My 2017 flyboys
Three Questions
Prompt: What was it like to love him? What was it like to be loved in return? What was it like to lose him?
Pairing: Lin x reader
Warning(s): Angst, cussing, and mentions of sex (the closest I’ll ever do to a Lin smut, tbh).
A/n: Oh boy, here we are at Day 3 of the write-a-thon). This was the prompt (and the AU one too) that I was looking forward to the most and made me decide to participate. Rather than a book, I decided to choose my favorite poem of all time (which is also what my blog is named after) by Lang Leav. I adapted the poem into a story. I hope you guys enjoy!
What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.
You sighed when you spotted a figure slouched over a desk, their soft snores disturbing the silence of the library. It was a common sight to see a student asleep at the library regardless of what day of the week it was. There were always going to be students cramming for a test or starting an assignment due the next day that would fall asleep from exhaustion. Upon closer inspection, you realized he wasn’t a student – his face was too mature and clothes too nice to be a fellow peer.
However, like the old saying goes: you don’t have to go home, you just can’t stay here. The library was closing in five minutes and after a full day of classes before coming straight to work, you were ready to go home and relax.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but the library is closing soon,” you said, gently shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder.
He groaned and brushed away your hand before going back to sleep.
You scoffed and tried again. “Sir, please don’t make me call campus security on you.”
At the mention of the authorities, he groaned but lifted his head from the book he was resting his head on. He wiped the drool from the corner of his lips and blinked up owlishly at you. “What time is it?” he murmured.
Your breath caught at his voice, low and gravelly with sleep. You were always a sucker for attractive voices, and this stranger just happened to have the kind you loved the most.
“It’s almost 3 A.M.,” you said, watching as his eyes grew wide, “the library is closing now.”
He jumped up from his seat and stuffed his notebook and laptop into his backpack. “I’m so sorry, I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
“No, it’s alright, it happens all the time,” you assured him.
He sighed in relief and picked up the book on the table, which to your surprise, had an interesting topic that was very dear to your heart.
“A book about the first treasury secretary?” you mused, “Either you’re a history major or have a very weird taste in books.”
He grinned. “I guess I’m the latter.”
You snorted at his answer, watching as he headed for the exit after wishing you a good night.
-
To your surprise, he was back the next day. You were pushing a cart of books, returning them to their respective spots, when you saw him huddled in an alcove. This time, more books about Alexander Hamilton were accompanied with books about James Madison and Thomas Jefferson.
“The Southern Democratic-Republicans?” you laughed, “you do know that they didn’t get along with Hamilton, right?”
His head jerked up from his notebook on his lap, eyeing you intensely. “I do. The question is, how do you know?”
You tried not to squirm under his gaze. “I’m a History major with a focus in American History.”
A smile slowly spread across his face. “Well, what are the odds,” he laughed, the sound making your stomach flutter, “mind if I bother you with a few questions?”
You clutched the handle of the cart tightly, feeling nervous and excited. “Only if you tell me what’s it for.”
His smile got bigger. “I’m writing a musical about Alexander Hamilton.”
You pushed the cart aside. “I’m in.”
He chuckled and scooted over, patting the empty space next to him. You happily take the spot.
“My name is Lin-Manuel, but you can call me Lin,” he said warmly, sticking his hand out for you to shake.
You took his hand, trying not to shake from his proximity and the tingling sensation of desire that you felt for him. You were always the type that fell too easily and too fast - a recipe for disaster - but the sincerity and friendliness that you saw in his eyes made you believe that maybe, this time would be different.
“My name is Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you, Lin.”
It was like being exhumed. And brought to life in a flash of brilliance.
What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.
It was during one of your writing sessions with Lin, weeks after meeting, that he first kissed you.
You were explaining to him Alexander’s childhood struggles, the challenges that he endured as he rose his way to the top, and the bizarre parallel of his life to Aaron Burr’s. When he was still silent after you finished, you became worried. Was it too much information all at once? Did he need you to clarify a specific part?
Your fears melted away once you saw the tender look on his face.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing away a stray hair that escaped from your bun. Without another word, he leaned forward and captured your lips for a kiss. You whimpered, and it spurred him on, his hands cupping your head to kiss you deeper.
Your heart did cartwheels, happy that he felt the same way towards you. The lingering stares, how his hands would purposely brush against yours when you both looked over a book, and how he’d rest his arms on your shoulders and lean towards you when you’d talk… It was all because he adored you too.
Your first kiss with Lin awakened something delicious – a dangerous spark that made your body hum in excitement.
From then on, Lin would wine and dine you in the late hours of the night, conversations about Alexander Hamilton long forgotten. You shared your dreams, your struggles, stories about your childhood with each other.
The spark ignited a flame, an even more hazardous burn that made your heart and soul feel alive.
During the nights where he felt adventurous, he’d fuck you hard against the bookshelves, whispering dirty words in your ears as he covered your mouth with his hands to muffle your moans. Most of the time, however, he’d take his time loving you in a bed, staring deep into your eyes as he thrust into you.
You pressed your cheek against his damp chest, relishing in the afterglow of sex.
“I love you,” you whispered, the words feeling so natural, so true.
Lin’s hand slid down to rest on the curve of your back and pressed you closer to him.
“I love you too.”
It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.
What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow.
It was a rare weekend where you didn’t spend time with Lin, so you decided to go grocery shopping – a task that you hadn’t had time for since your whirlwind romance began.
You were quietly humming the tune to one of Lin’s songs as you pondered over which fruit you wanted to buy: oranges or apples?
“Honey, didn’t I tell you to take it easy? Stop lifting heavy things, you know it’s not good for the baby.”
Your lips quirked up in a smile at the conversation, finding it adorable how affectionate the husband was to his wife. For a brief second, you let yourself daydream, imagining a baby girl that had Lin’s curious eyes and your hair or a boy that had his nose and your penchant for learning.
“Lin, I’m the one carrying the baby. Don’t you think I know what’s good and not good for him?”
Lin?
“I know but – “
There was no mistaking it.
That was his voice.
You whirled around, dropping your basket of groceries when you saw the scene before you.
Lin was standing next to his obviously pregnant wife, softly reprimanding her as she lifted a watermelon from the display.
Lin had a wife… and a baby on the way.
Your world came crashing down on you.
Lately, you’d had a strange feeling in your gut, as if something big was looming over the horizon, whenever you spent time with Lin. You chalked it off and blamed it on your inexperience, your insecurity, and fear of loving someone so much for the first time in your life.
But now it all made sense.
He’d insist on spending nights in hotel rooms or even your own apartment, claiming that his apartment was too small and cluttered, failing to mention the fact that he had another woman waiting for him in his bed. He’d always spend time with you late at night until early dawn (you thought it was sweet that he worked around your schedule), never during the day. But truthfully, it was the perfect time where he could escape from his pregnant wife. You thought that his habit of touching his ring finger with his thumb was endearing – a quirky trait that made Lin so cute and special – but now you realize it was because the weight of his wedding ring was no longer there.
You felt sick.
You staggered backwards, hitting the fruit display, causing a heap of apples to tumble to the ground.
A single apple rolled towards them, stopping their conversation, and Lin looked up to see the cause of the runaway fruit.
You stood there, frozen, as a flash of recognition danced across his eyes.
It really was him.
To your horror, he didn’t acknowledge you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his wife and lead her further into the grocery store, leaving you behind without a second glance.
His stories, laughter, and declarations of love were all lies.
Your heart shattered into a million pieces.
You were a fool.
It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me – said all at once.
The Habit of Planning
Prompt: During a busy day at Central Park, Lin mistakes Y/N as a paparazzi and he is not happy.
Pairing: Lin x reader
Words: 4,759 (brace yourselves)
A/N: I’ve been writing for this for so long, I’m glad it’s out of my head. I wrote the basis of the fic under the tags for ‘Monochrome’, and a couple of you guys happened to read it and told me I should write it! So thank you to all of you! I hope you guys enjoy!
me irl
Hi!! I just wanted to say that I find your literature so so so stunning and complex! I think you are honestly one of the best writers I've read on this site!! I've been reading it for quite a while but thought that I should drop into your askbox to tell you how much I love your work! I hope you have an awesome day! - 💙
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh thank
HOW CAN WE TALK
I mean if you didn't delete your page..
talk to me BITCH
Gimmie a second I'VE BEEN THROUGH A HURRICANE. Hello, I miss you too.
... how sure are you about the ask being from That Person ?? (hint: it's ME)
HA. Of course it's you.
how did u even know who that last ask was from !!! ???
OH, I know bahaha! She and I have a special bond 😭😂
finally deactivated my account☹️☹️☹️
Listen YOU.... 😱
“Eyes of an impossible blue, the colour of the sky and waters of Themyscira, so full of wonder and stealing her breath away.”
Even if you're not writing ever again. I still love you.
😘 Thanks! That's very nice to hear.
Heyyo! First off I want to say you are an AMAZING WRITER! Seriously, your writing is so well written and you are just a very lovely person as well. I was wondering if you were ever going to continue the Princess AU with Lin? I read it and loved it! ♡
Most likely not. That fic was my baby, dude.... and I get sad knowing I can't write anything for it anymore. I just don't want to write at all.
Work In Progress Wednesday
An official title to when I post stuff that I’m currently working on… and maybe the ones that I’ve scrapped and still wanted to share.
“Morning, miss! How can I help you?”
You looked up from your phone to the barista behind the counter, taking note of her large glasses that framed her face nicely, dark hair messily tucked under her hat, and the moth tattoo that peeked from under her sleeves. You pressed your lips together, hoping that she didn’t see the flash of amusement that danced across your eyes when the word hipster popped into your head.
It wasn’t that you were mocking her, no, it was far from it. You were always envious of people like her – the carefree, roll with the punches, and do-what-makes-you-happy sort. Having been raised in a family where financial stability was the top priority, you’ve always felt the firm pressure of being successful. Your parents, both doctors, and your elder brother being a lawyer certainly didn’t help the case.
Instead of learning how to play the piano, you learned French and Spanish. Unlike your peers, your summers didn’t consist of playing by the sea or flying across the globe to explore exotic lands. Your summers were spent volunteering at the hospital where your mother worked, helping patients through the motions of being discharged and cleaning the vacated rooms. When you discovered your penchant of musical theater your sophomore year of high school, you had no choice but to ignore your talents despite your music teacher’s persistence to pursue it.
Everything you’ve done in your life was in preparation for a successful future. Namely, a future where you could hang up your Pharmacist coat and retire in an eerily empty two-story home that lacked the warmth of the people living in it. The thought left a bitter taste in your tongue, knowing that you were well in your way into that path, having received the acceptance letter to Duke University’s Pharmacy program this morning.
“Miss?”
You caught the slight nuance in her voice, a small intonation that showed her irritation from your lack of response.
You tucked your phone into your pocket and give her an apologetic smile. “I’d like to get a vanilla latte,” you said and after deciding to splurge, randomly pointed to a pastry in the display, “and one of those too.”
“You got it,” she chirped.
You took a seat at the bar facing the streets, watching as people took hurried steps to reach their destinations. Though the hustle and bustle of New York City was something you’d never get used to, you couldn’t deny how it motivated you. Every single person in the city had dreams that they were passionate about and would do anything to achieve, a group mentality that you clutched in your tired hands and utilized to push through your senior year of college.
You recalled all the moments in your life that lead to this point as you watched a woman push a stroller across the street. You were consumed with pleasing your parents, craving to see the love and approval that never crossed their features even when you told them your decision to apply to Pharmacy school. You treasured them and were grateful for their monetary support, but you couldn’t remember a time where you held a conversation with your mother about boys or where your father gave you a lecture about staying clear of them.
Your body was a tangled mess of emotions, the feelings so intense that you couldn’t distinguish which one was stronger than the other when you saw the acceptance letter. Relief. Panic. Apprehension. Elation. You didn’t question your brash decision to throw on a pair of sneakers and leave your apartment, never mind that your mother would keel over at the sight of you in your pajamas in the city. You needed air, needed a moment to process the implications of what your life would be in the next four years. You lost the notion of time and distance because of your thoughts, and somehow, your feet lead you to the local coffee shop that you were in now.
“A vanilla latte and a blueberry turnover,” the barista hummed as she placed the mug and plate in front of you.
“Thank you,” you replied, disappointed that she had to quickly run back to the counter when the bell attached to the door chimed, signaling the arrival of another customer.
You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in bliss at the comforting taste. You pondered over your choices of delivering the news to your parents while you sipped on your drink, debating whether you should call or send a text. Your parents were always so busy with their careers, and any sort of contact with them was quite rare.
You put the latte down, the usually sweet drink now tasting bitter.
From the corner of your eye, you saw a man slip into a seat in the bar, leaving a chair between you. Oddly enough, he was in his pajamas as well, wearing green flannel pants and a gray sweatshirt. Your lips twitched up in amusement when you spot the leather slip-ons on his feet, the swanky shoes a paradox to his attire.
I miss you
I miss the old me too
Okay, IKEA….