with the same diamond accents that came down to your ankles. It was your favorite color and the price wasn’t bad at all!

“Oh wow, y/n! That’s perfect! You should try it on!” Fuyumi beamed as she snatched the dress and pushed it and you towards the dressing room. A few minutes later, you came out with it on. It fit you perfectly and you couldn’t hardly believe it was you in the mirror.

“Y/n! You look beautiful!” Your cousin smiled at you, causing you to blush a little.

‘My little sparrow is so beautiful.’

You remember the last time someone called you “beautiful” and remembering that night made you turn bright red.

~~~ Later that night ~~~

Just as you thought, it was an extremely classy affair. There were ton of big time heroes there as well as a lot of influential names. You didn’t know everyone, but Fuyumi had no problem filling you in. She looked so pretty in her dress. Natsuo and Shoto of course didn’t show up. Fuyumi was squealing about all the hot and available guys at the party.

“Oh there’s dad!” Fuyumi grabs your arm and drags you over to where your uncle was.

He, of course being number one, was surrounded by a bunch of people. He looked really annoyed, but put on a front. Occasionally, shaking a hand. Once he saw Fuyumi and you heading his way, he excused himself and to meet you halfway.

“Hey, Dad! This things really great isn’t it?” Fuyumi smiles, as always, trying to be the sweet daughter.

“Fuyumi. Y/N. You’re both looking very nice this evening.” He gave a tiniest, quickest smile.

Fuyumi beamed at the compliment and gave even a little twirl. A waiter came by and offered you three a colorful drink in a tall glass with a cherry on top. Endeavor declined, but you two each took one and thanked him.

“Um, Uncle, thank you very much for the dress,” You bowed, careful not to spill your drink.

“Hey there, Number one! You sure are popular!” A familiar voice rang, making your heart stop.

You lift your head up, to see none other than Hawks standing next to your uncle, with his hand on his shoulder with his usual grin on his face. He, like the other pro heroes there, was wearing his typical attire.

“Ugh, Hawks, let me introduce you to my daughter, Fuyumi, and my niece visiting abroad, Y/N,” Endeavor holds a hand out gesturing your way causing your heart to stop.

‘Don’t be dumb, Y/N! It was a one night stand! He probably doesn’t even remember you!’

Hawks smiles at Fuyumi warmly, gently taking her hand, but there’s a split second of surprise and recognition when his eyes turn towards you. Your breath catches in your throat as he smiles, takes your hand into his, and brings it to his lips. You feel your face turn bright red.

“Nice you meet you, Y/n,” He says with a subtle hint of sarcasm. He was acting like you’d just met, but he definitely recognized you.

“Oh my God! Is that the number one and number two pro heroes together!” Someone yelled from the crowd.

Fuyumi grabbed your hand and hurried away so you two weren’t caught in the poparatzi fire. You glanced back at Hawks, who was still looking at you as you were being led away. The crowd of reporters encircled the two heroes.

~~~~~~~~~

After the craziness with the reporters, you’d lost sight of Hawks. You’d spent the rest of the evening being dragged around by your cousin, talking, eating, and drinking. It was actually lots of fun. You got to meet a lot of new people and eat a lot of delicious food.

A little tipsy, needing some air, you excused yourself from your cousin who honestly was too engrossed in talking to this guy to notice you leave. You found a quiet place in the outside garden. The cool air felt nice on your hot skin and the scent of the flowers around you was relaxing. You sat on a bench by a fountain, closed your eyes, and took a few deep breaths. As you started to cool down, the breeze was starting to make you shiver a little.

Suddenly something soft and warm is placed on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see Hawks standing there with a gentle smile on his face, he’d placed his jacket over you. Seeing him so close to you, made your heart race and you felt a ping of guilt.

“Little Sparrow a bit chilly?” He reaches and brushes a stray hair from your burning face.

Hearing him say that nickname, flustered you because images of that night came flooding back. You felt the familiar spark of desire start from just that little touch. The memory of how those hands felt touching you made you shiver slightly.

“I, um, I…” You stutter out.

He tilts his head slightly, “hmmm?”

You bow low, “I’m so sorry! About leaving like that I mean!”

Embarrassed you ramble on, “It’s just, um, I’ve never done that type of thing. Not saying I regret what happened, but…I didn’t know what to expect afterwards and panicked and…I’m so sorry I left and didn’t say anything…”

You’re afraid to look up, but a gentle hand on your chin, turned your gaze upwards to meet his. Those wonderful lips of his gently covering your own. At first it starts slow, but then gradually becomes more passionate. One hand wraps around your waist as the other cups the back of your neck, keeping you in place. His tongue sweeps over your lips and you grant him access to your mouth without hesitation. All the desire from that night reawakening as that kiss makes you melt.

When your lips finally part, both his hands cup your cheeks bringing your face forward so your forehead was resting against his. Your noses almost touching, both your eyes shut, and you both a panting for breath. Just from that kiss, you could tell that you probably were already soaked down there. Your eyes locked when you opened them. Desire burning so brightly behind his gold orbs.

You looked so beautiful to him right now. The dress you were wearing was absolutely amazing on you, your lips were red and swollen from his assault, and your cheeks were flushed. That morning, he felt sad that you had left and he hadn’t gotten your name or info. That night has been fantastic and he didn’t know what it was about you, but he just felt so drawn to you. Sure, he’d had experience with women and had some fun in his younger years. Despite the rumors about him, he didn’t go around jumping from woman to woman. That was way too risky for one, but shallow one night stands weren’t his thing.

“Y/N,” He breathed before kissing you again. His hands starting the explore your body over your dress.

“H…Hawks!” You gasp as his lips start placing kisses down your neck. Hearing your name from his lips completely overwhelmed you with need.

His arms lift you up bridal style and he flies up high onto a balcony. The door’s unlocked and Hawks carries you into the dark room. It looked like someone’s office, there were shelves with all kinds of books, a couple of couches by a fireplace, and a large wooden desk.

Hawks carries you over and gently lays you down on one of the couches, his jacket acting like a pillow, and leans over you. His lips once again taking yours captive. He uses one arm to support his weight above you as the other slides up your leg bunching the skirt of your dress higher and higher. You gasp against his mouth when you feel his fingers press against the damp cloth between your legs.

“Oh!” You toss your head back as his fingers slowly start to circle the wetness there.

“I see my lovely sparrow is still so sensitive,” he murmurs as he kisses your shoulder, his fingers dipping beyond your soaked panties.

“Keigo!” You cry out and you feel Hawks shutter above you, feeling how wet you already were for him and already crying his name.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He gets up off of you, you hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone and the sound of rustling clothing. You give a surprise squeal as you feel your panties being pulled off you. Hawks pushes your skirt all the way up to your waist and settles himself between your legs. Before you can say anything, he sheaths himself into you with one thrust. You can feel him fill every part of you, once again stretching you.

“Ahhh!” Your body shudders as you cum just from the sensation of him utterly filling you.

“Did my sparrow just cum from me just putting it inside?” He says with a cocky tone as he starts to move, “You really are made for me! Fuck! You feel so good!”

You dig your nails into his clothed back as your rocked into ecstasy. You look up at Hawks; his face twisted with pleasure and his beautiful red wings completely spread out above the two of you. Your tangle your fingers in his blond hair and bring his lips crashing down onto yours.

The sounds of moans and slapping skin fill the room.

“You’re so hot and wet! It’s like heaven inside you!” He breaths, never halting his thrusts, “God Sparrow, you’re taking me so wonderfully. You’re just the perfect fit!”

You start to feel that wonderful familiar knot start to build again. Hawks thrusts start getting a little rougher and deeper. A film of sweat covering both your bodies. His length hitting the entrance of your womb over and over again. The pleasure is just as intense as before that you feel your mind slipping away.

“Keigo! I’m gonna…oh God! I’m gonna!” You sob out, feeling yourself about to tumble down that peak any moment.

Hawks grabs your hips in his hands and pounds into you mercilessly. He burned the vision of you in his mind. Your h/c spilled all over as your head thrashes about, you withering underneath him with absolute bliss plastered on your face, and those lovely lips of yours swollen, parted, quivering as you start to reach your peak. That lovely dress of yours bunched at your hips giving him a wonderful view of himself being swallowed by your lovely pussy.

“Y/n, cum for me! That’s it! Cum for me sparrow!” He urges, pushing his hips against that spot a few times, his cock hitting your cervix, before you finally tumble over.

“KEIGO!” You scream, tossing your head back as your orgasm hits you. You cling to the couch as it washes you over. He holds his grip on your hips as he pounds you.

Hawks loses it when he feels you clamp down onto him, cumming around his cock. Your hot fluids gushing all over him. A few sloppy thrusts later, he’s calling out your name as he fills you to the brim. Another climax hits you as feel his dick twitching and filling you. You both lay there, panting afterwards.

You both hold each other on the couch, bodies still connected. Hawks still breathless, placing occasional kisses on your shoulder. He didn’t want to leave your warmth yet. After a few more minutes of holding you, mumbling soothing words, Hawks slips from your depths. He watches as your combined fluids seep from your opening slightly and catches your soft whimper once he left you.

Hawks sits up and gathers you in his lap, holding you to his chest. You smelt amazing. Like a sweet dessert. Your h/c was soft and your skin as well. It felt so nice holding you like this. You laid your head on his chest and gave into him holding you. His fingers gently stroking your hair. You didn’t want to be parted from him yet. You wished time would freeze and you two could stay like this. He smelt like rain. His warmth radiating from his body into yours. You feel a bit of sleepiness come over you.

“We should go before someone comes in and we get in trouble for staining their expensive couch,” Hawks whispers in your ear, bringing a bright red blush to your face.

You get up on your unsteady legs and straighten yourself up. You look around, a bit panicked, for your panties that you’d been wearing, but couldn’t see where Hawks had tossed them too. Your face turned bright red thinking how horrifying it would be if someone found them.

“Looking for something?” Hawks smiles at you, holding the bunched up lace garment in his hand.

“H…hey!” You feel your face burn even hotter. “Give those back!”

You go to try to snatch your panties from his hand, but of course he’s too fast for you and easily dodges. You go to try and grab them again, but this time he catches your wrist, pulling your body against his.

He smiles down at you, giving you a playful wink,”Consider these my hostage so you don’t go disappearing on me again.”

You make a pouty face at him and playfully punch him in the chest. He simply laughs it off.

His lips brush yours as he stuffs the material into his jacket pocket and lifts you up again. He effortlessly leaps down the balcony, safely with you to the ground. He gently sets you down on your feet. You feel his hand cover yours then sliding something between your fingers. It was his card, but at the bottom was a hand written phone number. You look up at him again and he reaches to brush a hair from your face. You looked absolutely adorable at that moment, looking up at him with big, questioning eyes.

“I don’t usually give out my personal number, but I’m willing to make an exception for you my sparrow,” He grins, ” However, now that I know you’re related to the big guy, I can easily hunt you down too.”

You give him a look and mumble under your breath, “You can try.”

He’s taken aback for a moment, then bursts into laughter. You were just too cute. He couldn’t help himself, wraps an arm around your waist, and kisses you deeply before he finally steps away from you.

He flaps his wings and takes off a few feet into the air. Small red feathers raining down all around you.

“Until I see ya around, Y/N!” He grins before taking off into the air. Leaving you looking up at the night sky as he disappears.

~~~~~~~~~~

So that’s it for part two!! Thank y’all so much and I’ll be working on part three soon. :D

#hawks #my hero academia #bnha #anime #hawks x reader smut #hawks x reader fluff #hawksxreader #bnha hawks #keigo tamaki x reader smut #keigo tamaki x reader #keigo tamaki #keigo tamaki x reader fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Extracurricular

Warnings: noncon/rape; drinking/drunkenness.

This is a dark! fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: (Professor) Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You go out to unwind from your schoolwork but can’t seem to escape a certain professor’s attention.

Note: Pinched nerve don’t care. I’ve written this as I’m laying on a heating pad and praying for absolution. Hope y’all enjoy because by the time this goes up I’ll be at work and hating life.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Midterms were finally over. It had been a long two weeks; all nighters, energy drinks, and stress headaches. Now you were ready to forget it all in a single night.

Your dress was a little too short and a little too tight. A pink number with large sequins. It looked straight out of the nineties; an appropriate choice for your girls’ night. A downtown club was hosting a ladies night with a retro theme and you felt like the spice girl you’d once idolized. And a little buzzed.

Lexi had invited you along with her roommates, Cece and Rima, to dance off the dread of your results. Study had been half the battle, it was still to see if it had done you any good. In your Twentieth Century Lit class, you were certain you’d fallen on your face. Figuratively, though you had done so literally your first day. It had set a precedent for your apparent cluelessness.

You followed the girls inside after your hand was stamped and the flashing lights mingled with the thumping music and filled your body. You were enlivened by the bodies already dancing and the voice that underlined the melody. A single pre-drink and you were already feeling tomorrow’s hangover.

You joined the chaos of the dance floor as Lexi searched her purse and came out victorious with a handful of bills. “First rounds on me!” She sang, “How about it girls? You ready for more?”

“Holy shit, Lex,” Cece giggled, “Another night with the sugar daddy?”

“Don’t call him that,” Lexi retorted.

“Well, what would you call him?” Rima countered. “You fuck him, he gives you money.”

“Shut up before I shut you up!’ Lexi whined.

“Hey, both of you,” you warned and grabbed Lexi’s hand, “And stop waving that around.”

“Oh thank youuuu,” she clung to you, “I’ll have a vodka soda.”

“Wha-- no.”

“Do they have whiteclaw?” Rima asked.

“Ew. don’t,” Cece wrinkled her nose, “I’ll have a vodka too.”

“Fine, vodka cran!” Rima nearly hollered. The girls must have started well before you showed up to their dorm.

You huffed and took the fistful of bills. You sidled through the crowd of pairs and groups writhing and waving to the music. Another drink would make you less aware.

You stepped up to the bar and found yourself nearly bowled over by another patron as she stumbled away with her drink. You knocked the arm of a man leaned against the bar top and turned to apologize.

“Oop, sorry, I didn’t--” You froze and blinked several times in disbelief. The familiar face grinned in recognition. “Professor Drysdale? What are you--”

“I didn’t know it was ladies night,” he spoke over the music, “Had my last exam and thought I’d unwind but--” He looked around. “I didn’t take you for the club type.”

You squirmed as his eyes strayed from your face and you got closer to the bar. “Well, not every night,” you chuckled.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he raised his hand and waved to the bartender. “Took me a moment, to be honest.”

“Ahh,” you watched the bartender near and he bent to hear your order. You got yourself a gin after your last sour experience with vodka.

You watched the bartender work, unsure of what to say to your unexpected company. His remark stuck in your head. You often sat in his class in your favourite loose cardigan or a sweat with fraying cuffs. Massachusetts was growing colder by the day and only the alcohol and your lack of a damn kept you warm that night.

“So, I guess you’re here with friends,” he said.

“Yeah, just a few of us.” You said as you rubbed your sweaty fingers on the bills. The bartender pushed your drink across the bar but Professor Drysdale was quicker than you as he held out a fifty.

“My treat.” He said.

“Oh no,” you tried to grab his hand but he waved it at the bartender again. “You don’t need to--”

“Come on. Save your money. You college kids need all you can get,” he insisted.

You smiled awkwardly and carefully took two cups in each hand. You lifted them as he watched you. You peeked over at him and found his eyes glued to you.

“Thank you, professor,” you said.

“Ransom,” he corrected you, “I’m not much of a dancer… but I don’t mind the music. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.”

“Maybe.” You turned and narrowly missed another collision.

You followed the maze of bodies back to your group and doled out the drink. Your fingers were left sticky with soda and you took a deep gulp of your own. You tried not to think of the odd encounter with your professor. It wasn’t too unusual you spotted the occasional faculty downtown; students often stuck to the campus bar. Even so, you were surprised at his interest. In class, he barely seemed to recall your name, even if you were the only one who raised your hand. Well, maybe he had also indulged a little too much.

You forgot your paranoia as soon as you finished your drink. You set aside the plastic cup and lost yourself in TLCs greatest hit. You’d regret it in the morning when it mattered.

🥂

After the second drink, came the third, the fourth, and fifth that tasted more like a double. The lights blurred in your vision and the music made your head swell delightfully.

The night had worn on and as a slow R&B tune came on, you weren’t quite sure what to do. Cece had long ago found a guy to hang off and Rima and Lexi were all too happy to start dancing with each other. You hiccupped and contemplated a break against the wall.

You were startled as you felt a hand on your back and kept from your retreat.

“Need a partner?” Ransom’s voice flooded into your veins like the alcohol; warm and disorienting.

“Huh, oh, no, it’s--” You giggled bashfully. “That’s fine.”

“Come on,” he pulled you against him, your back to his front, “Wasn’t too long ago I was out here with all the coeds.”

“Professor--”

“Ransom,” he purred in your ear. “I like this song.”

“I don’t think--”

“Don’t think then,” he said sharply as his arm snaked around you and urged you closer. He leaned in and spoke in your ear. “Seeing your ass in that dress makes me wonder why you ever cover it up.”

“Pr--Ransom, please, I--”

“It’s just a dance, sweetie,” he grinded into you and you felt a twitch in his pants. “Just like that.”

He guided your drunken body against his as his fingers danced along the hem of your dress. The music swept you up as you dizzily surrendered to him. Behind the haze, you knew it was wrong, but you knew you were strong enough to resist. And part of you, didn’t believe your professor was groping you.

“Mmm, you’re so sweet,” he groaned, “That’s it,” he rubbed his crotch against you, “Let me feel that ass.”

“Professor,” you breathed as one his hands caressed your thigh, “You shouldn’t--”

“Wish you dressed like this in class.” He slithered, “Nice little short skirt. You can sit in the front row and give me a little peek.”

“Stop,” you hissed as your vision swam and panic rose in your chest, the gin making you unsteady and uncertain, “Please.”

“Please,” he echoed, “I love to hear you beg me, sweetie.”

“I-I-I--” you stuttered stupidly and finally tore away from him. “I have to pee.”

Your ankle bent in your heel and you hurried past him. You nearly fell as you batted away his hand and fled to the restroom. You stopped by the doorway at the edge of the floor and looked back. Ransom watched you with head tilted and a smirk on his lips, unbothered by the drunk horde around him. You turned and quickly shielded yourself with the door.

You took a breath and ambled forward to stare at yourself in the mirror. Were you that drunk or was your professor really trying to get in your pants?

🥂

When you returned to the girls, Ransom was gone. You didn’t look around for him much, afraid you might find him. You finally tore Cece away from her partner as Lexi began to lean heavily. You took her under the arm and realised that every one of you were a mess. It would be a parade of fools trying to get home.

You got your jackets from the check and went out into the bitter cold. You shivered as you left Lexi to hang off Rima and you swayed as you hailed a cab. A yellow taxi pulled up and you opened the door as you ushered the rest of the girls in. A hand rested beside yours atop the door.

“Looks like there’s no room for you,” Ransom said and you flinched as you looked at him.

“I can get in the front,” you argued weakly.

“Ride with me.” He raised his hand to call another cab, “You don’t wanna overcrowd the car.”

“No, I can--”

“It’s cold!” Cece pulled the door from your grasp and it slammed, nearly knocking you over. “Driver, Western Building on campus.”

“Wait--” The driver pulled away without pause and you stumbled off the curb.

Ransom caught you and pulled you back up. He wrapped his arm around you as another taxi appeared.

“You’re pretty fucked up, sweetie, I can’t have you riding alone,” he opened the door and bent to usher you inside. You struggled but not much, hauling yourself across the seat as he followed closely. He gave an address you didn’t recognize as he shut the door.

“What-- where--” You touched your forehead as you leaned back against the seat. “Professor--”

“I like how you call me that,” he reached over and rested his hand on your leg, “Don’t worry, sweetie, better you come with me than some creep.”

You grabbed his hand and tried to push it away but it didn’t budge. He squeezed your thigh and got closer. His other arm went around your shoulder and drew you against him.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re tired. Just close your eyes.” He hummed. “I’ll get you back safe.”

You shook your head but your eyelids drooped against your will. The dancing, the gin, the weeks of sleep deprivation piled atop you and dragged you into a blurred stupor. You felt detached from the world as it passed outside the car windows and suddenly a door opened and closed. Your body was moving but not of your own volition.

Your vision cleared for a moment and you looked up at a large house with immense windows. You blinked and you were inside. You sat for a moment as Ransom moved around and you were lifted up. You were cradled in his arms as he carried up a flight of stairs and through the unfamiliar hallway. You bounced atop a mattress with a jolt.

“Wha--” you quivered and tried to sit up. Your head spun as your lashes fluttered.

You sat dumbly, barely able to hold yourself up on shaky arms as Ransom undressed. You babbled as he revealed his muscled chest and thick arms. He was entirely unlike the first, and only boy, you’d been with. He was a man.

“I’m drunk…” you slurred, “I can’t… you’re my--my--”

“That’s right,” he reached into his jeans pocket, his fly open, “I’m your professor,” he pulled out his phone and neared. He nudged you so that you fell onto your back and pushed your legs apart. You looked up at him as he snapped photos of you. You raised your hand to try to hide yourself. “If anyone were to find out you tried to seduce me, and for a better grade, you’ll be expelled. A star scholar like you, untouchable for any university in the country. Pity.”

“You can’t.” You murmured as you closed your legs and tried to sit up but found it almost impossible. “You…”

“I will and if you try to blow the whistle, I’ll do it first and I’ll be a whole lot more convincing than the girl everyone saw piss drunk tonight.” He sneered, “Now open those legs for me, sweetie.”

You didn’t move. You hugged yourself with your arms as you were caught in a heavy tide. You were terrified, worse; helpless. You listened to the rustle of his clothing and the mattress dipped by your feet.

His hands began at your ankles and glided up to your knees. He pushed your legs apart as you held them together. You were forced to relent as he pinched you viciously and your muscles quaked. He moved between your legs and rubbed your thighs as your skirt rode up. He pressed two fingers along the crotch of your panties.

“What’s the point of these in a dress like that, huh?” He began to tease you through the fabric, “What’s the matter, sweetie? You scared?” He slowly pulled aside your panties and touched your folds, “Am I your first?”

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. You whimpered as he flicked your clit.

“Maybe not your first but definitely the best,” he purred, “Ah, ah, you’re already wet. Kept you waiting all night, didn’t I?”

“Please, I don’t want to--”

“Shhh,” his fingers slipped down to your entrance and he traced it carefully, “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you want,” he poked his finger inside of you, “But your body does.” He added another and glided in and out of your easily. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“P-p-pl--” Your voice fizzled as he curled his fingers and pressed the hell of his hand to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and your eyelids shut. You were lost in a daze of pleasure and confusion. You were trapped but that coil winding inside you didn’t want to escape. The knot of nerves tangling tighter and tighter overpowered your fear and had you bracing the mattress. Your legs bent without a thought and your back arched. Ransom hummed as he guided your body closer to the edge.

Your nails curled into the duvet and your toes clenched. You tried to breathe, the taste of gin still on your tongue, and cried out instead. You shook as you came but it didn’t feel like your body. You felt as if you were floating above as you were used by this man. Your legs went limp and slid straight as you panted wildly and the world was specks of light as you opened your eyes.

“Teacher’s pet, aren’t you?” He taunted. “You always have the answers.”

You focused on Ransom as the room remained a fog behind him. A halo seemed to limn his figure as he drew his hand from your cunt and licked his fingers. He delighted in the taste and planted his hands on the bed and bent over you.

“That smug little smile when you’re right. You’re always right.” He hissed. “I had girls like you in my classes. Always thought they needed a good fuck.”

You touched his chest and pushed pathetically. He chuckled as his nose brushed yours.

“You know, when you bend over to get a pen from your bag, I can see straight down your shirt,” he winked, “It makes me wanna bend you over myself. You know how hard it is to teach when you’ve got me all riled up?”

“I didn’t-- Never…” you murmured, your head lolling as you found it hard to follow his words, hard to keep from drifting away entirely.

“I was going to wait until the break… Tonight was unexpected but not unwanted,” he uttered as he reached between your bodies. He dragged his tip along your folds. “You should know what you do to me.”

He stopped at your entrance and slowly pushed inside. Your mouth formed an O and he groaned with each inch. His arm came back up and hooked under your shoulder as he sank to his limit. You moaned at how full you were. Your walls hugged him and you grasped his shoulder as you tried to pull away from him.

He grabbed your jaw and held your head straight as he glared down at you and jerked his hips.

“That’s all you, sweetie,” he muttered, “Does it hurt you like it hurts me?”

He began to thrust and your legs bent around him as you tried to ease the pain. Since your regrettable high school sweetheart, you hadn’t done anything more than some foreplay and that had been shameful, if not forgettable. You closed your eyes, your head swirled and your body bounced against the bed as the darkness embraced you.

When you opened your eyes next, your head hung to the side as Ransom held himself over you, arms straight as he rutted. His gaze clung to the joining of your bodies and the slick noise of it. His hair dangled down from his head as he watched himself fuck you, slamming harder and faster each time as if driven by the sight.

You winced and let out a moan. It hurt, delightfully so, but in the back of your alcohol-laced mind, you knew it was wrong.

He lowered himself slowly, bending to take your nipple in his mouth and suckle as he continued to rock against you. His thrusts grew sharper as his groans sent a rumble through your chest. Your thighs tingled and your core thrummed as you were overcome by your drunken ecstasy.

Your voice filled the room as you came again and you didn’t realise it was yours. Ransom drew back and sat up as he lifted your pelvis, crashing into you as hard as he could as he bared his teeth. His eyes were smoky as he grunted and his motion turned frantic.

“I’m gonna- ahhh,” he took several long thrusts as he flooded you with his orgasm.

He kept going until the sensation made him spasm and he hung his head. He reached down to spread your cunt and admired it as he slowly slid out. As his cum leaked from you, he scooped it up with his fingers and pushed it back in, spreading the rest along your folds.

“Shit,” he said as he grazed your thighs with his nails, your eyes closed and consciousness fading with his voice, “Such a good girl…”

🥂

You felt as if you were buried in sand when you woke up. The world was too bright and yet too dull. The night before was blank, a void, and your surroundings were a greater mystery. The framed manuscripts, the antique side table with a twisted vase atop it, the pristine white walls. You groaned as every move made your head throb.

You rolled onto your back and gurgled. Your stomach stirred and you struggled to keep it from erupting. You turned your head slowly as your hand felt along the arm beside you. Ransom Drysdale, your Lit professor, watched you as you stared back confused. His bare torso made your cheeks burn and the dress bunched up around your waist added to your embarrassment. How had this happened?

“What-- Professor--”

“If I spank you, would you scream that for me? ‘Professor’?” He mocked.

“I don’t--” You sat up and it sent a strike of pain down the back of your skill, “What happened? How--”

“Do you want to see the pictures?” He sat up and his hand tickled along your back. “I think you might be able to guess without them.”

You blinked at him and drew away from his touch. You turned your legs over the side of the bed and took a breath before you stood. You pulled your dress up over your arms and tugged the skirt back down as you searched for your panties.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked.

“I have to get… back to campus,” you gripped your head. “Where’s my purse?”

“Relax,” he cooed, “I’ll drive you back…” You heard him stand and turned as he approached you, naked. “But I think that we should get cleaned up first.”

“I--We--”

“A nice hot shower,” he licked his lips and leaned in, “Or do you like walking around with me all down your leg?”

You reeled and your stomach churned. You covered your mouth and shoved him away. You ran for the small door on the other side of the room and thankfully, found a toilet within. You wretched into the bowl until your body ached. You sensed his shadow behind you.

“You just make sure you wash your mouth out, sweetie,” he stepped past you and cranked the shower on, “I didn’t get a chance to play with that yet.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #dark!ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #fic #dark!fic #one shot #dark fic

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thedeviljudges · 3 years

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the devil judge + the seven deadly sins

so, i made a gifset about who i thought falls under the seven deadly sins. and also shameless plug - please go reblog the gifset i made for this. took me ages to do.

but i figured i might as well make a meta post to correlate. so this is that post. it’s not everything i could discuss. i could be here for hours more, truth be told. but i hope it’s enough to chew on.

while i feel like a lot of these are going to be a no-brainer, i still want to talk it through because idk. i can, and i want to, and i feel like it, lmao.

gluttony

the elite are privileged and have an opportunity to indulge so much more than the general public, but in many different ways. this is shown throughout the show in the fact that they can indulge on luxury food, have political power, they can make a phone call or snap their fingers and everyone must follow their orders.

and the thing about gluttony is that there is always more to be had. you take a little and then realize it’s not enough and so you ask for more. case in point: in episode 11 when sunah suggests that yohan could be the new president, the current one gives her an alternative: dictatorship. because it wasn’t just enough for him to be an actor and the presiding president.

you’ll also know they turn in on themselves - the two other guys in the elite group. one who owns the company and the other dude - i really cannot remember their names and what they do, but y’all know who i’m talking about. it was so easy for them, when threatened, to fabricate documents to give to yohan about each other in order to get ahead. gluttony is only shared in the relationships we have until one realizes they can take a little extra of the pie. it’s the selfishness of having all the leftovers. gluttony cannot necessarily exist without someone else’s sacrifice.

lust

i kind of had an ah-ah moment when i was talking this over with @technitango. i was trying to decide who was going to be lust because lust is portrayed very, very differently in this show than what most of us are used to. we, of course, know sunah who lusts after a life of indulgence and riches because she equates that with respect more than actually wanting it because it’s monetarily worth something.

but then i realized the public is lust because of their need for justice. i won’t say revenge necessarily because they’re doing as they’re told when given the judge show. but we can quickly see how that evaporates into something akin to bloodlust, for criminals and people who normally get away with shit, to have their fair taste at conviction for their misdeeds. we even see it with yohan’s fanboy club - the lust that comes from adoration and dedication.

and even more so, the public is easily swayed and so is the nature of lust. it follows in the vein of needs and wants, and as soon as new information is presented, however may false, so does the wants and desires of what people want sway. how easy was it for them to turn on yohan for a split second on two occasions - on two accounts of bribery.

envy

envy, above all, is about wanting what others have because you do not have it yourself. it may not be exactly what they have, but a form of it. some people don’t necessarily want money - they want what it can by, which is time, health and material goods.

sunah is the perfect example of this. she envies respect and recognition. she talks about bright and shiny objects, and that’s true to her kleptomania tendences, but more than anything, she wants to be seen as an equal because being poor with a vastly different upbringing means she’s looked down upon by those she thinks matters.

which also begs the question why she feels the need to seek validation from people in higher statuses to begin with when she can be the exception and not the rule - form her own understanding and environment to show others that the typical way of the elite is not actually all it’s cracked up to be - to which we see when she has no one to celebrate her victory with. it’s lonely being at the top. you get to your goal you thought you wanted but then what?

more importantly, sunah also envies family, relationships and simply put, human interaction. she wants to be cared for and treasured, and she looks for that in her position of power. because then all eyes are on you. because then that’s what people care about. what she fails to see is that those eyes are just as fruitless and just as wavering. to be a leader means people loving the idea of you but not you as a person.

“people of envious nature are sometimes stimulated to seek to emulate those who have completed some great achievements and in doing so achieve something great for themselves,” according to Understanding Philosophy.

wrath

while i realize that gaon not might entirely fit the wrath trope, he certainly has his moments, and i think he’s lived with a tampered flame since his parent’s death. he just learned to briefly put it out in the form of distractions and a false sense of righteousness and justice. it isn’t until he meets yohan that someone finally gives him the okay to feel the entirety of his emotions, that lets him breath and tells him it’s okay to feel anger and hurt. and while gaon ultimately chooses not to exact revenge, his wrath is what led him to becoming a judge and walking away from his teenage crimality.

gaon transposed his wrath into seeking justice, transformed it into livelihood, and reformed his narrative so that he was no longer angry and a teen with rash emotions. it was simply redirected and never really forgotten. yohan turned that redirection back around onto gaon’s ultimate heartache. fueled with that, it became easier to justify himself and his actions.

the most pivotal moment of turning his back on this mindset is, of course, the minister’s suicide, where he takes a good look at himself and doesn’t like what he sees. at this point, gaon’s upset isn’t necessarily at yohan but at the situation in which they got themselves into. because the thing is, gaon doesn’t absolve himself from what they did. he doesn’t turn a blind eye to that and try to dismiss it. he owns up to what happened and confesses how he feels to yohan and how he has to leave for his own good, and in some indirect way, for yohan’s, too.

with yohan, his ultimately weakness, despite never admitting to it, is family. his wrath comes in the form of anger when the ones he loves are threatened. yohan lives by a moral code of loyalty because that means you won’t be abandoned, and as a child who lived with that verdict since the day he was born, it’s an ever-pressing theme of his.

thing is, wrath comes in two particular forms for yohan. again, one is family and the second is the rose-colored glasses he’s given himself in his revenge story. he’s always had a goal to presumably make right the wrong for taking away isaac, but within that, 10 years is a long time to plot revenge, to the point where it becomes so much easier to lose yourself to that, to become enraged with it and forget the initial goal all along. we see this in his inability to form the bonding moments needed with his niece and his casual throwaway comments over people’s lives - the comment he made to gaon about moving on to the next plan, and the ultimately nail in the coffin of pushing gaon to leaving him.

his fury has also led him to convince himself his own humanity is nothing short of a lie. therefore, it’s easier to justify the means to an end because of his own self-worth and self-deprecation. it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy: he even admitted to gaon’s mentor that he is an abyss. he’s referred to himself as nothing but an animal or a monster - all characteristics of despondency to survive and to justify what he’s doing. sort of like a catch 22, yohan claims he’s an animal/monster and behaves as such, but because he behaves as such, it means he’s an animal/monster.

wrath for gaon and yohan are very different yet the same. they are slow-burning, and that’s a dangerous type. it’s actually interesting when you think about the fire imagery surrounding the two of them because flames are quick to lap at anything in its wake, to destroy within a matter of minutes. and yet for the two of these men, their internal fire eats them from the inside out, painfully, until they’re almost unrecognizable to others and to themselves.

sloth

sloth was a little more difficult to pinpoint because of its characteristics. it was either the minister versus the mentor, both of which i think could work in this role. however, i chose the minister simply because she’s featured more and intertwines heavily with the plot line.

soth is a medieval translation of the Latin term acedia, meaning “without care.”

the ultimate characteristic of sloth is often identified as laziness, and while it’s easy to argue that the minister hasn’t been lazy in her ability to get where she is, she became as much when she started lying to get to her position. isn’t lying known as the easier way out? it absolves you of responsibility, of putting in the hard work, of apologizing and making things right. in the end, she had a goal and found the easiest solution to get there through her lack of responsibility for the roles she more than likely swore an oath to.

but that also translates into the other attributes of sloth: a failure to do the right thing, lack of emotions for people or of the self, and the fact that it “hinders man in his righteous undertakings and thus becomes a terrible source of man’s undoing” according to The Seven Deadly Sins: Society and Evil.

while i think there are a lot of components of sloth that may not necessarily fit the minister, the apathy and carelessness are enough to showcase her aggression, despondency and restlessness when what little efforts she does put in do not go her way. another interesting thing to note is that many of sloth’s traits correspond with symptoms of mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. it’s an interesting thing to note given the way the minister chooses to end her life.

greed

i don’t know that jinjoo would’ve had any provocation to the limelight if it wasn’t for sunah’s direction, but she’s eager to please and wants to be useful. it’s only natural for her to want more because it’s clear she’s a career woman, loves her job and has a heart for serving the people.

but like gluttony, greed is also that little thing that plants itself and can take on a life of its own. you start looking for justifications as to why you can’t have more than what you do, and in jinjoo’s situation, she’s already overlooked through no fault of her own. and it’s not that gaon and yohan are doing it purposefully, which is what makes their neglect heartbreaking, because truthfully, they’re after the same thing jinoo is. sure, it looks different and the foundation of it is different, same with their motives. but they’re all three judges on a residing bench working to exact justice - even if all three of them have their own personal agenda.

i don’t think jinoo fully aligns with greed, but she does want more for herself, and i think that’s only natural. you can tell she has a heart, and she’s keen not to be overlooked. this isn’t her pain point so much as it is she knows her worth and is more than ready to do what it takes to get where she wants. this, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad trait, but we can see how it leads to being deceived, especially for someone who’s been left in the dark for so long.

she is enticed by the glitz and the glamour of being a head judge, but you can tell she feels some remorse and guilt for those thoughts at times. i think her sense of greed is a battle within herself more than it is extremely outwardly.

pride

soohyun’s pride comes in the form of her imbalance with right and wrong. her sense of righteousness and justice is so far leaning, even more than gaon’s. it can be chalked up to her being a cop, but we’ve seen instances of this outside of her role within that agency. her pride doesn’t let her see beyond saving gaon and getting to the bottom of every mystery that comes her way.

it also comes in the form of impulsiveness and her savior complex, putting elijah in danger, for example, instead of waiting for backup. it’s not necessarily from a belief that she can fix things all on her own, but she sees injustice and immediately jumps in. another case in point is her and gaon watching yohan wreck the minister’s son’s car. she’s ready to go stop him, but gaon pulls her back, most likely because at that point, they hadn’t been observing the situation for very long to get a read on it. also the fact that at that point, neither of them truly knew yohan and his capabilities.

but as to where her characteristics come from, we simply don’t know beyond that of gaon. it’s unfortunate because we don’t have much of her backstory, so there is no real understanding why she so firmly believes in entities of regulation beyond keeping her friend out of jail. she prides herself on her work and what she’s able to accomplish, which is why it’s devastating to her to have to protect gaon by cleaning up his bloody handprint.

aristotle is of the belief that, “pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without nobility and goodness of character,” from Nicomachean Ethics.

but pride for soohyun isn’t about honors or rewards. it’s for herself and her capabilities, her ability to protect gaon, and the virtues she’s set as the precedent for herself. because sometimes it’s not even about establishing morals and ethics upon yourself. it’s about feelings/intuition, logic and observation. and no, i don’t mean the feelings she has for gaon. there are things that humans do, both actions and words, that we inherently know are bad without someone telling us as much and without the rules of the world seared into our brains. there are some things we know, for a fact, are wrong to us as individuals.

for soohyun, she knows that gaon’s actions, and even her own, have consequences. from what we’ve seen, i think it can be argued that it’s really about not doing those actions to prevent an outcome - not necessarily from a place of being just and right. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand good morals/ethics, but again, we have no background of what her internal guidance actually is.

to put this in layman’s terms, we’ll use gaon wanting to stab the conman in his youth. soohyun knows it’s wrong because it will incriminate gaon and therefore she stops it. gaon’s gone to her because he sees her as a moral compass. but is her own internal navigation rooted in justice the way gaon had to find it in the judicial system, or is hers rooted in her pride of keeping gaon safe? she stops him from doing things that will get him in trouble, but is she stopping him because the action itself is wrong or because the outcome will result in undesirable consequences for the two of them?

and of course, there is a flipped argument to be had there - i’m not arguing that gaon stabbing the conman would be right or justified. but what i am saying is that for her, her worldview is the only right one, and when anyone steps out of that, even gaon, it becomes a bit of an issue: the pride she has for that is palpable.

every character indulges

truthfully, every character has at least one form of these sins rooted in their characterization. some are larger than others, but the breadth of it can be explored even further for each. and that’s what makes them more realistic and not just characters written on a page or following a linear progression of their writing deity.

the seven deadly sins are also notoriously rooted in religion. they’re also a defining feature of aristotle’s works that represent the golden mean, in which each vice is parallel to a virtue.

the devil judge is so layered, but i think at the heart of it, it’s about humanity at its core. sprinked in are the philosophies and contradictions and what it means to look in the mirror, what happens when we’re blind to seeing our true selves and most importantly, how much changes when we’re swayed by our own misgivings. it really asks us to understand nature versus nurture, that people must find a belief in something to keep them going, and how futile our hopes and desires can actually be if we’re not carefully regulating ourselves, nevermind the entities established by society to regulate us, too.

the entirety of the show genuinely begs the question as to who is truly right, who is truly wrong, and if it’s even possible to find the correct answer.

#x #the devil judge #the devil judge meta #*#*the devil judge #so i have some Thoughts #probably not very good ones but ya know

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amiedala · 4 years

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Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 4: Protectors

Rated: Explicit (we’re FINALLY getting to the actual explicit stuff y’all!)

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mentions of stalking/hunting, descriptions of sexual activity

Summary: “Too bad,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this works—”

And then you stop because his hands are on you. So fast. Lightning quick. One grabs at your side, thumb pressing lightly against where your scar bottoms out on the left of your abdomen, the other on the right side of your face, fingers tangled in the mess of your hair. You gasp, shudder, and breathe out as he grabs you. As easily as he squeezes, though, his grip detracts to barely there at all, and he slowly pushes you back against the wall. Every nerve on your body is on fire. You breathe, uneven and desperate, as his grip on your hip trails up your side until he has both big hands cupped against your face.

He’s eclipsing you. All you can see in your line of vision is him, and, peripherally, the distorted reflection of your heaving chest pressed up against the cool beskar, everything swallowed up by him. It’s devastating. It’s everything. You can barely breathe.

You dream about him that night.

Well, you’ve dreamed of him every night. It started when you fell asleep face to face, and now he lives in your head. You think some crucial part of it has been wiped clean simply for the sheer space of memory that’s just him. You don’t even know his name. You don’t know how old he is. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s a Mandalorian, he seems to have had adopted the child, and that he has thrown himself directly in harm’s way for you twice now.

Thoughts like that live on while you sleep. Vibrantly so. Sometimes, the dream changes and you’re on top of him, or those huge hands are inside you, or you hear him gritting out your name through the modulator as he—

Somehow, you always seem to wake up before anything in the dream can finish. It’s maddening, to say the very least. Everything with him seems to overlap until it doesn’t.

It’s been a handful of days since your narrow escape on Coruscant, and both of you have healed from your injuries on the planet’s surface. You haven’t been as close to Mando since you slept face to face that night, his head slipped down on your shoulder. When you had woken in the morning, he was gone, and you frantically searched the entirety of the bottom half of the ship for any trace of him leaving before you heard him playing with the baby up the ladder, and when you ascended into the cockpit, you were back in hyperspace.

You’d been in the air for the most part, only stopping briefly down on planets to refuel and replenish whatever stock of food the three of you needed on the ship. You weren’t sure where you were going next. You don’t even remember asking him where the next planet was, just that you knew you were going somewhere. The two tracking fobs he had left to complete before returning the bounties to the Guild blinked from the dashboard, stuttering out of rhythm ever so slightly. You watched them in the dark, sometimes, when you slept upstairs in the cockpit and tried your best to not let your mind wander to the man sleeping a level below you.

Sometimes, more often than not now, your hands would slip absentmindedly into your pants and you’d find yourself conjuring up the gruffness of the Mandalorian’s voice when you touched yourself. Twice now, you’ve finished to the memory of him saying, “where did he hurt you”, and it’s an instinct so natural you don’t even realize that you’re getting yourself off to the rhythm of his words until you’re done. Once, he climbed the ladder almost immediately after you finished, and you had to wipe the warm slick off your fingers on your pants when he asked you to hold the baby. They’re still stained, and the thought of him noticing it—or walking in on you while you’re in the act—has occupied almost all of your waking hours.

It’s better on ruminating on how narrowly you escaped getting hurt by the thug a few weeks back, or on your mind reliving every single memory of how badly you handled being alone on Coruscant the last time you were there—two thoughts that you tried very hard to push away—until the Mandalorian brings it up, almost a full week later.

“You did good,” he says, and you have no idea what he means. For a split second, you think he’s talking about you touching yourself last night, and you have to stifle a yelp when you ask him what he means. “Back on Coruscant. The ship doesn’t handle easy.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you. I think the Crest has something against me.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you almost think you’re hearing a lighter voice coming through the modulator. “It’s old.”

“As old as me?”

He looks back at you, and you swear you can feel his gaze locked on you again. “How old are you?”

You swallow. “Twenty-five.”

The Mandalorian keeps his visor on you for a second, and then turns back to the front, focusing on the space you’re hurtling through.

“The ship is older than you,” he confirms.

“Explains why it’s so cranky.”

He looks back at you, and you giggle. A few moments pass, and he says, “so am I.”

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that information, quite honestly. Are you supposed to ask him how old he is? Maybe he’s seventy under the armor. Until you saw his stomach back on Coruscant, you often wondered if he looked exactly like the baby under there, or if he was a Quarren or a Gungan or something else entirely alien.

It takes you a minute, but you finally ask, “Are you younger than the ship?”

“No.”

“Are you twice the ship’s age?”

The Mandalorian looks back at you again, and if you weren’t hurtling through hyperspace and the Razor Crest wasn’t mostly running on autopilot, you would have cracked a joke about distracted driving.

“No.”

“But you’re older than the baby,” you joke.

He pauses again. “The kid is fifty.”

“What?” you shriek, and turn, betrayed, to the little green child hovering innocently in his egg next to you. He coos. You look back and forth between them, incredulous, and then a laugh filters out of the modulator.

“I don’t know how he ages. But he’s definitely still a baby.”

“Maker,” you say, still flummoxed. “Baby, you don’t look a day over thirty.” He coos at you, and you grin, folding your knees up to your chest in the chair.

“The kid is older than me,” Mando says, and then all attention is on him again.

“Well,” you manage, “then we’re working with a gap of twenty-five years.”

It seems the conversation is over, and you’ve been preoccupied with the kid, when Mando finally speaks again.

“I don’t know,” he says, and you look at him, curious, confused, “how old I am exactly.”

You’re about to ask what he means when the ship lurches again, and both of you are thrown sideways. You had strapped yourself in this time. You didn’t want a repeat of Coruscant, in any capacity. The way the Crest handled was atrocious. It was an old, cantankerous piece of junk, and it seemed to defy every other order either of you gave it. It also decided to blindside you out of nowhere, which was… well, it was like both your dirty subconscious and your conversations with Mando that teetered on something more, right before you hit the impact. Mando hauled the navigation drive up, and suddenly you were all right side up again.

“What was that?” You manage, blowing rogue hair out of your face.

He pointed. “Asteroid field.”

You squinted out the window. “Where are we?”

The Mandalorian was silent for a minute, and you didn’t push him. You weren’t in any rush for him to leave again, if you were being quite honest with yourself, and were soaking in all the tiny moments of the two of you cohabitating the ship for as long as you possibly could.

“Jakku.”

You hadn’t ever been on Jakku. You knew that it was a dry, hot wasteland like Tatooine, but that all the Rebel connections here had dried up over the years, and it had lots of small outposts where scavengers could bring practically anything dug up from the sand to make a little money. It was also worlds away from Coruscant, which was probably why it had taken so long to get here. Truthfully, it sounded dangerous in ways that you’d always feared the heat for, and your stomach flipped over a little in the recognition that he was probably going to leave again. You had been so spoiled with the last few missions—they had taken hours, and not one had swallowed up a full day, let alone weeks. He had warned you when you first joined that he could be gone for a week if he were tracking someone particularly difficult to locate, and the small sadness that pained in your gut when you barely knew Mando was a blip compared to the wrench you felt whenever he left your line of sight now. Seeing him get hurt, having to pull him back from that—you hated it. You hated knowing that he wasn’t infallible, regardless of that big shiny armor and the combination of his stealth and quickness. You wanted to tell him it, sometimes, that you hated seeing him leave, but there was still that anxious twang that came attached to how deeply you felt every single interaction, how you make things out of nothing, and you don’t think you could take it if he ever rejected you.

“Is the bounty…difficult?”

Mando seems to deliberately not hear your question, and something flares deep inside you, allowing you to pretend his resistance is because he doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t want to leave you, either, but you swallow and try to be patient.

“Not as difficult as the last one.”

“How dangerous is he?”

Mando takes a second with that one, too, and you aren’t prepared for him to turn towards you. His visor pauses on you, just for a moment, and you offer up a half smile. You have no idea if he’s reciprocating under the mask, when he finally answers.

“She’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She? That tiny, betrayed part of your mind screams, and you have to fight the urge to physically kick away your jealousy. He’s hunting her. Hunting her down, whoever she is, and bringing her back to the ship in shackles. Stop it, you chastise yourself, what, do you want him to hunt you down? Get it together.

Yes, your traitorous, primal possessiveness taunts. Yes, you want him to hunt you.

Maker. You were going to have to square up with this needy, animalistic part of yourself the second Mando left. You were going to kick its ass, because this was absolutely ridiculous—you still hadn’t responded to his last comment.

“You’re objectively…better than her, right?”

He looks back at you. “Expand.”

“You aren’t going to get shot again?”

Mando’s gaze fixates on you yet again. You swallow dry air.

“A blaster’s not really her speed.”

What did that mean?

The baby babbles. He’s reaching out his tiny green fingers for the ball that rests, perennially unscrewed, on top of one of the levers. Absentmindedly, Mando pops it off and hands it to him. The baby coos as he plays with it, trying to teethe on its smooth metal surface. You watch him as he finds so much joy from one small object, not paying attention to how quickly the Crest is dropping onto Jakku’s wasteland surface.

You don’t say much. Mando doesn’t say anything. If you try hard, really hard, you can imagine that he’s regretting leaving you and the kid as much as you’re dreading it. You don’t know why you can’t voice any of this out loud. It should be easy, by now, you’ve pretty much become a permanent fixture here. He fell asleep with his head on your shoulder, your fingers intertwined, a few nights ago. He’s offering voluntary information about himself to you now, which is a complete 180 from how stoic in his silence he was when he first brought you on board. He offered up safe delivery out of Nevarro and then refused to let you leave the ship anywhere dangerous. He let you fix a wound on his bare skin—something you know goes against the rumored Mandalorian creed. There’s all these signs, blinking and humming in the back of your mind, that the way you feel around him—something earned, something real, something more—is mutual. You know you attach big stakes to everything, that you think the galaxy has been leaving you signs, when there’s no higher power orienting you to some elevated purpose. But the way the air burns around him, how right you feel with Mando and the baby…you’d bet your life that he felt it too.

Even just a fraction. Even just in the back of his mind.

When you make your landing, the ship stubbornly creaks into the uneven sand, and you’re glad you’re still strapped in. The Crest had it out for you. You loved it in the way you’d love an old house—broken and creaky around the edges, but warm enough to still call home. The Mandalorian didn’t ask you to follow him down the ladder this time, but you did anyway, out of some habit you’re trying to force. The baby toddles around the lower deck as he flings himself to his father’s shoes, and you scrunch up your lips to the side, a sore attempt at mimicking his expression. You can’t ask Mando not to leave. This is his job. You’re lucky he didn’t let you get taken out by either of the men that tried to hurt you, or leave you for dead on Nevarro, or kick you out on Coruscant.

But stars, you want to.

Somehow, he breaks the silence first. “I’ll be back within a few days.”

Your heart sinks. “Days?”

He looks at you, the visor suddenly impenetrable. “She’s dodgy. I’m not expecting to be gone more than three.”

“What if you are?”

Silence swells up in the air around you both. Your amateur handling of the Razor Crest on the last planet was only possible because you barely had to get anywhere. Jakku was huge, and incredibly desolate, and you didn’t trust yourself enough to figure out exactly where Mando was if there was a dire emergency. And he’d never told you what kind of quarry he was tracking before, which gave you a sinking suspicion that he wasn’t confident that he’d come back completely unscathed.

“Here,” he says, finally. His voice is softer through the modulator. He hands you the commlink again, and you wrap it around your wrist, intentional. “Remember—”

“Only for emergencies?” you interrupt, and give him a soft smile. You can be lenient. You can pretend that you won’t be staring at it for days on end, waiting for his deep voice to crackle across the stars to you.

“Good girl.”

He turns, quickly, like ripping off a bandage, which is probably for the best, because you don’t want him to see your knees going weak at his two words, or how that heat he gives you rushed deep down in between your thighs, warm and wet enough to line your underwear. You stand there, mouth open, just gaping at his retreating figure as he walks out into the sand.

The baby pulls at your leg, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to yank your jaw off the floor and pay attention to him. He’s started begging for lullabies now, with his big bug eyes, and so you oblige, singing past the devastation and tingling that the Mandalorian has left behind in his wake until the kid is finally asleep. You think he does it so much to self-soothe when his daddy leaves, because he’s usually always awake in his presence. You usually don’t like when the little guy fades off when it’s just the two of you, because at least while he’s awake you can talk out loud to him and not feel like you’re going crazy being cooped up inside the ship, but right now…right now, you have other priorities.

You make sure that the kid is sleeping soundly, and you walk up the ladder as quietly as you can, trying to get snug under your blankets in the makeshift bed you’ve made in the corner, and when you finally get yourself comfortable, you play the words good girl over and over again in your mind while you slip your fingers down your pants and into the slick between your legs. You try to picture him in your mind, the way he looks under that mask, his eyes trained on you—what color were they?—and rub tight little circles to the sound of his voice, etched in your memory.

Nothing comes. You can feel it building inside you, that gold rush that sends sparks down your body when you usually orgasm, but right now, it’s like you’re teetering right on the edge. You throw your head back in desperation, in frustration, and you remove your shaking hand for just a second to refocus on him, and when your fingers return to your clit you think this is it, this has to be it—Nothing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you exclaim, pressing both hands to your eyes as if the stars to explode there instead. You can feel it building, still, even while there’s absolutely nothing in the way, and no matter what happens, you can’t cum.

You’re frustrated. You’re very frustrated. In every version of the word. You huff, yanking up your pants too roughly and pacing around the ship’s dark hull. This is all you’ve wanted for days, this small moment of release, and he just gave you the words to get yourself off by just thinking about it, and…nothing? Really?

You pace and then slide back down the ladder. Maybe you can get outside, just for a few seconds, feel the heat on your face, and maybe that’ll force it to come somewhere else, and you’re tiptoeing past the baby and getting your blaster from the armory, and then you pass the alcove where Mando’s cot is hidden away in, and you’re about to open the airlock—

Wait. Mando’s bed.

Your heart catches in your chest, skips a couple beats. This is not good. This is wrong. This is a horrible, dirty, depraved, very bad idea.

But before you can stop yourself, you’ve pressed your trembling fingers to the button that reveals his bed, and the doors fly open. You throw yourself in quickly, as if that’ll lessen the impact, and you throw yourself down on your back, looking at the ceiling.

It’s so dark in here. It smells like him. It’s like his soap has scrubbed down the bed, the way it’s wafting through the air. In here, it’s like a holding chamber. If you close your eyes hard enough, you can imagine he’s right there with you, his body large and uncloaked of armor, his skin exposed everywhere but the helmet, his hands on your hips while you’re straddling him like you did the other day to patch up his wound, him saying good girl as he moves inside you—

Well. Your fingers didn’t even have to slip back into your pants for you to cum this time.

You bite down on the back of your hand as it ripples through you, your ears absolutely deafened by the way your body vibrates like static. You clap your other hand over the one you’ve sunk your teeth into to simply drown out the sound in hopes that it’ll recede.

It takes probably five minutes. You sit there, in complete darkness, shell-shocked. The embarrassment and the shame you feel of getting off in someone else’s bed doesn’t even compare to the feeling of doing it. Maker, you’re going to bad places when you die. Bad, dark, awful places. The internal chastising you’re trying valiantly to give yourself fades off into the background as you relive it over and over, imagining him telling you you’re a good girl again, back in this bed, wearing considerably less, when he comes back to you. Visions of him telling he’ll never leave you again dance through your head when, suddenly, you fade off into nothing.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You don’t remember doing it.

But you wake up, and you’re still in Mando’s bed. You’ve pulled his blanket up around your shoulders, and it’s rough and tattered compared to yours, but you don’t even care. Your skin easily irritates when it’s against fabric that hurts, but you’ll take on the rash for this. You are so snug, so warm, and then it hits you that you’re sleeping in his bed, the same bed that you came all over last night, and you sit up in a panic.

You check the sheets, and there’s no mess. You haven’t really disturbed the bed at all, really, come to think of it. You lay back down, still groggy with sleep. He said he was going to take a few days. There’s no reason why you couldn’t sleep here tonight, too, maybe you’d even take the baby in here with you—

The baby. You shoot back up in a panic, suddenly completely awake. When you throw open the door, and launch yourself out of the bed, you find him toddling around on the floor, with that little silver ball he loves so much in his adorable stubby fingers.

“Baby.”

He turns to look at you, making noises of recognition when you fall out of his father’s bed, and you pick him up, swinging his tiny green body through the air.

He coos at you, pulling on the blanket that is somehow still around your shoulders. Dank ferrik. That wasn’t supposed to come with you. You gingerly pry it from his grip. He looks at you, back at the blanket that’s been put back into the alcove, and then his big eyes well up and he starts to cry.

“No,” you whisper, and then, louder, “no, it’s okay, baby! You don’t need to cry! I’ll—here, I’ll sing you some nice little tunes, and we can dance—”

At this, he wails even harder, and you wipe away the array of tears with your free hand. He claws towards something, and you pull him into your chest before you realize he wants the blanket. You pull it back out and drape it around his tiny body. “Hey, bug, it’s okay.” You swaddle him the best you can, and then he wipes his tiny nose against the tattered thing, and you try to pull it away before you realize he’s not wiping his nose. He’s sniffing the blanket. The blanket that smells like his dad. And, more recently, you.

“It’s okay,” you say, soothingly, swinging him from side to side, bringing those big eyes in towards the crook of your shoulder. He clings to it, just a little, but it’s enough to know he wants to stay nestled up there. “You miss your daddy, huh, sweetness?”

He coos, muffled, against your neck.

“Me too,” you admit, with no one but the kid and the dark hull of the Crest to hear you.

Another day passes. Then another. You’re starting to go a little stir crazy. If Jakku didn’t scare you, you would have gone outside and taken the baby for a little walk, but you’re still nervous, jumpy leftovers from the last man who had boarded the ship, not to mention that it’s a desert, foreboding wasteland everywhere you could possibly go. You bring him outside at least once a day, though, not even fully on the ground, just down the gangplank, so that you can both have some fresh air and touch something that isn’t shiny metal or whatever scraps of food you’ve been feeding to you both.

You like the baby. Love him. He rocks. He’s the cutest thing in the entire world. You had sworn off starting a family back when your parents died, because missing them hurt too much and you didn’t want another possibility to make that hurt permanent, but you would sign adoption papers tomorrow if you meant you got to care for the little one forever. His dad was just the bonus, you’d almost convinced yourself, to satiate that hungry, aching, nervous pit in your stomach that grows bigger and bigger every hour Mando’s still not back.

You’ve cleaned the interior of the ship. Three times. Yesterday, you used the fresher twice, simply for the acoustics of that room, so you could sing and pretend you were giving a show at a cantina, and okay, maybe a little bit for the smell of Mando’s soap on your skin.

His bed is much more uncomfortable than the nest you’d been sleeping in on the floor, but it smells like him, and it’s warm, and if you close your eyes and push up against the wall, you can imagine it’s him in the beskar enough to get you to sleep. Worry aside, you’ve slept better the past two nights than you have in what feels like years. It’s partly because you’re imagining he’s there, partly because you know you’re safe in here, and partly because this place feels more like home than any other one you’ve ever belonged to.

You’re starting to get worried, though. You know he insisted that the commlink was only for emergencies, and you didn’t want to distract him on his mission. Or bother him, more likely, the Mandalorian wasn’t a man who got distracted easily, but still, you thought about it. Distracting him. The baby wakes up sometimes, and you pretend to be completely engrossed in attending to his every need, because when he falls asleep or shows more interest in his ball than you, the silence and fear creeps back in.

Another day passes before you’ve gone on long enough without hearing word.

“Hey,” you whisper into the commlink. You’re in his bed. Again. You’re not proud of it, but you can’t pry yourself from it. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but—it’s been four days, and she’s dangerous, and I—the baby misses you.”

You press the button. You hope that’s sufficient. You just sit there, staring at the artificial light in the darkness, tummy flipping over every second that passes where you don’t hear from him.

It’s been full minutes, and you lay back down. You pull his itchy blanket up to your shoulder, huddle on your side. You’ll keep your wrist next to you in sleep, so he can talk in your ear and wake you up if he needs to—

“Are you there?”

His voice is quiet. Through the modulator and the link, you have to strain your ears in the vibrating nothingness to make out the shape of his words.

“I’m here,” you answer. It spills out of you, too fast.

“No emergencies,” he says, and you can feel your cheeks flush with the reprimand before you realize it sounds more like reassurance.

“No emergencies here either,” you manage. “The baby is still as cute as ever. You parked near a good radio station. I’ve been singing to him—”

“Careful,” he warns, and your heartbeat quickens before you can ask what. “The first word that comes out of his mouth is going to be sung, not spoken.”

You giggle, the air cutting through the darkness. “Would that be so bad?”

He’s silent for a minute, and you relax back into his pillow, the commlink pressed up against your face.

“I don’t think I could handle having both of you singing,” he says, and his voice rumbles through you in a way you can’t place until you remember the baby is fifty and hasn’t even spoken his first word yet. The Mandalorian is signing on for years with you, then, maybe full-on decades, maybe for life, with how slowly the kid progresses—you have to bite down on your lip.

“Maybe I’ll shut up when he starts.”

You can hear him shifting. He’s still so quiet. You wonder where he is. You wonder if he’s gotten close to his bounty yet, if she’s anywhere near him—that unfairly jealous part of you roils in your belly, and you push your fist into it as if to shove back the unreasonable thought.

“That’d be a shame,” he finally says.

“Do you like my singing?”

He’s quiet again. You listen through the silence. He speaks so sporadically, it shouldn’t surprise you, but being in anticipation of what comes next is almost as good as the words themselves. “I like your voice.”

Your voice. That could mean anything. That could mean your singing in the shower or the questions you ask him or the way he makes you giggle or the way you’d moan out his name, if you were ever lucky enough to learn it—you realize you haven’t spoken. “I like yours, too.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t speak again. You know how late it is. “Have you slept?” you ask, quietly, just in case he’s fallen asleep.

“A bit.” You can hear him adjusting. “I’m close to town. I tracked her here.”

You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “When do you think you’ll be ba—will have completed the mission?” you ask. You bite your lip in the surrounding silence.

“By sunrise,” he says. “You better fall asleep. I want you both awake when I return to the ship.”

Your stomach flips over in excitement, then in dread. “Do I have to hide from her?”

He’s silent. You slide your thumbnail between your teeth, breath bated in anticipation of his answer.

“Just be ready,” he finally says. “Don’t hide unless I tell you to.”

“I’ll anticipate it,” you counter. “I’ll be awake at sunrise.”

“Set an alarm.” His voice is quick, but you can feel the lightness to it. “Or three.”

“I’ll have you know,” you say sleepily, “that I can be wide awake at the first alarm when I need to be—”

“And,” he adds, interrupting you, “stay near my bed in case you do need to hide.”

Before you can say anything in response to that, the link clicks off. You’re in the darkness, again, that swell in your legs, the buzzing in your ears, the excitement in your heart. The last thing you remember before you fall back asleep is, he’s coming home.

Your name comes from seemingly nowhere, and you jolt up from where you’ve been sleeping. Very comfortably. You wipe sleep from your eyes as you fumble around from the source of it.

It’s the commlink. Of course.

“I’m here,” you manage, through your very groggy morning voice.

“I’m almost back.”

You dig a heel of your hand into your eye before all the moving parts click together in your mind. That’s Mando’s voice, and it must be close to sunrise, because if he’s heading back, he’s definitely got the bounty.

“I—where should I go?”

You don’t hear anything for a long moment, and you hurriedly slide out of his bed, trying to arrange the blanket and pillow in the same formation that it was before you defiled it, and can’t remember enough what it looked like almost five days before but you hope that Mando’s memory has been distracted enough by his hunt that he won’t notice. You find the baby, place him back in his egg, and shake your head firmly when he gives you his big eyes pleading to get down.

“Where are you?”

You sleepily survey your surroundings. “I am against the wall.”

He sighs. “Which wall?”

“The one across from the fresher. Near your bed.” You feel your cheeks flush with that admission, even though he can’t possibly know that you’ve holed up in there since he’s been gone.

“And the baby?”

“He’s beside me.” You pull your gun out, too, and loosely holster it in the belt around your leg. “And I have my blaster.”

“Good,” he says, and no girl follows it, and despite the circumstances, you feel a twang of sadness.

“How close are you?”

The link goes silent. Again. It’s become his modus operandi to just leave you in the lurch, right when you’re on the edge of the conversation, and while it’s hard to get frustrated with him when that pull of sureness inside you is always tuned to the highest frequency, you want to whine about it.

You cut yourself off. Nope. He’s bringing back a bounty. You cannot get distracted, not now, no matter how bad you want him. Not the time. On a whim, you run into the fresher and you splash water on your face, enough to wake you up and keep you alert.

There’s a noise outside the ship, and you immediately push the baby’s floating cradle behind you, fingers on your blaster. You could handle whatever was happening. You actually had your fingers on something tangible, and you were a good shot when it came down to it.

It turns out, the reason why the Mandalorian didn’t tell you how soon he’d be coming back because he was already pretty much there. You tense, then relax upon the first glimpse of the beskar on his helmet you got, and then tens again when the gangplank is lowered down to the hot sand of Jakku.

She…looks dangerous. She’s a Twi’lek. Long, and slim, a very dangerous shade of purple. The first thing you notice isn’t how alien she looks in comparison to the sand around the gangplank, or how she moves with a confident, seductive swagger, but the way her tongue dances in circles around her teeth. Her canines are sharp, pointed, hungry.

You didn’t scare easily. You had worked hundreds of jobs with people who had every intention to double-cross and discard you. You faced off against the intruder on the ship with your only instinct to protect the baby in mind, not your own safety. That’s why Mando had brought you aboard.

But you look at her, and you’re scared. It’s her teeth and the way her eyes lock onto you, immediately, dangerously, like she knows she could intimidate you. And then probably flog you within an inch of your life and leave you for dead. You’d been there before. You knew how it looked.

“What do we have here?” she purrs, turning around to face Mando. He shoves her, once, roughly, and she steps forward so that his blow won’t hit as hard, tongue tracing the outline of her teeth. “You got yourself a little pet.”

Your eyes glance in fear to the baby, but the way he looks back at you makes you realize that she was talking about you, not the kid. You thumb your blaster, stepping forward, trying to remain impervious.

“Hello, there,” she whispers, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You didn’t want to look away from her—you can just tell, instinctually, that she could strike instantaneously, just lying in wait for a moment of weakness—but you can’t help it. You look at Mando, hoping your raised eyebrow signals your fear and your level of discomfort, and the way his visor locks on you is enough to know he had calculated the risk and knew he could beat her. His hand is still outstretched, slightly, as she meanders over to you.

“Look, Mando,” she hisses, pointing back and forth between the two of you. Instinctually, you push the baby’s cradle back even further, putting your full hand on your blaster. You glance up at him again, and then catch a flash in the low light of the ship, and realize she’s handcuffed. Even shackled, though, you can see how her sharp teeth glint, how her eyes hold venom you’d never even seen. “Have you taken your helmet off for her yet?”

He stands there. You have absolutely no idea what you were in the middle of, but suddenly, it felt like you were the outsider here, not her. Your stomach flipped over with the possibilities. Had he taken his helmet off for the bounty? Had he betrayed his creed for her? You swallow, grit your teeth, loading your tongue behind them just in case whatever she gave you next could be responded to.

“She’s pretty,” she appraises, tongue finding her canine, and before you can react, she lunges close to your face, close enough that you can feel the hot wash of air, clicking her teeth menacingly right in front of your nose. You don’t jump, but the flinch of closing your eyes felt bad enough. You knew it was the wrong move the second your eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, look at that.” She sniffs. You don’t move. “She scares like a little Ewok, Mando, is that why you keep her locked away on the ship—"

Suddenly, a flash of beskar moves through the air between you two, and the Twi’lek is snapped back, recoiling and hissing at how hard he hit her.

“I don’t need to remind you that I have no issue bringing you in cold.”

You recoil at that, how detached and distorted his voice seems. You know that the modulator evens it out, for the most part, and that you tend to imagine his voice comes out softer and warmer to you than anyone else. But right now? Right now, his voice is stone cold. He sounds murderous. Dangerous. Scary. The kind of threat that scared off the man on Nevarro. The kind of threat that you know he gives to his bounties. The kind of threat he’s never once showed to you.

You swallow.

“I dare you,” the Twi’lek says, and she turns from you, just for a second, to slide up to him. So much of her skin is reflected in the beskar that it’s turning the entirety of the interior of the Crest purple. “Try to kill me. We both know you need me, whether you like it or not, that I’m still the best you’ve ever had—”

Before you can react, before you can do anything, the Mandalorian has a knife against her throat. You have no idea where it comes from. You want to react, to say something, to not sit there bumbling like a faulty droid, but you’ve got nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“Slice me with my knife,” she whispers, taunting him. “Do it. Put on a show for your little weakling girlfriend behind me and kill me. We both know you can’t—”

You unfreeze, suddenly, so quickly that you don’t realize what you’re doing, until you yank her slender shoulder back away from the knife Mando has in his grip and shove her headfirst into the carbonite chamber. She howls, but you press the button—that’s your one move, slamming your hands against things and miraculously making them work in the moment of truth—and her terrifying, hungry face gets swallowed up in the gas. You shove her backwards—well, the block of her—so that it slams into the other bounties that have been frozen in time in between your last trip to Nevarro, and it’s only when you’re sure she’s completely immobilized that you finally exhale, hands on your knees, chest heaving. The world around you is spinning. You check your arms and throat frantically, just to make sure she didn’t nick you with something sharp while you were frozen.

When your breathing regulates, and all your bumps and bruises only tally up evenly to the ones you had before today, you look up at Mando. He’s seemingly stuck, too, the sharp knife still in his gloved hand, completely immobile. You tap his outstretched hand to be sure you didn’t accidentally catch him with your fairly heroic carbonite rescue, and he only becomes responsive to your touch on his gloved one.

“Hey,” you say, softly, to not startle him anymore, “I’m okay—are you? Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” he says, gruffly, his fingers still clenched tight around the knife that came out of nowhere, and you just know that underneath his glove, his knuckles are white. You can hear it in his voice.

“What—oh. You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t react sooner, that I let her go on like that—”

“I was going to kill her.” Even through the modulator, you can hear there’s something complicating his voice. You move forward, gently, trying to pry his fingers off the knife. Your body is so close to his, your neck straining as you look up from his hand to his helmet. You don’t know why this is so difficult for him to reconcile, when you’ve seen him take out at least twenty people, easily, since you came aboard. You don’t like the killing, but you understand his necessity, sometimes, and his disconnect from it. It’s what he does, it’s his job, his survival. You don’t know why this one was so different. “If you didn’t—I was going to slit her throat.”

You’re the one who’s silent, now. You have absolutely no idea what to say, especially considering that him needing solace over the thought of killing someone—not even actually killing them—is completely foreign to you. You inhale, exhale, and then take a half-step closer, moving his last finger off the knife. “You didn’t,” you whisper, earnest, slipping the knife out of his grip and reaching in closely behind him to put it safely in the armory. “You didn’t.”

He looks at you. Up and down. It’s dark in here, but you can track his visor. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on behind it. Despite all of this, despite the way you had both been moving in sync lately, despite how you felt the magnetic pull of the universe with him, he just went radio silent. None of this seemed in character. For the first time since you met him, you felt like you were in over your head.

“I was going to,” he repeats, and you nod, slowly. “She’s not worth anything to the Guild dead, but I would have done it in a second—”

“—You didn’t,” you interrupt, enunciating each syllable, “it’s okay, you can turn her in frozen like that, and we can get far away from her, you don’t have to be—”

“—to protect you.”

You come to a full stop, breath catching in your throat.

“I would have spilled her guts all over the floor in front of you—in front of my kid—to protect you. And then you protected me instead.”

You can feel your mouth falling open in shock. The baby, funnily enough, has decided to move his floating egg upstairs, and you’re glad he’s getting out of the line of fire. You swallow, looking back at Mando. “I did.”

“That’s not your job.”

You have whiplash. His voice has gone from detached to emotional to brash. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, to say to any of this. You feel a familiar, dizzying rush, the beginnings of tears pinpricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Too bad,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this works—”

“That’s not your job,” he repeats, but now his voice is almost as ragged as yours is, and so you nod.

His helmet comes forward, slightly, and he presses it into your forehead. “What is my job?” you squeak out, trying to not go cross-eyed as you try to catch any glimpse of his eyes under the visor. You can’t, so you close yours, in desperate anticipation.

He removes his helmet from against your forehead, and you sway forward, already missing his grip against you, until, suddenly, his head is in the hollow of your neck. Your breathing hitches again. You try your very best to not imagine what his voice would sound like without the modulator, what his lips would feel like pressed up against your skin, when his hand drops from your chin and trails back down your body, past your scar, past the bruises on your belly, and then it pauses.

“To take mine,” he grits out, his voice swelling up against the skin of your ear, and then your body slumps against the wall, and before you can beg for it, for anything, his hand rises, meeting you in the middle, fingers fitting perfectly between your thighs.

***

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON A TAGLIST FOR EVERY CHAPTER, PLEASE REPLY TO THIS POST OR SEND ME AN ASK WITH YOUR URL! i’m not sure exactly how to do this, so i will try my very best to get it up and running from here on out (and if anyone has any advice send me an ask or DM me!) <3

(and if you don’t want to be on the taglist and i’ve tagged you here, please just message me!)

CHAPTER 5 COMING SATURDAY JANUARY 23RD EST!!!! i hope y’all enjoy!!!

#early update <3 #something more #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #smut #reader insert

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 2

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @xviiarez, @baltimoresweethearts, @killer-queen-87, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Once again, I apologize this update took so long. As y’all know, I’ve been going through it with my break up and sad. But! My motivation has returned enough for me to continue and I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): None!

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 here we go!!!

No one else seemed to notice him walk in, but to you, it was as if time had stopped. He started toward a table, moving in slow motion, followed by two other men apparently in his class, and he took a seat at a corner table. You were frozen to the spot as you watched him.

“Earth to Y/N,” Zelda snapped. “Are you going to just stand there or go greet our customers?”

“Right, sorry,” you said, shaking your head to pull yourself out of the reverie.

“And turn on the charm,” she instructed under her breath. “Those men have clearly got money.”

You straightened yourself and headed over. You began to hear their conversation as you approached.

“So, your father didn’t say what it is he has?” questioned the blonde one to Gwilym’s left.

“No,” Gwilym said with a shake of his head. “Just that he’s ill. He really didn’t talk about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the dark-haired one across from Gwilym. “Your father is a good man. You’re lucky you still have him to guide you.”

“I’m more than ready to take on my role,” Gwilym said. “It’s just all this marriage talk that’s got me worried. Say I do marry and start a family, what then? Will he think it’s okay to just give up?”

“Believe me, once he has grandchildren, he’ll have all the more reason to fight,” the blonde one said. “My parents can’t get enough of the twins.”

“It’s still hard to believe you’re the father of twins, Ben,” Gwilym said with a smirk.

Gwilym’s back was to you when you reached the table.

“Good evening,” you began shakily, but then cleared your throat. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

The blonde one, Ben, addressed you first.

“A pitcher of ale is fine,” he said. “I’ve got this round, and Rami will get the next. We’re treating the birthday boy.”

He clapped Gwilym on the shoulder.

“That’s not for another two days!” Gwilym insisted. “You’re the guests, I should treat.”

“Yes, but we’re guests to your birthday ball,” Rami replied, as Ben was already handing you some coins.

“How exciting,” you said, trying to contain your curiosity.

A ball? With rich out of town guests? Gwilym must really be somebody.

“Aren’t you going to wish him a happy birthday?” Rami asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry, but it’s bad luck to say it before the day.”

Gwilym finally looked at you. You saw his brow crease as he searched your eyes for recognition, but you quickly cut your gaze away. You didn’t want him to know you. Not truly.

“Well, you can’t argue with superstitions,” Ben said.

“You just say that because you’re friends with pirates,” Rami teased.

You smiled, and allowed yourself to look at Gwilym once more. He was paying no mind to his friends, and was still gazing at you. His eyes were so clear and blue.

“I will wish you good luck,” you said sweetly.

Gwilym felt his heart skip a beat. “I...well, thank you.”

You looked away and at his friends. “I’ll be right back with that ale.”

You turned on your heel and swept away from the table, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Zelda asked as you came into the back, her face drawn with concern. “You look pale, child.”

“I...I think you should take that table, Zelda,” you said.

“Why?” she demanded. “Were they being disrespectful? Because I don’t care how rich they are, I’ll kick every one of their sorry -”

“No, nothing like that,” you cut across her with a small laugh. “They’re perfectly polite, I just am a bit intimidated.”

“Intimidated?” she questioned.

You couldn’t really make her understand. There was something about Gwilym that made you want him to see you as elegant and refined. Not a helpless orphan and waitress.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “But as your friend, I’ve got to make you face your fears.”

“But, Zelda, I -”

“No buts,” she cut across you, handing you a pitcher on a tray with three pints. “You’ll be just fine.”

She gave you a little push and you stumbled out of the kitchen. Zelda watched you make your way back to the table with a sigh. The truth was, she saw how lovely and charming you were, and she hoped that one of those men was your ticket out of this life.

“Here we are,” you said cheerfully, donning the mask you usually wore, and placing the drinks down in front of each of the men. “Anything else for you gentlemen just now?”

“We’re alright, thank you,” Rami told you.

“Perfect, just shout if you need anything,” you said quickly.

Again, you scurried away, but still felt Gwilym’s eyes on your back.

“Did she give us her name?” Ben asked.

Gwilym didn’t answer. He was watching the door you’d disappeared behind.

“Hello?” Ben said to his friend, exchanging a concerned look with Rami.

“Gwil!” Rami barked.

Gwilym started and looked at his friends, straightening his shirt. “Sorry. What?”

“What’s got you so hung up on her?” Ben asked, jerking his chin toward the kitchen door.

“I swear I saw that girl earlier today,” Gwilym answered. “While Father and I were out riding. She looks different, but something about her face, I just…”

“Oh, no,” Ben said grimly.

Gwilym’s brows came together. “What?”

“He’s got it,” Rami added.

“Got what?” Gwilym demanded.

“The love stare,” Ben answered.

“I beg your pardon?” Gwilym questioned. “Love? I don’t even know her name.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve got the stare,” Ben said. “I’ve had it, Rami’s had it, and once you’ve got it, it’s the end of your life as you know it.”

Gwilym frowned. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“The first time I saw my wife - well, the second time actually since the first time I was barely conscious - I looked at her and nothing else mattered,” Ben said. “I couldn’t stop looking at her. Tell him, Rami.”

“It’s true,” Rami agreed. “With my wife, it only took our first meeting for me to become sort of obsessed with her. All I wanted was to be close to her.”

Gwilym rolled his eyes. “You’re both being absurd. I was just trying to place her from earlier, nothing more.”

“And I was just trying to find the girl who rescued me,” Ben said. “You tell yourself whatever you want.”

A beat passed as Gwilym considered this. He did find you rather attractive earlier. Your pretty eyes - so sad, but so beautiful - shining in the sunlight. The way your cloak framed your delicate face. Sure, you were pretty, but that didn’t mean he was in love, did it?

“Do you want to see her again?” Rami asked.

“I don’t know,” Gwilym said. “She’s probably a perfectly lovely girl, I just -”

“Invite her to the ball,” Ben said.

“My father is planning on introducing me to dozens of ladies that night, I can’t show up with a date,” Gwilym said.

“Then invite everyone,” Rami suggested. “The whole town. That way, she’ll turn up if she’s available, and you can be introduced to her as well.”

“I’m not sure my father would approve,” Gwilym said.

“Listen, mate,” Ben replied. “If there’s anything Rami and I have learned, it’s that you’ve got to bend the rules a little to get what you want. And let’s say that’s not the girl of your dreams, some other girl might be. But you can’t know that if your only options are other nobility.”

“I did tell Father I wanted to give everyone a chance,” Gwilym conceded. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. The castle should not be off limits to the townspeople. Everyone will be invited to my ball.”

The three princes grinned and clinked glasses.

Meanwhile, you were busy running food and more drinks. You found yourself constantly glancing over at Gwilym and his friends, and they eventually waved you over to order another round, which you handled just as briefly as the first time. Although they were so pleasant, a large part of you wanted nothing more than to sit down and join them.

They left after about two hours, and you watched them go, feeling heavier somehow. You sighed as the door began to close, casting one last glance Gwilym’s way. The night wore on, you continued in your work, and then closing time came, and you and Zelda began to clean up. It was well after midnight.

You were wiping some clean mugs when Zelda approached you. She put all the earnings for the night into the safe and then she stretched backward and groaned.

“Better take it easy soon, Y/N, or you’ll end up with a back as bad as mine,” she joked.

You half smiled. “I’m afraid Frank allows me no time for taking it easy.”

Zelda paused, looking long and hard at you. You stopped your cleaning and met her eyes.

“What?” you asked.

“Y/N, don’t you think it’s about time you got away from Frank?” she wondered earnestly.

“Of course I do, but I haven’t any money,” you replied. “Or a place to go.”

She bit her lip and looked at the ground, hesitating on what she wanted to say. You wrinkled your nose and fixed your gaze on her face.

“Zelda, what is it?” you pressed.

She looked at you again. “You’d have those things if you got married.”

You blinked, as shocked as if she’d slapped you.

“Married?” you questioned.

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, goodness knows, you’ve gathered the heart of almost every single man who comes into this place. Any of them would make a fine and loyal husband.”

Your heart sank at the mere thought. True, the men you served here were sweet and fun, but you had no real attraction to them. At least, nothing beyond a friendship. You had your heart set on falling in love, and being as passionate as your parents were. What else made a marriage worth having?

“I don’t love them,” you replied plainly.

Zelda struggled not to roll her eyes. “Romantic as the notion is, most people are not as lucky as your parents were. Most people find a good person and settle down, and make it enough.”

“I’m not most people,” you returned. “I could never promise myself to just anybody to get out from under Frank.”

She heaved a sigh. “I’m asking you to be realistic, Y/N. It might be the only way out.”

“But that’s a horrible foundation for a marriage!” you argued. “Besides, if the whole point is for me to get my freedom, then what good would it do to go from my stepfather to a husband?”

“Y/N, think!” she cried. “Any of the men here would be much kinder to you! It’s true, you wouldn’t have complete independence, but at least you would no longer suffer this abuse!”

You paused, heart cracking at the idea. She wasn’t wrong. Your life would be fairly pleasant as the wife of a farmer or a merchant. But love…

“I can’t, Zelda,” you said levelly. “I just can’t. I’ve clung to the hope of love for too long. If I give up on it now, I...I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed each day. I can’t compromise.”

She sighed again. “At least think about it, Y/N. Please.”

You gave her a curt nod. She walked away and you watched her go, mind reeling with her suggestion.

***

The next day, Gwilym sat at the breakfast table with his father. As he spread some butter on a fresh piece of toast, the prince looked at the king, debating how to tell him of his idea to invite the townspeople.

“Father,” he began. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, here we go,” the king grumbled. “What is it?”

“I’d like to invite the whole town to my birthday ball,” Gwilym said, pushing down the urge to snap at the insult. “And I mean everyone, from the gentry to the servants.”

The king shot a glare down the table at Rami and Ben, who were looking pointedly at their own plates.

“Is that so?” the king questioned. “You do realize how much more work we’ll have to do in order to accommodate that amount of guests?”

“You’re the king, surely you can make it happen,” Gwilym said. “It would mean a lot to me, Father. Please?”

He held Gwilym’s gaze, and he softened. As gruff as he was, the king lived to make his son happy. And if the prince wanted it, he was almost always granted it.

“Very well,” he sighed. “We will send out the invitations this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Father!” Gwilym exclaimed, standing up to hug the king. “You are a most gracious monarch.”

The king squirmed away from his son’s grasp and mumbled irritably under his breath. Gwilym chuckled and looked at his friends.

“Shall we head out?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” they agreed.

The three of them were going hunting today to get out of the palace while the ball was being put together. Ben clapped Gwilym on the back as they exited the palace and walked toward the stables.

“Well done, mate,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“He did agree surprisingly quickly,” Gwilym remarked.

“Well, it is your birthday,” Rami joked. “You should have whoever you want at your party. I invited the whole village to my wedding, and it was great!”

“I do want to be more involved with my people,” Gwilym agreed. “And who knows? This may be my best birthday yet!”

They laughed together as a footman brought them their horses.

***

You spent the morning cooking with Elise before going up to get your step sisters dressed. Part of you hoped they’d soon get married. That way they could have breakfast in bed and give you some reprieve in the mornings. Your step sisters were okay enough women, and you were certain Frank was plotting some advantageous marriage for them as soon as possible. And it seemed they were also eager to be away from their father.

You walked with Eleanor down the stairs, but parted ways to go to the kitchen. You brought them fresh tea and poured it into their cups.

“Y/N, I need you to mend my coat that’s hanging in my room today,” Frank said as he took a sip.

You were on edge this morning, especially after the events of the previous day. And you were nervous about your conversation with Zelda. You felt that somehow Frank knew how badly you desired to leave now.

“Yes, sir,” you said quietly.

“And I won’t be going into town,” he said. “I’ve got to update the books of the estate today, so I’ll be in my office all day.”

You nodded. It was always a disappointment when Frank had to stay home during the day. He seemed to find random, pointless tasks for you, lest you find yourself with time to read or eat. But, if it was to balance the books, then he likely would be cooped up in his office.

“Would you like me to bring you your lunch when it’s ready?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said. “The girls have their music teacher coming so take theirs to the music room. Other than that, we are not to be disturbed.”

The only exceptions to the “do not disturb” rule were fires and injury. You nodded again, understanding.

After breakfast, you cleaned up and did the dishes. Then you headed to the fireplace in the parlor. It was in desperate need of cleaning, so you agreed to take it on. Elsie’s knees just wouldn’t be able to bear it. Before you began, you looked at the chair that your father used to use. When you were a little girl, and your parents hosted parties, the men gathered in this parlor after dinner for brandy and cigars. But your father always told you goodnight before you went to sleep, so you’d slip into the room, to find him in that chair every time. He’d smile, scoop you up, and put you on his knee to give you a big good night kiss. You could still feel the little scratches from his facial hair.

With a sad smile, you got to work.

The fireplace turned out to be a bear of a project. It had not been cleaned in years, apparently, and the soot had really built up. After hours of sweeping and scrubbing, you finally got to your feet and admired the clean brick. You were covered in ashes now, and smeared a little on your forehead when you wiped your sweat away. You decided you’d better change and rinse off before mending Frank’s coat.

You walked out into the entrance hall with surprising timing. Just then, there was a knock at the door. You glanced around, but Robert wasn’t close by. With a shrug, you went to answer it.

The door creaked open when you turned the knob. There stood a young man in a handsome suit, with a huge bag slung over his shoulder. In it, appeared to be hundreds of matching envelopes.

“How can I help you?” you asked politely.

“Good afternoon, madam,” the man replied, grabbing a letter and holding it out to you. “An invitation from the king.”

You gasped. “The king?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “The whole town has been invited.”

“Invited to what?” you wondered, taking the letter.

The man offered a short bow, which you returned, and then walked back to his horse. You closed the door and looked at the envelope. It was addressed only to “Residents” and then the address, so it wasn’t technically wrong for you to open it. On the other hand, Frank was particular about things like this. You had no desire to set him off again.

In another remarkable moment, Elsie was coming with Frank’s lunch tray. She offered to take it since you’d taken on the fireplace.

“Elsie,” you said as you approached. “This letter arrived from the palace. I’m sure Frank will want to open it.”

“Right you are, Y/N,” she agreed.

You placed the letter next to his plate and offered her a little smile. Whatever it was - if it was royal business - likely had nothing to do with you. Still, you were a little curious.

You forgot about the letter while you changed your dress and washed your face. When you came back down from your room and opened the door to Frank’s chambers, he burst out of his office so suddenly, it startled you. His eyes were crazed, a strange burning behind his irises.

“Y/N, fetch my daughters!” he demanded. “This instant!”

You didn’t hesitate to hurry down the stairs to the music room. You opened the door without knocking.

“Y/N!” Eleanor cried, hands on her hips. “We’re in the middle of a lesson!”

“Your father says to come quick!” you urged her.

The two of them picked up their skirts and ran with you all the way back up to Frank’s office, leaving their music teacher stricken at the piano. Your heart was thumping with excitement. What could this be?

“Father?” Miranda questioned as the three of you entered the study. “What’s the matter?”

He held up the letter.

“There is a ball at the palace tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “And we’ve received an invitation.”

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leerongrong · 4 years

Text

Model!Renjun -

part of the NCT DREAM living the Y/N life collection.

okay first of all lemme introduce y’all to renjun

full name: huang renjun

age: 20 [international]

height: 173cm

renjun’s a chinese boi with lots of passion and spunk

the kid’s got a sharp tongue but his parents love him for it

always stays in school

good grades

teachers pet

imagine his mom’s surprise when he told her that he wanted to be an actor at 13yrs old

one based in korea no less

his parents went cray cray

“you don’t even know any korean”

“mom, i can learn.”

brushes up on his korean every single day

goes to google translate and watches youtube videos until late at night

he wants to be a model, so a model he will become.

works part time jobs on the side

earns little bits of money so he can start up his own life

his parents are scared but proud

fast forward to when junie hits 16

the boy packs his bags

collects his money

hugs his parents goodbye

he promises to call everyday

and flies to korea all alone

iMAGINE his surprise

when all the korean he learned becomes useless once he gets there

people not understanding a single thing he says

his chinese accent’s too thick

poor boy doesn’t know what to do

he isn’t going to call his parents,, he aint gonna hurt his pride

lives in his own little apartment

he has little to no friends bcs of his accent

which is getting better with time

he’s wandering around at night,, exploring the han river alone

when someone taps on his shoulder

boy was ready to throw hands

and when the stranger explains he’s from SM

renjun got bug eyed

they wanted to scout him?? to be an actor??

that’s his dream come true!

that night he called his parents,, they supported him all the way

fell asleep with a little smile on his face

he debuted at the ripe age of 18

and now, at 20, renjun’s a well known actor in korea

snagging roles here and there both as the main and the lead

girls falling at his feet bcs of the characters he portrays

the boy got the recognition he wanted

his trophy case is filling up

just like tonight,, people are expecting him to bag an actor of the year award

that’s where you come in

you’re a top idol

blackpink’s 5th member and maknae to be exact

rap prodigy and dance extraordinaire

trainee for 5 years and highly anticipated by GD himself

you and your group are performing tonight in front of all these highly acclaimed actors and actresses and you. are. stressed.

rose and lisa are calming you down

jennie and jisoo reminding you about the last minute changes

your heart’s beating fast but you push through and go onto stage when your manager give the queue

renjun tries his best to not look bored

but award shows like this aren’t his style

he enjoys the complex cinematography and appreciates his seniors

but he isn’t much for rigged award shows

he’s smart enough to know who’s going to win tonight based on netizen’s views

he’s talking to one of his seniors when you show up on stage

he knows the song, he listens to your group songs on the radio but he’s never seen the performances

renjun’s favorite part is coming up

its your part

renjun’s shocked to say the least after seeing you rap

the dashing lights,, backing vocals,, background images

and your dangerous smile at the camera that almost made him drop his drink

boy has to stop staring at you on the stage

boy has to cover his grin the whole performance

which proved useless when multiple of his colleagues asked him about it

“i’m just a little nervous.”

he’s a terrible liar and he knows it, he’s sure the people around him knows it too

people pointed out that he didn’t even smile that hard when he won actor of the year

when he gets home renjun searches for you and watches all your performances,, he wont admit it but hes got a littttllleee crush on you now

time skip a few months

you’ve got your own solo activities after releasing a whole solo album

which renjun streamed the heck out of

hitting number 1 in multiple countries and the mv reached 100M in an insanely fast amount of time renjun helped w that

knowing brothers is a delight to go to

the cast and all around crew are so helpful and funny you don’t feel scared or think you’ll mess up-

that is until you find out renjun’s there

you’re trying to keep a calm exterior and facade its not as if your favorite actor and celebrity crush is standing next to you and whoops, look he is!

you’re trying not to melt when you realize the cameras and screens don’t do him justice- you swear he looks 10 times more handsome than what you’re used to seeing

while renjun’s not sure if he should laugh or cry or maybe both because the person he’s been into is right there standing next to him

and he’s completely in awe because you’re nothing like your stage persona

he’s so used to watching you be savage but here you’re cute and giggly and all renjun wants is to squish you

so the both of you started out shy but are SNARKY and the mcs LOVE it

hodong and su-geun are having the time of their lives entertaining the both of you

both men laughing their butts off when renjun call’s sangmin out

janghoon’s lowkey scared of renjun

the atmosphere’s fun and laughter is all around until heechul tries to bring out one of your past dating scandals

“so, y/n i heard you were dating fellow actor park seo jun?”

and you freeze

people have always brought it up to your face but you’ve always had the girls to support you and have your back

and you don’t know what to do until renjun saves your ass

“heechul hyung, do you really want me to open up my mouth about your dating history?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone shut heechul up so quickly

so you make a quick mental note to thank renjun privately

you and renjun make the PERFECT team

and later, when you let it slip that his drama is one of your favorites?

renjun goes red

and he purposely lets it slip that he’s a big fan of you too

which have heechul and sugeun smirking because they KNOW what’s gonna happen soon

after the shoot ends you remind yourself to thank renjun for saving your career, pushing away all the nerves to go and talk to him

“renjun, i wanted to thank you so much for shutting him up back there. i would’ve lost my career if it weren’t for you.”

renjun’s reminding himself to stay cool and not freak out while he smiles at you

“it’s fine. someone needs to shut him up once in a while.”

you treat renjun to a cafe nearby as a thank you, coincidentally where a blink snaps a photo of you two and spreads it like wild fire

lets just say the relationship escalates real quick from that point on.

175 notes · View notes

awfullyaster · 4 years

Text

andrew and neil are switches, don’t you forget it

ok hi here for my (probably) daily aftg rant,,,,so i’m seeing that the majority of the fandom (as far as i’ve seen anyway)--or fics/fanart consisting of andreil doing the do--view neil as a power bottom ?

am i incorrect? are my resources false? idk bout u but so far i’ve only seen like one fic where neil is the top/penetrator (!mao is that even a real word idk but it sounds weird haha cute ok anyway)

and honestly, i have to disagree. i do. i’m not trying to push andrew’s boundaries by saying that neil could top, i’m just saying that y’all don’t give neil enough credit.

liek,,,,,bro,,,,,do you not see the amount of top energy neil mf josten radiates ???? like, yes, we know andrew takes the lead but it doesn’t necessarily mean he’d top forever ?????

( just a proposition, ofc but this is just my opinion based on observations--yet again )

( and tbh i had difficulty trying to figure who was the top and who was the bottom between them when i encountered the first hint of intimate growth in their relationship--to the point where i had to ask my best friend who hadn’t a clue what aftg was prior to (that’s when the aftg rants officially started/ignited) and it took some time/proper discussion/consideration but he first came up with the conclusion that andrew was a sub top and that neil was a power bottom )

as for yours truly, i came to the conclusion that they are both switches (some time after i finished reading).

i mean,,,,,,can you really just look at neil josten--wholly, like his entire personality, attitude (problem !), traits, &c and decide on the spot that he’s a bottom ??? how ??? how the hell do you come up with that ?????

and hear me out, i have evidence/reasons:

one) The Great Riko Roast™️. need i say more?

(if elaboration is necessary:

keep in mind that neil (this literal fucking nobody) burned riko (supposedly the king of exy or whatever the fuck, who cares) to ground on the spot (no script, just his attitude problem (mwah i love him) and pure spite)

again, he burned him to the ground on live television, publicly humiliating riko with each and every word

idk bout u but i am so damn sure andrew found out right then n there that this bitch radiates top energy for fucking sure (or, in his words, isn’t spineless)

neil committing arson via verbal attacks is just---splendid. absolutely mesmerizing. flawless. truly inspiring. gamechanging. glorious.

he’s so rude i love him

anyway )

two) neil can shut up andrew up without having to touch or kiss him. he can leave him speechless. with just his words.

(yes, we know anybody & everybody knows better than to touch andrew but like i mean he wouldn’t have to fight him or whatever) (and he doesn’t have to kiss him to shut him up--though he definitely can--he doesn’t have to because that’s just how fucking powerful he is)

y’all,,,,,are you ready for one of the most amazing lines i believe we all know and love,,,,,

““You have a problem wherein you only invest your time and energy into worthless pursuits."

“This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.”

“There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.”

“And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”

Andrew stared stone-faced back at him.

[...andrew had his hand frozen mid-air...(i forgot the rest)]”

if this does not prove dominance to you, i don’t know what to tell you. (HE WAS MERELY SPEAKING AND ANDREW COULD NOT COME UP WITH ANYTHING-- A N Y T H I N G --TO SAY BACK BC IT’S A PERSONAL ATTACK AND HE DIDN’T SEE IT COMING AND THAT’S WHY HE SEES NEIL AS INTERESTING/WHY HE ‘HATES’ HIM SO MUCH BRO I)

hOweVeR

i know that dom bottoms exist (i think so, anyway) or bottoms that radiate top energy/the position (i.e. bottom,top) energy you radiate can be entirely different from what position you really are/are comfy with and that these are just words but that brings me to my following point,

three) (#1 insitgator, he, oh yes, neil josten, yes indeed) his unexpected (and to be frank, quite thrilling) acts of asserting dominance ?????? um ????

(when they were kith kithing next to the kitchen (next to kitchen) in neil’s dorm room) “[neil felt his phone buzz in his back pocket and against the wall it was obnoxiously loud. he already knew it was his daily countdown, but he already knew how much little time he had left. he didn’t need to reminded, especially now...andrew took it out of his back pocket and offered it to neil, pulling away from his mouth. neil took the phone from andrew’s hand and threw it across the living room, not taking his eyes off andrew. andrew watched as the phone bounced off the couch and onto the carpet. neil kissed his neck in attempt to distract him and was rewarded by a startled jolt which was enough reason to do it again. and even though andrew pushed his face away, they were close enough for neil to not miss how andrew shivered.]”

b r o ,,,,,,,,,,,, bro,,,,,,it just--

(when they were alone in the bus otw to that one away game--belmonte, i think?) “[“i wonder when coach found out about this,” neil prompted.

“there is no ‘this’.”

“i wonder when coach found out you only want to kill me ninety-three percent of the time.”

neil retraced his steps and had a moment of realization. before andrew left for easthaven, neil had told andrew to trust him and not ‘neil’.

“it was before you left,” neil started...

“coach doesn’t believe what other people want him to believe, he believes what he sees,” andrew replied...

“are you going to tell them?” neil was referring to the rest of the team, and this was up to him, whether they’ll be out or not.

“i won’t have to. renee says the upperclassmen are betting on your sexuality.”

neil knew that matt mentioned that there were bets on about him, but he didn’t know it was about this.

“it’s a waste of time and money. they’ll all lose. i’ve said all year that i don’t swing and i meant it. kissing you doesn’t make me look any of them differently. the only one i’m interested in is you.”

“don’t say stupid things.”

“make me.” and with that, neil grabbed a fistful of andrew’s hair and pulled him in.]”

dude,,,,,,,,,he can take control,,,,,he can,,,,he can lead, too, but he follows andrew’s because he’s a good boy and he knows how important it is. he improvises and uses what he has and takes control from there. dude. dude.

three) honestly? i think andrew likes it. neil’s unexpected acts of confidence,,,kinda leaves him on the edge of his seat yk,, like doesn’t it increase his percentage? it does, right? cuz ik it did when andrew guided neil to touch his chest and neil emulated andrew’s words, “i won’t be like them. i won’t let you let me be.” (i love them bye) but liek,,,,yeah idk andrew liking neil’s neck kisses/fetish kinda tells me he likes it so maybe this isn’t concrete evidence particularly but i’m still including it because andrew’s a switch, idc what anyone says,

four) i lost my train of thought but i ran out of reasons--on the spot, anyway--so i might come back to this if i do but just to make it clear:

andrew minyard is a switch. (it just takes time, like a lot, but it doesn’t mean it’s necessarily impossible/never gonna happen.)

neil josten is a switch. (he respects andrew’s boundaries and doesn’t push him, he’s fine being guided, but it doesn’t mean he can’t take the initiative himself (and i forgot to mention it but re: when he asked andrew if he doesn’t like to be touched in general or if it’s a trust thing + many more times, before & after their first kiss, i believe, my brain is just empty rn) and i just think that deserves more recognition)

so !!

(this post is a mess, (i always am but today’s just worse) i know, and i’m sorry)

in conclusion,

let neil top andrew !! they deserve it !!

(not that vice versa is bad, but this isn’t either, yk, just saying. also, i hope this isn’t too late to say in the post, but i do not, i repeat, i do not, intend to pressure any content creator--fic writers, fan artists, editors, &c--to create content this particular way only,,,,okay,,,gotta make that unequivocally clear. and i’m not saying andrew topping neil is bad or overrated, because i know that when it comes to them, sex in general would take some time, especially neil topping andrew, but i think they deserve that freedom, yk. again,,,,this is just my personal opinion. no insisting statements here, just wish for freedom to speak my mind, that is all. also feel free to interact if you agree/disagree or both !! i’m willing to hear anyone’s comments or thoughts or whatever !! i hope i’m talking to a brick wall here ahah)

bro brain poop rn

anyway

tl/dr: bro let neil top (not necessarily on top, but that works, too--either/or--or both, if y’all dare ;DD (kill me) (but like srsly) (let neil top) (plz) :))

(also somewhat off topic but might anyone have access to some fics in which consist of neil first getting andrew off ??? i randomly remember it from ms. sakavic’s extra content page and i would like to see what the fandom offers, if y’all don’t mind)

im so mean and insistent on my aftg-related opinions now that i think about it

whoops

34 notes · View notes

shortythescreen · 5 years

Text

codename crypto

Warning(s): NSFT/18+. Violence – mostly in the form of fist fights. Vaginal sex, oral sex, kind of enemies to lovers? Gender Neutral reader but words for their parts are pussy/cunt/clit so keep that in mind going in!

Relationship(s): Crypto/Reader.

Author’s Notes: Reader is a bounty hunter in this one! I had a ton of fun with it and I hope y’all enjoy it – fight scenes aren’t really my forte lmao.

“Tae-Joon Park,” someone says from his left, and Crypto freezes mid step, blood chilling. He hasn’t heard his name in a long enough time that he should be relieved he still recognizes it. Were he in any other circumstance, he might even be happy to hear it.

Yet, he’s in a shitty motel room, on the run for crimes he didn’t commit. He hasn’t spoken to anyone that would know his real name in person in well over a few months.

“You’ve got quite a rap sheet,” the person says and Crypto finally turns to look at the corner their voice came from.

You have one leg crossed over the other, phone propped in your hand, which rests idly on the arm of the chair you’ve claimed. Your seat is in just the right spot that, if you’d stayed quiet, he might not have noticed you. The light of the setting sun just hits one of your boots and he would have to squint to see your face if it weren’t lit up by your phone.

“Evading police capture, assaulting an officer, and ooh, would you look at that, second degree murder-”

“Who are you? And how did you get in here?” He bristles and you smirk, looking at him without turning your head away from your phone.

“Y’know, you’re pretty smart. Paranoid, but smart. Leaving bugs around all the entrances to alert you if someone breaks in,” you say, “but my god, the guy up front was too easy to bribe. Like, disgustingly easy. Like, if you’re going to choose a sleazy motel, you might want to choose a sleazy motel that isn’t run by a sleaze-”

You stop when Crypto whips out his drone, holding it up to your face like a gun. You raise an eyebrow at him, finally clicking the phone screen off and setting it face down on the arm of the chair. You stare past the drone to look at his face.

“Get out,” he spits, “and forget you saw me.”

You sigh through your nose, rolling your eyes. Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you stand up, leaving a measly inch or two between you and the head of the drone.

“So, my name is-”

“I don’t care. Get out.”

“You cared earlier. Don’t be rude.”

You introduce yourself with a grand flourish, holding your arms out like an actor on stage. “I’m a bounty hunter,” you add.

Crypto surges forward, ramming the point of the drone against your chest. You let out a little noise as you’re shoved back into the chair, your phone clattering to the floor as the legs squeak across the tile floors.

“Who sent you?” He seethes.

You hold one hand up, the other rubbing little circles where he struck you. You pout. “Hey, that wasn’t nice.”

“Who sent you?”

“No one. There’s just a pretty price on your head, buddy.”

“The Syndicate put out a reward?”

“You know, it’s a good idea to keep track of your net worth,” you say, “you’re a pretty shitty criminal.”

“Because I’m not one,” he snaps, half against his will, “I was framed.”

“Ooh, I’ve heard this one before,” you grin, “can I tell it? I’ma tell it. You were innocently living your apple pie lifestyle, making an honest living, just scraping by, when all the sudden, you spilled coffee on a Syndicate leader’s shirt. They got so pissed off they framed you for the murder of that poor girl-”

“Don’t talk about her,” Crypto says, watching your expression change. “Don’t bring her into this.”

You stop and Crypto doesn’t realize you’d been pressing into the drone until you settle back into the chair. Your fingers drum against the arms of the chair.

“Huh,” you say, then you lift your legs and kick his out from under him.

Crypto’s free hand slaps the floor and you leap from your seat to knee him in the chin, the chair you were in flying back. His teeth rattle but he rolls to the side before you can land a steel toed kick. He hurls his drone at you, and you duck just before it hits you, darting forward.

Your leg sweeps out to catch his temple, but he grabs your ankle, pulling you off your feet. Your back hits the floor with a loud thump and you grunt, disoriented. Crypto tries to grab your foot that’s still free, lifting himself up, and you take the opportunity to knock your heel against his teeth.

His mouth tastes like iron and he ignores the throb in favor of pinning the bloody boot that caught him down. He uses his grip to drag you across the floor and you push yourself to sit up, forehead touching his as he crouches over you.

“You know,” you pant, “you’re actually kinda cute.”

Crypto traps one of your legs beneath his, freeing one of his hands. You quickly jab at his sternum and with a wheeze he catches your fist. You barely have time to swing for his cheek before he’s pinning you down, his legs on either side of one of yours and his hands sealing yours above your head.

His blood drips onto your face as he pants above you and you still, watching him. You’re unphased by the steady drip, drip, drip of blood onto your cheek and that’s when Crypto realizes you’ve split his lip.

Your chest rapidly rises and falls, hair smushed beneath your head. Your vision is still clearing from the hit your head had taken when he’d dragged you down beneath him.

“Really cute,” you breathlessly murmur and Crypto doesn’t like the way his gut jumps at how thrilled you sound.

Then, you slam your head into his, and he releases you with an ungraceful flail. He falls onto his ass, eyes swimming into the view of the barrel of your gun.

You cock it quickly, panting as you rise to one knee. There’s not much of a height advantage like this but he’s injured, and you’ve got a gun.

“You’d put an innocent man in jail for money?” He wheezes, his eyes swimming into view of your gun.

“We all gotta eat, baby,” you say. “And the Syndicate can make sure I eat for a good, long while if I bring you in.”

“You didn’t say I was guilty,” he grunts.

You say nothing, wobbling to your feet. “C’mon, Park, stand up. Let’s not make this any harder than it’s been.”

Crypto grunts, glaring up at you. You stare down at him, all your earlier smarminess replaced by a gravity he didn’t think he could see from someone so smug. Still, he pushes his tired legs to stand.

“Thanks, guy. No hard feelin-in-in-”

You hiss through your teeth as electricity bolts through you. Your gun clatters to the floor, out of your stiffening hands and Tae-Joon watches you crumple.

The little drone crowds the corner of your vision. It almost looks like a puppy in your fizzling mind. Your body curls at an unnatural angle as your eyes start rolling back.

“Yeah,” he says, “no hard feelings.”

It’s the last thing you hear before you pass out.

[page break]

Crypto forgets about you, mostly. The experience makes him more vigilant (paranoid). He has no idea how it is you found him – or if you’ve relayed your exchange to the syndicate. So, he invests in an anti-facial recognition neck piece, among other things to remain covert.

A few months pass and after finding himself looking in dark corners a little more than he should, he begins to relax. Somewhat.

Crypto’s sitting in a sports bar. It’s at least one in the morning yet the bustle of activity has yet to die down, something that he’s grateful for. Should anyone spy him, he can make a quick getaway among rowdy civilians.

Nursing a glass of scotch as he squints at his laptop, Crypto barely acknowledges the footsteps around him.

“You need glasses, huh?”

Crypto’s head snaps up at your voice. Your face floods his vision as quickly as the memory of you does and he bristles.

Your hands are stuffed into the pockets of the same stupid leather jacket you were wearing last time. He wonders if his blood is still on your boot.

He doesn’t look down to check and doesn’t respond to your question either.

“I mean, Jesus, you’ve been staring at that laptop like it hurt you,” you snort, “real subtle way to blend in at a bar. You look like a confused college student.”

“What are you doing here?” Crypto finally grits out. You roll your eyes, sliding into the booth he’s occupied at. You move to flag down a waitress, but he grabs your forearm midair, squeezing tightly.

You turn to face him, your faces only a few inches apart. If you were to scoot a little to the left, your thighs would be touching.

“Let go of my arm or I’ll scream,” you say calmly, “and that really won’t help you blend in here, Tae-Joon.”

“Don’t call me that,” Crypto hisses, slamming your hand down onto the table then releasing. You raise your brows, unimpressed. Then, you flag down a waitress, asking for some fruity drink.

“Why not? It’s your name,” you say through a sweet, faux smile. It slowly melts off your face as the waitress walks away with your order and he glares at your placid expression.

“Not anymore,” he says, and his tone catches your attention. You turn to look at him, twisting a little, and your knees do touch.

“Well, we could argue the logistics all night long,” you say, a little too flippantly for the way you look at him. “But I’m not calling you Crypto, that’s just fucking lame.”

Crypto heaves a great, giant sigh, burying his face in his hands. His fingers stutter up to his temples, where he presses down to try and soothe a forming headache.

“How did you find me?” He asks you for the second time.

“You don’t blend well,” you tell him, “has anyone ever told you that? You stick out.”

Crypto curses in his native tongue, speaking through gritted teeth. “How the hell did you find me?”

You sniff, that pretty, fake smile gracing your features as the waitress returns with your drink. It glows some odd shade of pink, and you pluck a cherry from the glass. You eat it in one bite, wagging a finger at him, the rest of them clutching the stem.

“You-” you pause to swallow, “you might hide yourself from cameras and surveillance, Park, but you’re shit at hiding from people.”

“There’s people here who know my name?” Crypto whispers, staring at his laptop, which has gone idle.

“No. But you’re kinda hard to miss, Mr. Laptop-In-A-Bar. And I’ve got a bunch of narratives that are believable,” you say, “my personal favorite is-”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t be rude,” you say, “my favorite is where you’re my cheating husband, run off with your lover. People get so weird about that shit—or righteous. Either they’re all like, “oh, uh, shit, sorry”, or they’re like, “he’s that way, kick his ass.””

Crypto half smirks, glancing at you. It’s the first time he’s come close to smiling since Mila’s death. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“You cheated last time,” you pout, “I could totally kick your ass.”

“Anything goes if you’re trying to arrest me,” he replies.

“I’m not trying to arrest you, though. I’m trying to collect a bounty on you.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Not quite! Cops are assholes with shitty pay. I’m an asshole with decent pay.”

The mention of your payment weighs on Crypto. He investigated it after your last meeting – the reward for his capture is humongous. Still, could your greed really beat out what’s right? You seemed to believe him last time.

“Could you really put an innocent man away just for some money?” He asks, turning to really look at you. If he were Tae-Joon, he might’ve thought you were cute. He might have even asked to buy you a few drinks, asked to see you again.

But he’s not Tae-Joon anymore. You’ve grown oddly quiet then sniff, turning away. Crypto doesn’t give you the opportunity to say whatever it is you’re thinking, beginning to rapidly type.

“What are you doing anyway?” You ask, leaning in, and your shoulder brushes his as you peer at his laptop screen. “You stick out like a sore fucking thumb with this thing.”

He doesn’t answer, instead continuing his rapid typing. You vaguely recognize some of the code having learned a little for your purposes. You never honed your skills though and before your brain can register what it is that Crypto’s doing, he’s moving onto the next phase.

A green loading bar appears on the screen.

“Hello, Tae-Joon?” You say, “Earth to TJ-”

Trapped in a booth, you don’t have time to move out the way as Crypto punches you in the face. Sitting down, he doesn’t clock you well enough to do anything more than catch you off guard.

You slam your glass into the side of his head, and it shatters. Crypto squeezes his eyes shut, scooting back and out of the booth before you can ball your bleeding hand into a fist to punch him. You follow him out, swinging and missing.

By now, you’ve drawn the attention of the bar goers. Crypto’s eyes reopen, blood dribbling from the little wounds on the side of his face, and you find yourself oddly focused on the way it pools beneath his chin.

Your hand shakes from the glass stuck in it but you charge him anyway, slamming your knee up into his sternum, then your elbow into his side as you begin to drop.

Crypto grabs your arm, twisting it so you’re suddenly looking at the floor. You bare your teeth, pushing against his fist between your shoulder blades.

He’s pressing you down with all his might and the way your arm is contorted behind your back makes you grit your teeth. He’s stronger than you, bigger, and sweat begins to form on your brow.

You barely register the sounds of people cheering the two of you on as you manage to lift yourself up. Just enough that you can sweep a leg back and knock one of Crypto’s legs from beneath him. As he falls to one knee, his grip slackens and you swing around, throwing a leg over his shoulder and interlocking your fingers to strike his skull.

Crypto reaches up to grab your sides in a vice. His hot breath on your stomach sends a plume of adrenaline through you and you growl, violently pounding on his head. You ignore the searing pain in your hand.

Remarkably, he stands, one of your legs dangling down by his torso and the other wrapped around his head. You beat your fists against his skull, once, twice, one more time. He storms forward, slamming you onto the table you two had been chatting at.

The breath leaves your lungs and before you have time to gather it back, Crypto wraps his fingers around your throat.

One hand wraps around his wrist as you gasp, one leg still over his shoulder, the other flailing against his waist. Your blood stains the opening of his jacket.

The edges your vision begin to round, making the world look like a fishbowl. You clench your teeth, balling your free hand into a fist. You slam it once on the table before throwing a vicious hook at his temple.

He flinches but doesn’t move. You buck beneath him, trying to throw him off, but Crypto doesn’t budge and your mouth opens and shuts like a fish.

He’s so solid. And warm.

You punch him in the throat. He brutally coughs, releasing you to clutch it and stumble away. You gulp air back into your lungs greedily, head throbbing with the swell of oxygen. You paw for your thigh and with a hand that feels like lead, you pull out your gun, sitting upright again.

You don’t have the focus to aim yet but the onlookers from the bar all scream when they see your gun. The circle they’d formed breaks up, people running in different direction, creating waves you can’t comprehend. Your eyes dart around and you jump up as you spot Crypto pushing through the crowd.

“Tae-Joon!” You scream, raising the pistol. “Tae-Joon! God fucking damn it!”

People have scattered and you lose sight of the white coat in the madness. With a groan, you fall back against the table. You drag a hand down your face, ignoring the blood on it when you pull it back. His laptop catches your eye and you turn it to face you.

The green bar is gone, but so is everything else. You tap on one of the keys impatiently, trying to get it to wake up. Even though you’ve put your gun down, people are still running. The white noise is accompanied by a white cursor on a screen that refuses to change from the color black.

[page break]

Crypto doesn’t stay in one place for very long.

His most extended period at any one motel is about a week. He’s pushing it now, his sixth day in one spot, but he’s just been so exhausted. He at least has sense enough to pick up groceries at different stores around the place he��s staying.

He’s at a grocery store, eyeing the ice cream section. He could really go for some rocky road. If he’s going to get it, he should get a pint instead of a gallon and make sure to polish it off before tomorrow morning. Crypto opens the freezer door, reaching in to get his ice cream.

“Didn’t think you’d have a sweet tooth,” you say as the freezer door shuts. Crypto’s eyes shut, hand idling with his grip on the ice cream. He sighs through his nose. “Tae-Joon.”

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters defeatedly. His eyes open and he finds you smirking, your head tilted to the side as you watch him from beneath raised eyebrows.

“I still think Crypto’s lame,” you tell him.

“I don’t care what you think,” he says, and before he can think too hard about your pout, he’s turning, walking away from you in the aisle.

“Hey, I was talking to you,” you say, and the heavy clunk of your boots alerts him that you’re hurrying to match his pace. He drops his rocky road in his basket, looking straight ahead, like maybe he can will you away if he doesn’t meet your eyes. “Tae-Joon? Hello? Tae-Joon. Tae-Joon. Tae-Joon. Tae-”

“Would you shut up?” He finally hisses, abruptly stopping, head snapping to glare at you. Your smirk widens, hands sliding into your pockets. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” you say.

“You’re not going to get it.”

“Not now anyway. We’re in the ice cream aisle.”

“I’m starting to hate the ice cream aisle.”

“Says the one buying rocky road.”

You two are at a standstill and after a long pause, Crypto grunts, making his way across the store. This time, though, he’s unhurried and you’re able to match his strides without half jogging. He turns down another aisle, pausing at the cereal bars.

“I’ve been trying to blend in,” he tells you, grabbing the store brand peanut butter bars.

“I know,” you say, “you’re getting harder to find.”

That… is a good thing. Surprising, but a good thing. He’s bitter to admit that your advice from your last run in is a large part of the reason he’s getting better at hiding, but he would have been hard pressed to care about the eyes of civilians on him had you not pointed out they could be questioned.

“You gonna give up?” He asks, heading for the self-checkout.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You say, moving over to bag up his items as he scans them. He watches you from the corner of his eye, oddly at ease despite knowing you’re trying to apprehend him. It’s becoming a constant and those are very few in the life of Crypto. You step back at you finish bagging up and he pulls out a card with a name that isn’t his to pay.

“You steal that?” You ask.

“No. It’s all mine. Just under an alias,” he tells you. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to the ground, finding a spot near his feet to stare at.

“You know I have to try,” you tell him as a digital receipt is offered. Crypto declines it and lifts his groceries, headed for the exit. “To take you in, I mean. I gotta eat.”

“You could have a cereal bar,” he offers, and you snort, following him out, hands still in your pockets. You two pause at the exit and Crypto isn’t sure what’s going to happen.

“Do you miss her?” You ask him and he glances over at you. You elaborate at his silence. “Mila. All the reports say you two grew up together.”

He tenses, glancing around, and you follow his gaze to some cameras in the corner. You jerk your head to the left and the two of you stroll down the sidewalk, yellowish streetlights illuminating the dark roads.

“Why are you asking?” He asks.

“I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanna, Tae-Joon, Jesus Christ. It’s like pulling teeth with you.”

“How do I know you’re not bugged?”

That’s a reasonable question. You know it is. It’s why your jaw clenches and you stare ahead, avoiding his eyes. Then you unceremoniously stop. He unconsciously stops with you and watches as you turn, slinking into the shadows of an alcove between buildings. He watches you in the dark, holding your arms out.

“Scan me.” You say. He raises his eyebrows at you, surprised. Glancing around, Crypto follows you into the dark spot, setting his groceries down. He pulls Gi off his back, touching a button on his side, then allowing him to scan you.

The rays from his eye remain green as they flash down your front, casting a glow across your skin. His eyes follow the scan, like he’s looking for something, but Gi is doing all the looking for him. His eyes flicker back up to yours and he’s sure your gaze has never left his face.

“Pat me down. You don’t know if I could have anti-scan tech,” you offer.

“Gi would’ve bypassed it,” he dismisses.

“Do it,” you say and Crypto’s head tilts as Gi takes his place on his back once again. For a minute, he thinks about taking his groceries and running. About maybe even leaving his groceries. Your eyes pin him, though, and with a giant, heaving sigh, Crypto creeps into your space.

His hands diligently slide up and down the arms of your jacket, feeling what he’s now certain is faux leather. His synthetic fingertips brush the tops of your hands and he quickly disregards whatever spark bolts through him in favor of palpating your sides. You’re firm, warm, and devoid of anything that might be a device. Crypto kneels, continuing down to your legs, and maybe he squeezes a little too hard when he hits your thighs.

Your breath hitches above him and Crypto glances up at you. You stare straight ahead, past him, and his hands slide up the backs of your calves, searching, seeking. As he stands up, he’s not sure of what anymore.

“Do you miss Mila?” You ask again, hands finally dropping to your sides. He glances away from you, at the dirty, moldy building.

“Yes. Often.” He says softly, almost hard to hear over the steady drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe at the back of the alcove. “She was… stupid. And reckless. But I loved her.”

You nod, looking down at his shoes and pulling your upper lip between your teeth. Your gaze slowly flicks up the length of him, to his gaze that has refocused on you.

“I have to try to take you in,” you tell him.

“But my Rocky Road,” he says, and you bite back a smile.

“Don’t make me laugh, asshole,” you say, reaching up to crack your knuckles. He sighs heavily.

His Rocky Road melts.

[page break]

You can’t get Tae-Joon out of your mind.

Every time he escapes you, he gets harder to find. In your mad pursuit to catch him, you’ve found yourself forgetting about other bounties.

You’ve seen him a few other times since your talked about Mila – never without some kind of conversation passing between you before you try to take him in again. He always manages to slip between your fingers, disappearing into the crowd for you to track again.

You know you should be more worried about the rolls of cash you carry on you slowly beginning to disappear. There’s easier fish to fry than Tae-Joon, guys that will make your life easier, keep your income flowing.

And yet…

You’ve liked the game of cat and mouse you two have settled into. You think he does too. Crypto never would have gone to well lit, camera rich locations before you two met – tracking him to that seedy motel and that even seedier bar had been through strokes of luck that you refused to acknowledge as anything more than that. Now, though, you’ve gone in as a detective, seeing his face in department stores, in shopping malls.

In Orphanage documents next to Mila.

He’s… Different, than the criminals you usually pursue. He’s one that keeps you up at night, makes you truly doubt you’re doing the right thing.

He’ll never let you take him in without a fight – but sometimes, you think maybe he’s seeking you out for companionship. Maybe, on some level, you’re seeking him out for the same thing. For the banter you two have when you’re together, for the way his sharp, tired eyes size you every time you slide into the booth across from him or take a walk with him around a department store.

“The universe can get pretty lonely,” you mutter to yourself, holed up in a shitty motel, staring at the grainy photos before you, a little drone trailing someone in a long, white coat.

[page break]

Crypto has come to expect you.

Whether he’s in a gas station around the corner from his motel, or in a completely different district from the last time you saw him, you always seem to crop up. You approach him pleasantly, all smiles and small talk. Like an old friend.

Then, you try to subdue him. He’s still recovering from your last bout, a nasty, purplish bruise across his ribs from where you tackled him into some perfume display.

He always manages to get away. You pull out your gun in some crowded place and people scatter, giving him the cover to maneuver from your clutches. He’s not quite sure if you do it out of desperation or if you want to give him the opportunity.

He wouldn’t doubt he’s pushed you to the edge if it weren’t for the look in your eyes. You’re the better fighter. Dirtier, more experienced. If you two went at it long enough, you could probably get him in cuffs, or at least keep him in one place long enough for the Syndicate to arrive and apprehend him. Yet, every time, you pull your weapon, staring at him as you do. You never take your eyes from your target – until he’s in a crowd where you can no longer see him.

Today, you’re not really on his mind. He has business at Noir and Blake’s – a shitty club in a corner of the red light distract that deals with people like him. People that are wanted. He’s in the final phases of his plan, of breaching the Syndicate like he desperately needs to.

He shoulders into the club, the blacklights making his coat glow neon. Partygoers dance around him, bumping each other back and forth, and he can hardly hear the DJ over the loud thump of the bass. He ignores its steady thump, looking around for his informant.

He’s early but he supposes he’d been hoping his informant would be too. Even as he peers at the VIP sections, he doesn’t see the gentleman that will give him the new identification and records he needs to start in the games. With a displeased grunt, Crypto stands at the edge of the dance floor, packed with people, pushing him against the velvet rope. His hands sit in his pockets, and Gi idly scans all their faces, his camera facing them.

“Tae-Joon,” you greet, like you always do, invading his mind when he doesn’t want and Crypto doesn’t turn his head to look at you. Instead, he turns away, facing the dance floor. “Didn’t take you for a clubber.”

“I’m not,” he says, “I’m waiting on someone.”

“Aw, you’re too sweet,” you coo, nudging him with your elbow. He snorts, nostrils flaring in amusement as you lazily twist to face the same direction as him. You two stand in companionable silence for a while and Crypto is almost concerned.

“Here to take me in again?” He asks, breaking the silence. You hum, fingers wrapped around the velvet red rope separating the VIP area of the club from the rest.

“Not yet,” you tell him. He snorts. You smirk. It’s an easy rhythm, one you fall into just as easily as the thump-thump-thump of the music. “C’mon, get a drink with me.”

“Don’t poison me,” he warns, although he’s already following you towards the bar. Your leather jacket doesn’t change color under the black light, though your skin glows an eerie color. His eyes flicker across your back, across the muscular line of your calves, and he finds himself slowing to allow you to make it to the bar before him.

You order both of you something, leaning your forearms on the bar. He stands idly near you, waiting for a chair to open should someone drunk enough decide to join the hoard at your backs. You watch the bartender go. Then, not looking at him, you speak.

“For what it’s worth, I believe you.” You say and Crypto stays silent as the bar tender drops two drinks in front of you. He’s pretty sure they’re both bourbons. He still picks up the one placed in front of you instead of him and you snort, grabbing the other one. You amble around to face him, lifting your glass and take a deep gulp of what is—he tries it himself—definitely bourbon.

“About Mila, I mean,” you elaborate and Crypto stiffens, looking down at you. You smile at him, teeth white under the black light, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, glowing just as much. “I don’t think you killed her.”

“What changed your mind?” He asks, curious.

“I never thought you did. Not for sure,” you say, finishing off the glass. You clear your throat at the burn and he watches the way your nose wrinkles a little more closely than he means to. “But I’ve been… Looking into things. About you. About her. I don’t think you could’ve done it… Plus, the Syndicate’s timeline doesn’t make’a lick’a sense.”

Crypto hums, watching you over the rim of his glass. You turn your head, looking down the line of the bar, and Crypto does the same. He wonders if you know who he’s here to see. If you know what he’s planning. The part of him that still has sense reminds him that no, you couldn’t. Still, though, you two have been at this dance for so long – who’s to say what you know and what you don’t?

“Are you still gonna take me in?” He asks. You chuckle, lips curling upwards as you keep your eyes on other people.

“I should, shouldn’t I? You’ve drained my bank account with all this damn moving around.” You don’t move your head, but your eyes meet his, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. You have that look again, like you’re waiting on something. Like you’re giving him the opportunity to get away.

“I could feed you,” he says, matching the question in your eyes. What do you want?

“You sure could, TJ,” you say, pushing off the edge of the bar, almost closing the space between your bodies. He turns his head down to look at you, at the way you look at him, at the way that cruel little smirk of yours twists into something else. Something gradual.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching down. You snatch his wrist before it gets to yours, tilting your head as you look up at him. He could punch you. He could cause a panic, run away in this crowded space, leave you to chase him down again. Now with the knowledge that he’s as innocent as he’s always claimed.

He pulls his wrist from your grasp, sliding the synthetic skin of his burned off fingertips into yours. You observe the tangle of your fingers and with no resistance, he pulls you away from the bar.

[page break]

He pushes you up against the sink of this stupid, shitty club. Your shirt thumps with the bass outside and your legs hook around his waist. You don’t care about the way your jeans scrape against the rust on the sink, or how someone is going to figure out what you two are doing. You don’t care about anything except his fingers, on fire and freezing at the same time, digging into your thighs, parting them so he can wedge himself closer.

“Tae-Joon,” you whisper, and he smothers your words with a kiss, tongue pressing between your lips. He tastes like bourbon, and bad choices, and your legs lock tighter around his waist.

You hurriedly push that stupid coat off his shoulders, and he’s already unbuttoning your jeans. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades and he outright moans against your lips as you rake downwards.

He pulls away from your mouth to drag hurried kisses down your throat. His breath puffs against your skin, made sensitive by what he’s doing to you, and pleasant chills go down your spine as he tries to tug your jeans down.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” you breathe. You slip your hands beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging up, and he winces back. You pause as he raises his head to look at you, giving you a moment to explore what you’ve done to him. To feel the puffy skin where you last left your mark.

“Fuck me,” you sigh, dragging him back into a kiss. Tae-Joon’s lips are messy on yours, desperate, like he’s been waiting for this between every punch, every bite and kick. He tugs at the waist band of your jeans again, managing to drag them halfway down your ass. With a reluctant huff, you pry your hands away from his—delicious, slim, bruised—sides.

Pressing your palms flat to the bathroom counter, you lift yourself up, hips bucking into his as you use your grip around his waist for leverage. A whine leaves his throat as you rub up against him, hot and hard, and he shucks down your jeans so quick you almost fall off the edge of the sink.

“Why do you wear such tight jeans? How do you even get a kick in with these on?” He mumbles, taking pouting steps away from you to unlace one of your boots. You half laugh, breathless.

“No better than you do in that ridiculous fucking coat,” you tell him, and he smirks, your boot clunking to the floor as he pulls it off. You think he’s going to go for the other – but instead, he only pulls one side of your jeans off, leaving the other stuck to the boot you still have on before he’s on you again.

“Seriously?” You ask as he bunches your shirt up, over your chest.

“Seriously,” he mutters, and you go to laugh, only for the noise to die on your lips as he encases a nipple in his mouth.

“Tae-Joon,” you gasp as his tongue flickers over it, bringing it to a swollen, puffy stand. Your fingers slide up, to the short, cropped edges of his hair, and tug harshly. He half whimpers against your chest, teeth singeing the edges of your nipple in vengeance.

His fingers dance across your thigh, towards the edges of your underwear. Then, without warning, he presses his fingertips against your swollen, aching clit.

“Fuck!” You gasp, the noise punched from your lungs. Your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your wet cunt, outlining its pretty lips, and Tae-Joon seems to be enjoying himself in figuring out what it looks like before he sees it. He spreads your wetness across the aching shape of you, middle finger riding harsh circles against your clit.

Using your grip on his hair, you haul him back up, to your lips, dragging him close again. His fingers pause on your clit and the noise you make would be embarrassing if Tae-Joon didn’t swallow it. He pushes his hand into the waistband of your underwear, using his knuckles to pry the soaked cloth away from your pussy. He groans against you as he feels your arousal, pulling away so only your noses brush.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, and you want to grit out something sarcastic but then he touches you, a finger hooking inside with almost no resistance and the moan that leaves you speaks for itself.

“Wanna-” you’re cut off as she fucks his finger against that spongy spot inside of you that would make your knees weak if you weren’t on a sink’s counter. “Fuck, Tae-Joon, wanna touch you too.”

He shudders, sighing at your words and with one more well-placed thrust of his finger, he pulls it out. The sticky trail of your juices is mostly wiped away on your underwear and he steps back to let you down.

You stumble, the foot caught in your boot and jeans making you lean sideways. You huff, leaning back against the bathroom counter and lifting your foot to begin unlacing your boot. You’re so focused that you don’t realize Tae-Joon’s laughing until you hear the quiet chortle. Your eyes raise and you feel your heart slow, vision clouding just a little at the way the corners of his eyes have crinkled up, how he’s covering his mouth with one hand, the other idling on his hip.

“Shut up,” you say through a smile and he drops his hand, showing you the little gap between his teeth. Something in your chest snaps and you’re yanking your boot off, shaking your foot so your jeans will land on the floor. Gracelessly, you fall to your knees, cold on the floor as you drag him closer to you by the loops of his pants.

He says something in his native tongue, hand carding through your hair to push it away from your face. You long zip of his pants gives way to a large gap as you open it up and you sigh at the sight of his cock, already smearing a stain into the strain of his underwear.

“You look so good,” you mumble, and he hums, continuing to pet your hair away. Then, you tug the fabric keeping you from your prize down. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and aching, wet, pink tip sneaking out from the uncut top. “Jesus Christ.”

“Not my name,” he breathes down and you snort and without any more preamble, you lean in, lips hugging the crown of his cock. He whimpers, hand tightening to a fist in your hair. It makes it difficult to move, but saliva wells in your mouth and you find yourself hollowing your cheeks to tighten the space you suck him into.

Tae-Joon is surprisingly responsive. You wonder how long it’s been for him, if you’re the first to touch him in months, maybe even years. That shouldn’t send a thrill you, but it does, and your tongue greedily flickers over the tip of his leaking cock, eating all that he gives you.

You move your head from left to right, exhaling through your nose to ignore the urge to gag as you push him towards your throat. He groans and the noise is so loud it has your eyes flickering to the door.

Then, you realize why Tae-Joon doesn’t seem to care.

Posed at the door is his little drone, wings spread, and green scanner honed on the door. He’s locked it from the inside without having to lick a finger, and maybe you start to suck a little more in earnest when you realize how badly he didn’t want to be interrupted.

You squeeze his thigh, wet lips dragging along his cock, back and forth, suck and release, and Crypto’s fingers tremble as he tries to keep your hair from falling in your face. Finally, you pull off of him with a loud, wet pop, and just in time, as the tip of his cock has turned red with incoming explosion.

“No,” he half pleads, “don’t stop.”

“I want you,” you say, “and I don’t think I’m gonna get to have you if you cum down my throat.”

The mere thought has him groaning, palming at his rigid dick. Tae-Joon grabs your hips, spinning you to face the sink he’d perched you on when you two first stumbled in together.

He crowds your back, erection resting against the line of your ass through your underwear. His hands slide down your stomach, towards your underwear, and he begins to push down, lips finding your throat once again. “I don’t have a condom.”

“My wallet. Back pocket of my jeans,” you say and he hums, nipping at your ear for a moment before shucking your underwear the rest of the way down. He steps away from you, the flesh of your backside cool without him there, and it only takes a minute for him to return to you, condom in place.

“Open up,” he mutters and that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but he coaxes one of your legs up, onto the edge of the sink. He grabs the fat of your hip the position creates, taking hold of his cock, and pressing it between your dripping lips.

“Oh,” you bite, catching the tip of your tongue between your teeth. He’s long, pulling you apart in a way that sends ripples up your spines, that has your wet walls hugging him. Tae-Joon groans, pausing as his hips rest flush against your ass.

“Give me a second,” he huffs, and you’re thrilled that he sounds as wrecked as you already feel. He loops his free arm around your waist, synthetic fingertips beginning to stroke little circles on your clitoral hood. You squirm in his grasp, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade as he works you up again, leaving you to sweat on his cock while bolts of lightning fly through you.

“God, please,” you whisper, fisting your hands.

You don’t have a lot of stability with your leg up on the edge of the sink but Tae-Joon holds you steady as he stands upright. He pulls himself halfway out, the slow drag making your inside flutter, then rams back in. You cry out, hands pressing to the wall beneath the mirror for leverage as he starts fucking you in earnest.

The blunt head of his cock knocks against that same part inside you he’d touched with his fingers and your jaw drops, little uh-uh-uh noises leaving you. He’s muttering something and you’re pretty sure it’s not an English, thrusts deeper, and deeper, and deeper still.

“Say it,” he gasps out as he buries himself to the base. He grinds against you, abusing your cunt, and you moan lowly.

“Say—fuhhuuck me, Christ—say what?” You whine out as Crypto slips himself part way out once again. This time, though, he uses his grip on your hips to drag you back onto his cock, your nipples dragging pleasantly against the sink countertop, now hot with the way you’re sprawled across it.

“My name,” he pants, eyes fascinatedly watching the way your cunt stretches for him, greedily swallows every inch of him. “Say my name.”

“Tae-Joon!” You gasp immediately, nearing that edge as he starts fucking up, crashing into you over and over. You have to catch yourself on the wall again, keep from slipping too close and hitting your head as he fucks into you hard, and fast, and makes your eyes water with the intensity. “Tae-Joon, Tae-Joon, Tae-Joon!”

His name is the last thing on your lips as you finally cum on his cock, cunt squeezing every inch of him. You shudder out, the tips of your fingernails digging into your palms as a tear finally does leave your eye at the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Tae-Joon doesn’t stop. He pulls your limp frame back onto his dick, thrusting into your hypersensitive walls.

He arches over you as he fills the condom, cock twitching inside of you, groaning even louder than you did. His forehead rests against your shoulder blade, using you once again as leverage to steady himself. His breath puffs against your sweaty back and you squirm a little as his breathing begins to slow.

“You’re trying to break my leg,” you complain.

Tae-Joon hums, slowly pulling out of you. He helps you settle your leg back down on the floor and you stretch it back, trying to regain feeling as Tae-Joon disposes of the condom. You sigh a little, turning to him slowly, arms stretching high above your head. You want to take a nap. You also want to take a shower.

“So,” you say, and he grabs a paper towel from the dispenser, walking over to the sink so he can clean himself off. You’re still in public, you remember, glancing at the drone. It hasn’t moved from its perch and you wonder how exactly no one’s come to see what’s going on with the restrooms. “What now, Tae-Joon?”

He’s gathering up your clothes, offering you your jeans and your panties. You roll down your shirt first, taking the clothes offered, eyes homed in on his face. He doesn’t seem worried, or annoyed, or even a little off kilter. He almost looks… happy.

“I have a meeting I’m probably late to now,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. “You should come.”

[page break]

Apex Approval: Hyeon Kim, codename Crypto.

Status: Cleared background check, passed all evals. Fresh angle. Ready for deployment at season initiation.

Notes: Honestly, something feels off about him and his partner. They’re both spotless – no warrants, no enemies, not even a truancy notice. Who stays that clean their whole life then joins the Games? And demands to bring their spouse along for the ride? Put him in, but you should probably keep an eye on him.

#crypto/reader #crypto x reader #tae joon park/reader #tae joon park x reader #apex legends #apex lemons #nsft #apex legends imagine #shorty writes #everyone and their mother has been asking me for come over part 2 so have this instead lmao

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just-a-starfruit · 4 years

Text

The Night Sky

This was my submission to the Ateez Storyboard Contest, unfortunately I didn’t make it through to the final voting, but I am proud of myself for even getting the courage to submit something in the first place. It’s been a few years since I’ve written for fun and not for a school assignment, but nonetheless I hope y’all still enjoy it:’)

Also excuse me if this looks weird, I have never posted to tumblr, please have mercy on me.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None, but if there is one you feel I need to add, please let me know:)

Yeosang misses the sight of the stars, the city lights and crowded streets were never something he got used to, no matter how long he had lived in Seoul. He misses mapping those stars, and using them to navigate the Illusion over the vast expanse of the sky.

The very sky and stars his mother used to sing him to sleep under, and his father would tell him stories about. The sky was boundless, and full of mystery, but here it just felt like a cage. It felt wrong.

He huffs, pushing open the door to the 24 hour fried chicken take out restaurant he begrudgingly got a job at a year back. It’s not that he doesn’t love the food, hell, he could eat it any day without problem. It’s the stuffy environment, the unreliable coworkers, and the fact that his paycheck never seems to reflect his work. It certainly didn’t hold a candle to his previous occupation.

The only thing that keeps him working the graveyard shift here is that it’s the only job that would take a homeless barely legal teen, who definitely sounded drunk from all of the nonsense he was spewing. When he stumbled into the shop, yelling about how a masked man had taken their ship and he needed help. The employee shot him a weird look but took pity on the teen, and listened to him tell story upon story about the Illusion and it’s crew. They believed it to be fiction, oh, how wrong they were.

Yeosang slept in the police station that night.

When he woke up, it was early in the morning, sunrise, and Yeosang was startled to not hear the crashing of waves or smell the salt of the air, or see the exact position of the sun in the sky. In a panicked haze, he cried out for help, and the officer on duty told him to settle down to no avail. Yeosang was shaking and sobbing, the unfamiliarity of the world he was in now too much to take in at once.

When he finally calmed down enough to leave, he was handed a bottle of water by the officer, “Maybe head towards the hospital, get an IV for that nasty hangover.”

The boy just looked at him and left without a word.

He ended up back at the chicken shop, and the employee who had helped him the night previously, ended up talking to a manager, to give the boy a job and let him crash on his couch if he needed. Yeosang accepted the offer gratefully, and slept there for a month or so, until he saved up the money to rent a shoebox apartment he learned was called a goshiwon. It wasn’t the ideal lifestyle, but it would have to do until he could find everyone else.

The sound of snapping jolts Yeosang out of his train of thought, and he’s met face to face with a not too happy looking man, “Oi, I’d like to order finally. These kids get more and more lazy.”

Trying his best to not roll his eyes in front of a customer, the ex navigator smiles and forces an apology, punching in the order.

It was about 3 in the morning before someone else came barreling through the door, and Yeosang peeled his eyes away from the spider web he had been idly watching for the past hour or so. Then his eyes widened.

“San?”

The man’s eyes met his, and recognition and relief washed over his face,

“Yeosang! What in the name of selene are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same, how have you been? What are you doing now? Most importantly, where did you end up?”

“I ended up in Japan, in an empty Shinjuku alleyway, but the moment I stepped into a crowded area, I was approached by a modelling agent. I had honestly no clue what was going on, so I accepted. That was four years ago though. I’m here for a photo shoot though.”

Yeosang nearly choked, “Four years? I’ve only been here two.” he then began to tell the former gunner about why he was in a dingy fast food restaurant on the outer streets of Seoul, working the graveyard shift.

“So if you’re some budding big time model, where is your manager?”

“I ran.” San said, barely above a whisper, as if the walls had ears.

“You what now?” Yeosang was at a loss of words, his mouth gaping open like a hooked fish, gasping for air.

“You heard me, I jumped ship, I felt trapped, strangled by the public to be the new “it” boy of the new generation of models. Most of all, I felt homesick, Yeo, I miss the ocean, the crew, the adventure. None of that is here. So when we were at a redlight, I opened the door to the car and ran as fast as I could.” San stood up at some point, the two having sat at the lone table and chairs that occupied the shop before swapping stories.

“I see. Have you seen any of the others? Have you heard anything about Hongjoong?”

The model shook his head, “You’re the only member of the crew I’ve seen, I’m sorry Yeo.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room at the news. The strong headed Captain had gone missing just before the masked man arrived, sending the other seven members into wherever they are today. He had seemed distant that whole day before, it had set the crew into unease. About a week prior to his disappearance and Yeosang’s emergence into the modern world, they had a meeting with their alters that had gone surprisingly well, finally making amends.

The thoughts of the masked man caused Yeosang to shiver. The build of the man was familiar, yet also alien, resembling one of the taller members, even if all of them were in the same room.

The idea of another set of the boys was a crazy thought, but not impossible, as seen by the black clad masked crew of bandits they met with.

San decided to go home with Yeosang when 5AM finally crawled around, despite the tired employee saying time and time again how small his room was. San didn’t care, anywhere but in the claws of his manager and the gaze of the public would do.

When they entered the housing complex, Yeosang flipped on a small electric kettle resting on a counter, and set a plastic bag from his work next to it. From a small bin resting beneath the counter, he produced two cup noodles and disposable chopsticks. It was definitely different from what the escaped model was expecting, but he could care less, he was starving.

The kettle switched off when the water inside came to a boil, emitting a small amount of steam from the spout. Yeosang peeled open the lids of the noodle cups a little, and poured water into them, then placed the chopsticks on top of the lid to hold it down. He pulled out a pair of boxes from the plastic bag and popped open one of them to reveal wings from his work, then he handed San a cup noodle.

“Sannie, while I do appreciate seeing you again, you’re sure I won’t get in trouble for harboring a valuable asset to your company?” He shoves a mouthful of noodles in his mouth and winces, he forgot to blow on them.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll sweet talk my way out of either of us getting in trouble. I ditched my phone in the car, so it’ll take a while.”

He always was one to think ahead, and never made a move without carefully calculating his actions, even reckless ones. The two boys finished their meal in silence, cleaning up when they were finished.

It was an understatement to say Yeosang was relieved to see one of the members again, afterall it had been two years.

Two years of fear and loneliness in an unfamiliar world. As he closed his eyes, he saw the same image he had always seen: an hourglass with glowing sand frozen in place.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Omertà👄4

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: You guys are awesome. Just thought you should know! Thanks for reading and following along. :D I am always so thankful for everything y’all do.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Aside from the colour, you were not a fan of the dress. The black number was little much for you; the long sleeves couldn’t make up for the length of the skirt or the strappy back. You were still unaccustomed to your new wardrobe and you doubted you ever would be. When you arrived that morning at The Attic, you’d felt like an idiot.

After noon, you excused yourself if only to escape Loki for an hour. He hadn’t failed to remind you of the day’s meeting. Over a week and a half since the last. Just as long spent in dread. It was bad enough facing Loki each day but another to know you’d be book-ended between him and Bucky.

You went to a restaurant not far from the shop. You passed it now and then but never thought of stepping inside the ultra sleek bar. You did that day; a reluctant retreat. You sat by the window and ordered an organic juice and a salad.

You rarely ate anything more than microwaves dinners and non-perishables. You often found yourself forgetting to stop and eat when you were at work and you gave little thought to what awaited you after.

You poked at the baby spinach and glanced out the window. The strawberry juice was a little too sweet and made your jaw twitch. You looked back to your bowl as you tried to hide your recognition. The man across the street; you’d seen him before.

It would be easy enough to shrug off his brief glance as coincidence as he walked casually along the pavement, but you hadn’t missed him as you emerged from The Attic. Or a few days back on your way home. His golden hair shone above his chiseled jaw and his bright eyes made him a beacon on the streets. He was following you and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

You left the last few leaves in the bottom of the bowl to drown in dressing. You took your last sip from the glass and folded the bills in the little leather folder. You stood and nodded at your waitress on your way out. The blond man was gone. For now.

You returned to the shop and slipped into the office. Loki wasn’t there and you were thankful. You sat and pulled out your phone. You pulled down the skirt which had a tendency to slip to your thigh.

As you wiggled in your chair, the door opened and Loki appeared. He didn’t miss the little shimmy and smiled as he neared your desk. His eyes sparkled at you as his fingers rubbed along the edge of the wood.

“We should go soon.” He said. “But we should talk first.”

“Right,” You kept your phone propped up but spared him a brief peek.

“First, listen,” He reached over and tapped your phone. “Important. I tell you to do something, you do it. No back talk. It would be as bad for you as for me should you choose to undermine me in the presence of those men.”

You nodded and lowered your phone. You looked at him and squished your lips together.

“Play along. I know you’re not stupid so I know you can play your part well.” He grinned. “This man is simple; even you can rile him.”

You shook your head and swayed your leg as you crossed your arms.

“Is that all?” You asked.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you of what this world means; of the consequences of such repugnance.” He frowned. “Remember your father, perhaps that will keep you in line.”

“Perhaps,” You sneered.

“Well,” He drew away. “I’d rather this over with. I am not a fan of these places. Sad, really.”

You stood and tucked your phone in your purse. You slung it on your shoulder and sighed.

“Well, at least we can agree on expedience,” You said.

👄

The She-Wolf looked grim in the daylight. The neon sign flashed although the flicker was hard to notice so early. You followed Loki to the doors but he swiftly sidestepped a patron stumbling out. You watched the man, already drunk, as he wobbled away.

You swallowed your discomfort and entered as Loki opened the door for you, the bouncers eyed both of you. He was greeted by a woman in a crop top and booty shorts. He looked at her as if she were a leper.

“Laufeyson for Barnes,” He announced. “Is there a man who I should--”

“Over here,” She interrupted him and his brows drew together. “Just by Tiffani.”

Loki hesitated but followed, his arm curled around you as he swept you along with him. There were only two stages in use and the bar was almost empty. Still the music buzzed and the dark room was swathed with coloured arcs of light. You sat along the half-moon stage as the woman offered you drinks.

Loki sniffed as he peered around and refused. You thanked her but forewent the offer as well. Loki sat back and draped his arm behind you. He looked over at you and you didn’t miss his gaze as his hand flitted down to your dress. His hand snaked over and he caressed your leg just beneath the hem.

“Well…” He kept his voice low. “I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Stop,” You grabbed his hand.

“Stop? Ah, you know, I never expected to share tastes with Barnes but I might see a little of what he does.” He purred. “This might be more fun than I expected.”

“Loki,” You hissed as he flipped his hand and twisted yours back. “Enough.”

“We should’ve taken our time back at the office.” He slithered.

“I mean it.” You wrestled with him. “It’s not funny.”

“I am not joking, darling,” He rolled his R coyly. “And seeing as…” His eyes went to the woman spinning up on the pole. “He has such low standards… you’ve made this pleasantly easy.”

He shook you away and pushed his hand between your knees. He gripped your leg as he took a breath. He cleared his throat and rescinded his touch as he stood. Bucky appeared from a doorway along the back of the club and you rose too. He was flanked by two other men and they followed him to the stage as he smirked at you. He barely acknowledged Loki as he offered you his hand.

“Sweetheart,” He looked you up and down. “Mmm, you look wonderful.”

You thanked him softly and stiffened as you shook his hand.

“Loki,” He released you and extended his hand to the other man. “Early. As always.”

“We take our time seriously in Manhattan,” Loki gripped Bucky’s hand firmly. “It is, as they say, money.”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky withdrew and sat. His men stayed behind him, like statues.

Bucky leaned his elbow on the table that lined the stage and gazed up at the now topless Tiffani as she hung upside down from the pole. He smirked and his eyes slowly fell to you.

“So, you thirsty?” He asked.

“It’s early,” Loki answered for you.

“Not that early,” Bucky insisted as he raised his hand. “What do you like? You seem like a scotch man.”

His eyes never left you as the woman who greeted you returned.

“Or whiskey,” Loki replied, annoyed that he was all but being ignored.

“And the lady?” He wondered. “Champagne?”

“That’s a bit much,” You sat straight.

“Rose? Chardonnay?” He continued. “I have a rather extensive cellar. I could let you have a look if you wish.”

“We didn’t come here to peruse your wine collection,” Loki intoned.

“No,” Bucky slapped his hand on the table. “You came here to give me my money and to accept my hospitality. It would be rude to bite the hand, wouldn’t it?”

Loki’s jaw jutted out in anger and he nodded, a snarl slowly left his nostrils.

“Gin,” You said sternly. “Gin is fine.”

“Gin,” Bucky repeated as his expression softened and he turned to the waitress. “Scotch for my friend,” He waved to Loki, “And two gins. Top shelf.”

“Yes, sir,” She recited and her smile betrayed her attraction for the man. Bucky, despite his person, could not be called hideous.

“You know,” Bucky turned to Loki, his eyes strayed to you for a moment, “I was thinking of this new arrangement and while I appreciate that your men are working so hard, I would prefer a few of mine help out.”

“Help out?” Loki squinted.

“Allies, you said.” Bucky leaned back and pulled his thin lapels straight. “So we should work together. If I sent a few of my hands down to our warehouses, they wouldn’t be hassled, would they? Especially not if they were helping with our business.”

Loki swallowed. It was one thing to split up the take, but another to allow others onto territory he still felt was rightfully his. The compromise was temporary in his mind; a means to an end. A patient plot.

“Surely not,” Loki forced out. “I would make sure of it.”

“Very good,” Bucky smiled as he watched the waitress set down the drinks. “I will send them down tomorrow then.”

“I’ll make sure mine are aware,” Loki inhaled deeply and took his scotch. His other hand wandered over your thigh and he rested it there as he sipped.

You grabbed your drink and swigged down a bitter mouthful before you could chide him. Bucky didn’t miss the movement and his eyes followed Loki’s arm to his hand. Loki’s long fingers squeezed and you winced. Bucky took a drink as he looked you over.

“I’ll take my money now,” He gritted out. “Drinks are on me though.”

Loki set down his glass and dragged his hand from your leg. He shifted your skirt as he did, enough to expose your upper thigh. You fixed it and Bucky hummed. You looked up as he shifted in his chair. He was focused on your lap and you pushed your legs together tightly.

Loki reached into his jacket and pulled out the bundle. He planted it on the table before Bucky who quickly took it and began to count. When he finished, he smacked the stack on his palm and then handed it over to one of his men.

“You like her?” Bucky pointed to Tiffani and Loki frowned. “The night shift is better. The girls are… skilled.”

“I’ve never been one for dancers. Or escorts.” Loki sneered.

“My girls are clean and I’d not call them escorts, they’re good company. Especially for men like us.”

“Men like us?” Loki huffed. “I don’t pay for my company.”

“So you must be lonely,” Bucky countered.

A tense silence followed as they stared each other down. Loki chuckled and finished his drink.

“Not that lonely,” He stretched his arm behind you.

Bucky scratched his chin and nodded.

“It’s not always money you pay with,” Bucky mused. “Is it?”

“I have been told I am charming,” Loki’s fingers tickled your shoulder. “I’ve never wanted for much.”

“Is it charm or hot air?” Bucky challenged. “You talk a lot.”

“I won’t deny that,” Loki smirked. “But you know, a sharp tongue is truly a gift. Isn’t it, darling?”

Both men looked at you. You tapped your fingernail on your glass and chewed on your irritation.

“Truly,” You answered rigidly. “It must be.”

You lifted your glass and drank. Bucky watched you intently. Loki stared at him until he looked away and their gaze met. There was a moment of understanding; an unspoken challenge. You felt as if you were suffocating in your dress. You wanted another drink desperately.

👄

You left shortly after the pissing contest. You were glad to be away and didn’t stick around much longer at the antique shop. Loki was agitated and barely noticed when you left. Despite his well-honed veneer, he hadn’t been able to withhold his chagrin once free of the strip club.

The next day, you sensed little difference. He was silent, grumbly. He sat behind his desk and made the occasional call. He was impatient and bossy. He had Bucky’s men in his warehouses and he was talking his own down from igniting another war. Each call ended with a scribbled list of numbers for you to add to your ledger.

Your work was disturbed in the late afternoon. You heard Lopez in the showroom, his voice panicked as he neared the other side of the door. There was no knock as the squat man’s voice was left unmatched. The door opened as Loki reached under his jacket. He gripped his gun and watched the man who entered.

“No need for that,” The blonde man said coolly. He held a box and smiled as he looked around the room. “Just got a delivery.”

Loki scowled and reluctantly lowered his hand. “Delivery? Did Barnes forget something?”

The blonde’s jaw squared as he turned to you. He placed the box atop your open ledger.

“Boss sends his regards,” He smirked. You said nothing as he nodded and glanced at Loki one last time. “To both of you.”

As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. You watched him go and frowned as Loki bid Lopez shut the door. You were silent as you shook your head at the box.

“Who was--”

“Rogers.” Loki snorted. “Barnes’ little lap dog.”

You were quiet. You wouldn’t let on that Barnes’ man had been tailing you. You didn’t think that would help with either of them. Or you.

“Well, open it.” He demanded.

You glanced at him and he lifted a brow. His eyes pierced you as you slid the box closer and let out a long breath. You rubbed your thumbs over the cardboard and carefully shook the lid free. The box fell to the desk and you set aside the top. You brushed aside the tissue paper and gaped at the swath of sparkling diamonds.

Loki sighed and tapped his fingers as he leaned forward.

“Do go on,” He said dryly.

You cringed and reached into the box. You hooked your fingers under the diamonds and lifted the glittering pair of panties. Your eyes met Loki’s over the top and his face paled with anger. Fuck.

403 notes · View notes

calpalirwin · 5 years

Text

Difficult and Stubborn

Summary: When country difficult meets rock stubborn there’s bound to be a clash. And there’s bound to be more than one side to the same story.

A/N: So, in case y’all didn’t know, I’m a country music ho! And Morgan Wallen’s Chasin’ You gave me angsty Ash fic vibes so I paired it up with 5SOS’s Want You Back. And I think it worked?

Content: Swearing. Angst. Some fluff because I can’t write bad endings? I dunno. Same shit, different fic.

Word Count: 5,200-ish.

And, (like always) away, and away we go! (Have y’all caught on to this joke yet?)

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

“You know you gotta perform this song with me, right?” Morgan asked me.

“What?” I asked, my eyes going wide. I was a song writer, not a song-singer. Why did the people I wrote songs for keep rewarding me like this?

“C’mon, we sing it so much better together,” he winked.

I rolled my eyes, patting the man’s shoulder. “I’ll sing with you,” I relented. “But that’s it!”

“Great!” he grinned, hugging me tightly.

I rolled my eyes again and gave out a small laugh.

“Y/N?” a familiar- too familiar really- voice sounded and I ducked behind Morgan, eyes taking in the man strolling down the hall towards me. The brown curls I had spent many a night running my fingers through were now bright red. More tattoos decorated the arms that used to hold me tight. And Ashton Irwin was the last person I wanted to see before I was about to perform the song I had written about him.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

“Ash, c’mon, mate,” Calum’s hand pulled on my arm.

“Yeah, right behind ya,” I said, following him down the hallway, before my eyes took her in. I stopped, blinking. It couldn’t be, could it? Despite being in the music business, we had managed to run in different circles. But it was. I would recognize her anywhere. “Y/N?” I called out, before I could think about it. She froze, recognizing my voice the same way I would recognize hers. But, instead of turning, she ducked behind the man she was standing with.

I was about to call out to her again, but Calum gave me a sharp tug, pulling me along. “C’mon, mate. Don’t do this,” he told me, his voice low.

~~~

March 2017

Y/N’s POV

“You know you gotta perform this song with me, right?” Kelsea asked me.

“Kels, I just write the songs. I don’t perform them,” I said, holding up my hands, declining her offer.

“Oh, c’mon Y/N,” the pretty blonde pleaded. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your songwriting.”

“Just thank me in your speech, and we’ll call it even,” I assured her.

“Kelsea, you’re on in five,” a stagehand directed.

“Get her mic for me, would ya?” she winked at the stagehand, who shrugged and pushed a microphone in my hand.

“No, I do-” I protested, handing it back to him.

He looked at Kelsea, wondering what to do as I tried to get him to take the microphone back. “She’s doing this,” Kelsea smiled brightly at him. “Make sure they announce us both. That’s songwriter Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, rushing off.

I narrowed my eyes, “I could kill you right now.”

She just turned her bright smile to me, “You could, but then you’d have to perform solo.”

~~~

March 2017

Ashton’s POV

I sunk low in my chair, bored out of my skull. Being at an award show just to show face was the dumbest idea my management had come up with thus far.

“Drink after this?” Calum whispered to me.

“Fuck yeah,” I agreed. “What about Luke, though?”

“It’s an after-party, not a bar.”

“Performing Miss Me More, country music artist Kelsea Ballerini, and songwriter Y/N Y/L/N!” the host announced and our conversation got cut as we clapped politely as two women came out on stage, the blonde perky, the other shooting daggers with her eyes.

“Who’s that?” I nudged Calum.

He just shrugged, “But if looks could kill, yeah?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere else in the world than on stage as the music started.

Kelsea sang her way through the first verse of a rather upbeat, ballsy fuck-you country tune, before the other woman joined her on the chorus. Then, when that second verse hit, it was just the other woman alone singing “I put on my old records that I hid in the back of the closet. And I turned them up to ten. And then I played them all again.” She got into it at that point, giving a little sway of her hips as she continued, “I found my independence, can’t believe I ever lost it. What you wanted, ain’t it? It’s what you wanted.” She gave a smug smirk and a wink at Kelsea before they both continued with the rest of the song.

“Thanks, y’all!” Kelsea grinned, taking a small bow to the applause. “Let’s give it up for my talent friend, Y/N!”

I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but I was on my feet, whistling through my fingers, suddenly feeling way better about being here.

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

“Please welcome to the stage, Morgan Wallen and Y/N Y/L/N and their new hit Chasin’ You!” the host announced and Morgan’s hand took mine as we walked out.

Morgan sang the first verse by himself, and I swayed quietly on my stool, my eyes closed, enjoying the music before I opened my eyes and joined him for the chorus.

“Chasin’ you-ooo-ooo like a shot of whiskey. Burnin’ goin’ down, burnin’ goin’ down. Chasin’ you-ooo-ooo like those goodbye headlights, headin’ west to anywhere out of this nowhere town. Chasin’ that freedom, chasin’ that feeling, that got gone too soon. Chasin’ that you and me, I only see in my rearview. Yeah, I’m layin’ here tonight holdin’ someone new, still chasin’ you. Still chasin’ you.”

My eyes glanced across the crowd watching us and I found him easily, too easily.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

Her eyes found mine as she started singing the second verse, a sad smile on her lips.

“You always used to talk about LA. I heard you got as far as Santa Fe. Oh, wait. You know I tried to track you down, but I only got as far as Guitar Town. Singin’ bout a boy I used to know, used to know. You should know that I haven’t given up, I’m just on your radio.”

I sucked in my breath as her eyes stayed locked on mine. I knew the song was about me. I just wondered how much of it was true.

I got up from my seat, Calum’s arm grabbing my arm in protest, but I yanked from his grasp and strode out, my mind racing.

God, how had her and I gone so wrong, so fast? How did we get back to the people we were when we met? How did anyone come back from a breakup in a relationship you were never sure you had in the first place?

~~~

March 2017

Y/N’s POV

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, clapping a hand over my mouth as the man jostled me.

“Oh, nah, that was my fault,” he apologized. His words were either accented or slightly slurred as he pushed his brown curls out off a set of honey-gold eyes. “Oh, hey! You’re that girl,” he smiled as those eyes took me in.

“It’s Y/N,” I said with a small laugh, offering him my hand.

“I’m Ashton,” he told me, his large hand enveloping mine. “That song rocked. And I don’t even like country all that much.”

“More of a rock band type?” I asked, my brain clicking through the names and faces I knew and not finding his, but recognizing his name anyway.

He tapped a finger to his nose knowingly. “Typical, I know. The drummer of a rock band likes rock music. Go fuckin’ figure.”

“Ah!” I said, my eyes lighting up in recognition. “You’re Ashton from 5 Seconds of Summer. What were you guys doing at the award show?”

“Showing the world that LA hasn’t swallowed us whole,” he shrugged, holding out his arms, the drink sloshing around the lip of the cup.

“Easy there,” I said, laughing and wondering if he felt the same jolt of electricity as I did when I touched his arm to bring it down. “The booze may seem free, but the cost is gonna be one wicked hangover.”

“Can’t be hungover if I never stop drinking,” he winked, taking a long sip.

I laughed again. The man had some solid logic, even if it was heavily flawed. “C’mon you, let’s see if we can’t sober you up a bit.”

~~~

March 2017

Ashton’s POV

I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t even close to it. But I let her drag me outside anyway.

“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea,” she chuckled, rubbing furiously at her bare arms.

“Here,” I said, shrugging off my leather jacket and placing it around her shoulders.

“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, sliding her arms in, letting the warmth envelope her.

“Nah, I’ll be good in this,” I said, pulling at my long sleeves. The leather jacket, combined with the small buzz I was working on getting, and the way she looked was making me too hot, so I was glad to shed the layer I could, letting the early spring night air cool me down. “So, do you live in LA?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nashville with all the other country folk.”

I nodded. “So you write, but you don’t sing?”

She laughed. I liked it. “I could ask you the same thing, Ashton.”

“I’m a drummer, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need my name up in lights. I write music for me, not for anybody else.”

“Sounds a little hypocritical to sell those songs then, no?”

She shrugged. “Gotta make a living somehow. Might as well make money doing what I love. But I don’t need all the glory that goes with it.”

I nodded. “That’s almost a shame, really. Cuz you sound great.”

She smiled, “So do you.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in my system. Maybe it was the way she looked in the streetlight glow in my leather jacket. Maybe it was a combination of the two or something else entirely. But the next thing I knew my lips met hers and her hands were in my hair and mine were on her hips.

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

“Y/N!” Ashton’s voice called as I walked down the hallway headed for my seat in the theater.

I stopped and turned, trying not to lose my composure over how nearly two years had only made him more handsome. I’m not sure what I wanted him to look like. Maybe broken like I was? No. I didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve that pain I felt in my chest looking at him. God, it was pathetic. I was pathetic. We were barely a thing when we were a thing. And now we were back to being nothing. Two strangers in a hallway. God, if only that were true. “Ashton,” I answered, keeping my voice level, cold even.

“Ashton? Really Y/N? That’s how it’s gonna be?” He gave a shake of his head, a hand rubbing at his neck, a breath coming out in a slow, shaky huff.

“What do you want, Ashton?” I asked, the iciness from my tone giving way to weariness.

“To talk?”

I rolled my eyes. “What about?”

His eyes darkened. “Jesus, are you always this difficult?”

“Are you always this stubborn?” I shot back.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

A low frustrated growl ripped through my throat. “I’m stubborn?! Jesus, woman, I’m just trying to talk to you!”

“I don’t have time for this,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t have time for this,” she added, her eyes locking on my fist that was clenched around the drumsticks.

“Later then, yeah?”

“Later. Break a leg, or whatever,” she muttered, before walking off.

I watched her, shaking my head. God, even when she was mad she was hot.

“Mate…” Calum’s voice said, his eyes following where I was looking. “I specifically told you not to do this.”

“I’m not doing anything, Cal. She’s the one doing it.”

~~~

June 2017

Y/N’s POV

“C’mon,” he said, his eyes wild as he shed his shirt.

“Ash, you’re crazy!” I laughed.

“Live a little, baby,” he whispered in my ear, placing a kiss on my lips that tasted like the whiskey he took a swig off. Then, he was running down the river bend in the moonlight.

I took a swig of my own, then ran after him. I would chase that boy anywhere.

“You ever gonna chase me to LA?” he asked when I caught him. Okay, I would chase him almost anywhere.

“We talked about this, Ash,” I said, my voice soft, not wanting to have the same fight we've been having for three months.

“You’ll chase me all around Nashville, but not LA? Baby…” his voice begged with a small chuckle of disbelief. “You can still write in LA.”

“You can write in Nashville,” I countered. Then, “Can we not do this? Can we just enjoy whatever this is?”

He pushed his hair back with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head. “Yeah, whatever.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re really going to be mad at me for having a life, Ash?”

“I’m not mad that you don’t have a life. I’m mad you only act like were a thing when I come here.”

“I was in LA last month, and you ignored me!” I shot back.

“I was busy!”

“So what? I have to change for you, but you won’t change for me? How is that fair, Ash?”

“I’m not asking you to change!”

“Then, why are you trying to ruin a good thing, Ash?” I asked. “C’mon, be here with me.”

“In Nashville?”

“No,” I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, taking his hands in mine. “Here. This moment. Me and you. Nobody else.”

A small smile crept across his lips and I knew we were done fighting. “You drive me crazy, you know that, baby?”

“Honestly, how you put up with me, I’ll never know,” I said, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him deeply.

“Mmm, it’s cuz you kiss like that,” he told me, his eyes shining in the way that sent shivers down my spine.

“Like what?” I asked innocently, repeating the kiss. “Like this?”

“Just like that, baby.”

“Keep calling me ‘baby’ and there will be plenty of kisses just like that.”

“Baby,” he grinned, placing his lips on my neck to leave his own kisses and marks. “Baby, baby, baby.”

~~~

July 2017

Ashton’s POV

“You never change, do you?!” she screamed at me in the parking lot, the summer rain making it hard to tell if she was crying or not.

I kept my face neutral, deciding to say nothing. I had just asked if she wanted to join me on tour and she was acting like I set her on fire.

“Say something!” she yelled, her voice cracking- yep, she was crying- her hands pushing hard at my chest, enough to make me have to throw a foot back to catch myself.

I dropped my gaze, deciding to take this moment to memorize her before I never got another chance. Her hair was starting to frizz in the light drizzle. Her voice that could be so soft was loud and harsh, ringing out in the parking lot. Her thin shirt- my favorite one, the one with roses on it- clung to her skin. “All I asked was if you wanted to join me on tour,” I said simply. “Didn’t even have to be for the whole thing. Just thought maybe you were in the mood to travel. With me. Your boyfriend.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” she asked with a disgusted laugh.

I blinked, dumbly.

She let out a wild scream of frustration. “I broke up with my ex because I valued my independence. I thought you respected that. We never said what we were, Ashton. You just come around every now and then, shake up my world for a few days, and then leave.”

“I do respect that! But you can’t have it both ways! You can’t get mad at me for leaving, and then turn around and get mad when I ask you to come with me!” I shouted at her, losing my temper the way she had already lost hers.

“Because when I did come, you ignored me!”

“You’re really gonna keep using that argument?!”

“I make time for you every time you come to Nashville! But you couldn’t do the same?! And you think you’re my boyfriend?! God!” Her hands came to rest on her head and I knew what was coming next. “I do- I don’t know how we’ve been working for as long as we have. We don’t work. You and I will never work.”

“Message received,” I said shortly, grateful we each had met up so I didn’t have to endure a hard silent car ride that may or may not led to make-up/break-up sex. I could just leave, here and now. Before I shattered.

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

“And now, 5SOS with their new hit Want You Back!” the host announced and I clapped politely, but wished for the theater to open up and swallow me whole. I couldn’t hear this song. Not here in front of people.

“Can’t help but wondering if this is the last time that I’ll see your face. Is it tears or just the pourin’ rain? Wish I could say something. Something that doesn’t sound insane, but lately I don’t trust my brain. You tell me I won’t ever change, so I just say nothing,” Luke sang the clean acoustic version, but my eyes were on the man just beyond the blonde. God, how could he make something as simple as snapping look so damn sexy?

His eyes were closed, lost in the music, and I was glad for it. It meant he couldn’t tell that I was watching. It would have stayed that way if he had kept those damn honey colored eyes that I saw every time I closed my eyes shut. But, I wasn’t lucky when it came to Ashton Irwin. No, those eyes snapped open with his fingers and locked with mine. So much for pretending to move on.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

I had kept my eyes closed, because I knew that if I looked I would find her and I really didn’t want to break down on stage. But the first verse ended and my eyes opened up, almost without my permission, and found her watching.

“No matter where I go, I’m always gonna want you back. No matter how long you’re gone, I’m always gonna want you back. I know you know I will never get over you. No matter where I go, I’m always gonna want you back, want you back,” I sang into my microphone along with the rest of my band, swallowing the lump in my throat, and the pain swirling in the pit of my stomach.

I wondered if she was sitting there thinking the same thing I had when it had been her up here instead of me. I wish I could tell her that every word of it was true. I would never not want her. But, that confession would have to wait.

~~~

September 2017

Y/N’ POV

I chucked my phone in anger. I needed to stop. God, it wasn’t even like we were a thing to begin with. So why did it hurt so bad? Why was I constantly scrolling through his band account to see whether he looked broken up or happy? Why was I still hung up on him?

I pulled my notebook closer, gave my pen a quick tap, and started writing.

“We used to taste that Chattanooga fray. Couple kids in a Chevrolet. Catch a little air when we hit the tracks. Sipping on something from a paper sack. You hang your shirt on a maple limb. Slippin’ through the moon to the river bend. Wasn’t very long I was jumpin’ in, jumpin’ in. I guess I’m still doin’ now what I was doin’ then,” I sang along, plucking out a melody, figuring maybe putting him in a song would get him out of my head once and for all.

~~~

November 2017

Ashton’s POV

My fingers itched as I clutched my phone tighter. “Don’t do it. Don’t you dare do it,” I whispered angrily to myself.

“Give it to me,” Calum said, his brown hand outstretched.

I sighed in defeat and handed it to him. “I don’t know what to do, Cal. She’d push, and I’d pull. So, I would push, and then she would pull. I never knew what she wanted me to do. Did she want her freedom? Did she want me? Did she want both, and I just didn’t know how to give her that? God, I can’t think straight!”

“Here,” he said, pushing a notebook and pen in my hand. “Get it out. Maybe getting it on paper will clear up your head.”

I offered him a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks, Cal.”

“I’m always here for ya, mate. Now turn this moping into a hit.”

I chuckled for the first time in what felt like a while, the sound strange to my ears. I opened the notebook and the words came easily- too easily.

“I remember the freckles on your back, and the way I used to make you laugh. ‘Cause you know every morning I wake up, yeah, I still reach for you. I remember the roses on your shirt when you told me this would never work. You know even when I say I’ve moved on, yeah, I still dream for you.”

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

I got up out of my seat. I couldn’t sit here and watch him up there anymore. It was my own damn fault. I hadn’t wanted a relationship, so I had kept him at arm’s length, and every time he tried to close the distance I pushed. But then I would get mad when he didn’t pull me close anyway. I had wanted him to fight for me and every time he did I balked, scared of risking losing myself like I had in my last relationship.

My wandering in my dazed state led me to the hallway backstage, and as fate would have it, I smacked right into the person I still wasn’t sure about.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

“Whoa, easy there,” I said, grabbing her arms to hold her steady as she stumbled back. “You okay?” I asked when her eyes traveled up and I got a good look of her face- broken, struggling to keep her composure.

“I’m fine,” she all but snarled, her eyes hard despite the rest of her face being soft, jerking out of my grasp.

I held up my hands and took a small step back. “Just making sure you don’t fall on your ass, baby.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Baby, baby, baby,” I taunted, crossing my arms.

“Stubborn asshole.”

“Difficult baby.”

“You infuriate me.”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you wrote a song about how you haven’t given up? Because I infuriate you?”

“That song’s not about you. It’s Morgan’s song about his ex,” she lied.

“Bullshit it is,” I scoffed.

“Oh, like you didn’t just perform a song about me?” she challenged.

“I never said I didn’t.”

“So, I’m the fake betch who treated you really wrong?” she asked, accenting the words like Luke and I had, not realizing she had just admitted to keeping tabs on me.

I laughed harshly. “That’s the part you chose to focus on? The part where Luke and I were dicking around as he tried to make me laugh for the first time in months?”

“I’m not fake, Ashton. I wasn’t faking anything with you.”

“I never said you were.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m trying right now.”

“Trying what? You’re the one acting hostile. All I did was keep you from falling flat on face.”

“If you wanted to keep me from falling flat on my face you should- nevermind.”

I tilted my head. “I’m sorry? I should’ve what?”

“Nevermind.”

“You going to the after-party?”

“Yes…”

“Cool. We’ll talk there, yeah? Maybe without the hostilities?”

“That depends, are you going to be stubborn?”

“Are you going to be difficult?” I asked back.

Her eyes narrowed, but she fought the eye roll. God, all I wanted right now was to kiss that hard look off her face. “Just find me later, Ash,” she finally said, using the shortened version of my name as an act of good faith.

~~~

June 2018

Y/N’s POV

I wasn’t sure why I was watching the video. The last time I had watched a video of him I had cried for hours wondering if he really thought I was a fake bitch who broke his heart like it was nothing. Did he really think I was a monster? Was I a monster? Hell, maybe I was for pushing away a guy who only wanted to hold me together. God, I was so stupid!

I was expecting Ashton to go off on what the lyrics meant to him as I watched the video against my better judgement, but he surprised me by talking about the process of writing the song, rather than what it meant to him personally. Maybe he wasn’t drunk enough yet. Maybe he had written the song to move on, and it had worked for him. Good. At least it had worked for one of us.

~~~

July 2018

Ashton’s POV

“So, you actually wrote this song, Y/N, is that right?” the radio host asked her in the live stream of the video I was watching.

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I wrote the lyrics anyway. Morgan and his team wrote the music for it.”

“She’s being modest,” Morgan cut in with a laugh. “She had a guitar melody in mind when she showed us the song that we worked with.”

“And yet, you let him sing it?”

She laughed. “Yeah, or I try to anyway. I keep telling Morgan I’m just the song writer, not the song singer, but he can be very persuasive.”

The radio host leaned in, “Oh, so is Morgan the someone new you’re holding?”

She laughed again. “No, Morgan and I are just friends. There’s nobody new I’m holding. It was just a good fit lyrically.”

The radio host leaned back, clearly disappointed that there wasn’t an exclusive scoop for him to exploit. I sighed in relief, as that line had tore me up inside every time I heard it. “Rumor has it the song is about a certain rock drummer you were spotted getting friendly with last year. So, were you and Ashton Irwin of 5SOS dating, and is the song about your breakup?”

She shrugged, and I watched the small flash as her face fell before she kept it neutral. “It’s based on experience, like all my songs are. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s about a breakup, though. Ashton and I…” her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the words. “We had fun. We had potential. And, uh…”

“He’s just a feeling you’re trying to chase?” the radio host supplied.

She let out a breath that held the trace of a laugh. The sound of shoulda/woulda/coulda beens. “Ash was more than a feeling, but uh, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

~~~

March 2019

Y/N’s POV

I took a swallow of my water, waving my hand dismissively at the harder drinks being offered my way. I needed to be stone-cold sober for this chat I was mentally hyping myself up to have with Ashton. If I could stop being so damn defensive that was. God, I was the one who had pushed him away. I had no right to play the victim. I forced a smile, that really didn’t feel all that forced, as I saw him shouldering his way through the crowd towards me.

“Found ya,” he said simply.

My smile widened. “You did. So, that talk?” I asked, deciding to jump right in.

“Outside?” he suggested.

I nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead me out to the balcony. I fought against the nostalgia washing over me at finding my hand in his again, instead shivering against the night breeze. I really needed to learn to bring a jacket. I felt his hand leave mine and then the enveloping warmth that was his leather jacket and scent on my shoulders. “Thanks,” I mumbled, thrusting my arms through the sleeves. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his hands going into the pockets of his black jeans. “Didn’t want you to be cold.”

I sighed, looking out over the city. “What are we doing?”

“It’s just a jacket, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean the damn jacket, Asht-” I started, feeling angry at all the emotions I’d kept bottled up for nearly two years. “I’m not talking about the jacket, Ash,” I tried again, keeping my voice calm and level.

“I know. But it’s a good metaphor all the same, don’t ya think? You fighting back against every nice thing I did like the difficult woman you are?”

His tone was teasing, so I didn’t feel too bad when I rolled my eyes and gave his shoulder a small shove. “You mean you fighting me like the stubborn man you are?”

He let out a small laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been known to be stubborn, yes.”

“And I’ve been known to be difficult,” I relented.

“So, where does that leave us?” he asked, his honey eyes locking on mine.

“Right about here?” I suggested, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss the lips I had missed kissing more than I cared to admit out loud.

~~~

March 2019

Ashton’s POV

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I murmured against her lips, pulling her tight to me.

“I’m sorry,” she was whispering back as her hands snaked into my hair, her lips letting go of mine so she could look up at me. “I didn’t know how to keep you and my independence. But this freedom? It’s suffocating.”

“I never wanted to keep you. I just wanted you in any version you were willing to give me.”

“Keep me. Please.” Her voice was a heartbreaking plea.

“Anybody tell you that you’re difficult?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Anybody tell you that you’re stubborn?” she shot back, playfully. “Ash, I’m finally asking you to hold me close like you wanted. Are you really going to say this isn’t want you want anymore?”

I shook my head. “You drive me crazy, you know that, baby? But, I love it. And you.”

“You love me, huh?”

“I love difficult, what can I say?”

“Good thing I love stubborn, then.”

I tilted my head back, chuckling into the night. “Baby, your love is gonna be the end of me.”

“You love it when I kiss you like this?” she asked with a playful laugh, kissing me the way she knew I loved being kissed.

“Just like that, baby,” I nodded, my fingers dancing across her waist to hold her tight.

“Keep calling me ‘baby’ and there will be plenty of kisses just like that.”

“Baby,” I grinned, placing my lips on her neck to leave my own kisses and marks. “Baby, baby, baby.”

#difficult and stubborn #ashton irwin #ashton fic #5sos #galcal irwin

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celestianstars · 6 years

Text

Protector

Viktor Drago x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff

inspired by an anon that asked @dragothishole what Viktor would do if Ludmilla was talking shit about him and his s/o got tired of hearing it and slapped her like she deserves.

As soon as I read that ask I was like...yo I neeeed to write this so i hope y’all enjoy it ily!!!

——————————————————————————

Your blood was boiling and she hadn’t even been in the room for more than a few minutes.

You tried to focus on Viktor, wondering what this must be like for him.

He didn’t talk about his mother very much but since starting a relationship with you, he told you about how she left him and Ivan when he was kid and then again when he lost against Creed and sure, you’d never met her before but you already hated her.

You were more angry about it than he was which he understood, you were gonna have issues with any person that hurt him.

While he still sometimes struggled with how he felt about her and everything she had done to his family, he could really care less about her. After she left the second time around he decided he was done with her and any thoughts of having some sort of relationship with her, he wanted nothing to do with her.

It’s not that he’d let it go and was down to forgive her, he knew Ludmilla was vile and cruel but he just refused to let her have any affect on him anymore and would try to keep healing from the wounds her absence had left little by little.

You weren’t even sure why she was here, showing up completely uninvited to one of his fights. You figured she was trying to weasel her way into his life now that he was doing fights in America and was being recognized more by the boxing world but you were also aware of what she had been saying about him in the past year since the fight with Adonis and you couldn’t think about it very hard because it made you angry.

The fight had finished, giving Viktor another win and now she had made her grand entrance in one of the private rooms of the stadium, Ivan looking startled and uncomfortable and Viktor, expressionless as the wrappings on his fists were being taken off.

“Кто она такая?” (Who is she?) Ludmilla gestured to you, asking Viktor. Your Russian wasn’t the absolute best but he’d been teaching you and you were also learning on your own and could understand pretty well.

“His girlfriend.” you state immediately after she asked, your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at her.

“Oh! You speak Russian, very good! Nice to meet you.” she smiled as sweetly as possible and held out her hand but you turned your back and walked over to where Viktor was.

No way you were getting her evil energy on you.

Ivan spoke up after a second of terribly awkward silence, asking her what she was doing here.

“I wanted to congratulate Viktor on his win tonight but to remind him not to get comfortable. You still lost against Creed and he owns the heavyweight title. That’s what you want, Viktor, you shouldn’t be his friend, it’s weak of you.” she addressed him again and you swore you could feel your blood pressure go up.

Adonis and Viktor had been in contact since the fight and from what you saw it was a really good thing for both of them.

They both understood what it was like to live with their father’s legacy on their shoulders as well as being impacted directly by the night their father’s had gotten in the ring. Viktor found some comfort there, using Adonis’ support to help get him through losing that fight and to try and repair his relationship with Ivan.

Of course she’d think it was weak of him, it was clear she only saw him as a means to get more money and status and wouldn’t ever acknowledge the damage she did to him or Ivan.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you. I get bigger fights now, more recognition, I’m doing fine.” Viktor shrugged, icing his knuckles now.

You smirked at his response, proud that he was showing her that he wasn’t gonna play this game with her.

Ivan wasn’t about to say a single word, he was so far out of his comfort zone with this entire situation and while he definitely had something he could say in his son’s defense, when it came to Ludmilla, it was only harder to communicate.

“You don’t need to prove anything? Глупый! (Stupid!) You owe it to our country to be what your father failed miserably to be. They still drag your family through the dirt, it’s no wonder I had to take Drago out of my name! You will always be just a loser, a failure!” she snapped back, obviously not liking his nonchalant attitude towards her.

You on the other hand were another story.

You tried to keep yourself busy, wiping down Viktor’s chest with a towel since he was still sweaty from the fight, and making sure ice got applied to the areas on his face that were starting to swell.

You tried really hard to just let her say her bullshit and leave but each second she stood there and talked down to him and called him names you inched closer to snapping.

“How dare you call him a failure! He doesn’t owe anyone or any country a thing! It was fucked up for them to make Ivan leave Russia in the first place, it was fucked up for YOU to leave him and your OWN CHILD too but you’re actually gonna stand there and tell him that he’ll always be seen as a loser if he doesn’t do what you say? You’re wrong on so many levels!” you weren’t shouting but your voice was definitely elevated a little and your tone was full of spite.

The audacity she had to come in here and speak to your baby that way was beyond you and nobody was calling her out for literally abandoning her family so you were taking it upon yourself to do that.

“You have no business speaking to me of what’s right or wrong! Viktor, your choice of women is a disaster, why not someone famous….and with money.” she raised an eyebrow at you, looking you up and down.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a greedy snake who’s only with him for how much money he could potentially make. I love him and would never leave him, like you left him, doesn’t matter whether he wins or loses!” you felt your fists clench at your side before his large hand covered them, trying to calm you.

“Alright, enough.You need to leave, Ludmilla. Disrespect me all you want but don’t drag her into this.” Viktor’s tone was stern, commanding even, his hand leaving yours for a second to gesture at the door.

He greatly appreciated your urge to defend him and call her out on her shit but he also didn’t want you to waste your energy on her because he certainly wasn’t.

He felt his anger rise when she had come after you because protecting you was like an instinct to him but he knew he had to tell her to leave at this point, nothing was going to be fixed this way and it was only agitating everyone.

“You’re a complete waste of a fighter! Ты позорный!” (You’re disgraceful!) she just kept talking and talking.

You weren’t sure how to even process this, she kept trash talking him and his abilities as a fighter and then connecting that to how Ivan was also weak in her eyes and you were nearly becoming homicidal from anger.

Tired of hearing her, you walked up to her and got in her face, telling her to leave like she’d already politely been told to do, not in the least bit intimidated by how tall she was at this point.

Not that it stopped her from continuing to run her mouth, she wasn’t going to take you seriously and you knew that.

“Viktor you’re the greatest disappointment to me…” she disregarded your presence and addressed him again but she didn’t have time to get another word out because the next thing you knew, your palm was connecting with her face.

You weren’t sure if it was an accumulation of all the trash talking or that specific thing that made you snap but there was no holding it in anymore.

You put all the force you could muster into that slap, satisfied with how she stumbled back and looked at you in shock.

“Do you even fucking hear yourself? He’s a disappointment? You have NO idea how much of an amazing person he is! I can’t believe you can stand here and not be begging for his forgiveness for abandoning him but instead you degrade him…” you were definitely shouting now, stalking towards her, making her move backwards as you continued to rip into her with your words.

Both Viktor and Ivan weren’t sure what had even happened for a second it all went down so quick but the sound of your hand meeting her face was sickeningly audible throughout the entire room.

Viktor had never seen you get this angry before, he’d seen you angry, but not like this, this was coming from someplace deep.

Just like it was an instinct to protect you, it was also yours to protect him and he admired your fierce defense of him, though at this particular moment, he knew he needed to take you out of the room because he wasn’t sure if Ludmilla would hit you back or do something else and he was ready for things to simmer down so he could go home with you and forget about this.

You were inches away from her now as her back hit one of the walls, happy at how shocked she still looked but not backing down from yelling at her some more.

“You don’t even deserve his time of day, he’s sweet and caring and the hardest working person I know and...Viktor stop no no! Put me down!” you felt your feet leaving the floor, a pair of familiar arms sweeping your legs out from underneath you, keeping you anchored against his chest with his other arm wrapped around your waist.

You kept screaming at her even as he carried you to the hallway outside the room, thrashing against him, trying to get out of his grip but against his size it was pointless.

“Put me the fuck down, Viktor! I wasn’t done with her, she can’t say those things to you! Viktor please!” you kept struggling against him even as he set you down, his body pressing into yours to keep you from running back into the room.

“Hey, easy, easy, calm down. I know you’re upset but listen to me, Y/N.” he tried to get you to look him in the eyes but you were pushing against his chest, trying to get him to move because fuck this entire situation, you were so angry.

“No! She doesn’t get to talk to you like that and get away with it! She doesn’t know you like I do and I can’t fucking stand her insulting you when you’ve done nothing to deserve being treated like that!” you stammered, still trying to move out from under the grip he had on you but your efforts weren’t getting you very far.

He really was a wall of solid muscle and as much as you loved that, right now all you were seeing was red.

“Shh shh I know, you’re right, you have every reason to be angry but right now I need you to calm down baby.” he cupped your chin and gently made you look up at him, your body finally giving up on fighting him.

You took a few deep breaths and nodded, knowing that you had just made a really big scene and weren’t thinking with a clear head right now.

“I don’t feel bad for hitting her but I’m sorry if that put you in a weird position, I just...I love you so much and I can’t just sit there and not defend you.” you sighed, relaxing against his hands.

He didn’t say anything for a second and when you looked up again you saw a little smile on his face.

“I don’t think you should feel bad either. It’s ok, I promise. Thank you for caring about me so much.” he pressed his forehead against yours, softly whispering that he loved you too.

A few more minutes were spent like that, Viktor wanting to be sure that you knew that while yes she deserved it, he didn’t want you to pay her any more attention because she wasn’t worth it and you eventually listened to reason, seeing his perspective.

Ludmilla finally emerged from the room, not daring to look at either of you as she stormed away, her face still visibly red which made you smirk.

You hoped she remembered that for a long time and would think twice the next time she wanted to trash talk.

Ivan followed shortly after her, feeling a mix of things from the conversation he had with her just seconds ago.

Things would probably never fully heal between them but he finally managed to say some things to her that he always wanted to say.

He wouldn’t admit this to either of you but he was glad that Viktor had someone who cared about him so deeply and you served as an example for him to be a better person to his son.

———

You watched Viktor get changed back in the locker room, laughing to yourself a little.

“What?” he questioned curiously, swinging his gym bag over his shoulder as both of you made your exit.

“Um...gosh this may be awful of me to say but...how’d my form look when I hit her? You think I could have a promising career in bitch slapping?” you burst into giggles, covering your face because of how red you were getting.

He didn’t know what he was expecting you to say but it wasn’t that and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing either, the deep rumble of his voice filling the hallways as you made your way out of the stadium.

“Oh for sure, you’re deadly. I bet you have mean right hook too.” he shook his head and the two of you kept laughing about it the entire way home.

You had your protector by your side and he had his, forever grateful that you showed him how much you loved him and believed in him on the daily and forever making it a point to reciprocate that love back to you as often as he could.

______________________________________________

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @dragothishole @themyscxiras @champagnesugamama

@dc41896 @dramaqueenamby @amirra88 @queen-of-the-jabari @fumbling-fanfics @tellybabes @endless00paradise @harduy

#ludmilla can forever catch these hannnddds #viktor drago x reader #amalia writes #viktor drago #viktor drago fanfiction

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years

Text

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three: Reference Guide

A quick guide for everything I intentionally referenced in The Six Siblings, That’s Not How the Story Goes.

{ao3} {tumblr} {part one reference guide} {part two reference guide}

Without further ado…

Chapter One / Prologue - in which the Baudelaires get lost at the train station

“We’re dead as heck.” Nick shrugged.

Considering the younger age of the children here, they use much lighter swear words.

Klaus had his hands over his ears, and he looked on the edge of tears. “It’s too loud! It’s too loud!”

Klaus is overstimulated.

They were in some kind of shoeshop, and a ginger man glanced at them. “Oh, hello!” he said. “Are you- where are your parents?” [...] “When did you see them last?” [...] “Why don’t you have some snacks? It’s all vegan, if-”

The shoemaker that helps them out is Drumstick from File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents, who is noted to have made money repairing shoes.

“Lilac is almost-nine,” Klaus said, “And she’s got two braids cause she wants to be like Wednesday Addams on TV.”

The Wednesday Addams reference should be obvious, though I should point out that Lilac wants to emulate the 1960s Wednesday, which is the one she’s seen on TV; the older show once again makes the time period ambiguous.

“Oh my God.” Beatrice was saying. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” “Kids, are you alright?” Bertrand asked, the second they pulled away. “Did anything happen?”

Pretty clearly, the Baudelaire parents were terrified that VFD had abducted their children while they were separated.

“No! No, we’re gonna be fine!” Lilac said quickly. “We just need to find Klaus and Nick. I… I’ve gotta find them. I’m in charge. I’ve gotta find them-”

Ah, Lilac’s already got Anxiety™.

Rest of the fic under the cut.

Chapter Two - in which Violet saves everyone’s asses

No major references in this chapter.

Chapter Three - in which Sunny cusses quite a bit

“Their species can completely freeze over in cold temperatures.” Solitude assured him. “So they may stop moving, almost look dead, but they’ll be alright, and they’ll unfreeze when we get somewhere warm. We’ll have to catch them up on whatever happens.”

Babbitt’s based off of a wood frog, which do freeze in low temperatures.

Also to note: by this point in the fanfiction, Solitude no longer uses babytalk, and instead speaks in full sentences.

Chapter Four - in which the Baudelaires join the Snow Scouts

“Oh, yes.” Klaus said. “Those snow gnats behaved like Violent Frozen Dragonflies.” “Guys…” Nick whispered, but none of them heard him.

Nick is not a fan of VFD at this point, but his siblings are too busy trying to get help from this scout that they don’t immediately notice his discomfort.

As her story continued, Nick pulled on Klaus’s sleeve, gesturing that he wanted to talk, but Klaus shook his head; the other Snow Scouts would notice them leaving.

Trying to tell Klaus something about VFD.

“I mean it.” Nick shook his head. “Things can’t ever go back to the way they were. Even if one- or both- of our parents is up there, and they shove Olaf off a cliff and take us home… it’s not going to be the same. We… we know too much.” His siblings remained silent, processing this, as Nick wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “They won’t protect us.”

Nick knows how VFD recruits its “volunteers”; his fear is that their parents are alive and consented to them being recruited, and will just turn them over to VFD.

Chapter Five - in which Nick gets to climb something again

She hmmed, brushing her bangs out of her face as she considered what she could make with all of this.

Sunny already has long hair that she’ll need to tie back while thinking, like her big sisters.

Sunny held out the mug of orange juice, and said, “Aurantiaco,” which meant, “Chip away at the juice until you have shavings, so I can make orange granita.”

“Aurantiaco” is derived from the Latin adjective “aurantiacus”, meaning “orange.”

Chapter Six - in which Sunny makes a signal

Quigley gave her a smile, and then looked back down, as the Baudeaires crowded around him- all except Lilac, who was still staring at the smoke. “Well, we’ll have to go back through the Vernacularly Fastened Door, down the Vertical Flame Diversion, hike the path the Snow Scouts are taking- and they might notice we’re gone by now so we’ll have to come up with some excuse, Duncan always said you could never go wrong with an exit pursued by a bear-”

A reference to a famous stage direction from William Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale.

Chapter Seven - in which Lilac goes feral

Nick bit his lip and pushed a charred novel back onto the shelf, before moving to scratch his arm.

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM MENTION

Once again, Nick’s arm scratching occurs whenever Olaf or his troupe are mentioned.

Klaus walked over, too, and he pulled his siblings into a hug. “We’ll protect each other.” he said. “Okay? No sacrificing ourselves, no kidnappings, no separations. No more.”

Klaus really wants to make sure Lilac doesn’t try to trade herself, like she tried to do with Nick.

“Lilac, seriously, I can’t breathe-” “Then suffocate.”

A reference to the popular meme:

“We hate to interrupt!” came Lilac’s voice, and Violet and Quigley turned to see her and the twins run back into the kitchen, “But we found something!”

Lilac: Y’ALL BETTER NOT BE FLIRTING IN HERE

Chapter Eight - in which the Baudelaires raid the fridge

Solitude looked up. “Sure, hon.”

A reference to the meme:

“I was making them an anniversary present- a map of all the places they’d traveled.” Quigley sighed. “And I never got to tell them that I don’t…” he hesitated, and then said, “I mean, Duncan and Isadora came out to them, but I never told them that whenever I was doing astronomy class and called myself a space ace…” Violet laughed, and Quigley flinched. “No, no, I’m not making fun of you, it’s a good pun, I’ll have to make sure Nick knows it.”

Quigley and Nick are both asexual.

“I think my parents found out when I told them I wanted to marry both Elizabeth and Darcy.” Violet smiled. “Lilac and Nick teased me about that for years. I don’t even know if they remember now.” Quigley stared at her. “Holy shit. Vi… I said the same thing.”

A reference to Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Violet is bisexual, Quigley is biromantic.

Nick slid against a half-collapsed wall, screaming into his lap, hot tears springing to the edge of his eyes and streaming down his face.

TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD, SELF-HARM

Nick goes away to have a panic attack without his siblings worrying about him; it’s also explained in this segment how his scratching is him desperately trying not to slip into a flashback.

Chapter Nine - in which Lilac and Nick are very pissed off

“Nocere!” Sunny said, which meant something like, “I’m alright, they haven’t done anything too bad.”

“Nocere” comes from the Latin verb “noceo”, meaning “to hurt.”

“Uncus!” “The hook-handed man made it so I didn’t freeze.”

“Uncus” is the Latin word for “hook.”

And then she asked, “Senio?” which meant, “Where are the others?”

“Senio” is the Latin word for “six.”

“Nosra,” Sunny said, which meant, “A man with a beard but no hair and a woman with hair but no beard; they’re arsonists who burned down the Headquarters.”

“Nosra” is “arson” spelled backwards.

“Coquus.” Sunny said. “I can do that. There’s enough ingredients to make spinach rolls in the trunk, including an eggplant that’s about as big as I am.”

“Coquus” is the Latin word for “cook.”

“I know, Vi! I know what they’ll do to her, what they’re probably already doing to her!”

Obvious reference to Nick’s time as a captive, but subtler reference to the fact that Olaf tortured him with the information of what he’d do to each sibling in turn.

“Yes, she is!” his voice broke. “I was helpless! I thought I wouldn’t be, but I was! And she’s a baby! I was almost thirteen!” Tears streamed down his face, as he pushed her again. “I was almost thirteen, and I was wrong!”

Reference to a similar line spoken in every All the Wrong Questions book.

Chapter Ten - in which Nick spills some Bitter Tea

Title is a reference to Kit’s quote, “Tea should be as bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword.”

“Sure.” Nick said. “We can be Volunteers who want to recruit our innocent little baby. They’ll believe that.”

A reference to VFD recruitment tactics.

“Isa had a huge collection of what me and Duncan called ‘goth poetry.’” Quigley said, smiling. “She likes to recite, too. Verbal stim.”

Isadora (and all the Quagmires in my headcanons) is Autistic. Nick has ADHD and also stims with recitation.

“It’s not. Snicket’s real. And he…” Nick shivered. “Let’s just say he’s definitely real. Maybe even still alive.”

“He’s real and he fathered my oldest sister.”

That’s when they heard the crash, and Esme’s scream. They all fell silent for a second, and then Nick let Quigley go.

An intentional combination of the Book version of this scene - where they decide to warn Esme- and the Netflix - where she traps herself.

There was a flash of recognition, and then she smirked. “Well, well, well.” she said. “If it isn’t Beatrice’s little angel.” Nick’s hand flew to his necklace, as his glare intensified. “Fancy seeing you here, I thought you were supposed to be smashed at the bottom of the mountains.”

Something Olaf called him in Chapter Fourteen of Part Two; Nick was very close to Beatrice, whom Olaf and Esme both despise, so you can bet they took a lot of their anger on her out on him.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Nick said. “I thought you were supposed to be somewhere in the second circle of hell, but I guess you can’t have everything, can you?”

In Dante’s Inferno, the second circle of hell is the circle of Lust.

“Why he’s here doesn’t matter.” Nick said, and then he smiled very coldly and said, “What matters is you’re our hostage now, so I’d suggest you shut the fuck up and do what we tell you to do.”

Was going to make this more obvious in the text but decided against it, so here’s a fun fact: this is something that was said to Nick during is captivity. He’s getting a lot of joy out of saying it to Esme.

Chapter Eleven - in which Carmelita gets adopted

Nick took a deep breath, and then said, his voice breaking, “Don’t act like I don’t know what you’d do to her. If you have laid a single fucking hand on my sister, there will be hell to pay.”

Once again, a reference to Olaf torturing Nick with information on what he planned to do to the other Baudelaires.

“Why are you recruiting us, too?” Colette asked, peering from the net. “We already work for you.”

Changed from Fernald to Hugo, Colette and Kevin in order to explain their absence in TGG.

Esme glared at him. “We don’t need that ugly girl. Having an infant servant was fun.”

TRIGGER WARNING: CSA MENTION

Esme knows about Olaf’s attraction to Lilac/Violet and is jealous, instead of being, you know, disgusted and horrified.

Carmelita just smiled and gave Esme a hug. She turned towards Olaf, starting forwards, and just then, Nick thrust Solitude into Violet’s arms and raced ahead of her, pushing her back.

Even though Nick hates Carmelita, he doesn’t want her suffering like he did.

Chapter Twelve - in which Lilac is a Disaster Lesbian

“No- she can curl up inside a diving helmet! Aye! The helmets have a tiny door on the neck just for such a purpose! Aye! I’ve seen it done!”

Though this doesn’t happen in-fic, this did happen in the original book lol.

“Actually,” Nick sighed, laying his head on Klaus’s shoulder as Soli wriggled around to try and get a good view of the captain, “He’s the researcher, I’m an… well, I…”

Nick’s having an identity crisis brought on by the PTSD; he’s not sure who he is anymore.

“Come on, Lilac will be fine in a minute.” Nick said, elbowing Klaus. “She just needs to time to adjust. You know. Like Sappho.”

Sappho - a famous lesbian poet.

Chapter Thirteen - in which I bang my head against a table because I have to pay attention to Widdershins

“No, no, we do!” Fiona looked ecstatic, and Lilac let out a squeal as Fiona grabbed her hands. “One of our previous crewmembers, the one who later turned out to be stealing information on VFD headquarters, she stockpiled a shitton- oh, sorry, I mean a lot of coffee.”

The “spy” may-or-may-not have been an anti-VFD Ellington Feint...

“Now, I’m sure you have lots of questions.” Fiona said as they walked. “Definitely.” Nick said. “Number one, how d-”

A reference to the meme/quote from “The Office” (US) 4x11:

Chapter Fourteen - in which the Baudelaires encounter a Great Unknown

“Let Violet work on the wheel,” Klaus suggested, “And maybe Fiona can help Lilac with the telegraph.”

These kids are gonna get Lilac a girlfriend if it kills them.

“Don’t worry,” the captain replied, “We’ll find a spouse for the others, too! Aye! Perhaps we’ll find your long-lost brother, Fiona! He’s much older, of course, and he’s been missing for years, but if Klaus can locate the Sugar Bowl he can probably find him! Aye! He’s a charming man, so one of the girls would probably fall in love with him, and then we could have a double wedding! Aye! Right here in the main hall of the Queequeg! Aye! I would be happy to officiate! Aye!” “Okay, well,” Nick said, as everyone stared at each other incredibly uncomfortably and he finally made his way to stand beside Klaus, “That’s not going to happen, for a number of reasons. First of all-”

First of all, Klaus is gay.

Second of all, Fiona is gay.

Third of all, Lilac and Fiona are the ones flirting.

Fourth, everyone’s too young to get married.

Fifth, Nick is aromantic.

Sixth, “your older long-lost brother” is not a good phrase to throw around to a group of children who’ve been trying to escape a man who tried to marry Lilac.

Seventh, your children are not fucking prizes to hand out???

Eighth, what the fuck dude.

Chapter Fifteen - in which Lilac and Fiona are Gay as Hell

“I mean, you could call them King stropharia. I just like the scientific names. They’re fun to say.” “Oh, that’s completely valid.” Lilac smiled. “I learned Russian when I was younger just because the boys read Anna Karenina and all the names were fun to say.”

Autistic verbal stims!!

“Lentinula Edodes.” Fiona said, smiling at some fungus growing on a hardwood log. “Also known as Shiitake Mushrooms.” “Shiitake?” “Don’t start.” Fiona giggled.

It sounds vaguely like “shit.”

Lilac and Fiona returned to the dorms very late, arms linked together as they chatted about a book they’d both enjoyed, about another sugar bowl whose contents were actually very well known.

A reference to We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson.

Nick, meanwhile, was passed out on a chair near the door, almost having fallen over; Lilac recognized this position quickly, from the many times he and Klaus or Violet would sit at the bottom of the stairs waiting for their parents to come home late at night. “He was waiting for us.”

Nick was waiting up to talk to Lilac, probably to tell her about the Snicket Thing.

She carried him to a bunk, lowering him onto it. “Go back to being five years old, okay?” Lilac whispered, reaching over to grab a blanket. “We’ll lock you in the closet again and then make ice cream towers.”

“Lock you in the closet” is a reference to the one-shot.

Ice Cream towers are a reference to the prologue of part two.

Lilac sighed and pulled the blanket over him. “You’ll be okay. You want me to sing?”

All the references to Lilac singing someone to sleep are reference to the song “Asleep”, performed by Emily Browning, Movie!Violet’s actress.

“Good or bad cry?” Lilac shut her eyes. “Both.” she admitted.

Chef’s Salad.

Chapter Sixteen - in which the Crew goes swimming

They heard what sounded like a very suspicious watery noise, and Nick said, “If this submarine is flooding, I’ll take one for the team and die first.”

Reference to this line from Part One, Chapter Four: “Do you think if one of us died, the rest’d get transferred somewhere else?” Nick asked, hanging upside-down from the rotting couch. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“Nobody’s dying.” Lilac sighed, not looking him in the eye.

Nick’s lowkey suicidal remark scared her quite a bit.

“How about some of us stay here and do more research,” Violet suggested, squeezing Nick’s hand, “And the rest of us look for the Sugar Bowl? I can stay with Nick and try to work with the submarine. Nick, maybe you can dig through books and see if you can find anything on the Gorgonian Grotto, or the Great Unknown, and read it to me while I work.” [...] He’d found something that seemed to be filed under the Great Unknown, but it was probably misfiled as it just talked about a tearoom and a roadster.

Probably my most blatant reference to Movie!Klaus’s actor, Liam Aiken, narrating the All the Wrong Questions audiobooks.

“Ekab!” Sunny said, which meant, “I can stay here and cook!”

“Ekab” is “bake” spelled backwards.

“I’m sure someone did, aye.” Widdershins waved his hand. “Whoever got assigned the job. Perhaps R, or her daughter, they may have been nearby at the time. Or Larry, aye! We weren’t told about who was in charge of you, just that we needed to document information and track the Sugar Bowl!”

A reference to Jacquelyn (the Duchess of Winnipeg, making her either R or her daughter) and Larry Your-Waiter following the Baudelaires in the Netflix series.

“Don’t you worry, Nicholas! Everything’s for the Greater Good!"

While Widdershins usually calls him Nick, he slips up here, much like Poe always does; Nick hates being referred to as Nicholas.

“Besides, VFD wouldn’t abandon you! Aye! You’d be a great volunteer! You’re a dedicated researcher! Aye! You’re a saint! Aye! You’re an angel! Aye! You’re a-” Nick stared at him in horror, and then said, “I have to go!” and took off running.

Nick was already put on edge by this victim-blaming conversation, the revelation that multiple people could’ve helped him, his siblings leaving, the VFD cult stuff, and Widdershins’s constant bullshit, but the use of the word “angel” sets him off the edge; it reminds him too much of being referred to as “Beatrice’s Little Angel.”

“Okay, so, I found a box of rubber bands.” Lilac sighed, sitting atop a chest. “And half a gun, a broken mirror, what might be a microphone, and a scattered notebook with sketches of some kind of snake.” Solitude peered over her shoulder, her arms full of bottles. “I don’t recognize it.” she said sadly. “Also, it’s not a snake. It’s got legs, see there?”

Lilac found sketches of the Bombinating Beast.

Chapter Seventeen - in which Violet doodles

“Precisely.” Lilac said. “It’s something that’s not a choice at all. Our Mother used to give us Hobson’s Choices. She’d say, ‘Lilac, you can dust the furniture, or I can play polka music all night.’”

A reference to Lemony Snicket’s dislike of polka music in File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents.

“She’d do that with the others, too.” Lilac recalled. “Violet could clean her room or we’d stand in the doorway and sing Row Your Boat, and Nick could be nice to guests or be made to read that third book about those kids in a maze, and Sunny could have a bath or a pink dress.”

A reference to The Maze Runner: The Death Cure by James Dashner. I hated the entire series, but the third book was the worst.

TRIGGER WARNING: Following references for Chapter Seventeen discuss Nick’s self-harm in detail.

She ran a hand over her ponytail, and then she said, “Nick, I will be right back, but you have to promise not to lock the door.”

She is scared he’ll lock her out and continue self-harming.

As soon as she was out of Nick’s sightline, she buried her head in her hands, struggling to remain calm. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Help him now, freak out later. You need to help, Vi. Just keep moving.

Violet knows freaking out in front of Nick will just make him feel worse

Do the scary thing first, get scared later.

“No come in!” Sunny shouted. “Surprise!”

Sunny’s preparing Violet’s cake.

“Nodnaba,” Sunny said, and Violet heard her sliding from the counter. “He and Widdershins stepped out a moment; they’ll be back soon.”

“Nodnaba” is “abandon” spelled backwards.

Widdershins and Phil have “stepped out”, and either right now or very soon will be abandoning ship.

“Crayola,” Sunny said, which meant, “There’s a whole box of markers right here, for writing labels on cannisters. Can you bring them back when you’re done?”

Very obvious reference to Crayola art supplies.

“Alzatadispalle,” Sunny said, which meant, “Eh, fine, I don’t care about this submarine much anyway.”

“Alzata di spalle” is Italian for a shrug.

But she swirled the marker- a light blue color- around her brother’s arm, until there was just a jumble of color. Then, an idea finally coming to her, she took a black marker and drew some squiggles above it, mirroring the shape of their Uncle’s prized snake, the Incredibly Deadly Viper. It felt like a lifetime since they’d seen him.

A reference to Ink swimming through the sea at the end.

Violet took his hands, squeezing them softly. “When you feel… feel like you want to scratch without an itch, I want you to take these markers and draw where you… where you want to hurt. Do that instead. It should help. And if it doesn’t, I want you to tell me, okay?”

This is a legitimate coping mechanism for self-harm; drawing on skin with pens or markers.

Violet waited until he met her eyes, and she admitted, “About two years ago, I asked Father why he had pen drawings on his arm.”

Bertrand dealt with depression and self-harming tendencies, as well. Violet was the only kid who knew, and only because she asked.

Chapter Eighteen - in which Solitude catches a cold

“I found a newspaper scrap.” Lilac said. “I, uh, read a bit. Maybe we could discuss what we’ve read while we eat.”

She read the stuff about Fernald starting the fire.

“Like… ‘poached egg’ means ‘half the battle.’” Klaus said. “Remember when Nick used that metaphor and we punched him for it?”

A reference to a tangent Lemony went on in this section of The Grim Grotto.

Soli nodded, passing Klaus the wasabi and Lilac two cannisters, and soon they put on their diving helmets, suiting up for their return journey. Solitude hmmed as Fiona helped her put her helmet back on, saying, “Sand’s inside, I think.”

The spores.

“Senso-orario,” Sunny said, which meant something like, “I fell asleep in the kitchen, and when I woke up, Phil and Widdershins still hadn’t returned, and now I can’t find them anywhere.”

“In Senso orario” is an Italian term for “clockwise.” “Widdershins” means “counterclockwise.”

Chapter Nineteen - in which Olaf is a dick

“Ha ha ha heepa-heepa ho!” came a villainous laugh from the hallway, and within a few moments, Count Olaf entered, dressed in a similar suit of slippery material, only with a portrait of Edgar Guest instead of Herman Melville. “Tee hee tort tort tort!” “No, no,” Violet looked up, giving him a glare. “Don’t do that.”

A reference to me not wanting to write Olaf’s villain laughter for like three chapters.

He stepped closer, putting a hand on Fiona’s chin. Lilac gasped and ran forwards, slapping his arm away. “You must be Fiona.” he said. “Why, you’re all grown up! The last time I saw you, I was trying to throw thumbtacks into your cradle.” Nick shot up his head, giving Olaf a glare that could have killed him. “Get away from her!”

OLAF 👏 IS 👏 A 👏 CREEP

Lilac and Violet glanced at each other, and then around, trying to spot an escape route. This, however, was a mistake; Olaf figured out very quickly what they were planning, and before they could do anything, he reached forwards and ripped Nick out of Klaus’s grasp.

Once again, Olaf knows the kind of effect he has on Nick, and how protective of him the others are, and uses this to his advantage.

“My henchperson will simply torture the information out of you.” He smirked down at Nick, who was shaking uncontrollably. “Isn’t that right?” Nick didn’t respond, barely keeping himself from sobbing.

Nick’s been captured again, with his siblings. Olaf is taunting him, heavily implying that he’s going to follow through on his threat to torture Nick’s siblings in front of him before killing him.

“Umore,” Sunny said, which roughly translated to, “God, that’s a mood.”

“Umore” is an Italian word for “mood.”

“What did we tell you, you little beast?” she hissed. “You can’t get away from us.”

Most of Nick’s worst trauma came from “punishments” from when he tried to escape, which is why he panics whenever they’re about to be caught.

“Holy fuck,” said a girl at the oars, “What the hell is wrong with you all?”

Not really a reference but I just want to point out that none of these recruits have any context for this so they’re probably just. seeing all these crazy shits saying whatever they want

“I’m getting tired of this.” Olaf said, waving his sword and gesturing at Nick. “You all get to see the first brig, it’s deluxe, as it comes with a noose. I think we should put this one in the second brig for-”

A reference to Netflix’s The Vile Village: Part Two.

“I think,” Olaf said, pressing his sword against Nick’s throat, “We should put those two little rebels in with our little Nick.” Nick finally started to cry, tears streaming down his face as he almost collapsed, and Violet shouted, “You bastard! Leave them alone!”

Once again, Olaf’s planning on following through on the threats that scared Nick so badly. Violet, the only one who knows about what Olaf threatened him with, is the first to start panicking.

Chapter Twenty - in which Lilac leads a jailbreak

The title itself is a reference to Chapter Sixteen of Part One: in which Solitude leads a jailbreak.

Her younger brother finally pulled away, but only to run off to the corner of the small brig, where he leaned over and vomited onto the floor, barely keeping his own balance. Lilac jumped to her feet and dragged him towards the wall, as he shook more and clung to her arm. [...] Nick shuddered beside her, and he finally choked out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Nick knows exactly what Olaf’s threatening, and he’s falling back into a pure traumatized state; he doesn’t think they can escape, he thinks he’s going to die while Olaf torments his siblings, and nothing is going to stop him.

“I…” Lilac slid onto a hard bench, where Nick sat beside her and refused to stop clinging to her side. “I glanced at the locks on our way in. They’re ordinary enough pin-tumbler locks, so- hold on a moment. Nick, Nick, please-”

A reference to a repeated phrase in When Did You See Her Last?

And then Lilac quietly sang, “Pretty when the window blows, I love my tree in autumn… Like I love my tree in summer, like I love my tree in winter… They put me in a room, and I thought of you in autumn…” She shut her eyes, humming the next line, and then she picked up again. Fiona kept working on the lock, and Nick kept clinging to Lilac, terrified to let go, and she kept singing. “Pretty when you sing me a new song in autumn, or a new song in winter, or a new song in summer…”

The song is “Pretty When The Wind Blows”, sung by Emily Browning, Movie!Violet’s actress.

The line she hums is one that would definitely not cheer Nick up - “And I’m sad I won’t see you again.”

Violet leapt in front of her siblings, and Klaus reached out to grab Sunny, who honestly didn’t look too worried.

Sunny is friends with Fernald, she knows he won’t do anything to them.

“We could pretend the Great Unknown showed up and is about to eat everyone.” Violet said. “I’m sorry, do you have a small black statue that can imitate its call?” Fernald said. “Why would I-”

A reference to Violet and Klaus’s escape in Netflix’s The Grim Grotto: Part Two.

A reference to the Bombinating Beast statue from All the Wrong Questions.

“Smelled like horseradish.” Sunny nodded.

Sunny, the chef, would remember.

Chapter Twenty-One - in which Fiona is Volatile

“I-” Nick stuttered. “I know TS Eliot.” “Macavity,” Sunny said, which meant, “Wasn’t that from your musical phase?”

A reference to a song/character from Cats the Musical, based on a poetry book by TS Eliot.

“I’ll make this simple.” Olaf smiled. “I could torture you until you tell me, or we can trade information- or a lack of information, if you so prefer.” Then, in a sickly sweet voice, he called, “Nick?” [...] “We don’t make deals with bastards.” Lilac crossed her arms. Olaf smirked, eyeing her in a way that made her incredibly uncomfortable. “Interesting choice of words, my dear Lilac.” Nick sat up, horrified, as Olaf took a step closer to his oldest sister, and then he shouted, “It’s in the kitchen!”

TRIGGER WARNING: CSA MENTION

Nick is terrified of Olaf hurting/assaulting Lilac, as well as outing her as Snicket’s daughter to everyone.

Sunny sighed and said, “Cruciatu,” which meant, “Can they kill us now?”

“Cruciatu” comes from the latin verb “crucio”, meaning “to torture.”

“I’ll be fine. If we get caught, we have a potential escape plan that involves a seaside town, a train, and a vineyard.” Fiona said. “And releasing a bunch of wild new recruits to perform chaos.”

Firstly, a reference to the Thistle of the Valley train that goes out of Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

Secondly, a reference to Netflix’s The Grim Grotto: Part Two.

As she moved slowly towards the controls, Violet at her heels, Nick curled up on his chair, and he whispered to himself, “But they were fucked up in their turn, by fools in old-style hats and coats… who half the time were soppy-stern…” He hugged Solitude very close, shutting his eyes and trying not to think about everyone who had left. “And half at one another’s throats.”

The poem later recited by Olaf in The End - “This Be the Verse” by Philip Larkin.

“Mr Poe,” Klaus said, looking from the taxi to Poe, “Have you ever heard of a Hobson’s choice?”

“You can either get in the taxi, or go with Mr Poe.”

The woman smiled at Lilac, as if she’d asked the right question.

Another All the Wrong Questions reference.

Chapter Twenty-Two - in which Kit cannot drive

“So,” Nick said, kicking his feet and glancing down at Soli, “Are we in agreement that we are ‘fucked’, a word which here means, ‘holy shit’?”

Obvious reference to Lemony Snicket’s way of defining words.

They looked to each other, thinking hard. “Well,” Lilac finally said, “In the few minutes we’ve known her, Kit Snicket has broken at least nine safety laws, driven into a hedge, and seems intent on recruiting us to spy for a secret organization.” “I like her.” Violet decided. “Me, too.” Klaus added. “Same!” Sunny said.

A reference to similar lines in Netflix’s The Penultimate Peril: Part One.

“Mother said she purchased it during intermission.” Lilac said. “She said it was the most interesting time she’d ever had at the opera, and she never wanted to forget it.” “I’m sure it was interesting.” Nick muttered, curling up a little.

Nick knows about the murder.

She moved behind Lilac, tying back her hair for her. “You look just like your father.” Kit sighed, not noticing the flinch Nick made as he reached for some food to pass to Soli. [...] “Really?” Lilac asked, smiling a little. She’d never told that she looked like her parents.

She looks like Lemony.

Violet and Nick shared a quiet look, one that their siblings didn’t quite understand, but the two of them read perfectly.

Violet and Nick, after Widdershins’s shit, are very anti-VFD.

“That’s fine.” Lilac assured her, reaching for a cup. “I like my coffee bitter.” “That is surprising.” Kit said absent-mindedly, still looking through papers.

Considering Lilac is Lemony’s daughter, and Lemony doesn’t like coffee (All the Wrong Questions), this comes as a surprise to Kit.

“That’s why you’ll be together.” Kit said, putting her hand gently over Nick’s. “I’ve received reports on your progress, Baudelaires, and while I haven’t been able to reach you, I have seen that you take care of your own.” [...] Kit gave them all a reluctant and sad smile, and then repeated, almost to herself, “You Baudelaires take care of your own.”

A reference to a line from When Did You See Her Last?: “We Snickets take care of our own.”

Chapter Twenty-Three - in which the Baudelaires enter the Hotel Denouement

Nick bit his lip, thinking about everything. VFD. The secrets. The Sugar Bowl. That reminded him of a book Lilac read him. “We’ll live on the moon.” he said quietly, his voice almost blank. “And we’ll have flying horses.” God, he wished he was still young enough to believe that.

A direct reference to We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson.

When it was time to go in, Klaus and Lilac immediately threw their hands over their ears.

Overstimulation.

Exactly six bells were ringing- the extra bell, 371, 547, 674, 781 and 954.

371 - Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) Education and Social Sciences.

547 - DDC for Organic Chemistry; Colette’s mission involves her sneaking in here.

674 - DDC for Lumber processing.

781 - DDC for Jazz is 781.65; Ellington’s career has something to do with jazz.

954 - DDC for India and neighboring countries; it’s an Indian restaurant.

Chapter Twenty-Four - in which the first three bells ring

The woman smiled, and while Lilac did not recognize the white coat or black uniform underneath, she did recognize the woman standing in front of her, even though she wasn’t bending in any unusual positions. [...] “You see, I am a brilliant chemist, as you can tell from my outfit, but I’m afraid some of these fumes have gone to my head, and I’m having trouble recognizing some words here.”

A reference to Cleo Knight, the brilliant chemist from All the Wrong Questions, who only wears black-and-white to honor the family ink business.

“I told you they’d judge us.” Kevin said. “I should’ve just called up my old gangmate.” “She wouldn’t have gotten here in time, she lives on the other side of-” Hugo began.

A reference to the theory that Kevin is Kevin Old from File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents; his “gangmate” would be Florence Smith, who had a special interest in reading and thus have a large vocabulary.

Lilac narrowed her eyes. She recognized the chemical compounds- her and Violet had gone through a celebrity crush phase on a chemist about three or four years before- but she was having trouble figuring out what they combined into. “What is this for?”

Another reference to Cleo Knight.

He doodled the shape of a pegasus on his arm, beside the moon. He remembered that book. What else had Merricat thought would be on the moon? Rose petals. He could draw roses next.

Once again, a direct reference to We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson.

“Can I help you, concierge?” Hal asked. “Um.” Nick froze a moment, panic clutching his chest. You’ve been caught! You’ve been caught! You’ve been caught!

Once again, Nick is immediately put into a panic by being caught, due to his trauma from his captivity.

Chapter Twenty-Five - in which the next three bells are answered

The door swung open just as Klaus stepped back, and he saw Charles exit, blinking over at him in a bathrobe. “Sorry,” he said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to call someone just to take me down the hall, but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and I’ve recently developed a phobia of optometrists.”

This entire scene is based on a scene that had to be deleted from the Netflix adaptation due to Rhys Darby (Charles) being stranded because of a hurricane during filming. It can be read here.

“Don’t step on the crack, or you’ll fall and break your back!” Soli sang, laughing a little as she jumped down to Room 781, trying to imitate Babbitt’s hops.

While this is a slight variation on a popular children’s game song, it’s specifically a reference to the scene between Ducky and Littlefoot in The Land Before Time.

The woman looked at her very, very carefully, and then said, “It’s alright. That’s a fake, anyway.” “Fake what?” Solitude turned to look at the statue, as the woman knelt to put it back. “It looks like a snake, but there are those little claw-shapes there, suggesting hands.” “Well, it’s a replica, made by my foster-brother-in-law’s sister-in-law. Just in case we need to switch out.” “Switch out what?” The woman glanced down at Solitude, smiling and brushing the young girl’s hair back; it had fallen a little from her hat. “It’s a long story, and you probably have work to do. I’m sure you have more important things to get to.”

The woman is clearly Ellington Feint from All the Wrong Questions; she is still very into Jazz music (hence her room), and may-or-may-not have access to the Bombinating Beast statue.

Her foster-brother-in-law (Kellar)’s sister-in-law is Ornette Lost, implying Ornette married Lizzie Haines.

Solitude blinked. This woman couldn’t know her; Soli didn’t recognize anything about her, except the record currently playing. She hesitated, and then pointed to the record, saying, “That’s a pretty song.” The woman smiled slightly. “It is, isn’t it? Do you know the name?” “Do you?”

The song is “Solitude” by Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong; aka Ellington’s song in All the Wrong Questions.

“Really?” the woman sighed. “Okay, sweetheart, you run along. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my wife before she can fistfight Geraldine Julienne in the lobby.”

Her wife is Moxie Mallahan, a journalist who would definitely get kicked out of the hotel for fighting Geraldine Julienne.

“Plumber,” Sunny said, which meant, “Yeah, but she writes those shitty articles from The Daily Punctilio about us, so she deserves it.” “I thought that was Ms Poe.” Soli said confusedly.

A reference to Katherine Plumber, the journalist from the musical Newsies.

A reference to Eleanora Poe and Geraldine Julienne being combined into one character in the Netflix adaptation.

“Klaus Louis Baudelaire, are you suggesting that we have not been having a good time?” Nick said.

Klaus’s middle name is taken from his actor, Louis Hynes.

“I mean,” Nick said, considering, “The whole ‘VFD’ thing totally explains that weird-ass letter they sent us from Europe.” “What?” Lilac narrowed her eyes. “You remember?” Nick said. “When they went to Europe for, like, two weeks, and sent us that fucked-up letter about how they loved us and that even if life sucked we’d always have each other and all that bullshit?” Lilac, Violet and Klaus groaned. “Oh, fuck, you’re right!” Klaus said. “That makes so much sense now.” Lilac said.

A reference to “The Letter That Never Came” scene from the 2004 film.

Chapter Twenty-Six - in which the harpoon is fired

The Baudelaires sighed, and then Nick said, “Yeah, a little suspicious, isn’t it? Your parents burned to death the same night VFD saw fit to drag you all out.”

Highkey reference to the theory that Volunteers kill the parents who don’t want to give their children up for recruitment.

Violet nodded grimly, while Lilac and Klaus gave Nick careful looks, and Solitude and Sunny gasped quietly. Dewey scanned him with his eyes. “You would get along with Ernest.” he said finally.

The implication here is that Ernest joined the firestarters partially due to speculation about their parents’ murder, or at the very least, Ernest is incredibly critical of the way VFD is run.

“You can’t rely on associates.” Count Olaf said. “More comrades have failed me than I can count. Why, Hooky and what’s-her-face double-crossed me just yesterday and let you brats escape, and then stole my submarine!” “Good for her.” Sunny said, almost unfazed, too furious at Olaf to feel much fear at the moment.

A reference to the meme from Arrested Development:

“How do you know us?” Lilac asked, putting an arm around Violet. The man looked at her sadly. “That’s the wrong question.”

A reference to All the Wrong Questions.

Chapter Twenty-Seven - in which Nick finally spills

“Diviso?” Sunny asked, which meant, “What if they try to split us up?”

“Diviso” is a Latin adjective meaning “divided.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight - in which Everything Goes to Shit

The title is a reference to many of my other fanfictions: In the Stranger Things Superhero AU fic Shatter: Pirouette in the Dark, Chapter Nine was titled “Everything Goes to Shit”, and Chapter Thirty was titled “I already used the title ‘Everything goes to shit’ but I need to use it again”, and people thought that was so funny that it became a running joke in basically all of my fics.

“Lilac Emily Baudelaire.” “Violet Malina Baudelaire.” “Nick Liam Baudelaire.” “Klaus Louis Baudelaire.” “Solitude Theodora Baudelaire.” “Sunday Theo-dora Bau’elaire!”

The first four children have their middle names from their original actors- Emily Browning, Malina Weissman, Liam Aiken and Louis Hynes.

Solitude and Sunny’s middle names are both Theodora, to further confuse people as to what the S stands for. See: S Theodora Markson, All the Wrong Questions

Nick took a moment to respond. “E-Explorer?”

Identity crisis! Getting a bit better though.

“He murdered…” Lilac bit her lip. “He murdered Jacques Snicket!”

Lilac’s realizing here that that was her uncle.

They all turned to look at Olaf, who didn’t even look uncomfortable. They wanted him to be uncomfortable. They wanted him to be scared.

A reference to a line from Shouldn’t You Be In School?: Someone cleared their throat and we both looked back at a tall, masked figure, watching us calmly. Too calmly, I thought. I wanted him worried.

Sunny and Soli were crying, too. “Audit,” Sunny said, meaning, “People never listen to children.”

“Audit” comes from the Latin verb “audio”, meaning “to listen.”

They stood up, with Nick lifting Solitude and Violet moving to lift Sunny, and then they walked back together, holding their heads high and ignoring the stares and whispers and chills. They sat again in the front row, still holding onto each other and refusing to let go.

“Bene?” Sunny asked. “Is that good?”

“Bene” is the Latin word for “good.”

The elevator shot down to the basement, and as it did, Nick and Violet leapt onto Olaf, pummeling him with their fists and trying to rip Justice Strauss away. Olaf shouted, and Lilac and Klaus immediately jumped help, managing to pull Justice Strauss out of his grip as Soli and Sunny screeched and started biting at his ankles, with Babbitt jumping over to the judge so they didn’t get squashed. The siblings had been waiting for this a long while, and they weren’t going to waste time.

a reference to the original shitpost that inspired this au.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - in which Sunny turns to Arson

“Alexandria,” Sunny said, which meant, “Unless she has a backup, you son of a bitchass motherfucker.”

A reference to the Library of Alexandria.

Chapter Thirty - in which the Baudelaires have had ENOUGH

“And the only fucking reason,” Lilac said, sitting up and grimacing as her stomach wound flared up, “That we haven’t thrown you overboard already is that we might need bait to catch larger fish to eat.”

A slight reference to “Shipwrecked” by The Gothic Archies, which was inspired by The End.

“Cazzo,” Sunny said, which meant, “Which won’t be long, dickhead.”

“Cazzo” is an Italian curse word.

Chapter Thirty-One - in which Nick is not taking Ishmael’s bullshit

“You cannot force me to wear white.” Lilac said.

A reference both to Lilac being incredibly goth, and to her trauma from the Marvelous Marriage, where she was forced into a wedding dress.

Nick said. “Listen up, you- someone cover Friday’s ears.” Klaus reached forwards and slammed his hands over Friday’s ears. “Alright. Listen up, you bitchass motherfucker.”

I’VE COME TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT, SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG IS A BITCHASS MOTHERFUCKER-

“I was drugged up once, it’s not fun.”

I left this to be interpreted in separate ways: one, like Duncan guessed in Part Two: Chapter Twenty, Nick was drugged as part of his torture. Two, like Klaus said in Chapter Twenty-Four, Classical Literature Camp was wild.

“Yeah, it’s not.” Violet agreed.

Reference to her being drugged in The Hostile Hospital.

Chapter Thirty-Two - in which the Baudelaires make camp

“I feel like we weren’t supposed to do that.” Violet said, as they walked away from the beach.

A reference to me going very off-book.

Sunny nodded, as they placed them in front of her. “Crusoe,” Sunny said, which meant, “We can drink the milk inside, so long as we don’t allow it to ferment, and I can make us toasted coconut flakes, if you give me some room around the fire.”

A reference to Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe.

“Sandstone,” Sunny said, meaning, “Can someone get me something like a bowl?”

A reference to her first line in the Netflix series: “Can you find a rock that’s not sandstone?”

They were silent again, and then Lilac said, “Um, speaking- speaking of hard things to tell- oh.”

She was going to tell them about her biological father.

Nick’s face fell. “You’re right, we don’t wanna kidnap.”

Don’t wanna emulate VFD.

Chapter Thirty-Three - in which the Baudelaires begin to heal

“Wait.” Friday narrowed her eyes. “Bears don’t live on beaches.” “I know!” Klaus laughed. “Shakespeare had no geographical knowledge whatsoever.”

Once again, a reference to a famous stage direction from William Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale.

“Yeet!” Violet shouted, as she threw herself beside her siblings, and after a second, Lilac flopped over, too.

A reference to the vine/meme.

Chapter Thirty-Four - in which Friday goes off-book

“Kit Snicket?” Lilac shouted. “No, Kit Kittredge.” Solitude sighed.

A reference to the American Girl doll, Kit Kittredge.

Friday sighed and stood up, taking a few steps forwards. She looked at her mother, and her mother’s outstretched arms, and then out at the crowd. Watching her. Waiting for her to listen. And then she stepped back. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think so.”

A quick rundown of Friday’s mentality here.

Chapter Thirty-Five - in which the Baudelaires plan a mutiny

Klaus nodded. “Cinderella. East of the Sun and West of the Moon. The Juniper Tree. Little Match Girl- might skip that one, actually. Do you want to try to read it?”

Skipping “The Little Match Girl” because she dies at the end.

“Suit yourself.” said Olaf. “But you know what? I bet those islanders won’t let you back onto Olaf-Land, now that you’ve recruited one of their own.”

Intentional use of the word “recruit” here, just to taunt them.

Chapter Thirty-Six - in which we go surprisingly more off-book

“I know this.” Nick was the first one to move, stepping towards a tall fish statue, the red paint slightly peeling. He shook quite a bit as he ran a hand over it, and Klaus rushed over to put an arm around him. “We were trapped in here. How… how did we fit in here? Klaus, how did we fit?”

A reference to the fact the Red Herring statue can be seen in the arboretum in the Netflix adaptation.

Nick turned to Klaus, eyes wide. “We did fit? We were in here? I didn’t make that up?”

A very lowkey reference to We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson; Uncle Julian sometimes doubts the traumatic arsenic incident that paralyzed him and killed the rest of the family really happened.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - in which Lilac has a costume change

“Why would I-” Violet asked as Lilac grabbed a knife, drew it up to one of her braids, and chopped it off. Violet leapt to her feet and gasped, while Nick’s dropped his marker in shock. Soli and Sunny let out tiny shrieks, as Friday stared and Klaus said, “Lilac!” “I need to think.” Lilac said, and she grabbed another braid and chopped it off. “And this hair is getting in my way!” “Lilac-” Klaus started forwards, but she held up a hand to stop him, and then grabbed her loose hair and started cutting. Her braids fell to the floor of the tree, as she kept cutting to get rid of the strands that could reach her face. Within a few moments, her hair was cut even shorter than the boys’, with only a small, thin braid on the side of her head.

Firstly, a reference to the fact the dramatic haircut is my favorite trope of all time.

Secondly, specifically and heavily inspired by the scene in IT: Chapter One when Beverly Marsh cuts her hair.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Deus ex Rana to the rescue!” Klaus said, rushing over first.

“Rana” is the Latin word for “frog.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight - in which the Medusoid causes a ruckus

“Hey!” Lilac shouted, stepping forwards. “What in the nine circles of hell is going on here?”

A reference to Dante’s Inferno.

“So are you, my dear.” Olaf said. He eyed her with his shiny eyes. “Why’d you do that to your hair? It makes you look much less pretty.”

Unfortunately, another reference to Beverly’s haircut in IT: Chapter One: this was the response it elicited from her abusive father.

Chapter Thirty-Nine - in which man hands on misery to man

Solitude looked to her, narrowing her eyes, a seemingly insignificant memory floating back to her. “Question mark.” she said, “Beast.”

When she realizes some stuff about Ellington’s statue.

Kit looked at her, and Lilac saw in her eyes that her choice not to take the apple had nothing to do with her child.

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE

It’s often theorized in canon, and confirmed in this fic, that Kit was suicidal, which was why she decided not to take the apple.

Chapter Forty - in which the Baudelaires go on together

“We didn’t.” Sunny said, putting a hand on Lilac’s leg. “We have each other.”

A callback to “We lost everything.” “Except each other.”

“We don’t need to escape.” Violet said. She turned to Lilac. “Do you remember that musical, based on that movie, based on that movie, based on that book-”

The song they proceed to sing, “Finale”, is from the musical The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which is based on the Disney movie, which takes a lot of inspiration from the 1939 film, which was based on the Victor Hugo novel.

Also I made a gifset with those lyrics and I’m still very proud of it.

“I know.” Violet nodded. “I… I guess we can’t lock you in the closet anymore, huh?” Her smile only lasted a few seconds. “I’m sorry. Just trying to cheer you up.”

A reference to the one-shot.

They never told Bea she had the same shine in her eyes as her father. She didn’t need to know.

Bea is biologically Olaf’s daughter.

Solitude found all the herpetology books, which Klaus and Friday read to her. She furnished Babbitt’s habitat, and let her hair grow out so that she could braid it.

Just like her big sister Lilac.

“A statue normally wouldn’t mean anything,” Violet had told Friday, “But, well, Nick found some interesting accounts, didn’t you, Nick?” “Li’s Dad is a wordy motherfucker,” Nick said, tossing a file that had been slipped into a bowl of honeydew melons, “But yeah, I did.”

Huge reference to All the Wrong Questions.

Chapter Forty-One / Epilogue - in which Beatrice leaves the island

“Well, maybe we only have to last a year until Lilac turns eighteen, and then we spend our fortune on pop tarts and Pokémon cards.” Solitude said.

A reference to this Alex Hirsch tweet:

“We’ll have to come up with fake names.” Solitude giggled. “I’ll be Sensible.” “You will not, I called dibs!” Sunny shouted.

A reference to Netflix!Sunny’s name in @ornettelosts‘s Nine Baudelaires AU. Love ya, Sammie! :D

“I still wanna know how Babbitt had-” Nick began, but Klaus slapped a hand over his mouth.

“I still wanna know how Babbitt had sex.”

Lilac ran her hands over the title. “Yeah. Let’s leave this behind.” She smiled and said, “Time to go. Sound off! One!”

They’re leaving their series of unfortunate events behind.

Lilac smiled and said, “Let’s go find something new.”

There’s always something.

Perhaps, in ten years, Beatrice would have a much happier message for her uncle than he expected.

A reference to The Beatrice Letters and, lowkey, the happier version of it in Netflix’s adaptation of The End.

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #six baudelaires official fic #six baudelaires reference guide #six baudelaires bonus #mine

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years

Text

“When You Least Expect It”

New Series Sneak Peek

Jensen x Musician!Reader

A/N: This is just a little preview of a story I’ve been working on for a while, just sort of in the background. Since no other fics were cooperating, I thought I’d post a little preview of this one. A big thank you to my girl @closetspngirl for help with the title, and then some. <3

Series Summary: After a hard breakup, Jensen decides to throw himself into organizing a Music Festival in Austin that is meant to raise money for a few of his most cherished charities and organizations. As he throws himself into planning it, he stumbles upon a spirited, undiscovered performer, who he convinces to come aboard to help plan and coordinate the event with him.

What transpires after that takes both Jensen and his new friend, by surprise. But when their respective pasts come back just before the event kicks off in Austin, they will both have to decide if the unexpected feelings are worth perusing, or if they should just walk away and go on with their lives.

Series Warnings: Language, Break-Ups, Angst, Fluff, Smut (that’s it for now)

“You sure you feel up to this? We can just hang out at the hotel if you want.”

“No,” Jensen said. “I need to get out, get fresh air. I need to breathe. Have I ever mentioned how much I HATE board meetings? It’s why I’m not an office guy. I would suck at it. What happened to let’s meet at a restaurant, have a meal, a drink and just talk stuff out?”

“Alright man, whatever you want,” Jared agreed and took a few tentative steps to cross the street. “But, remember, you were the one that wanted this all to happen A.S.A.P. The guy is on vacation with his family and putting aside time for us. If he wants set up in his hotel conference room…” Jared trailed off and shrugged before making his way across the street.

Jensen waved him off and followed in his friend’s footsteps and as they made their way up onto the boardwalk, they were both relatively relieved with how deserted it was. October at the Jersey shore wasn’t exactly ‘in season’ but it was a nice enough night that they could have encountered a lot more people.

“This is good,” Jensen smiled, as they strolled down the boardwalk. He inhaled a deep breath of the salty air and exhaled slowly. “I get that. But its important to get this stuff finalized before I go back to Austin and start making firm plans. ‘Cause before you know it, it’s back to Vancouver. Doesn’t leave much time to get things in motion.”

“Could always push the festival back a year,” Jared suggested, knowing Jensen would never agree. He was like a dog with a bone where this festival was concerned. Once the idea to host a three-day event in Austin came about, Jensen was bound and determined to make it happen, all in a year’s time.

“No, its gotta be next year,” he said, gesturing with his hands that was his final decision. “Its fine. I’m better now that I’m out of that conference room. It was like a million degrees in there. This, this was a good idea. Maybe we find a small bar, grab a beer, some grub. Just relax a bit.”

“Until your phone rings,” Jared said unintentionally sharp.

“Come on, Jar. I don’t wanna—” he sighed and stopped walking. “Its over, alright. She left and honestly it sucked.”

“And the festival is your way to distract yourself from that.”

Jensen gave him a reprimanding look but couldn’t deny his claim.

“It was six months ago, and yeah, it took me a while to get over it. But it wasn’t like we were married, and she wanted something else. I’m done waiting for her, okay? I get it now, she’s not coming back. So, you can stop worrying. And yeah, maybe the festival is my way of moving on. Work is work, and while it keeps me busy enough, I want to do something more. Organizing this thing through the brewery, its gonna be great. Its gonna help a ton of people and bring some recognition to a few great charitable organizations.”

Jared walked by his side quietly, listening and waiting for Jensen to stop rambling. When he did, he asked a simple question completely throwing Jensen for a loop.

“That all sounds great. It really does, and your intentions are on point, Jay. But… what happens when it’s over?””

He hemmed and hawed over an answer, sputtering and stuttering before just giving up and shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?”

“Perfectly. Fine.” He nodded as a confirmation. “In fact, so fine, I won’t even remember what’s-her-name because I’ll be swimming in fine.” His tone oozed sarcasm, only to be made more punctuated by his expression.

“Jensen…” Jared sighed. “Just stop. Its fine, I get it. I’ll back off. Let’s go get that beer and whatever.”

He shoved his hands in his pocket as the autumn wind kicked up his hair as it rolled in off the ocean. He started to look around at the different booths, only a few of which were open and functioning that time of year. A little further down the boardwalk, Jared spotted a place that could be just what they needed.

“Come on, let’s check out this place,” he motioned his head towards a bar/restaurant called The Beachcomber. Jensen shrugged in agreement as they headed towards the building.

Walking through the front doors, they were met by a quick blast of warm air from above. There was a smattering of tables with patrons, but mostly they were empty. They made their way towards the back of the bar, where there were tables open that overlooked the ocean. Claiming one, they sat down and grabbed a menu to peruse. Not to long after, a waitress came by and took their orders. If she had recognized them, she didn’t mention it and went about her business as usual.

“I don’t want to keep bringing it up,” Jared started, after the waitress came back with their drinks.

Jensen sipped his beer. “So, don’t.”

“I just—I thought you were going to propose? You told me you wanted too. She left because you couldn’t make the commitment, Jay. Why didn’t you go through with it?”

Jensen just shrugged and looked out over the ocean to think before answering Jared’s question. “I don’t know… at the last minute I just couldn’t do it. The idea of settling down with one person is terrifying, man. It may suit you and Gen, but I don’t know if it’s for me.”

“Its not like you’re some playboy. You are monogamous as hell. So, what was it really?”

“Maybe I just couldn’t see my future with her. You know, settling down, kids, the whole nine.”

Jared nodded slowly, finally understanding. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because that makes me sound like a dick.”

“You are a dick,” Jared teased and threw a piece of napkin at his friend.

Jensen mocked him with a fake laugh and went back to his beer. “Yeah, yeah… moving on. Let’s talk about the important shit. I want tomorrow to go as smoothly as possible so we aren’t sitting in the pits-of-Hell conference room, so will you have a chance to look through all the contracts?”

Jared nodded and sighed. “Mhm. But really Jay, that shit needs to just go to the lawyer. I know you want everything to be perfect, to go smoothly. And I have no doubt that it will… but can’t we just concentrate on the creative stuff? Gen and I got a lot of the marketing taken care of. You and Jason, Robbie too, right? Y’all got the music covered. The festival will go off without a hitch and Random Acts will take in a bunch of money, as will the Austin Y and the crisis hotline.”

“Yeah, music is coming along. I just don’t have anyone that fits the vibe, you know?”

“No, I don’t. What vibe is that?”

Jensen shrugged. “I don’t know… this I guess,” he motioned towards the beach and the boardwalk, “I wanna bring this to the Brewfest.”

“Why? I mean, its great here, but what makes it so special?”

“Can’t put my finger on it. Have you ever been here in the summertime? Dude, its amazing. Just the whole vibe of the place…”

“That’s why you’re so intent on having these meetings with Leo. You want him to bring the boardwalk to Austin.”

Jensen shrugged again and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, alright. I will help you make that happen then. Tomorrow, we’ll just have to convince him.”

“Well, lookit you. Being all motivational and shit.”

“Rah rah!” Jared teased and shaking his hands like pom poms.

“How are we friends?” he asked and shook his head with a sarcastic eye roll included.

“You’d be lost without me and you know it,” Jared mocked and raised his glass in salute. Jensen nodded in reluctance agreement and clinked his glass against Jared’s.

The food was dropped not too long after that, and they enjoyed their seaside dinner as the sun set behind the houses to the west. About an hour after they arrived, dinner and drinks were finished, and they debated on staying or going back to the hotel. Deciding to stay for one more round, they settled in and kept an eye on Game Six of the World Series happening on the TVs above the bar.

Somewhere around the fifth inning, the volume got turned down, and the customer’s attention was asked to look towards the small corner stage. Behind the riser, was the backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean and a smattering of small boat lights on the horizon. Though the sun had just set a little while ago, the moon was already nearly full, hanging low in the night sky.

Jared was intent on the game playing out over the bar, even though there was no sound now. Jensen sipped at the rest of his beer and decided to keep his eyes on the stage. An older man, maybe in his mid-60s, welcomed the crowd and thanked them for patronizing The Beachcomber. His thick New York accent made Jensen smile, especially once he took in the man’s overall appearance of his slicked back salt and pepper hair, white tee shirt and black leather coat.

Right out of the damn Sopranos, he thought and chuckled to himself.

He watched the stage, eager to see some Sinatra wannabe come out and try to charm the crowd. But when the girl with the guitar came out instead, he sat up a little straighter in his chair and glanced over at his best friend to see if he was paying attention.

He wasn’t.

Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off her, not solely because she was beautiful; which she was… stunningly so. Her beauty wasn’t what made him sit up and take notice. It was the way she held her guitar; gripping it as if it where her life line. He observed her closely, surprised that she seemed nervous. When she strummed the guitar and brought the melody to life her nerves faded away; she was suddenly confident and assured. Her voice carried on and as the lyrics of “Dust in the Wind” filled up the back end of the Beachcomber Restaurant, Jensen found himself immersed in the moment.

He went to the bar that night in search of a hot meal and cold beer. Jensen didn’t expect to find a solution to some, or even all, of his problems. But the longer he sat and watched her perform, he started to feel that maybe everything will work out for him after all.

@wings-of-a-raven // @negans-wife // @grace-for-sale // @geeksareunique// @tiquismiquis // @mrsbarnes-rogers // @teller258316 // @spnhollis // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki// @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @babykalika2001 // @superwhovianfangirl81 // @toobusynerdfighting // @missihart23 // @crowleysreigningqueenofhell // @idreamofplaid // @thewinchesterchronicles // @wayward-gypsy // @closetspngirl // @fatestemptress // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @witch-of-letters // @cole-winchester // @rainflowermoon // @adoptdontshoppets // @foreverwayward // @waywardvalkyrie// @fandomoniumflurry // @gnrfanfic // @blackcherrywhiskey // @jessieray98 // @lyoly // @a–1–1–3 // @31shadesofbrown // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare // @pilaxia // @screechingartisancashbailiff // @kgbrenner // @holylulusworld // @deansenwackles // @flamencodiva // @jamielea81 // @coffeebooksandfandom // @logical-princey // @gemini0410 // @salt-n-burn-em-all // @collette04 // @mrswhozeewhatsis

#jensen ackles rpf #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #new series #tags are open

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