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r3starttt · 27 days

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WARMTH

PAIRING: abby anderson x insecure! fat! reader

SUMMARY: Abby being so in love with reader and trying to be comforting and supportive just by being there.

CW: request. angst. comfort. mentions of ed. body descriptors. more like a blurb it barely has any dialogue but whatever.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | - abby taglist: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages

In the quiet of the evening, you found yourself clinging to the bed, the soft cotton blankets bringing little but enough comfort. The worn edges of the book brushed against your fingertips, its thin feeling like a fragile connection to something outside the whirlwind in your mind. Each word on the page blurred as the weight of your thoughts pressed down, relentless and unyielding. Abby had been on you for weeks about this book, nudging you until you promised you’d read it. But promises felt as flimsy as the paper you held, easily crumpled by every thought brushing through your brain.

Abby’s footsteps echoed faintly in the background, a reminder of her presence, though your mind was too wrapped up in the novel.

Life had become a delicate balancing act, each day a struggle to keep going, to keep moving forward, even if it was just one small step at a time, it had become a tangle of obligations, a constant march of tasks that left you feeling drained, empty. Your body felt like it was carrying the weight of the world—shoulders slumped under the invisible pressure, back aching from the strain, head and eyes heavy with exhaustion. Sleep was a distant memory, and when it did come, it offered little relief.

Mirrors, reflecting a version of yourself you no longer recognized—a body that no longer fit into clothes that once made you feel like you belonged. Even the simple act of eating had become a battlefield, your gaze lingered too long on the back of food packages, the numbers blurring together as you tried to fight the urge to calculate, to measure your worth in calories and pounds.

Your clothes, once familiar and comforting, now felt like a betrayal, squeezing too tight, or hanging too loose in all the wrong places. You found yourself avoiding mirrors, the sight of your own skin a reminder of something you didn’t want to see. The temptation to scrutinize every bite you took was a whisper in the back of your mind, a siren call you tried to ignore by keeping busy, filling every moment with something—anything—that would keep the thoughts at bay.

But today was different. You had woken up too drained to care, the exhaustion weighing you down to the point where the usual vigilance slipped, allowing you to finally pick up the book Abby had left on your nightstand. It had been a week since you’d even glanced at the cover, and now, under her watchful eye, you had allowed yourself the rare luxury of getting lost in the story, if only for a little while.

You’d been curled up in your most comfortable clothes—loose pants and one of Abby’s oversized t-shirts, a shield against the world, against yourself. Even in the sanctuary of your home, the need to cover up was overwhelming, not for warmth or comfort, but for a sense of safety, a way to hide what you couldn’t bear to see.

As you turned the last page of the chapter, the half-empty sheet before you felt like a small victory, a brief respite in the chaos of your mind. You pressed the book against your legs, fingers absently tugging at the fabric of your shirt, pulling it away from your stomach where it had bunched uncomfortably. The movement made you hyper-aware of every inch of your body, and you felt the familiar surge of self-consciousness rise, threatening to drown you.

But then, there was Abby. A soft blur at the edge of your vision. You could hear her murmurs, her words drifting over you like a soothing balm, though their meaning was lost.

“Mhm?” you muttered, tilting your head slightly, trying to pull yourself back to the moment. You lowered your legs, letting them fall against the sheets, but she didn’t answer right away, just sighed as she met your gaze.

“Was looking for that,” she said, her voice soft as she pointed at the shirt you wore- a piece of her that you had claimed as your own, though it never felt quite like it belonged to you.

You offered her a small, almost weak smile, the expression not quite reaching your eyes. Abby’s footsteps creaked against the wooden floor as she made her way to the bed, her presence filling the room with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold thoughts swirling in your mind. Her fingers tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture as familiar as the way the corners of her lips curled when she looked at you.

Her hand found its way to your knee, her thumb drawing small, soothing circles on your skin. “How’s the book?” she asked, her voice soft as she nodded toward it, her chin lifting slightly as if to guide your eyes back to the pages.

You hesitated, your lips forming a small pout as your brows knit together in thought. “It’s… yeah, it’s good, though it’s…” your voice trailed off, “A lot?” she finished for you, the words overlapping with hers as she guessed your thoughts with a playful nod.

“Yeah,” you echoed, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you set the book aside, suddenly all too aware of your body again. The way your stomach felt too prominent, the way your arms and thighs seemed too large, the way your skin felt too tight.

Abby’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth, but your mind was already slipping away, back into the spiral of self-doubt. You set the book aside, suddenly too aware of your body again. The shirt felt too tight, and you shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide, trying to make yourself smaller.

But Abby wouldn’t let you retreat. She moved between your legs, gently patting your knees to signal you to open them, and you did, though the action felt like exposing a vulnerability you weren’t ready to face. She settled in, her head resting against your stomach, her hands resting on your thighs. Her touch was as gentle as the breeze that rustled the leaves outside, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin, each movement a silent declaration of her love. Abby’s hands slid up, her palms now resting against your stomach, her elbows bracing against your thighs. Her chin rested atop her fingers, and she gazed up at you with a look so full of love that it made your breath catch in your throat. The warmth of her touch seeped into your skin.

She hummed softly, a contented sound that vibrated through your body, and you couldn’t help but reach down, your fingers threading through her hair, your nails grazing her scalp in the way you knew she loved. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she sighed again, a sound that spoke of comfort, of home.

The silence that fell between you was thick with unspoken words, the kind of silence that was heavy but not uncomfortable. Abby knew you better than anyone, and she adored you in a way that felt like it was written. Her love was a constant, a force that wrapped around you even when you couldn’t see it, even when you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

Her eyes were for you and you alone, her hands to hold yours, her body to shield you from the harshness of the world. She could feel the shift in you—the way your insecurities had crept back in, wrapping themselves around your heart like a vice.

She’d noticed the small things, the way you hesitated before eating, the way your fingers turned food packages over, searching for the numbers that had started to define your self-worth. She’d heard the frustration in your voice when you tried on clothes that didn’t fit the way they used to, seen the way you stared at your reflection, lost in thoughts that were far from kind.

Abby knew, because she loved you. And loving you meant seeing all of you—the good, the bad, the parts you tried to hide. She’d noticed the way you pulled away when she tried to touch you, the way you flinched when her hands found their way under your clothes, as if her love could somehow make you smaller, make you disappear.

Your style had changed, not out of choice, but out of necessity—a defense mechanism your mind had conjured up to protect you from the harsh judgment you reserved for yourself.

But Abby was patient. She adored you, every part of you, and she was determined to remind you of that, even if it took a lifetime. As she lay there, her head on your stomach, her hands resting on your body, she made a silent vow to be there for you, to love you through every moment of doubt, to hold you until you could see yourself the way she did—beautiful, worthy, and more than enough.

Because to Abby, you were everything.

"You're gonna tell me what happened?" Her voice, a gentle murmur, pulled you from the haze of your thoughts, like a hand reaching out to guide you from a fog. There was a genuine confusion in her words, a softness that made you want to shield her from the darkness swirling in your mind. "Mhm?" you replied, the sound barely a breath. She tilted her head, her gaze locking with yours, a quiet invitation for you to let her in. Your hand, once lost in the softness of her hair, drifted to her cheek, cradling her face as though it were a delicate treasure. Your fingers, as if compelled by a deeper instinct, traced her freckles, each one like a star in the constellation of her being, a map you could never tire of following.

She laughed it off, a tender sound that echoed in the space between you, not pressing for answers but simply wanting to be there with you, to offer herself as a haven. She longed to comfort you, to wrap you in the safety of her embrace, to hold you in a way that words could never fully express.

Her palms slid over your thighs, warm through the fabric of your pants, fingers dancing at the hem of your shirt. They lingered there, as if seeking silent permission to venture further, to touch the parts of you that felt most vulnerable. Your mind screamed a litany of doubts—were you too heavy, did you maybe have too many stretch marks? Did you smell good, look good? Would she still want you, even when your insecurities felt like an ocean threatening to drown you? These thoughts, foreign only a month ago, now crashed against you with relentless force, despite knowing Abby’s love was an unwavering lighthouse.

She’d told you countless times, her words a constant refrain when she collapsed beside you after the gym, flushed and radiant with the energy of life. You’d always echoed her sentiment—whether she came home sweaty, disheveled, or feeling less than perfect, you loved her entirely, without condition or hesitation.

In truth, your bodies weren’t so different. The architecture of your forms was built from the same materials—softness and strength, stretch marks and scars, each line telling the story of who you were. Her body, with its curves and muscles, its stretch marks and hair, was big, powerful, beautiful. But in your eyes, her flaws were transformed into something desirable, while yours felt like burdens.

Yet here she was, her warmth seeping into your skin, your gazes entwined in a silence that spoke of love deeper than words. She would never cross a boundary you set, but her yearning to touch you, to feel every inch of who you were, was palpable. And how could you deny her? It felt good—no, it felt necessary—to be held, to be seen with such tenderness, without the pressure to heal, just the quiet, steady comfort of being held.

"You know," she whispered, adjusting herself to press closer, her hands sliding beneath your shirt, finding the bare skin of your stomach. "I saw you this morning, before you woke up." Her lips brushed against the softness of your belly, a kiss as light as a whisper. Her fingers caressed the gentle curves of your stomach, resting over the places you felt most self-conscious about. "I don’t think you felt it, but I hugged you closer. I had to," she paused, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of something warm and bright inside you, like the first light of dawn. "You smelled so good, and you were so warm," she murmured, her lips pressing into your skin once more.

Suddenly, the feeling of being exposed before her dissolved, replaced by a sense of being cherished, of being worthy of her gentleness and adoration. "Yeah?" you murmured, the word slipping out as you let yourself believe her, just for a moment. "I’ve missed you, m’ sorry." Her response was a hum against your skin, the vibrations of her voice resonating through you, as her fingers traced the edge of your shirt, inching it up to brush against your chest. And there she stayed, holding you as if she never wanted to let go.

"I love you," she whispered, the words wrapping around you like a protective cloak, a promise that in her arms, you were always enough. "I know."

#( 𓍼𓈀A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ⨟ 𓍯 abby )#( 𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ Abby ❫#abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x y/n #abby anderson x reader fluff #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x chubby reader #abby anderson x fat reader #abby x chubby reader #abby x fat reader #abby anderson fluff #abby fluff

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wwinterwitch · 2 years

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new vows – din djarin x gn!reader

summary: the first time din ever removed his helmet in front of you

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 2.5k

warnings and tags: fluff and angst + good ending, insecure!din, established relationship, kissing, the helmet's removed, doesn't follow the plot of the show at all (it's just din, reader and grogu being a happy family)

author's note: oof i hate how this turned out but my best friend read it and told me to post it so here we are, i hope it doesn't suck as much as i think it does

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

navigation | pedro's characters masterlist | star wars masterlist

Din was observing you and Grogu from the entrance of the Razor Crest, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against one of the walls of the ship. He smiles to himself when he hears the child giggling after you put a flower at the top of his little head, immediately reaching out with some difficulty to grab a flower from the ground and offering it to you.

"Thank you, Grogu. It's very pretty!" you say to the baby, who looked absolutely thrilled to realize you liked his gift.

The kid stands from the ground, lifting both of his arms as a sign that he wants to be carried. Already familiar with the gesture, you quickly lift him up from the ground before laying on your back in the middle of the landscape filled with lilac and light pink flowers. The baby giggles again, holding onto you as you both lay there.

Din's smile fades just enough shortly after that when the inevitable thought pops in his head again. That annoying and sudden thought that always makes an appearance during the day.

At first he didn't mind, finding ways to always push it away before it got to him. However, it's been more and more frequent these past couple of days and it's becoming a bad habit he seems unable to control at this point, and it's starting to really annoy him.

His mind is filled with all these doubts and insecurities. Not only because of the content of what he's thinking, but because it's completely impossible to push it away now. Almost like an avalanche, it falls down the mountain at a rapid, devastating speed and it only seems to get bigger as minutes pass. It destroys everything in its way. In this case, the prime and only victim is Din.

Perhaps the worst part is that it always ruins what should be pleasant moments. If Grogu is looking up at him from the ground begging to be carried, the thought is there. Whenever you wrap your arms around him or grab his hand when the two of you are exploring yet a new planet, it's there. Even when he's trying to sleep right next to you, hearing the faint sounds of the baby already asleep, you can bet that thought will be there to torture him.

Because all of those little moments he shares with his partner and son remind him of the fact that neither of them even know who he is. Sure, they know how he is, but not who.

Every touch is not really a touch, it's just skin brushing against a uniform. Every exchange has a helmet hiding his features. They can hear him laugh, but they don't see his eyes squinting just enough and the smile that adorns his face. They can hear him remind them of his never-ending love for them, but they don't get to look into his eyes as he says it.

And it hurts because his mind has tricked him to believe none of those moments are real. Because they've never seen the man that claims to care for them so much, none of it is genuine. It's just touching a uniform and hearing empty words coming from a helmet. It almost makes him feel like a droid rather than a human, leaving him longing for that real connection.

He knows he probably shouldn't, but he craves that actual contact, which is something he never felt before you two showed up in his life.

Being a Mandalorian and living by their code was easy. He never even considered breaking his vow because nothing and no one was ever worth it. What could possibly be more important than this? That's what he would always ask himself and he wasn't able to come up with an answer– until you and Grogu showed up.

Now that you two are here, it's obvious to him that his priorities have changed. He wants to commit to an entirely new code. To prove his undying fidelity to his family and make a vow to the two of you.

But that brings another set of insecurities that make this entire situation a lot more difficult for him. As much as he needs to truly feel connected to you, he's terrified of what that connection means. It's obvious that in order to obtain that, he needs to take off his uniform. Most precisely, his helmet– which is something he has never done in front of anyone. Ever.

So that's when his mind is yet again filled with negative thoughts. What if you don't like what's under the helmet? What if you already have a picture of him in your head and he disappoints you because he looks nothing like it? What if you suddenly don't love him anymore because he's not what you expected at all? And what if Grogu rejects him too? He couldn't deal with either of you not liking what has been hiding underneath all the Beskar.

That's the complicated mess that's been haunting him for a few weeks. That inner struggle he has tried to keep hidden from the two of you. Should the helmet stay on despite being an obstacle to reach the depths of connection he needs to have with his family, or should he remove it and risk rejection? Is it better to settle or search for more?

He feels pathetic. The supposedly fearless bounty hunter is terrified of even thinking about taking a risk. Going on adventures used to be a lifestyle. Now, the mere idea of it is enough to fill his mind with self-doubt, making it almost impossible for him to make a decision.

He thought about it later that day when the three of you were already inside the Razor Crest and getting ready to go to bed, really considering his options and trying to create different outcomes to this hypothetical conversation that kept playing inside his head.

You were telling Grogu a bedtime story when Din joined the two of you. He sat on the bed and listened to you speak as he watched the baby, who was struggling to keep his eyes open at that point, holding onto the little blanket covering his body.

By the time the story was over, Grogu was already completely asleep. You carefully brushed his face with your pointer finger in an affectionate manner, smiling down at him before focusing on Din.

"Ready to go to bed?" you asked.

"You'll tell me a bedtime story too?"

The comment made you laugh. "I think you're a little old for bedtime stories."

"Ouch. I'm not old."

"I said a little old," you quickly correct, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. He quickly lifted a hand that was resting on your hip a few seconds later. "Not the same as just old."

You smile down at him as he gently caresses you from your hip all the way down your thigh before his gloved fingers trails back up. Your smile inevitably takes him to the dark corners of his mind again because he knows you won't be able to see him smiling back at you.

His next words came out very impulsively. "Can we talk?"

Evidently, you were a little concerned after hearing that given the tone he used. "Is there something wrong?"

"I've just been thinking a lot lately...there's something that's been bothering me and it won't leave my head."

"Okay..." you said, trying to be receptive to what he was saying but still having no idea of what's going on.

"Neither of you know what I look like," he decides to simply confess. Why would he try to over explain something that is actually quite easy to say? "And I've never...you know, actually touched you," he adds, his helmet titling towards his hand still resting on your hip, hinting at the glove covering it.

"I mean, yes...but that's because you're a Mandalorian. It's what your people do, right?"

Din nods after your words. "It's part of our code, but...I don't know. It's been bothering me because lately this entire uniform feels like an obstacle. I still feel like it's a part of me but...it also stands in between us."

"I've told you how I feel about the suit," you quickly say in a soft, reassuring voice. "I don't mind it one bit."

"I know, I know. This isn't because of something you did or said," Din explains. "I guess my priorities have changed."

"You mean...?"

"I mean, I care more about connecting with you than with my traditions. I've started to question things I never took a second to consider before you and Grogu showed up. I want to be able to touch you– really touch you. And I want to look at you and talk to you. Not through a visor and a modulator," he further explains, feeling like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. "I don't need to be a Mandalorian when I'm with you two. I just need to be Din."

"Oh, darling," you start affectionately, feeling so incredibly in love with the man sitting in front of you. "Whatever it is that you want and need, I'll support you no matter what. Helmet or no helmet, you're still the guy I fell in love with."

"Really?" he asks with evident worry.

"Of course," you immediately reassure him.

"I guess it took me too long to talk about this because...well, I didn't know if you'd like what's underneath the uniform."

"Din," you call in a very serious voice, hoping that'll hint just how much you mean your next words. "I love you so much. I love you because you're the kindest man I've ever met. You're loyal, passionate, brave...and you care so much about me and Grogu. I could stay here and mention a trillion things about you that make me fall in love with you every single day. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with and nothing in this world is ever going to change what I feel."

He was quiet for what felt like forever, simply staring up at you while you held the helmet in between your hands so you could stare directly at his visor where his eyes should be.

"You can't see it but I'm smiling, by the way. This is a good silence," he offers, which immediately makes you laugh.

"Is it okay if I take it off and see that smile for myself?"

He hesitated before answering. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"I promise I won't change my mind."

There was another pause before he finally answered. "Okay..."

You start to remove his helmet in a gentle, slow manner. If he wanted to stop you, he could at any second. You really didn't want to rush it because you still wanted to give him a chance to back down if he wanted to.

The fact that he wears the helmet all day in front of you has never been an issue. You fell in love with the person he is, whatever he looks like couldn't possibly matter any less to you. That love is not going anywhere. Ever.

It looks like Din is confident in his decision because he doesn't stop you at any point. He continues to keep one of his hands attached to your hip and the other rests on his lap for a few seconds until he uses it to help you completely remove his helmet.

Still holding it with both of your hands, you look down to admire his face. You can tell by his expression that he's terrified as he stares back at you, impatient for any hint of rejection. He was still expecting to see the disappointment all across your features before you take a step back from him and reveal he's nothing like what you expected.

But that disappointment never appeared. Instead, he's relieved to see the smile forming on your face before you leave the helmet next to him on the bed, immediately reaching out to grab his face.

Din practically melts under your touch, closing his eyes and focusing on just how good it feels to have your skin touching him for the very first time. The way your soft fingers trace his cheeks before they move down to his jaw...it feels like absolute heaven.

And you take your time with that. Your digits explote his features as if contemplating them wasn't enough. You needed to touch every inch of his face in order to truly appreciate what's in front of you.

The most beautiful sight ever. The man you love so much, looking even more handsome than you could've ever predicted. From his soft brown eyes to the hint of a beard, he's so perfect you can't believe you're seriously this lucky.

"So?" he dares to ask. Hearing his voice without the modulator for the very first time almost made you feel goosebumps all over your body. How is this man so pretty?

You could've just said that. You could've stood there and told him over and over how pretty he is, but it didn't feel like it was enough. No words would ever begin to explain the admiration you have for this man, even before you knew what he looked like.

After feeling his skin for the very first time, you could only crave more. It was probably that inefficiency of words and the need for more contact that made you lean down and kiss him for the very first time.

He kissed you back instantly, the grip on your hip tightening just enough as he completely gave in to you.

It was evident you were his first kiss, but that detail couldn't be any more insignificant right now. His lack of experience didn't bother you. All you could think about is how lucky and happy you are to have him as your partner.

The kiss lasted for a few more seconds before you pulled away, failing to hide your smile when you saw his face. It was evident he was already missing the way your lips feel against his.

You stare at him again for a bit, caressing his flushed cheeks, before you finally decide to speak. "Does that answer your question?" Din was still too lost in his thoughts to reply out loud, so he simply nodded. His reaction after your first kiss made you giggle, and you swore right there that you've never felt happier in your life. "Good. I'd like to kiss you again if that's okay."

Another nod, this time looking more desperate, was all you needed to kiss him again. You got more comfortable as you sat on his lap, knowing you'll be there kissing him for a bit, feeling his arms wrap around your lower back to keep you close as soon as you sat down.

And as he holds you in his arms, he knows he made the right choice, silently vowing to be yours for as long as you allow him to.

#din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #din djarin #the mandalorian x gn!reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars x reader #mandalorian fic #pedro pascal characters

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princessmisery666 · 7 months

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Just Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean is trying to embrace his emotions and look to the future. Part 3 of 3. Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, mentions of cheating.

W/C: 4,901.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mentioned: Jody Mills.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: ”Would you please, shut up, I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

A/N: Obviously this was supposed to posted on a certain day (you'll get what I mean when you read) but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be at the time so I waited. Two-ish weeks later ain't bad though.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

Pulling off the highway, Dean grumbles, “This is stupid,” to himself again. Yet, he had called Jody to make sure you weren’t working, made the two-hour drive, and hadn't veered off route to the nearest bar.

It’s been a few weeks since he saw you at Jody’s cabin. You’ve spoken on the phone a few times and met him halfway to Kentucky to give him a lore book Claire had borrowed. But no in-depth conversations have been had, which he’s okay with because one, it’s a conversation to be had in person and not while he is neck deep in a case, and B, he doesn’t know what to say or how to tell you what he wants because he’s still not sure himself.

So, in the safe confines of Baby, he asks himself again why is he driving to your house on Unattached Drifter Christmas or ‘Valentine’s Day’ for the schmucks?

Before he can do a little soul-searching and find the answer, his cell phone rings.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” he answers.

“Why are you in Sioux Falls? Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. Wait, how do you know where I am?”

“You were way too vague about where you were going. You always have a plan for today,” Sam explains, “figured you were up to no good and better keep an eye on you in case you get into trouble like last time.”

“Last time was almost five years ago, and for the hundredth time, I didn’t know she was married,” Dean snarks.

“Plus, you didn’t turn off your GPS,” Sam says as if he hadn’t heard Dean’s argument. “So why are you in Sioux Falls on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He falters for a second, thinking of an excuse, and before his pause becomes suspicious, he blurts, “There’s a new bar opened up. Wanna try it out.”

“This bar called Y/N’s, by any chance?”

“What? No!”

Sam laughs, and that all-knowing chuckle reminds Dean that Sam is onto him and there’s no point in denying anything. “It’s a good thing, Dean,” his brother assures him. “You may not have told her outright, but she’s smart. She’ll recognize you showing up today, of all days, is your way of telling her you want…” Dean waits, hoping that Sam will impart the answer that eludes him, but huffs in defeat when his brother adds, “Whatever it is you want.”

“This is stupid,” Dean grumbles, “I’m being stupid.”

“No, it's not,” Sam scolds. “I’m sure today will be tough for her. So, just being there for her is a good thing. It doesn’t have to be deep conversations. Showing up and supporting her is enough.”

Dean considers that Sam is probably right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less insecure. “Maybe.”

“Have fun,” Sam says before hanging up.

Five minutes from his final destination, his phone chimes, alerting him to a text message.

Jody: She’s at Lucky Shots, fifth wheeling it.

“Dammit, Sam!” he snarls, but he’s not really mad, saves him a trip to her empty house.

The break at Jody’s cabin was revitalizing, and the feeling has stuck for the few weeks you’ve been back in your routine. It probably helps that you removed every trace of Luke from your life the moment you got home. The confrontation with Dean was cathartic, too. You’ve analyzed what he’d said about not wanting you to meet someone new and that he missed you, and asked Jody for her opinion, too. She’d wistfully smiled as if aware of something you weren’t, “Maybe you gave up on him too quickly.”

You didn’t want to admit that Jody was probably right. Yet you had made assumptions, choosing to believe that he didn’t want anything serious, and after admitting to yourself that you wanted something more, you had decided to go out and find it somewhere else.

That realization turned out to be at the forefront of your mind today. You're thankful to your friends, Laura and Sara, for the invitation and for not allowing you to stay home and eat your emotions. Being the fifth wheel isn’t the issue. It doesn’t bother you, even on Valentine’s Day. They chose a lowkey, casual games bar, not some romantic, candlelit restaurant, and for that, you are eternally grateful. The issue is Luke is there. It could be worse. He could be with her, but fortunately, he’s with two of his buddies.

The bar has darts, beer pong, pool, skee ball, knock down a clown, and a few other amusements. You're locked into a tight game of girls versus boys beer pong - the beer having been replaced with tequila shots - and you can feel Luke’s every glance as if he’s waiting for an opportunity to approach.

It’s the last thing you want, and your friends were kind enough to offer to leave when he arrived, but you stubbornly refused. You had no reason to leave. He should be filled with so much shame and regret that he can’t bear to face you, but he has the audacity to look like a wounded puppy, and that makes you angry.

The game is down to the wire, and the final ball is down to Chris and Dylan, your friends' partners. Dylan massages Chris’ shoulders, “Come on, buddy, you got this. For the win!”

You all hold your breath as Chris releases the ball, and the boys celebrate the victory with loud cheers as it lands in the cup, having barely touched the sides. You, Laura, and Sara shoot another round of tequila. The sourness of the lemon you suck on adds to the disapproving look you catch Luke throwing your way.

Asshole. How dare he judge you!

“I demand a rematch!” Laura declares.

You agree. “My turn to buy the drinks.”

Sara escorts you to the bar. Though she masks it as helping you carry the drinks back to the table, you know she’s doing it to protect you from an unwanted visitor.

“I need the bathroom, but I’ll meet you back here,” Sara tells you, “if he comes over before I make it back, stomp on his foot and poke him in the eye.”

You laugh, really belly laugh, because she’s totally serious, and it’s also hilarious to think he’d have the balls to actually approach you.

“Who’re we looking out for, honey?” the elderly woman beside you asks, lips pursed and looking sassy.

Sara tells her, “Other end of the bar, tall white guy, blond hair.”

“Green shirt?” she asks for confirmation.

“That’s the one.”

“Uh-huh,” she tuts, “I know the type, handsome as an angel, spirit of the devil. You go on to the bathroom. I’ve got your friend until you get back.”

You don’t doubt the lady’s confidence. You wouldn’t mess with her.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Call me Beverly,” she introduces, and Sara shakes her hand before skittering off to the bathroom.

You wait your turn to be served, listening to your protector tell you all about her first husband, “the devil incarnate.”

If only she knew.

You face forward, not even side-glancing in Luke’s direction, not wanting to give him any inclination you may want to talk. You don’t. Beverly turns and rests her back against the bar to see the whole room without looking over her shoulder.

“Oh, sweetie,” your new friend says, “there’s another one of those handsome-as-an-angel men walking this way, and I think he’s looking for you.”

You still don’t turn, but look up into the mirror behind the bar and see him. Dean maneuvering around people and tables, coming straight toward you.

Unintentionally, you gasp, a sheepish smile creeping in as you lock eyes with him in the mirror.

“From that reaction, I don’t think you need help with this one,” Beverly says, sweetly taking a step to the left to make room for Dean.

“Hey,” he says, a half smile making him look a little awkward.

“Hey,” you say as he leans in to kiss your cheek, and when he’s close, you whisper, “Everything okay?”

He pulls back, nodding with a slight frown as if the question was offensive or something. “Yeah, everything is fine, just passing through and wanted to say hi.”

“Passing through?” you ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

His frown deepens, clearly trying to sell the lie, pretending to be confused by the suspicion.

You smirk. “Just happen to be passing through on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “How much do you and Sam talk?”

“A lot,” you confess, “emails, phone calls, memes, and then there’s the weekly newsletter.”

“Busted.” He laughs, and it shakes off whatever anxiety he was feeling.

The bartender comes over and takes your order. You add on whatever Beverly is drinking for the rest of the night, which reminds you Sara has been gone a while. You turn around to look for her, and Dean looks over his shoulder. Sara’s back at the table. All of them are staring at you but quickly and comically turn around as if they weren’t when Dean finds them.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “they’re just looking out for me cause Deputy Dick is here.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. “Is me being here going to be a problem?”

“Probably, but that's his problem.”

Dean laughs, and you really have missed it. The easy relationship you had seems to be a thing of the past, but you want it back. Maybe not the sex because you’ve realized that's where the problem lies. You want more from him than you'll ever get, but at least the friendship could be mended.

“But don’t waste your Christmas on me, Dean,” you say. It's subtle but enough to tell him that hooking up is off the table.

That disgruntled frown appears again, and he looks genuinely offended. “I’m not here ‘cause I think I’m gonna get laid.” He explains, shrugging. “Running into you isn’t a coincidence. I was on my way to your place because I didn’t want you to be alone tonight. Jody told me where you were.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that?”

“Take it for what it is,” Dean suggests. “I’m trying.”

You can work with that. Trying to be friends sounds like just what you need. No pressure or expectations from either side, so you quickly squash the thought that it means something deeper that he’s choosing to spend time with you instead of finding a warm body to lie with.

“Okay.” You smile, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Well, can part of that trying be helping us win at beer pong?”

“Girls versus boys?”

“Obviously.”

He scoffs, “Absolutely not! And you get an extra shot for asking me to rig a sacred game.” He hands you a shot off the tray of drinks, and you knock it back.

He watches you, grinning the whole time, and you shake your head as if it will shake away the taste. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t try and soften me up, Winchester,” you warn, “I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

He shrugs, “Was worth a shot,” and walks away with the tray of drinks.

Chris and Dylan merrily call his name as he approaches, and you follow, smiling fondly.

“Now the odds are even. Prepare to go down, ladies,” Dean says, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow.

The games continued; the boys won at Beer Pong, but the girls won two rounds of darts. Once Chris and Dylan had gushed over the Impala, you said your goodbyes in the parking lot. Each of your friends hugged you. Dean got a kiss on the cheek from the ladies, and the guys gave him a firm handshake before pulling each other into a one-armed hug. It looked natural and easy, and you love how well Dean slots into the group.

You realize you’re staring as he drives, and he glances over when he feels your eyes on him. “Are we still social distancing or something?” he jokes, reaching a hand over to tug on your leg, requesting you get closer.

You oblige, sliding over the leather seat, and he slips an arm behind your shoulders to rest on the seat back. “Thank you for that,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“For what?” he asks.

“Pretending like you couldn’t hit that bullseye with your eyes closed.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be a mechanic, right? Not sure a mechanic would have perfect marksmanship.”

“If you’re not sold on the mechanic thing, you can always tell them you’ve changed your profession,” you suggest, and with a teasing wink, add, “but they all already know you’re good with your hands.”

“Would you, for once, get your mind out of the gutter?” Dean jests, “I already told you, no sex for you.”

“Sorry, Mr Winchester, sir,” you joke, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He laughs but looks out at the road. His fingers lightly brush your neck. You aren’t sure he realizes he’s doing it. When you were sleeping together, it became a thing - absentmindedly, he’d lightly stroke your skin while watching a movie or falling asleep. It's familiar and comforting, and you lay your head on his shoulder the rest of the ride home.

Dean follows you up your path, and while you search your bag for your keys, you notice him looking to the left, eyes squinting, trying to see something too far away.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, distracting him from whatever has caught his attention.

“It’s not a good idea,” he says, giving you his full focus, “I meant what I said, Y/N. I didn’t show up cause I was expecting to get laid.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered throwing caution to the wind and jumping into old habits. And you're surprised by Dean’s rejection. He could have followed your lead and taken you to bed without any objections.

“Presumptuous much?” you counter, smirking.

He smiles, all charm and smug joy, because he knows he’s right. “Don’t try and pretend you weren’t thinking about it.” He steps closer, crowding your space and gripping your hips to pull you against him. “You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

“I can stop,” you threaten, but it falls flat as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He grins, “No, you can’t,” against your lips, kissing you before you can claim otherwise.

The kiss is not hesitant; it’s deep and long, but you feel him holding back. His hands don’t roam, remaining wrapped around your waist, but he takes his time, savoring the shared warmth, each brush of your tongues, every breath shared.

Dean is the first to pull back. “I gotta go,” he swiftly kisses you again. “I told Jody I’d be there before midnight.”

“Gonna turn into a pumpkin, Winchester?”

He laughs, pecking your lips again, but then his features soften, something close to pleading, “I’m trying,” he grumbles, but you're not sure if it's to remind you or himself.

He doesn’t say exactly what it is that he’s trying, but you know he means he’s trying to do things the right way, and that’s enough. “You're doing great,” you assure.

He kisses you harder, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, and you let him in. He walks you backward until your back hits your door, and he groans when he presses himself into you. “Nope,” he scolds himself, pulling back and comically jogging away down the path, but while you're still laughing at him, he turns back. “Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You smile, and it widens to a knowing grin. You spare him the OMG shock when the realization hits you, but you do ask, “Are we dating?”

“Only if you say yes?”

“Pick me up at ten.”

He winks, unable to contain the boyish grin, and just as he opens his mouth to say something, a siren blasts, and a sheriff’s car pulls up to Baby’s bumper.

You walk a few feet to stand beside Dean as Travis, the rookie, and Luke, in plain clothes, step out of the vehicle.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean says.

Luke and Travis stand beside each other on the sidewalk but don’t approach you.

“Ten out of ten for dramatic flair,” you snark, clapping once.

“But should have done it while I was kissing her,” Dean adds, “would have been way more dramatic.”

“I think you meant douchier,” you suggest with a confused frown.

“You’re right,” Dean clicks his fingers as if you're right on the money, “I meant douchier.”

“Funny,” Luke says. “Travis, this man has been driving under the influence. Please breathalyze him.”

You put a hand on Dean’s arm to keep him in place should he decide Luke deserves another punch to the face. After all, he’s not in uniform. Travis is wise enough not to move. You're his boss. Luke has seniority over him but not over you.

“Really?” Dean sneers. “That's all you got?”

“Go home, Luke,” you tell him, “you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“So what if I am,” he says, “I just wanna talk.”

“We’ve talked,” you remind him. “You talked, I listened to your piss poor excuses, and it changed nothing.”

“We were going to get married.”

You raise your voice, “That was a reaction to your cheating! You only asked me because you felt guilty, and I only said yes because…” you cut yourself off, but Dean looks at you, knowing what you had been about to say.

“We were good together,” Luke says, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation that passed between you and Dean. “He’s just a,” Luke sneers at Dean. “What did you call it? A situationship.”

Dean tenses under your grip, and you know the comment had the intended effect. You’ll have to address it later.

Clenching his jaw, he briefly looks away before leveling a glare and taunting, “Dude, have some dignity. She’s already told you it’s over.” He practically growls his next words. “So leave.”

Luke ignores Dean, looking directly at you. “You're angry, I get it. But don’t make any rash decisions, please.” he implores.

“I was angry,” you agree, “I was furious, but now I’m indifferent. You were a rash decision, Luke, and I’m not saying that to be cruel or get back at you. It’s the truth.”

Saying those words aloud drives home your previous thoughts of why you started dating Luke. Getting engaged was a reaction to your feelings of rejection from Dean’s honesty about commitment. You release a breath as Luke’s face drops, finally seeming to understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head, blasting out a breath filled with disbelief. “We were never going to work out,” Luke realizes aloud, “you were too hung up on him.”

“Travis, I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you sigh, “but please take Luke home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luke stares for a second longer, but chooses not to say anything further, allowing Travis to usher him into the car.

Dean doesn’t move, watching the car disappear from view at the end of the street. Your heart pounds in your chest; you’ve just gotten to a good place, and now that might have all been unraveled.

Though you suspect not a lot of it is surprising to Dean. The day you told him about Luke, he’d begged you not to tell him you loved him and he was right for the assumption that you did - or do or might. You can not say it even reject the idea if anyone suggests it, but you can’t deny it to yourself. You sought out Luke to replace the emotions you felt weren’t reciprocated by Dean.

“Maybe I should take you to breakfast,” you suggest, with a nervous chuckle, “to make up for that. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you, but he’s looking you over like he’s trying to read the emotions behind the words. “You okay?”

Quickly, you reply, “Yeah, of course.”

“You sure? You look like a bit of ‘deer caught in headlights’.”

“I’m okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath. “Just a little worried that's undone all the progress we’ve made.”

“It hasn’t,” he tells you, slipping a hand on your hip and pulling you into him. “This situationship can handle an ex-situationship.”

You grimace, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, nonplussed, “Don’t be. I’ve been called worse.”

He silences your next apology with a deep kiss and slowly, seemingly reluctantly, pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at ten for breakfast.”

You're rambling again. Since Valentine’s Day, it’s been happening a lot. Dean knows why you're doing it. He can see it in your expression every time you catch yourself and stutter over the words, changing it to something else and hoping he doesn’t notice.

The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, Dean thought he misheard you. You were both breathing heavily, your thighs pressed against his ears, holding him in place, writhing while you rode his tongue. He watched your face as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your body twitched, and your climax coated his tongue and wet the sheets, “I love yo…when you do that.”

Three days ago, after a double date with Sara and Dylan, Dean woke you up in bed with coffee and French toast. Still in the haze of sleep, you smiled contentedly, and it almost slipped out. “I love…” you coughed to cut yourself off, correcting it as you sat up, “I love French toast.” But he could see it in eyes, the adoration tainted with the fear of saying it aloud.

‘I love you’ is on the tip of your tongue, and it almost escaped a moment ago.

A car accident had kept you late at work, so the dinner reservations had to be canceled, but Dean wouldn’t let it ruin the night. He’d ordered pizza, knowing you’d be starving when you got home, run a bubble bath (with the ulterior motive of joining you), popped open a bottle of your favorite wine - he hated it, thought it tasted like vinegar - and was waiting in the middle of the living room for you with the glass in hand.

Taking the glass from him, you lazily kissed him. He could feel how tired you were. Listlessly, you mumbled, “Oh god, I love yo…” but had stifled it so quickly that the rim of the glass clinked against your teeth.

Clearly unable to think of an alternative, you began rambling about your day while unnecessarily blitzing around the already clean kitchen with a dishcloth.

He wants you to say it. He figured out how he felt about you when it finally sunk in after you’d told him you’d met someone else. It was more than physical, and it always had been. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much when you told him about Luke.

He hasn’t said the words to you, but you have to know that’s how he feels. He told you he’s trying. Although, there haven’t been any conversations about exactly what that entails. He’s been more communicative. He’s made future plans - okay, only a week or so ahead at any given time, but that tells you all you need to know, right?

But the way you keep avoiding the phrase sets off a little ripple in his heart. Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll hightail it out the door like last time if you say it aloud. Maybe he needs to expand his communication skills. He says your name softly, but you either don’t hear him or pretend not to, afraid of what comes after.

“I should get you a key cut,” you blabber in. “Save you having to pick the lock next time I’m not home. Don’t want the neighbors calling it in. Mrs Brooks next door is always twitching her curtains.”

He tries again, “Y/N,” louder this time.

“I need to put a load of laundry in,” you say, striding into the laundry room.

“I did it already,” he calls after you.

“I’ll put it in the dryer then.”

He follows, trapping you inside the smaller space so you have no choice but to turn and face him.

“The laundry is done and folded in the basket in your room.” he continues, speaking to your back. “The kitchen is clean. Pizza is on the way. The bath should still be hot.”

You finally look up at him, and there’s that apprehensive smile again, but your eyes are aglow with the words you chew your lip to suppress.

“Just say it,” he sighs, trying to hide his smile.

“Say what?”

He steps closer, crowding your space and using a gentle touch to tilt your head up to keep your eyes on his. “You know what.” He smirks, teasing, “You can’t bite your tongue forever. So just say you love me.”

“I wasn’t biting…” you stammer, “I never…I only meant I was going to get a key cut for you. I didn’t mean anything….”

“Would you please, shut up?” He silences your rambling with a hard kiss, grabbing your hips and hoisting you to sit on top of the dryer. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sigh placidly, but he pulls back and grins, “I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

You drop your gaze, avoiding eye contact. “Please don’t.”

He notes your avoidance of looking at him, and panic sets in that maybe he’s got it wrong, again. But he hopes he’s right, so he chuckles, “giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

You shake your head, “No. I don’t need to hear it, and you don’t have to say it ‘cause you think it's what I want to hear.”

“That’s not what…” he tries, but you raise your voice to speak over him.

“Dean, please!” you wait for him to close his mouth. “I like how things are now, and I don’t want to jinx it or have to watch your ass run for the door again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “it will be different this time.”

“We’ve been through this already. I don’t want promises, and we don’t need to open old wounds.”

“I get why you’re…”

The doorbell interrupts him, and you use the excuse to push him aside as you jump down and scurry out of the room.

He leans against the doorframe facing into the kitchen and listens to you thank the delivery guy. You must have given a generous tip because he thanks you multiple times as you say goodbye to him.

The click of the door closing echoes, and he waits for you to appear, but you don’t. He imagines you standing in the hallway, trying to calm yourself.

He waits, counting the seconds in his head with the promise that he’ll go find you if he reaches thirty.

At fifteen, you enter, eyes glued to the floor, pizza balanced like a cocktail waitress. “I’m gonna go take that bath,” you tell him. “Hopefully, it's still warm.”

You’re assuming the conversation is over. Only it isn’t. At least, not for him. He hasn’t been working up to it. He’s never had a grand plan for the first time he says it, but now he knows he needs to say it so you understand and believe him.

Silently, he watches you put a few slices of pizza on a plate - so he presumes he’s not invited to the bubble bath. The stopper gives an audible pop when you pull it from the wine bottle, like an exclamation point on his thoughts.

He clears his throat and proclaims, “I love you.”

The only indication that you heard him is your frozen state, bottle tipped, ready to pour into your glass.

“It took me too long to figure that out, but I do. And saying it or not saying it out loud isn’t going to change a damn thing.”

You continue to pour the wine into your glass but don’t turn to face him, recorking the bottle and resting against the countertop.

You haven’t run away, so he continues, “I always knew we were good together, but now I see that we have a whole future of being good together, not just the here and now.”

Hesitantly, he stalks closer to you, watching you take a large gulp of the red liquid. You must hear his approach because you turn around but jump slightly at his proximity.

“I’m ready to move forward,” he confesses, “and I want to do it with you.”

“Are you done?” you ask, finally looking up at him with a teasing but joyful smirk under a shy gaze. “You’re on a roll there. I just want to be sure before I say anything.”

He laughs but shakes his head once, “Nope.” He takes the glass from your hand and puts it beside the bottle. “One more thing,” he leans in closer, tilting your chin up, lips whispering over yours, “I love you.”

You chase his lips as he pulls back, “C’mon, you know you want to,” he teases, making no attempt to hide his smugness. He’s got you right where he wants you. “Just say you love me.”

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Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

#dean winchester #jacklesversebingo23 #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #female reader #dean winchester angst #spn fanfic #angst #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x you #you x dean winchester

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

Text

One Night.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, sexual references, angst, heartbreak, insecurity.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "You spend the night with Thorin, and then out of insecurity, you leave him." Requested by @lathalea. Timeframe of post-BOTFA requested by @sotwk

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin was lay beside you, his breathing slow. You watched his chest rise and fall. His dark eyelashes fluttered and his eyes moved beneath their lids. He had fallen asleep not long after your final round of love making.

You sighed. He was so beautiful, and didn’t even know it.

The night had become full of tension, which had followed his coronation celebration. Of course you attended, being a close friend of the new king. For many months and you had travelled alongside him, helping and fighting for him to re-take the mountain kingdom of Erebor. Thorin had taken you aside, complimenting you on your attire for the celebration, his blue eyes alight for you. Your first kiss had been outside the main hall, in a cold, empty hallway. Everything else that had followed was back in his bed chamber. The two of you had snuck away, hand in hand, still stealing secret kisses along the hallways.

Never before had you ever been touched in such a way as how Thorin touched you. His hot skin sent intense vibrations through you. His gaze made your heart thunder, and pulsate in other parts of your body, acknowledging just how aroused you were. His voice made sighs slip off your tongue so effortlessly.

You kept your eyes on him as he slept, recollecting the beautiful memories of him opening his heart, soul and body to you. When he had first slipped inside you, he had been over you, his large hands holding your legs open. You had welcomed him so freely in those moments. However, in your second round of pleasure seeking, you had climbed on top of him. He was laid out beneath you, vulnerable, offering it all. Those hands had been clamped on your hips, guiding your movement as the two of you ascended higher towards that wonderful, earth shattering climax. The third and final time, Thorin had been behind you. His lips remained on your neck and shoulder, showing you that even when he could not see your face, he still adored you and admired your beauty.

This was all wrong. Thorin was the most amazing man you had ever met. And you were just mediocre. Nothing special or of substantial value. You looked upon his sleeping form, studying his slim lips which peeped from beneath his moustache. His beard was neatly trimmed, despite him now growing it longer after reclaiming Erebor. That was a promise he had made many years ago. Once the mountain was re-claimed and he would grow his beard back long, as was custom with the Longbeard Dwarves.

Slowly, and you slipped out of bed. There was an ache in your chest. You loved Thorin so much more than you could ever express, but you were not worthy of his hand. A royal Dwarf deserved someone of standing and position, not a commoner like yourself.

Tears fell down your cheeks, reminding you of the man you were originally pledged to many years ago. He had told you he loved you, showered you with gifts, but made it known through his behaviour that you meant very little to him. His actions did not speak louder than his words. And, of course, his attention then swept elsewhere. Thorin would no doubt do the same. Such a beautiful soul would never cherish you and mean it! If this man from your past could not love you, then surely Thorin couldn’t either.

But you had never been touched, kissed and made love to in such a way as that! Every movement made you quake beneath Thorin’s touch, and his whispers of adoration made you shiver. Maybe he just knew how to please women and had rehearsed the words many times.

You re-dressed and slipped out of the chamber, giving Thorin one last glance. The ache hit you hard once again and you placed your hand on your mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs.

The halls were quiet and dark, with only the faint light of torchlight guiding your way. And by the time you made it back to your room, you grabbed a quill, ink and parchment. Your hand shook as you tried to write, which meant that your normally laced handwriting became more squiggled. A tear fell onto the parchment, splashing, and caused a swirl of black ink to form under your signature.

***

Thorin woke, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. He looked up at the ceiling of the room and sighed, recollecting the evening before. And as soon as he saw your face in his mind’s eye, he turned to see you had disappeared. He called your name into the gloom.

A dread hit him and his stomach twisted into a hard knot. Something was wrong.

Why would you disappear like this? Even though you could have just slipped back to your own bed chamber, Thorin felt something in the depth of his very being that told him that he would not find you there.

Thorin pulled on a robe, tying it at his waist, and made his way to your room, his mind full of questions. He didn’t even knock as he got to your door and let himself in, finding the room empty. A lump swelled in his throat. He approached your desk. A candle had been lit, and there under the flickering light, was a piece of parchment.

My dearest Thorin,

I cannot remain here. I do not belong. I will never be enough for you, my love. Go and find happiness. May Mahal bless you.

The letter was simple.

Thorin crumpled the letter in his hands, feeling a whole array of emotion wash over him. Terror and frustration seemed to form the knot in his stomach, which was now gaining momentum. Only the night before and Thorin had been on the verge of offering everything to you, a life together. That was all Thorin wanted. You, in every way. He thought that you had been willing to give yourself to him. You had even told him you loved him, shivered at his touch, become undone beneath him. The two of you had panted, sweat, groaned against each other. How could he just let all of that go?

He would not let you go.

He could not.

***

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The Hobbit tag list: @flowerniche

#richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #Thorin #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin x You #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield Fic #The Hobbit Fic

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 3 months

Note

hi!! I love your stories! 💞 Could you please write a fluffy Donna x maid, where the maid is already starting to develop feelings for Donna (unbeknownst to our favourite doll maker lmao), maybe causing her to be a bit more clumsy and flustered than she usually is. Which makes her end up injuring herself somehow (nothing serious but still enough to make Donna concerned) and when Donna is patching her up maybe that's when she has this realization "oh shit, I think I like her"

have a great day/night!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Your clumsy love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: fluff, insecurities…

Word count: 5,511

Summary: Your love is starting to make you so clumsy…

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

“On second thought, maybe I need a maid…”

That phrase had been going through your head over and over again for a while. The softness of her low, husky voice was something you couldn't get out of your mind.

You, an ordinary girl from the village, raised and educated to serve, were lucky.

You could have ended up like so many of your friends, in the Dimitrescu castle, maybe in the reservoir or in that horrible factory, but no. Your skills were average, nothing extraordinary, nothing the Lords were dying to have. Lady Dimitrescu had more maids than she could handle with, Lord Moreau had no maids, but experiments, and Heisenberg, well, better not to think about what he was doing in that horrible place.

You only had two options left: resign yourself and wait your turn in the castle, or try something that seemed impossible: enter the depths of the forest, into the lands of the most mysterious Lord, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

No one in the village was able to tell you exactly what she looked like. You had heard legends, you had seen those porcelain dolls in many people's homes, but no one who had gotten close to Donna had been able to return. You were always reckless.

A monster, a giant and evil doll, the worst visions of your past... What you expected to find when you arrived at that waterfall had nothing to do with what was really there. There was a woman, a seemingly normal one, but with a certain mystery, and a living doll.

She was not a monster, nor a fish, nor a madman, nor a vampire. She was just a woman dressed completely in black, with her face covered by a veil and little desire for company.

Crazy, deranged, dangerous... The adjectives that the villagers gave to the Lord should be more than enough to make you fear for your life, but you didn't. Maybe Mother Miranda was looking out for you, or maybe not. To get Donna to hire you as her maid, her only maid, was not difficult for you.

If you could summarize your first weeks on the estate, only one word was in your head: Silence.

Sometimes you had the sensation of cleaning an empty house, of cooking for a ghost, a wandering spirit that passed by you from time to time, without saying a word, without looking at you.

At least you weren't Moreau's experiment.

That comfort accompanied you every night when you got into bed and reflected on the situation you found yourself in. Donna wasn't complaining. She wasn't talking to you. To her, it was almost as if you didn't exist. The Angie doll only served as a reminder that you had not lost your mind, that you had not disappeared. No, you were there. You were a maid, her maid.

Over time, seeing that ghost in mourning became a hobby for you. You knew her routines, her schedules. Without realizing it, you began to become addicted to the way she walked, to the air that lifted her dress whens he passed by you. Maybe it was due to the flowers, or maybe it was boredom. You didn't know and you didn't want to know either.

But everything changed the night your mistress suffered a terrible nervous breakdown. Okay, the villagers weren't lying. Her mind was troubled and hurt, but at least she was no longer alone. Thinking that you, only you, were the only person who could help her calm down began to make you feel important, indispensable.

Calming words, soft songs and a warm bath… That was your way of acting with Donna's loss of connection with the real world. The veil on her face disappeared at that moment and you, who had already imagined that woman in the portrait as a horrible monster, had to bite your tongue. No, she wasn't a monster, she was beautiful and you were dying to tell her.

“My lady, are you feeling better?” You asked, helping the lady in black out of the bathtub. No, it was definitely not the time for your eyes to wander over her body, but they couldn't help but do so.

Donna simply nodded, letting you wrap a towel around her as sobs remained the only sounds she made.

“Thank you...” It wasn't your imagination. It was a whisper coming from her lips.

For some reason that word made something inside you stir. But then again, it wasn't the time to think about those chills you felt when you were around her.

Carefully, you sat the lady in front of a mirror. Her gaze was fixed on the floor while you did what you thought you had to do.

“Is it okay if I comb your hair, my lady? I can leave you alone if you want,” you asked kindly, with an almost motherly voice. Donna shook her head and grabbed your wrist tightly, too tightly.

“Don't leave me alone, or they will catch me,” she said with a trembling voice, with a scared expression and her body still trembling under that towel.

You could have tried to reason with her, make her see that there was no one there or anyone who could harm her, that she was safe. You didn’t do it. A horrible feeling passed through your body, the feeling charged with adrenaline and courage that made you imagine a possible scenario in which something threatened your mistress and... Well, that you were the only one who could save her. You definitely needed to rethink the things you were feeling.

“No one will harm you, my lady. Not while I'm here,” you said, raising her head slightly so she was looking at the mirror as you grabbed a brush from the dresser.

“Really?” She asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, flashing a smile.

“Really,” you confirmed, smiling too, placing her black hair behind her shoulders and combing it delicately.

While you did so, you hummed a song, the same one that had managed to calm her inconsolable crying. It was a strange moment, but a relaxing one.

“Why do you call me my lady?” She asked with a soft voice, making you stop, with your cheeks blushing.

“Because I’m your maid,” you said in a soft voice, finishing arranging her hair correctly.

“I don't like it,” she said with a more severe tone, frowning.

“No? Well, I… I can style your hair differently if you want,” you said confused. She shook her head, taking your wrist again.

“No. I don't like it when you call me my lady,” she explained, releasing your hand and lowering her head again.

“Oh, okay...” You said, scratching the back of your neck, confused. “Do you prefer Lady Beneviento?”

“Do you know what the castle maids call their mistress?” She asked, covering herself better with the towel, as if she had just realized how exposed she was. You opened your mouth to say something, but you realized it.

“Lady Dimitrescu, I guess,” you said with an amused tone. Donna nodded slowly.

“Do I look like her?” the lady asked, confusing you even more.

“The truth is that... Not much,” you said embarrassed, afraid that it wasn't the answer she was expecting.

“Well, don't call me like her,” she said sternly, with a hard and cold expression, far from the subtle smile of a few moments ago.

“Okay... I'm sorry,” you apologized, starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Would you like her to call you maid?” She asked again, squeezing her towel with white knuckles. You, not really knowing what to do, shook your head.

“I prefer (Y/N),” you said, almost in a whisper.

“I prefer Donna,” she whispered, looking at you through the mirror. You nodded.

“Okay, Donna…”

After that night everything changed. No, nothing changed.

Your mistress was still a wandering soul with whom you barely collided. Her black veil covered her face again as if it were a cruel irony. When she was weak, scared or disturbed, she didn't care about you looking at her face. When she was calm, her complexes were too much for her. Curious.

It only took one more week for everything to change. Apparently that wandering soul was no longer so wandering. When you finished your tasks, reading was the only thing you could do. The solitude and tranquility of the sound of the waterfall were drowned out by the sound of her heels on the wood. Like a helpless animal, studying the terrain before approaching, Donna began to read with you, far from you at first and increasingly closer.

“Where are you going?” Donna asked when you served her food.

Normally she ate alone, so she ordered it to you. That day her words made you stop in place, turning slowly towards the lady in black, already without her black veil.

“I…I…” you stammered. “Well, it's time to eat and…”

“Sit down, please,” Donna asked kindly, pointing with her hand to the chair in front of her.

You weren't used to that, but you accepted, fearful. There was a moment of tension. You were there, sitting, not really knowing what to do. Donna ate quietly, as if you weren't there, until she put the spoon in the soup and looked up.

“Why are you still here?” She asked without looking at your face, with an accusatory tone.

“What?” You asked, with your forehead sweaty as your legs trembled, endangering the plates on the table. “Sorry but... I don't understand the question. You asked me to…”

“No, (Y/N), why are you still my maid?” The lady asked again, with her gaze colder, as if she were analyzing your expression.

“Why not?” You asked involuntarily, too abruptly.

“Don't you have eyes on your face? Look at me...” She said with a sharp voice, with anger in her eye.

“I…I…”

“I'm a monster,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Why do you want to continue working for a monster?”

“You're not a monster, Donna,” you said with a serious tone, frowning.

“Do you know why I have never had maids?” The doll maker asked, leaning on the table, with that studious look not wanting to move from yours.

You didn't respond. You just shook your head.

“Because when they saw how I am... They ran away,” she explained, her voice cracking and her knuckles white again.

“What nonsense,” you said, a bit nervous.

“Does it seem nonsense to you?” She asked, leaning back.

“No, Well... I mean that... You are, you are a beautiful woman,” you stuttered, noticing the heat that your blush caused on your cheeks.

“Liar,” she said, looking away from you.

“It's not a lie,” you said, searching your mind for a way to fix that situation. “My uncle Iulian, that was a real monster.”

“Your uncle?” She asked curiously, with a strange look. You nodded.

“Yes, well... He had a huge nose. I remember that when he had to take care of me I avoided looking at his shadow on the wall. I thought that one day he would be able to absorb me,” you said erratically.

“Absorb you,” the woman in black repeated, confused by your ramblings.

“Yes, you know...” you said, making a sniffing gesture with your nose and smiling innocently. Donna stared at you and raised her eyebrow.

Just when you were about to faint from your clumsiness with words, Lady Beneviento's face changed, she relaxed and her mouth began to form a smile.

That smile came a wider one and her body shook as a shy laugh filled the walls of the room. It didn't seem like something so stupid would amuse your lady, but apparently, it did, and quite a bit.

Hearing her laughing, really laughing, was one of the reasons why your feelings became more and more confused.

From that moment on, as if it had been some kind of psychological barrier that had been broken down with a comment and an absurd joke, the relationship between you and Donna changed, changed completely.

There was no longer a trace of the veil and it was much more common to see her smile with anything you said. Everything seemed fine, correct. Your work and your integrity were not in danger, but there was something that was, your mind.

Every night you imagined her face, her smile, her voice... It was your particular way of sleeping, wishing to dream of her once again, to be able to see her in your dreams. You didn't need to wish it. Donna had been accompanying you in them for a long time, always with that smile, with that look. You were already lost, unable to think why of all the people you knew, you had to fall in love with her.

Like an addict denying its problem, your conscience told you over and over again that it wasn't love, just friendship, or attachment. That your loneliness had made the need to be loved coincide with the lady in black; just attachment, nothing else.

To acknowledge it would be to admit that you had lost your mind, it would be to admit that it hurt you to think about living without her. You were addicted to Donna, and you were unable to even admit it.

“Tea time, stupid!” A shrill scream made you grimace in disgust. Of course, the Angie doll was always there to interrupt you in your downtime, to interrupt your reading, a reading in which the characters were no longer themselves. You and Donna were the protagonists of the books, you and your impossible love that always came true.

“Yes, yes, I'm coming...” You said sighing and leaving the book at the best part, in which they were finally, or rather, you and Donna were going to kiss each other.

While you boiled the water, you kept thinking about that story, about that kiss. You wondered what it would be like to kiss her, what it would be like to have that intoxicating lavender perfume so close to you. You no longer only dreamed about her while you were sleeping, you had taken to doing it while awake as well.

“Excuse me. I'll bring you tea,” you said, carrying the tray into the workshop where your mistress spent the time. She left her work and looked at you with that smile, with that damn smile.

“Thank you, (Y/N), you're always so punctual,” she said amused, moving away from the table so you could leave the tray on it.

With your heart beating fast and your hands trembling, you did so, quickly retreating before you got lost in the sensation of your dress brushing against hers.

“Well, with Angie it's hard not to be,” you joked, pulling back and putting your hands together in front of your body in a politely way.

Donna laughed, shaking her head.

“Yes, I guess you're right,” she said amused, looking at the cup you had served her and frowning.

“There is something wrong?” You asked nervously, looking over her shoulder to try to make out the source of her strange look.

“No, there's nothing wrong, (Y/N). Or rather, there is nothing,” Donna whispered, gesturing for you to come closer.

You obeyed, making a superhuman effort to move your legs. You almost had a fit when you saw where the problem was.

“Oh, wow... I...” You said embarrassed, checking how there was only hot water in that cup. Not a trace of tea.

“Normally tea is darker, don't you think?” Donna said with a normal tone, but inevitably amused, at your expense.

“Yes, I... Oh, I don't know what I was thinking... I'm so sorry,” you said, hurriedly grabbing the cup, accidentally causing your hand to collide with hers. The soft touch of her skin on yours was more than enough to make you freeze in place, even more so when Donna didn't seem to want to let your hand go.

“Calm down, (Y/N). I like hot water,” she said without taking her eyes off yours, without taking her hand away from yours. You wouldn't be able to tell if the caress you noticed was your imagination or if, on the contrary, it really happened.

Surely you had imagined it. You had been imagining things like that for too long.

“No, please, I… Oh, come on, let me make you some real tea,” you said hastily. Donna removed the cup from your hand, setting it down on the table and looking at you curiously.

“It's not necessary,” she said softly, stirring the water with a spoon. “If you bring me a slice of lemon I will be happy to drink it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to make the red tone of your cheeks fade a bit.

“I... Okay, okay,” you muttered before turning around and disappearing from the workshop, cursing under your breath about your sudden clumsiness.

The following days were no better. That clumsiness continued to manifest itself. Broken vases, smashed dishes, silly knocks against furniture… Everything inevitably coincided with the presence of your mistress, with a greeting, with a kind word. Whenever Donna was around, your body did everything it could to embarrass you.

It was already too much to bear and finally, during one of those nights of imagining your love story, you took the first step to cure your addiction, admit it.

“I'm in love with you...” You whispered, covering yourself with the sheets. No one was there to hear you confess an irremediable truth, only the dim light of the moon and the old walls of the house. You wished that whisper had reached her ears. You needed it before you completely lost your mind.

“Hello, (Y/N), I hope I’m not bothering you,” Donna said, interrupting one of the many fantasies you imagined with her while you were cooking. Out of shock, you put a hand on your chest and turned around.

“Oh, Donna, you’ve scared me,” you said nervously, frustrated because, every time you imagined your love story, you never got to kiss her, there was always something that interrupted it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,” she said politely, moving closer to you.

“Did you want something?” You asked, brushing off your apron to avoid looking at that glowing smile, to stop daydreaming.

“No, I was just coming to see you,” she replied, leaning on the counter casually.

“Oh, I…” You said, embarrassed again, playing with your apron. No, (Y/N), it's not what you think. It will never be what you think.

“What are you cooking?” She asked, looking at the oven with curiosity.

“Well, I... I was making...” You said proudly, noticing an unbearable itch in your throat, which led to a horrible cough.

Suddenly, your vision cleared, or rather, darkened due to the black smoke that you began to make out in the kitchen. How long have you been fantasizing?

“Oh, shit... No, no, no,” you said hurriedly, opening the oven and checking that there was no food, but a tray with something black on it. “Oh, no…”

“It looks like you burned it,” the lady in black joked while you removed that culinary aberration with the help of a couple of rags.

You lowered your head in shame and nodded.

“I'm so sorry...” You murmured, wanting to cry and scream at the same time, which intensified when you noticed a hand on your shoulder and the smell of lavender very close to you.

“(Y/N), you've been a little distracted lately, is there something worrying you?” Donna asked, with that softness that made you lose your mind again.

As expected, your body saved you again, shaking your head.

“No, I... I guess, I guess it's a rough patch... I'm so sorry, Donna, I'll prepare something else for you right away,” you said, suppressing the urge you had to kick the oven. The woman in black laughed amused at your erratic attitude and her grip on your shoulder intensified.

“Don't worry, we all have bad days. Let me cook today,” she said, amused, with that shyness that her smile always revealed. In a movement too quick for you to enjoy, she untied your apron, putting it on herself.

“Oh, no, no, no. This… No, that's not right,” you said, grabbing her arms, nervous and embarrassed. She looked at you curiously. “I mean, no, you don't have to cook... That, that's my job.”

“Tell me, (Y/N), who am I?” She asked with her eye shining with amusement.

“You? Well…”

“Who are you to me?” She asked again, taking a frying pan from its hook.

You would have liked to say so many things... But, unfortunately, there was only one possible answer.

“Your, your maid...” You sighed, unable to hide the tone of disappointment implicit in your words.

“Correct, (Y/N), and what do maids do when their mistress asks them for something?”

“Obey...” You murmured, looking away from her, confused, nervous, and madly in love.

“Exactly, so obey me and bring me some tomatoes. Then, go to rest,” she ordered you.

Again, again your mind playing tricks on you. In your progressive madness, you had gotten used to imagining gestures of affection, caresses, kisses on the cheek… But, that time, when her hand went up to your face, passing over it quickly, but noticeably, you began to doubt whether it had really happened, or whether you were beginning to have difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasies.

“Come on, (Y/N), you have to forget about that. It's never going to happen. You are the only girl in the village who is attracted to women, what makes you think that she...? Oh, I think, I think I’m going to have a heart attack...” You mumbled, walking from one side of the house to the other as you eagerly awaited lunch.

The noise of the elevator made you stop talking to yourself. You were starting to do dangerous things. You didn't know when the Angie doll was stalking you, if she had heard your words. You were so, so in love.

“Here, buon appetito,” the woman in black said, placing a steaming plate in front of you. The smell of that pasta made you close your eyes. Maybe it was because of hunger, or maybe it was because you were going to eat something she had made.

“Wow, that's...” You murmured, contemplating the unknown mastery your mistress had in the kitchen as she poured you a glass of wine. “It looks excellent.”

“I hope you like it, (Y/N),” she said, smiling at your amazement.

“I didn't know you knew how to cook. I mean, I… Well, I have friends in the castle and according to them anything resembling a kitchen is unknown to the Dimitrescu family,” you said, dipping your fork into the food, to see if it was as good as it looked.

Donna laughed with a blush on her cheek due to your compliment. That shy giggle was going to finish you off.

“I can confirm that it’s true,” she said amused, watching how you devoured what she had prepared for you.

“It's... I don't know how to describe it... It's delicious,” you sighed, with a mixture of satisfaction and shame. “You are very good at cooking.”

“I learned when I was very young. I guess when you're so alone it's a good way to spend the time,” she explained, now in a more normal tone.

“Compared to this, my cooking is mediocre,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don't say that. I like the things you cook,” she said, interrupting your self-pity. “Believe me, if I didn't like them, I wouldn't have let you set a foot in my kitchen.”

“I guess that's good...” You said, smiling at those kind words.

“Of course,” she said, nodding.

The meal passed calmly, too calmly.

Your feelings were already burning in your chest, dying to come out or disappear. Your clumsiness was still the protagonist in your life and your nervousness at being so close to her worsened to such a point that you were unable to stop shaking in her presence. Luckily, Donna didn't seem to notice that.

“Would you like to take a walk with me? It's a wonderful day” That phrase, that proposition, was the last straw.

You, who were clearing the table, froze, rooted to the ground with trembling hands.

“A walk?” You asked, sounding too calm, having learned to hide your feelings with your voice. A shame you couldn't do it with your body.

The woman in black nodded, helping you with the plates.

“Yes, I would like to show you the grounds,” she said in an indifferent tone. Donna was oblivious to what that proposal meant to you, unfortunately.

Your body trembled before that smiling gaze and your hands became weak, causing, with a loud and unpleasant crash, the plates you were carrying in your hand to fall to the floor breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Ah!” You shouted, scared and of course, embarrassed again. “I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you said hastily, bending down to pick up the pieces.

Donna approached worried. You didn't know if it was because of the dishes, or because of the nervous breakdown you were about to have.

“(Y/N)...” She murmured with a soft voice, a hand on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” You repeated over and over again, unable to control your nerves. You spent too much time being clumsy, doing things wrong. Just thinking that at any moment Donna would fire you made your heart and stomach clench.

“Wait, (Y/N),” she said, grabbing your wrist as you stood up to disappear from the room as soon as possible.

“Don’t, don't fire me, please... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...” You sobbed, not being able to control your emotions.

“What are you taking about? Your arm, you're hurt...” Donna whispered, forcing you not to pull her grip and showing you the reason for her concern.

You hadn't realized it, but one of the pieces cut your arm. The wetness of the blood on your dress and the sting of the wound had gone completely unnoticed by you.

“Angie, bring the first aid kit,” the lady in black said, taking the pieces that you were carrying in your hand and leaving them on the table, dragging you to a sofa.

“No, it's okay. I'm fine,” you said, wiping away your tears as your mistress lifted the sleeve of your dress, revealing the terrible cut.

“No, (Y/N), I'm going to heal you,” she said sternly, turning to the small briefcase her doll brought.

“I'm, I'm useless...” You sobbed, repressing the sting of the alcohol on your wound, crying, not because of the pain, but because of your attitude, for letting your feelings turn you into clumsiness personified.

“Don't say that,” Donna whispered, gently cleaning your wound.

“Yes, I am... Lately I've been doing nothing but... Screwing things up,” you said, now letting out a bit of your frustration. “You must think I'm stupid...”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she said dryly, without looking away from your wound.

Silence reigned again, reminding you of those early days when Donna, your Donna, was nothing but a ghost to you.

Your wound, now clean and disinfected, was no longer the center of attention of the brunette, who, with her caresses, walked around it, with a lost gaze, as if she had disconnected her mind and was wandering freely, letting herself go. .

“Forgive me, Donna...” You said, calmer. “I’m not fit to be your maid.”

She didn't respond, just shook her head. Her expression was different, sad but curious at the same time. Her hand left your skin to lift your chin slightly, making your gazes coincide.

You didn't say, you didn't do anything, you just got lost in her gaze, in her bright eye, in the warmth of her skin against yours. It was a moment like those you had dreamed of. You even thought that at any moment you were going to wake up.

“I don't want you to go,” she whispered, abandoning your chin and cupping your cheek with her hand.

You were left breathless, enjoying that sensation, that affection that you longed for so much. They were still fantasies, but, for some reason, that seemed very real to you, too real.

“I don't know why you would want to have a maid like me...” You said shaking your head, letting your hand join hers, causing a timid gasp from the woman in black, but that didn't stop her from continuing her caresses.

“Why would you want to be my maid?” She asked back. It seemed like an innocent, reassuring question, but it wasn't at all. You knew her expressions. Something, there was something that was tormenting her.

“Because I...” You said, closing your eyes again, losing yourself in her soft caresses, in her lavender scent. “I wouldn't know what to do if I'm not with you.”

“Do you like being here with me?” She asked again, this time, removing her hand.

You had already begun an inevitable descent to your doom. At least you could say that you wouldn't lose without trying. Simply taking a breath, you nodded.

“I always wait to see you appear through the door, to see you smile. I think of absurd questions or conversations just so I can hear your voice, Donna...” You confessed, feeling an intoxicating relief at expressing what you felt, or trying to.

Lady Beneviento sighed in confusion, looking at you curiously, as if an undeniable truth had fallen right on her shoulders.

“Do I make you feel those things?” She asked, like a little girl curious about the world around her. She couldn't be that naive, could she?

“Just look at you,” you said, angry for being unable to confess your love clearly, for being unable to make her understand that you loved her in a subtle way. No, with Donna that would never work. She blinked in confusion. “You are, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and… I… I…”

“Do you think I'm beautiful?” She asked with a shy smile crossing her face.

You simply nodded. She looked at you again, with a strange expression, as if she were scared of something.

“Stop...looking at me like that,” you said, feeling how your chest was burning with rage, how you had complicated that situation on your own, waiting for rejection, the final blow to your little maid adventure.

“I like looking at you,” she said, frowning, defensively. “You are beautiful too.”

“What?” You asked confused, startled by that unexpected statement.

“You know what? When, when I saw that you were hurt, I... I, I felt bad,” Donna said, stammering, lowering her hand to take yours, to play with it on her nervousness. “Just imagining that something bad could happen to you... I, I've gotten very nervous.”

“Donna...” You whispered, not understanding her words, not understanding why she had not left you when you confessed your love, well, when you tried to confess it to her.

“I thought it was just... Just a strange feeling for being so alone but... When, when you told me what you felt... I realized that I feel the same way about you.”

“The same? I don't believe it,” you said sobbing, wanting to end that torture, wanting to leave the estate and never return.

“Sometimes I imagine how... What it would be like... to kiss you,” she whispered in a low voice, with her sweaty hand still playing with yours. That made you open your eyes suddenly.

“I imagine it too,” you said, with an involuntary smile crossing your face.

“I'd like to stop imagining it,” she said, leaning towards you, fear still shining in her eye.

“Please...” You said, unable to hold back your tears.

The distance between you slowly closed. Your lips rested on hers, staying there, without moving, enjoying the wet contact, the sensations that you imagined so much, that you fantasized about so much. It wasn't a romantic or passionate kiss. It was a chaste and simple kiss that didn't last long, but it was enough to make your body want more, many more.

“I'm in love with you, Donna...” You confessed, still very close to her lips, caressing her hair lovingly, like that time you helped her when she lost her nerve.

“I've never felt this way about anyone...” She whispered, inadvertently ignoring your confession. “I couldn't tell you if I'm in love with you.”

That was enough for you to relax, to think that maybe you were wrong and that your fantasies would soon come true.

“Kiss me again, please...” You begged, pulling your head so that your lips collided again, this time more intensely, moving, caressing each other.

Donna pulled away slowly, squeezing her eye shut tightly, staying close to you, but not kissing you, as if she had just had a revelation.

“What's wrong?” You asked, worried that you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

“If it is love what I’m feeling, I want it to never end.”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #oneshot #re8 donna #re8 village #requests

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vivi-snow · 1 year

Text

PLEASE LET ME GO

Gojo Satoru x f! reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••Summary: You had enough of Satoru’s teasing antics. He didn’t realize that you were actually hurting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••Reminders: teasing, high school setting, popular student! Gojo,

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧••a/n: this is a complete draft. No edits, no proofing. Sorry in advance for the mistakes and for the terrible English since it’s not my first language. Also, this is my first time writing emotionally so idk if it’s good.

Word count: 1.5k

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It has always been like this. Whenever yours and Satoru’s paths cross, he would seize the opportunity to make fun of everything you have.

Over time, your insecurities become more severe. Every outfit you wear, every book you read, every activity you do, he always has something negative to say about it. Every time you report his behaviors to the teachers, he would act all innocent and insist it was a joke.

“hey!” his voice pierced through your ears the moment you heard it. You paid no attention as you read your book on the basketball court trying not to retaliate.

“Hey!!!” his voice sounded closer than it was before. His footsteps echoed throughout the court, even though your whole class was there, he just had to pick you to annoy.

“Watcha’ readin’?” he yanked the book from you and decided to look at it. He’s not even reading the book. He’s just flipping through the pages as he’s trying to get a reaction from you.

You rolled your eyes in irritation and took the book from him. You gathered up your belongings and prepared to leave the court when he gripped your wrist tightly, stopping you from your tracks and almost making you fall from imbalance.

“What’s the rush? I’m just trying to communicate with you.” He lowered his sunglasses a bit and anticipated your reaction.

You noticed your whole class has been staring at the both of you- some even whispering. If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s gossip and rumors spreading. You can’t even defend yourself with it because people see it as an excuse, and this very situation you’re in, is a perfect breeding ground for it.

You tried pulling your hand, you tried shaking it, you even tried loosening his grip by using your other hand. He won’t budge, and he is still looking at you with those eyes.

Those damn blue eyes.

He started walking towards the exit door, his hand still gripping your wrist, you were forced to follow him since you had no escape.

“Satoru!!!” a voice called. “Where are you going?” Suguru asked from a distance.

“On a date!” Satoru answered with a mischievous smile.

Suguru replied with the same smile and continued his dribbling. It seemed he couldn’t care less about the situation.

Satoru walked outside the court and into the hallways of the school, his hand still gripping your wrist. The whispers of your class slowly faded as you went farther from the court. As you both were walking around the empty halls of the school, he found an empty classroom and you both entered there. He placed you on one of the chairs and he closed both doors, ensuring that no one is able to hear from the outside.

As you were stuck in the room with the most annoying person in the class, he was walking in circles around you, his hands in his pockets, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his inner garment.

You didn’t look up at him, you already knew he was grinning at you as he walked around, so why bother?

He was laughing the whole time. He wanted to know how long you could put up with your silent treatment.

“I’m surprised you made it this long princess.” He stated. “It kinda hurts me if I don’t get to hear your sweet voice.”

he heard you sobbing after that and decided to provoke you even more.

“You cryin’?” he teased.

You shook your head in response. Annoyance was expected, but an unwelcome emotion- fear, was added to the turmoil of emotions within you.

You were crying, you just didn’t wanna show him. But that sob earlier gave him a clue.

You spoke something to him that he didn’t quite understand.

“Huh? What was that?” He cupped his hand behind his ear. “Speak clearly princess.” He ordered.

“What” you paused. “Did I do to deserve this?”

You stood up and wiped your tears with your forearm, looking up at him as the tears didn’t seem to stop rolling down your face.

‘Stop crying… please…’ you reminded yourself.

Your shaking breaths are loud enough for him to hear. You pushed him away as you wiped your tears again.

“Please Gojo… Stop this…” “Please let me go…” “I’ve had enough…” “It hurts… so much…”

This is when he realized it’s actually a serious matter.

“You… didn’t like it?” He asked, genuinely this time.

You shook your head in response as you turned around, avoiding eye contact with him.

“I’m…sorry” He responded.

It was too late of an apology now, he had already ruined your self-image. You can hear his footsteps walking toward you.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, everything seemed to spin. You gasped for air as your lungs were strained from the invisible weight that pressed down on your chest. Your legs were wobbling like jelly, unstable and unreliable. The whole room was like a ship deck rolling on a strong current.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

You tried to balance yourself by holding on to a table, you felt suffocated. And then, you collapsed. You fell to a somewhat hard surface, and even hear a sound that resembles a heartbeat. Everything was pitch-black. All you can hear is a faint sound of him panicking, a voice whose words aren’t clear enough for you.

After what seemed like an eternity of catching your breath, you were finally able to open your eyes and breathe in a stable way.

The first thing you notice is that the room is surrounded by curtains. You flickered your eyes to see clearly, and you weren’t dreaming, you ended up in one of the clinic beds. You got up, and there he was.

Satoru Gojo, resting by the edge of your bed facing down with his forearm below his forehead.

He seemed to be sleeping, and you tried not to disturb him as you tried to find out how much time had passed since, but he felt your feet move and immediately grabbed your ankle.

He raised his head and turned towards you, eyes flickering as he cleared his vision.

“Oh… you’re awake,” he stated, his hand still gripping your ankle.

You gently shook your ankle to remind him to let go, to which he did.

“How long has it been?” you asked him.

“Hmmmmm,” he checked his phone. “Four hours since you were taken here.” He replied. “Class ended twelve minutes ago.”

“Oh, What’s it about? The class I mean,”

“I didn’t take it. Someone had to watch you.”

“Oh. I’m… sorry,”

Satoru chuckled at your response.

“I had Suguru record the lecture. I’ll send it to you later.”

You smiled in response.

It was the first time he saw you smile. His face was warm and red as if he was inflated with blood.

After you had recovered, he took you home. As your parents waited outside to see you, they noticed a car stopping at your house.

After they confirmed it was you stepping out, they quickly ran towards you and gave you a big, warm hug.

They bombarded you with questions. “Are you okay now?” “Do you need some water?” “Do you need to rest?”

They notice Satoru standing outside the car. Your parents went towards him and bowed down in gratitude.

“Thank you, child,” They spoke in unison.

“Oh, it was nothing Ma’am, Sir,” He responded.

You went to see him again to thank him.

“Thanks for the ride,” you smiled. “Get home safe,”

He waved goodbye to you and went on his way.

Ever since that encounter, he never teased you again.

At a school party, everyone tried to get close to the duo. You can see from a distance just how much their presence alone made the room filled with fun noises.

You were enjoying your alone time when screaming noises slowly filled the area you were in. A hand grabbed your book, but it didn’t yank it out of you.

“Hey,” a voice spoke.

It was Satoru, and behind him were the other students looking at you.

You looked at the students, then you looked at him. understanding the message, he turned around to look at the students. He then grabbed your hands and intertwined them with his.

The students saw this and immediately backed away. He laughed in response.

He then glanced at you with a sweet smile, not letting go of your hand.

“Come with me to the school park,” he stated.

Suguru noticed the both of you holding hands and heading outside.

“Hey, Satoru!!!” He yelled. “Where are you guys goin’?” He asked.

“On a date!” Satoru yelled back.

He took you to one of the parks with high tables that you can’t even sit on.

He noticed your struggle and placed his hands on your waist as he lifted you to the table to sit on.

He looked up at you with puppy eyes, anticipating a reaction.

Your face was red as his hands were still gripping your waist. You ruffled his hair as you smiled at him.

“Hey,” He called.

“Hmmm?”

“I kinda like you,” He confessed.

You didn’t expect this at all. Your heart starts to beat faster as you try to make sure you hear those words right.

You cupped your hands on his face and slowly lowered your head. You kissed his forehead in response.

“Is that another way of teasing?” you asked.

He smirked at you in response. He quickly kissed your cheek.

“Maybe.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #jjk gojo #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk smut #highschool au #jujutsu satoru

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

Text

Day 26 — Face Sitting

Pairing || Beefy!Librarian!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 1100

Contents & Warnings || Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, pet names, size kink, begging, teasing, face sitting, oral (female receiving), hair pulling, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s been one of your favourite places to go for the last few weeks—the small and cozy library that was nestled relatively in secret that not many people knew about it. And that was probably for the better because you felt right at home wandering the almost empty rows of shelves which held endless stories for you to get lost in.

Once you had found a couple of books, you would sit and read on the sofa that's been dubbed as yours in the best and secluded area of the library. No one interrupted you as you sat with a cozy book and a warm drink in hand, except, of course, every once in a few hours, an exceptional someone would check up on you—the extremely hot librarian, and you didn't mind at all for his interruptions.

Along with the books and intimate environment, he was another reason for you to return regularly. You honestly couldn't believe that such a hot and kind man existed. And that he was a huge book nerd like yourself was the cherry on top. He was so dreamy, your absolute dream man, and luckily, you and he had become close the last few weeks, very close.

You were currently rereading one of your favourite books—getting so lost in the cherished story that hours passed without you even knowing. That was until you were reminded that it was late and closing time.

“Hey, doll.”

You gasped as you got pulled out from the book that you'd been so focused on. Looking up from the page, you saw him resting against a bookshelf—arms crossed over his chest and a tantalizing smirk curved on his lips. He looked so snug and beautiful with his warm sweater hugging his broad torso and glasses framing his handsome face.

“Oh, hey, Bucky,” you smiled at him.

“It's late.”

You looked out of the window to find that nightfall had covered the city, and you hadn't even noticed.

“Yeah, it is.”

“And, uh, there's no one here.”

You perked up your ears to listen for any sounds, but it was dead quiet in the library.

“So,” you closed the book, “we’re all alone here? Just you and me?” You smirked at him as you tossed it to the side.

“Uh-huh,” he smirked as he walked closer to where you were sitting and took off his glasses—anticipating where this scenario was heading.

“Well then.” You got to your feet, and you both stared at each other for a few seconds before closing the gap between you two—lips finding one another and molding together as you kissed your needs away. His hands held your hips in a delicate grip while you fisted your fingers in his long hair.

He pulled you with him to the sofa and laid down with you on top of him—never breaking the kiss or his rousing touch on you.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he muttered between kisses.

“W-what?”

You pushed on his chest to break the kiss and looked down at him which furrowed eyebrows.

“Sit on my face, babydoll.”

“I-I-”

“Shhh,” he caressed your cheek, “don't think, baby, just do. I need you on top of me. I need it so bad, please.”

Although his request left you quite flustered, the way he was smiling so charmingly at you, along with his encouraging begs, had you put your insecurities to the side and do as he wanted.

“O-ok, Bucky.”

Once your pants and underwear were off, you scooted further up until you were situated just where he wanted, with your thighs on each side of his head and dripping cunt right on top of his face. He held a firm grasp on your hips as he moaned at the sight of you.

“Surrounded by my two favourite things, books and you, babydoll,” he groaned before he nuzzled his face in your pussy, licking from your opening to your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue on the sensitive nerve, making you moan softly at his action.

You thought he would eat you out, but instead, he decided to be a tease and kiss and lick everywhere but your needy cunt, making you whine out in protest.

“Please, Bucky,” you sweetly begged as you started to move your hips, hoping it would entice him to put his heavenly mouth on you.

Finally, after your convincing begs, he wrapped his lips around your sensitive nub, altering between licking and sucking, making you moan and whimper at the instant pleasure. The added sensation of his scruff on your skin made you clench your thighs around his head.

One of your hands tangled in his hair while the other rested on the back of the sofa. The pull on his locks made him groan against your core. The vibrations had delicious tingles flow up your spine, making you shiver on top of him and lose your balance, despite Bucky keeping you upright with his muscular arms. You collapsed forward, resting your forearms on the armrest as he continued to eat you out.

His lips released your clit to lick up your gushing slickness, moaning at the taste of you. “You taste so good, babydoll.”

Once again, the delicious vibration had you weak and trembling as your eyes shut tight to revel in the pleasure. Moans, whimpers and pleas of his name went on like a broken loop as you started grinding on his face, wanting more.

Bucky held you still as he returned to his assaults on your swollen and throbbing clit that was in need of being sucked and stimulated.

“F-fuck, just like that, Bucky. Feels so good,” you mewled in pleasure.

You wouldn't last much longer. Not when Bucky took great advantage of the angle and exposure of your dripping cunt on his face, putting his expert skills on you.

You sobbed and convulsed as you came on his face, seeing stars in your eyes. The orgasm intense as he continued to suck your throbbing clit through your high.

Bucky was a kind man, so he tried his best to prolong your pleasure as he licked and kissed your abused clit and dripping slit while you came down.

Once you were fully satisfied, he pressed sweet and comforting kisses on your inner thighs while you pet his hair to show your appreciation.

He helped you sit upright and held your hips as you were still very unsteady. His breath fanned your core, making you needy for more.

“You know, I've wanted to do that for the longest time, doll.” He smiled up at you, making you all flustered.

“T-that was really g-good. I, um, c-can you do t-that—”

“Again?” He finished with a satisfying smirk on his lips. “I'll continue on for as long as you want, babydoll.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

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killuagirly · 2 months

Text

Xiao x Reader

Summary: Xiao has never thought himself to be worthy of much of anything. You on the other hand, deem him worthy of Teyvat itself.

Notes: I died and came back to life while writing this, just in case you were curious! Also, I know Xiao is from Liyue and they don't wear kimonos, but he was made for them so shush. Just pretend Reader is from Inazuma or something.

CW: Insecurities, denial, hurt/comfort maybe? Xiao might be a little ooc, I'm not totally sure.

────────── ʚ♡ɞ ──────────

Xiao

A feeling of longing tore away at the adeptus' being, a feeling he found to be insufferable. Xiao had never exactly considered himself to be worthy of wishful thinking or mortal desires, dreams even, yet he often found these thoughts subtly creeping into his mind when unoccupied for too long. Staring off into the distance from atop the Wangshu Inn roof in silence, he once again found such thoughts invading his head.

The dark skies of the night seemed to taunt him with their emptiness, filled with nothing but the shining stars. Each one held a dream, a hope, or a wish of some sort. He found himself reaching up as if to touch them from afar, before abruptly bringing his hand back to his side, scolding himself for such foolishness. He reminded himself that the conqueror of demons had no use for mortal dreams and ideals.

All that was left for him was to fulfill his role protecting Liyue, and well, you. During moments like these, you often wormed your way into his mind without knowing, having something to do with the aching feeling in his heart without question. Moments where he thought if he were granted a wish by a greater power, ─ though he would never admit to himself that it may be what he longs for, ─ it would be to spend every last waking moment by your side.

Your company felt like a blessing to him, the sound of your voice alone being something akin to euphoric in his ears. He thought of himself to be undeserving of your kindness and devotion, the way you always checked up on him after being away for a period of time, or when you cooked him meals despite his insistence that he has no need for them. Even with all he had been through, you made him feel so... content.

"Xiao?" His thought process came to a halt and he whipped around to face you, who was standing on the balcony below him. Your voice had become his favorite sound, especially when you said his name. It rolled off your tongue so smoothly he would swear you were made to speak it if not for his conflicting opinions of himself. In an instant he was at your at your side, the soft light from the Inn illuminating his exposed skin.

"Are you in need of my assistance?" he questioned without hesitation. You shook your head and answered softly, "No, I only wished to see you," the smile on your face was genuine and unwavering, he could barely believe it was directed at him sometimes. You carefully intertwined his fingers with his, giving him a moment to pull away if he liked. When he didn't, you brought his knuckles to your lips and pressed a soft kiss against them.

Xiao felt his heart skip a beat and his cheeks flushed a red hue, he quickly turned his head in embarrassment so you wouldn't see his flustered expression. It was amusing how even though you were a delicate and fragile being compared to himself, he was putty in your hands. Although he would never admit that to you of course, "What do you think you're doing?" he finally retreated his hand back to his side, carefully so as to not hurt you in the process.

A short laugh fell from your lips, "Just admiring your beauty up close is all." He couldn't tell whether or not you were messing with him, but your compliment made his heart flutter nonetheless. "Hmph, shouldn't you be getting to sleep?" he retorted, looking for a way out of the conversation before he says anything he might regret. "I could ask the same question to you, it's the dead of night." He half-heartly scoffed, "You think I sleep? You have no respect for the ways of the adepti."

Your smile never faltered despite his cold demeanor, one which you could see right through. "Then you don't mind keeping me company until I fall asleep, do you?" He glanced towards the night sky, harboring the stars that held an endless number of wishes, and pondered for a moment. Maybe they were looking down on him, trying to grant his subconscious wishes as well. "Fine, but I will leave once you are asleep."

Another chapter of life passes by...

"I should be protecting Liyue, not partaking in mortal festivities," Xiao said, not looking you in the eyes as you assisted him in adjusting the front of the kimono you had gotten for him. It was a silky black fabric with gold and teal accents that perfectly complimented his features. You had convinced him to let his hair grow out for some time, so it was now long enough to be tied into a high ponytail with a thin black ribbon that matched the outfit you hand-picked for him.

"Trust me Xiao, you'll enjoy yourself. I won't ask you to come back if you don't. Just spend tonight with me, ok?" He let out a huff in response but made no attempt to argue against your words. You lifted his hair from his face and gently kissed his forehead, as by this point in your relationship you had done many times before. It never failed to stir something within him, and he squirmed a bit under your touch. You giggled at his reaction and took his hand, guiding him along to where the festival was being held.

The night sky no longer taunted him, but instead welcomed him with open arms. He stared up at the stars shining above and silently thanked them for their efforts, feeling the warmth of your hand in his. "Look, we're just in time! Do you want to wish on a lantern?" He was silent for a moment, admiring the red-orange glow on your skin. Your eyes sparkled under the glow of uncountable fiery lanterns and his answer came without a second thought, "No I have all that I could ever wish for right here with me."

────────── ʚ♡ɞ ──────────

Masterlist

#KilluaGirly #Genshin Impact #Xiao #Xiao x Reader #X Reader

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butmakeitgayblog · 3 months

Note

Yes I’m born ready for THAT convo about the real MVP of moms 💪💪💪 Anything for MBFW 🫠

Babe she is the fuckin shit as a mom. Okay? Cuz for for the majority of her teen years she never really thought she'd want to ever have kids considering how she grew up, but then she met Clarke and the entire Griffin broad basically adopted her and it was like "👀 wait a min... this family thing's kinda the tits..." But even after that, she really had no intention of actually giving birth. It wasn't that she was against it per se, it was just... when they'd abstractly talked about having kids sometime in the distant future, it was always with the unspoken understanding that Clarke would carry them. It was just such a given that neither even really discussed it, even after they got married and settled in and decided to actually start trying.

And then Clarke had two miscarriages.

And was told it probably just wasn't going to be a reality for them.

And as soon as that was made clear by the doctor, Lexa held up her hand and was like "haha no, we're having these kids 🙋‍♀️Griffin baby uterus right here ready to go, hi 🙋‍♀️"

Cuz honestly, what could be better? She not only gets to be a part of this familiy that took her in and cared for her even when sometimes she maybe didn't always deserve it, but she also gets to bring another little one into the world?! She gets to have her own little Griffins??? Every family reunion and holiday gathering she gets to have her own little pack of the chaotic broad running around? Hearing the, uh, more senile members grumbling "which ones are those again?" and somebody saying, "That's your great grand-niece, Marvin. You remember. Clarke and Lexa's kids."

Insanity.

Amazing.

10/10 experience.

And the best part?

She got to give that to Clarke. She got to make Clarke a mother too. For all of her fuck ups in life, she get to give Clarke the thing they'd been dreaming about since they were 19.

And she was not going to take it for granted. So Lexa absolutely becomes the kind of mom who works to find the right balance. Schedules chore charts and play dates and the quintessential soccer mom SUV, saying ok to ice cream before bed but only if they eat three bites of broccoli. She reads bedtime stories with funny voices after Clarke handles bathtime and makes a big deal over all their finger painting (and is much better at remembering to empty the trashcan when they throw them away in 2 weeks before their little artists can see 😬). She shush's Clarke's yelling whenever she's embarrassing their daughter from the stands when Madi eventually starts little league. She's the first one to learn sign language after Aden comes along and is intensely serious about raising him with all the tools he needs to be exactly who he is.

She still keeps her career going as a writer, but after... well, everything. And how badly she once fucked all this up with Clarke, she always tries and takes the steps to keep work and home life balanced. She wants to raise their kids knowing that their mother's are not only wives and partners in every aspect of life, but are also the epitome of best friends.

She's not perfect by any means. She loses her patience and gets worn out and sometimes makes the wrong call when it comes to their kids. But she tries, and never stops trying, and she always comes back and apologizes right to their little faces whenever she realizes she's messed up. Because she'll never want their kids to feel the same kind of sadness and fear of being a disappointment like she felt when she was growing up. She'll never want them to ever wonder if they matter less to her than her own happiness, like she'd struggled with when thinking about her own mother when she was a kid.

So yeah, she may never have envisioned her life the way it turns out. But, like Clarke reminds her every time she's feeling insecure or like she's not doing Enough, Lexa really was born to be a mom

#anon #MBFW

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jjtheresidentbaby · 11 months

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Night In ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| mike schmidt x vanessa shelly

warnings: little!vanessa, cg!mike, established mike/vanessa both romantic & regrssor/caregiver, they live together, slight angst, vanessa’s insecure about her regression, nicknames

Mike chews the inside of his cheek as he drives down the long stretch of empty road back towards the Schmidt house, it’s far too quiet in the car, and while the car is usually a little quieter without Abby in the backseat, this is almost eerie. They’re driving forty minutes home from the hotel Abby is staying with Ness at- he’s become a trusted babysitter and had offered to take the girl to an upcoming convention for some show they both watch - Mike honestly doesn’t know how a nine year old and a twenty something year old waiter can be this excited about the same show but he was happy to get the alone time with Vanessa.

After everything that’s happened it’s been hard to find time for just them, Mike’s working a new job, Vanessa’s been doing double time since getting out of the hospital, they’ve all been going to therapy- life has been busy. Thankfully much more settled, but some time for tlc is always appreciated, and the longer this car ride goes on the more Mike thinks Vanessa really needs it.

She’s been shifting in her seat every five seconds with a twisted up look on her face as though she can’t get comfortable and her eyes have been looking anywhere but at Mike. It’s worrying him to the point he contemplates pulling over to figure out what’s wrong- but he’ll hold off and start with just asking, trying to remind himself that jumping to conclusions only leads to him getting anxious which is the last thing he needs if Vanessa’s already having a bad time.

“Nessa? You okay?” He drops his voice soft and caring, glancing at the blonde girl only to be turned away from.

“I’m fine.” The response is quick and pitchy, almost nervous sounding, she’s chewing on her thumb nail and staring out the window like she’s never seen anything more interesting in the whole world.

“Are you….feeling small?” Mike hesitates as he asks it. While he’s always eager to take care of Vanessa when she’s little and he loves to be able to help her heal from her horrid childhood; he knows Vanessa isn’t always keen on going small or even admitting she may need to/already is.

“I’m sorry…” The girl mumbles back and Mike swears his heart shatters to nothing. Screw it- he’s pulling over.

“Mike? What are you doing?” A surprised squeak leaves Vanessa when Mike swerves over to the side of the road, a little more chaotically than he thought it’d be.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But, Nessa, you don’t have to apologize for going small.” A saddened look falls to Vanessa’s face as Mike turns in his seat to face her, reaching to take her hand carefully.

“We’re supposed to be having a romantic night to ourselves, not-.” Her eye flick away from Mike, a wetness to her lashes and her teeth dug into her bottom lip as if she’s keeping back sobs.

They have reservations for a nicer restaurant that’s a few towns over, Mike ironed his dress shirt before they left and he knows Vanessa was going to wear one of her dresses, but none of that is more important than her being comfortable. Not to Mike anyways.

“That’s not true, we’re having a night to ourselves, romantic or not. We could go home and clean the entire house if we wanted to, or drive around until I run out of gas, or hell- we could go running through the woods in the pitch black if we really wanted to. The only thing that matters is that we’re together, okay?”

“And I’d hate to miss a chance to see my best girl.” Mike moves his free hand to brush his thumb against Vanessa’s cheek, smiling when she blushes and giggles at the touch. The nickname ‘best girl’ started after Abby realized Vanessa didn’t have a version of her own nickname ‘sweet girl’ that Mike’s been calling her since she was still a baby.

“You sure? Don’t wanna ruin the night.”

“You’d never ruin the night, ever.”

Eventually the two make it home in much better spirits, Vanessa had started to sing along to the radio loudly while Mike was driving and she’s still humming as she bounces up the walkway to the front door. Mike’s more than relieved that Vanessa seems to be enjoying her regression, he always hates to see when she’s upset and small, it’s a different type of hurt.

“What do you want for dinner? We just went shopping so we still have options.” A grin breaks over Mikes lips when Vanessa comes to wrap around his waist where he’s bent to look into the fridge. There’s still leftovers from last nights dinner but there’s still plenty of fresh ingredients for Mikes to cook something new.

“Pizza!”

“Pizza? That’s the one thing I can’t make!” Vanessa giggles as Mike comes to scoop her into his arms, placing her on his hip with a playful squint when she pokes at his nose with her pointer finger.

“Pizza. With pepperoni.” He pretends to think it over for a moment- they both know he’ll cave- but he still likes to watch Vanessa’s eyes go big and puppy dog like as she waits.

“Okay, okay, enough with the eyes. We can get pizza.” Both Vanessa and Abby know giving Mike puppy dog eyes will get them just about anything they want, and judging by the smug smile on Vanessa’s face she definitely knew it’d work with this.

“With pepperoni.”

“With pepperoni.” He confirms with a kiss to the side of Vanessa’s head.

A night of pizza and cartoons honestly sounds better than going to some fancy restaurant where he’d have to wear uncomfortable clothes and eat overpriced food while pretending he didn’t feel completely out of place in the restaurant. Holding Vanessa to his chest as she steadily chews on her hoodie strings is also better than seeing her wearing a tight dress - which she looks absolutely stunning in- but he knows bothers her with how stiff it is. They don’t need some expensive dinner or anything like that, they just need each other.

#idk how i feel about this tbh #I don’t think I like the ending that much but #jj writes #fnaf agere #little!vanessa shelly #caregiver!mike schmidt #mike x vanessa #mike schmidt #vanessa shelly

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shunsuiken · 2 years

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LEAN ON ME.

pairing. scaramouche/wanderer x gn!reader

genre. fluff + comfort + reader has insecurities and wears a mask + he might be a lil ooc here forgive me + he also says you have a pretty face <3

synopsis. a tiresome day of travelling leads to you revealing a part of yourself to your travelling companion. and in the same moment, he stumbles upon revelations about you.

wc. 1k (i know. its short. bear with me please)

an. I WAS STILL EMO AFTER THE 3.3 ARCHON QUEST SO THIS HAAAAD TO BE WRITTEN MAN ig this is also a late scara/wanderer bday fic ? take it any way you like <33 also yes there are spoilers for the 3.3 archon quest here

“you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” the wanderer reminds you, fixing his gaze on the wall of the inn so you don’t feel pressured. “the final decision is always yours.”

“no, no. i want to—i’m just… i’m gonna need some time,” you explain as your eyes turn into crescents. one of his favourite expressions you made a lot. considering its the most he’s seen. but at least he’s able to see some visible feature of yours beyond the mask you wear. he knew you were smiling and that was all that mattered.

he would never say that to your face though.

“do as you wish.”

you look at him and realise he’s offering his lap for you to lie on. his eyes bore into your wide ones before switching his gaze to his lap then back to yours again.

he’s asking you: what are you waiting for?

your eyes soften at the confirmation of his offer, positioning yourself to comfortably lay your head on his lap. your hand boldly slides under his thigh and to your surprise, you hear no immediate complaint to your actions.

instead, the wanderer is putting every ounce of his power into holding his indifferent expression. suddenly, he doesn’t know where to put his hands, where to look or even if his lap is as comfortable as your pillow made of cotton wrapped in silk.

the warmth of your palm underneath his thigh feels like a reminder. a reminder that you aren’t going anywhere. a reminder that you will be his travelling companion and stick by his side despite all those empty threats and remarks he throws at you.

the wanderer’s lips are held in a line tighter than rope as he ponders about these heartfelt revelations. the air is comfortable. nature beyond the windows whisper and coo, he sighs inwardly and gently caresses your head once you’ve fallen asleep.

the wanderer never gets tired—one of the perks of being born a living puppet. but you, on the other hand, often find yourself falling into the hands of exhaustion. he obviously can’t see the expression on your face, but as a puppet that’s lived longer than you, he’s picked up on reading your body language whenever fatigue overcomes you.

your eyes become droopy, the steps in your walk become sluggish, your breath shortens and most of all, your posture wanes like someone turned you into an old person when he wasn’t looking. so the least he can do is calm your heart after such a trifling day of brawling fatui agents, stumbling upon domains and getting chased by wild fungi is… some peace.

such a pathetic creature you are. he mutters during those moments but his actions make his thoughts meaningless.

it’s silent. you don’t feel nor hear any movement. you’re obviously aware that a puppet doesn’t breathe, so you’ve tried picking up on other signs that lets you ascertain his presence.

unfortunately for you, none of them have worked. hence why trusting your luck felt like a better idea.

you lift your head a little, using the most of your peripheral vision to determine whether or not he fell asleep. and when silence greets you after the loss of contact from his thigh, you slip a finger under the string of your mask and pull it off.

the cool air of the inn splashes the lower half of your face, it’s uncomfortable at first—very exposing too, you almost feel naked. steeling your heart and pushing away your thoughts before they take over you, you quickly but gently rest your head on his lap again to continue napping.

it’s quite some time after, but the wanderer’s eyes finally flutter open—and the first sight he gazes upon is you. your face. he has to furrows his brows. there’s no way this is real.

he closes his eyes—if he’s dreaming right now, then he’ll need a word with lesser lord kusanali about this because, okay, sure! he’s been curious about his companions’ face but it’s not that serious! (which is the biggest lie he’s ever told since he started his new life as the wanderer).

it is, in fact, very serious. but he doesn’t let the curiosity win. it’d be rude to expose what you’ve hidden without your consent.

when he opens his eyes he realises that this moment is very much real.

he blinks, processing the situation before it hits him that you’ve taken your mask off. all his movement pauses completely at this realisation. he’s also aware that he’s never getting this chance again once you’re awake.

you are quite the sight. he thinks, peering over his lap to take one good look at you. he’s always wondered what the rest of your face might look like. he’s proud to say he’s not disappointed.

to think you hid such a pretty face behind that mask too… he’ll have to berate you for this betrayal (he’s half-joking). however, these emotions dissipate into the air when it strikes him again that you’re in front of him. without your mask.

now this means a lot of things. and one of those things is that you’ve learnt to trust him a whole lot more than you did in the beginning—no, that’s not it. the mask was your safe haven, it was your zone of comfort. plus, you’ve always trusted the wanderer. if not, why did you always yell out his name whenever danger was up your ass? this can only mean…

they let their walls down. he supposed, unsure what to make of this. so, they are letting themselves be vulnerable… in front of me? he continues his train of thought albeit how ridiculous it sounds to him.

he sighs, putting his thoughts away as he observes the lower half of your face. your cheek is squished from sleeping on your side and the fat of it accentuates the unintended pout on your lips.

the wanderer has nothing particularly in mind when the pad of his index finger gently trails along the bridge to the apex of your nose. he’s barely touching you to keep you from awaking.

he finds you rather mesmerising like this, napping quietly on his lap, without a care of your bare face. the back of his mind just knows how liberating it must have felt to remove the mask.

it is a shame you are asleep. because if you were awake, at least you’d be able to catch a glimpse of the soft smile the wanderer gazes at you with.

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader

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nnightskiess · 16 days

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everytime you leave, part eight

₊° - 𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

everytime you leave, masterlist

tw: mentions of trauma and not wanting to live anymore

a special thank you to each and every wonderful person who has stuck around to wait for this story to unfold.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

After hours spent studying magical, political and courtly intrigues, your feet dragged you towards Tissaia's wing in Aretuza. Walking the path felt like second nature to you after all these weeks. It was still a foreign feeling; the realisation that you were capable of magic, and the phantom feeling of your burns always begged you not to forget the event that had made you discover your destiny. Despite all the terror, the fear and the insecurity still lingering inside your head, you were actually starting to become genuinely interested in exploring your Chaos after some small victories of your control. You had even warmed up to the idea of Tissaia being your unspoken warden, despite the woman being a reminder of the ruins she'd plucked you from. She was a strict woman who valued respect and the eagerness to learn, and it seemed that you had proven to her you were capable of exactly that, seeing as her harsh teachings had gotten a little gentler lately. She'd mostly given you books and scrolls to study, incantations to memorise and motions to forge into your memory. Though your eagerness to gain control over your magic, you were grateful for the hours spent studying—each opportunity you took to put your Chaos to use meant one more chance to lose control over it as well.

Though your energy was depleted after the hours spent learning the proper pronunciation of Elder speech spells, the accurate hand movements and how to work with runes, crystals and amulets, you were still filled with eager anticipation to see what Tissaia would teach you this time. All these classes were overwhelming you to no end, and you finally realised why it took mages years to hone all the skills they were supposed to possess before their ascension. Still, you were adamant about not letting yourself take that long. Though still feeling unattainable now, you knew you'd have a sliver of freedom again after your ascension. The more control you had over your Chaos, the more trust the Brotherhood would put in you, and the less tight the collar around your neck would be- or so you thought.

You opened the door to her office, ready to prove your worth once more.

It surprised you to see Yennefer sitting in your usual spot. The only time the two of you were in this office together was during your detention hours. It had always only been Tissaia and you during your private lessons.

The girl's violet eyes narrowed in curiosity as she watched you approach.

"Y/N, take a seat."

You could tell by Tissaia's voice that you weren't in any trouble. Still, your eyes flashed across Yennefer's momentarily, the girl now giving you a look filled with equal confusion as those of your own.

Tissaia stood up, emptied the water from a pitcher into a vase and shoved it forward. It became clear what she had in mind for today.

"I want you to let the water disappear." Tissaia spoke, "If you both succeed, we'll go onto the next task."

Immediately, Yennefer perked up, "I thought detention would be over after we succeeded?"

Tissaia furrowed her brows, giving her a look that made the young mage shut up, "I am giving you a chance to learn more than your peers. You don't want it?"

Yennefer slouched back in her chair, lips sealed shut and eyes widening in intrigue. It seemed something shifted inside of her as she thought it over, "Why do we get to learn more?"

Tissaia smiled, having been prepared for this question, "There are mages, powerful ones, who ignore their emotions. They aid their Chaos with their knowledge and lead with confidence in their own capabilities. They do not know any better but to have ruled over their Chaos the second they felt it. They never had to fight for control, they were never in a battle with themselves, they were never searching, fighting or longing for that inner peace." She paused for a beat, "And then there are mages who get consumed by their emotions, let it fuel their energy or let it break them apart. Their power stands directly in line with the well-being of their soul. The focus and control it takes to both oversee your emotions and Chaos and don't let either one take over but dominate them both, is something not many mages will have to learn to do." A pregnant pause followed as she watched how the two of you had clung onto her every word, "Except for us."

Your voice was small as you wondered, "Us?" You somehow felt estranged that Aretuza's rectoress was naming the three of you within the same breath.

Tissaia's face softened, "Do not think I never struggled finding the balance of my Chaos simply because of the seat I now hold. It is precisely why I know I cannot treat you like the others and anticipate the same results. You two walk into a room and it starts getting stuffy, you fail at a task and I can feel your Chaos bounce against your chest in a hot fury at the defeat, you bring yourself to bed and still you are too overpowered with worries and fears to find your sleep." She gave the two of you a serious stare, "Instead, you tear apart a room before your emotions finally settle, endangering the lives of others, and that of your own. It is your job to control your Chaos, not become it." She leaned forward, "My duty is to mend you into fine mages... but what if I send you out into the Continent on behalf of the Brotherhood, and your precious little feelings get hurt and you submit to Chaos, and you decide to let your emotions reign and this time tear up a village instead, whose fault would that be?"

You knew she directed these words towards you, and you refused to meet her eye.

"Yours."

Tissaia nodded at Yennefer, eyes still boring into yours to get you to look up at her so that she could see you understood. Still, you refused.

"I do not say this to rip apart your morale or to belittle or frighten you. I say this so that we may all keep our heads when the time comes when I let you two ascend."

Yennefer looked at you, having sensed your impending silence. Something was wrong- you felt off, and she could sense an erratic sensation being transmitted from you.

"Look at me. Both of you." Tissaia ordered, her voice rising as she warned you, "Y/N."

Her eyes were steely as you looked up.

"I need you to understand the possible severity of the consequences each time you use your Chaos. It is a gift, but not one we throw around carelessly. We hold the power of saving or destroying the very lands we have tried to keep in balance for centuries. One wrong move from an inexperienced or out-of-control mage and all that the Brotherhood has built up will be forfeited."

Her heeded warning felt like a backhanded compliment. On one hand, she was praising you and Yennefer by calling you within one breath of her own name and skills, on the other, she was not displaying lots of trust in your progress ahead with her speech. You doubted any of the other mages had ever gotten such a personal warning, aside from the usual ones your teachers would alert you of each class. No, it was clear Tissaia was trying her best to have her words hit how she wanted them, to have them instil some fear into you so that her voice and her warning would echo in your mind for the rest of your long lives.

"Have I made myself clear?"

Slowly and a little unsurely, the two of you nodded. Why Tissaia was singling Yennefer and you out, remained a mystery.

Tissaia sighed, "Use your words."

"Yes."

"You have."

She pursed her lips, sensing the sincerity in both your eyes. This was enough for now. One day, when it felt right, she would maybe let you in on what she had decided to do with you. But not now. She needed to be absolutely sure first, and she would have to be... on the day of your acsension.

"Very well. Now show me what you have practised," Tissaia's eyes bore into those of Yennefer, making it clear who would be up first.

Yennefer tensed slightly. She knew she could do it, she had come close to succeeding the last time, if only she hadn't looked up to see if you were watching her. She'd lost her focus then, blaming the ringing in her ears that had suddenly picked up and turned to a painfully high pitch until her ears had popped again. It had happened quite often when in your orbit, but as of late, she'd gone from hating all the sensations to finding a strange and unwelcome solace in the way it all mirrored the feeling of what she'd imagine floating to feel like. It was calming in a sense, despite hating the uncertainty of why and what her Chaos was making her feel. But last time, she'd had leaves and petals to chew on and keep her grounded, and she'd had your calming presence in the room instead of Tissaia's looming one. That, and Tissaia's warning words rung in her mind now, making her the slightest bit uneasy to use her Chaos.

The need to prove herself won.

Yennefer stood up and grabbed the vase off the desk. She closed her eyes to better feel what was happening inside of her instead of focusing too much on what was happening with the water.

You leaned forward in your seat, hoping to catch a glance at whatever was going to happen. There was a tiny voice whispering in your ear that maybe, if Yennefer failed, your own failure wouldn't be seen as the worst. It filled you with guilt, and karma caught up with you. Lo and behold, the water slowly disappeared, albeit drop by drop. Yennefer dared to peek through her eyes when she felt the vase's weight lessen, and she let out a soft sigh when she realised it had worked.

Tissaia dipped her head in acknowledgement, then turned to you, "Go ahead." Her softspoken words coaxed you out of your seat. Yennefer hovered next to you and spared you a tightlipped smile. Her fingers brushed against your own as she handed you the vase.

You both knew you had to achieve this accomplishment after Tissaia's words about not letting emotions get the best of you, including nerves. Hours had been spent practising this very thing, and you had succeeded only once, which you still thought was thanks to sheer luck. Your palms were sweaty as you watched the water pour back into the vase, and you swore it seemed like there was more water in it now than when it had been Yennefer's turn. Perhaps those were just the nerves. Your palms were turning sweaty and it made the vase feel all the more heavier each as you clenched it in your hands to not let it drop to the floor.

"Today, Y/N."

"Just like last time," Yennefer whispered from beside you, her eyes transfixed on you and the vase in your trembling hands.

Tissaia watched the two of you; how your eyes met those of Yennefer after her whispered encouragement, how Yennefer kept glancing at the side of your face even after you had focused back on the water. You took a deep breath and could feel the calm company of your Chaos engulfing you like an old friend. You had improved- you both had- in such a small amount of time. Tissaia couldn't help but feel fulfilment at the two of you... and herself, for thinking of the genius idea to pair you together. It had been a gamble at first, with Yennefer's fiery nature and your initial defiance, but a certain stability enveloped the pair of you now. The need to prove yourself and to finally tame the thundering storm within had won from the indifference. It was a surprise even to yourself. Yennefer had usually snapped or kept to herself when you were together, but it seemed that when you'd stuck up for her in the dining hall, and come to her room to apologise, something had shifted within the raven-haired mage.

At peace and willing yourself to get it done this time, you watched as the water level dropped ever so slightly. Until it started to splutter and bubble back to the surface. You took a step back in surprise, bumping into Yennefer who held you steady by your elbow.

Your panicked eyes flitted to Tissaia, waiting for the scowl that didn't come; her expression didn't falter. She desperately needed to see how you would deal with a setback. Would you let it be and agree to defeat, or would you try again and vanquish?

Use your surroundings, it can be your greatest ally.

So you did just that, immediately eyeing the freshly plucked pink carnation in one of the other vases on Tissaia's desk. Without another thought, you dared to reach over and pluck one out, dropped it in the vase and started over. Yennefer knew what the thought process behind this action had been— all things held life, and thus all things were made of Chaos. To use your surroundings was to help control your Chaos better. To latch onto another living form of Chaos, was to aid your Chaos in its pursuit.

Tissaia tilted her head and watched as slowly but surely, the once beautiful flower dropped, turned yellow and finally wilted from overhydration— you had made it suck up all the water. She straightened her back when you were done with your creative approach and put the vase back on her desk.

The silence was deafening, and neither you nor Yennefer could read the thoughts on the face of your rectoress.

"I suppose it is time for the next hurdle- to further train your communication skills, at the very least." She eventually said.

"What do you mean?"

"We can talk, write and read just fine.”

Tissaia ignored you both and pulled a book out of her desk drawer, rummaged through it and shoved it towards the two of you— Telepathy, it read.

"Mind reading, though the same idea, is something else entirely when it comes to telepathy. Telepathy is a way to make contact with others without using your voice, to be able to hear and understand what they are saying to you without them opening their mouth, even from a far distance. So long as you can feel and tune in on one's Chaos, you can make the connection. Though a mage of some stature should be able to do this, your intuitions are not strong enough at the moment, especially yours." Tissaia singled you out, making your confidence shrink substantially.

"What's wrong with her intuition?" Yennefer's voice suddenly sounded very insulted, as if she took Tissaia's words as an attack on herself.

"Y/N lacks confidence in the abilities of her magic. She fears the use of it, as if her Chaos and she are not one and the same," Tissaia turned to Yennefer, "You know it is part of you, you feel Chaos bristling at your very core, but you simply block yourself by wanting to grasp it too hard. Both of you will have to work on solving that blockade before we can continue."

"How?"

"By trial and error."

"How?" You repeated yourself, not liking the uncertainty of things, nor the glint in Tissaia's eyes.

"You will see." Tissaia smiled gently, closed the book shut with a thud, gestured for one of you to grab it and stood up to grab her cigar, a clear message for you to get up and leave.

Yennefer stood there with the book tightly clutched against her chest, eyes flickering between yours and Tissaia's back, who was staring out her window now. You softly pulled at Yennefer's sleeve, motioning her to leave with you.

Once the tall heavy doors of rectoress De Vries's office fell shut and you trudged through the hallway, you turned to her again.

"What do we do with the book?"

"Use it as kindle, clearly," She rolled her eyes, but you heard the playful quip in her voice.

"Gods, that'll send rectoress De Vries to an early death," You huffed, deciding to join her banter, "And then have her haunt us for the rest of our lives."

She scrunched her nose at you, a singular soft chuckle leaving her lips. You smiled along, enjoying how you'd managed to break through her barrier.

You motioned at the book in her hands, "You can have it first, we'll read it in turns."

Yennefer furrowed her brows, having half expected your company while reading through it since it was still part of your detention, albeit not in the office of your rectoress. And she had come to quite like your reserved presence beside her after class. You let her make mistakes without commenting on them, without giving her a look of disdain or a sound of indifference. Most of all, you didn't treat her like she was any different than the others. Though, it was clear you hadn't felt the same about her presence. A sense of dread filled her and she listened to the devil on her shoulder yap in her ear.

See? No one will ever tolerate you enough to spend time in your presence unless absolutely necessary. You were a fool for ever thinking otherwise.

"What's wrong?" You nudged her with your elbow, "Can't read, after all? Need me to read it to you?" Your chuckled jests pulled her out of her trance. She schooled her features and huffed. You stumbled slightly when she harshly pushed the book against your chest and rushed away from you.

You watched her leave while you wondered what you had said wrong.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Today's class had been all about cleansing rituals and how to use certain herbs, crystals and scents to do so. It was the second one you'd had on the topic and it had already interested you gravely, for you had sensed the cleansing often helped with emptying your mind and balancing your emotions. One of your teachers, Nina Vivero, had shown which herbs, plants, fruits and other living things to use to pull strength from when your own bottle was depleted or overgrown by your emotions. For example, you'd learned that juniper berries cleansed and hunted out any negative energy that could creep up, and that it protected you from dark emotions from others. She'd informed the class that from now on, you could chew some berries at the end of each day to restore your Chaos.

Your next class would be a study class so that your Chaos could be replenished. Biruta Icarti, another one of your teachers at Aretuza, was probably going to talk about the history of the mages of the Continent again. It was important to know of the mages that had come before you and what they had done to keep the balance on the lands.

The classroom was already half-filled as you rounded the corner and their hushed conversation reached your ears. Instantly, you ducked back behind the curtains of the alcove.

"Hilda heard from Florence, who heard from Daena that Yennefer and Y/N blew up her room, that's the noise we heard. That's why they're still in detention, not because they're one of the new ones and the worst of the class."

"I'm sure they thought they could practice in the middle of the night without anyone knowing. I can't believe they honestly thought it wouldn't backfire like that, what with their terrible control."

"I would've paid to see the look on rectoress De Vries's face when she found out."

"Why do you think Yennefer was in Y/N's room to begin with?"

"Obviously to try and bewitch her, since no one would ever willingly be that monster's friend."

Not wanting their thoughts to run rampant and create more destructive rumours, you approached with a furied determination in your step. Their eyes immediately widened at your reveal.

"Are you so insecure about yourself that you resort to bringing others down?" Your gaze pierced that of Jutta's, "Or do you want to badmouth Yennefer so bad just to get in Fringilla's good graces?"

Jutta gaped at you, nothing left to say, when the girl next to her spoke up, "Oh, no, it seems she did manage to bewitch you. Who would've thought?"

Jutta pushed a chuckle out, while her eyes remained wide and filled with guilt, feeling trapped between two sides.

"Good luck being that hunchback's friend. People born like that are wicked, a mistake, a blunder of the universe. Freya did not intend things who look like that to walk among us."

"Fuck you and your Skellige beliefs, you horrible bitch."

You heard the swishing of her garments and the cadence of her uneven step before you saw her hurry out of the classroom as fast as she had entered.

Yennefer.

The girls watched you, clearly expecting you to follow Yennefer. And you did, because to hell with what they thought of it. Their laughter faded with each step you took to follow the raven-haired mage. It seemed Yennefer was aware of your pursuit when she picked up her pace.

"Yennefer!"

Instantly, she turned around, her jaw locked, her chin wobbling in anger, or misery, and her posture more tense than ever. She walked up to you, getting in your face as she spat, "I don't need your fucking help!"

You reared back, surprised she'd lashed out at you, "So you would have rather I let them talk about you like that?!"

"You think yourself some hero?! You're not my saviour! So stop fucking embarrassing me any further!"

"But it's not okay!"

"But it is my reality!" Yennefer spat back, matching your frustration.

"It doesn't have to be!" You stepped closer, eyes begging her to listen to you, to hear the message between your spoken words— that she had a friend in you, if she wanted to.

Yennefer scoffed and took a step back. Her eyes flashed across your face for a couple of seconds. You let her, knowing not to push her now. She huffed out a breath when she saw the sincerity on your face.

"You'll never get it, you're all the same," She muttered, voice small and broken. She gave you one last defying look and hurried away from you.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Bay leaf and calendula— all connected to the element of fire and beneficiary to hone your Chaos when you want to control it when fire's near. Every mage is known to have a sachet on or near them for protection and guidance. At Aretuza, you will learn your weaknesses and your dangers and gradually fill your sachet until the day of your ascension. You can put in whatever you react positively to, what soothes you or encourages you." Tissaia handed you the emerald velvet sachet with the dried leaves, "It is also not uncommon to put in little keepsakes and use them as talismans, seeing as gifts given to us with good intentions will hold bright energies." Then, she opened a tiny chest with rough crystal clusters, and let her fingertips rake over them before taking out a small brownish-grey stone. It looked sharp, chipped and rugged.

"This is a smoky quartz," She dropped the crystal in your hand, wrapping your fingers around it and pressing your hand to your chest, wanting you to connect with it and feel its energy, "It will aid to ground you and to release the fears wanting to take control over your Chaos."

The cold chipped crystal dug into the flesh of your palm. It numbed your hand.

"Tell me what you feel."

"I feel... heavy."

Tissaia nodded, deep in thought, rummaged through her chest again, and pulled out a vibrant yellow crystal. She quickly swapped the crystals in your hand, "Citrine, among one of the most potent crystals to release stress and have you enter a state of levity and optimism."

You let it sit in your palm for a while, knowing what she was expecting from you "Nothing... I don't feel a thing."

Once again, Tissaia swapped the crystal for another. This time, it was a lilac-grey one, smooth around the edges but with clear indents and cracks. It was cold against your skin as you thumbed the crystal. It was heavier than the others had been, but it fit nicely in your palm.

"Lepidolite," Tissaia started and smiled gently, sensing the change in your demeanour, "Used to stabilise moods, encourage emotional healing and clear blockages."

"It's warm." Your eyes looked up to see Tissaia had leaned in with delicate excitement on her face after sensing your intrigue, "It wasn't warm before."

"It takes to you."

You played with the crystal a little more, "Is it a fire crystal?"

"It correlates to the element of water, but perhaps that is why it soothes you so." She watched you, "Can you feel its nurturing properties? It often feels like a mother's embrace to me, like all will be well." She realised her mistake when she saw you tense and quickly added, "It contains lithium, like the Waterfall of Blyveth."

"The one that cured the village in Tiele from hysteria centuries ago?"

She nodded, glad you had paid attention in your history classes, "This very crystal comes from the rocks surrounding the waterfall. Lepidolite isn't meant to be subjected to water, but that is what makes this particular one so unique."

You twirled it in your fingers, and Tissaia added, "Do you see the tiny grey lightning bolt veins? The glittery specks contrasting the dark purple and fading away into the light grey? They're scars from the water... and yet it still hasn't crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces."

Not unkindly, she grabbed the crystal out of your hand and dropped it into your emerald sachet, "It is yours to keep now."

Tissaia watched you peer into the sachet when she walked to her designated seat behind her desk again, adjusting the freshly clipped blue hydrangeas in their vase.

"Keep it under your pillow at night to shield you, in your pocket during the day to guide you. Don't neglect its presence or it will start to neglect you. It'll be like a sheen you cannot see, but you can feel."

"Can I add more crystals to it?"

"If you like." Tissaia played with the pendant around her neck, "Oftentimes, mages get necklaces of their favourite one to keep on their skin and close to their heart at all times. "I have a red carnelian in mine."

"For courage, resilience and strength?"

Tissaia nodded, "Very well, sweet girl." She watched as you pulled out the lepidolite once more and got another feel of it in your hands.

She had plucked you from your worst nightmare, had thrust you into a new life with no other choice and had watched you take to it like a fish to water, despite your qualms, defiance and worries. It was true— she'd cared for you the second she'd found you shivering and scarred and had attached herself to your journey. Your mother, whoever she'd been, could be proud of the young woman she had brought up. If only she could see you now and be proud of your strength, perseverance and brilliance. It saddened her that your mother would never meet the woman you would become. It hurt Tissaia that much more to realise that she would never become a mother and experience having a daughter to be proud of herself.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Tissaia had ordered supper to be brought to you in your chamber after your private lesson had pushed you over to the edge of exhaustion. She'd had to give you an herbal concoction for you to even get to your chamber by yourself.

Though the idea of having supper by yourself in your draughty chamber sounded pathetic, you found yourself more at peace than you had in ages. The fire in the hearth slowly flickered and crackled, shooting embers up like dwindling fireflies. It was a quiet evening. The sun started to stay out longer now that Spring was near and you had come to grow fond of the soft lapping sounds of the water below. You could still smell the lingering heavy scent of mugwort on your clothes from when Tissaia had shown you how to cleanse yourself.

Tissaia's book about telepathy lay open on the desk next to you. You turned another page before taking a bite of today's supper.

"The art of communicating through telepathy is born from the ability to sense the energies of those around you. When this connection is made, it is even possible for a mage of somewhat capable stature to sense energy and therefore Chaos, regardless of distance. If the overall connection between mages decreases, the ability to sense their Chaos will gradually diminish. This form of communication was invented by sorcerer Bethel of Tamary before the birth of the first mage communities and has been a well-known and common practice ever since among mages and sorcerers."

You turned the page, where a sketch of two mages filled most of the paper. One of the mages was drawn with outstretched arms, their Chaos painted like a thin golden sheen around them, growing darker the further it neared their core. The other mage had a hand outreached, their fingers barely touching the Chaos of the other and fingers already turning the same shade of gold as that of the other mage's Chaos.

"Everything that lives has an energy field— a form of Chaos. After all, we are not only made of matter, flesh and bones. Our Chaos, and even the energy of non-mages, always extends beyond our physical exterior, such as our body heat. Such an energy field is often called an aura. The energy flows take place between these energy fields. For mages, this means that we can often feel one another's Chaos, and tap into that for our benefit. In this case, for telepathy. People's Chaos sometimes merge with each other for a while, for example when you feel you are with a kindred spirit. You are, as it were, one and the same for a moment in a way that children are often one with their mothers when in their wombs. In some connections, the shared field of Chaos is stronger than the individual one and can be felt and reached even when one is not in eyesight. Sometimes a person's intuition and control over their energy field are an innate fact, but often it is much more agile and open to improvement than one might think."

You hissed when a sudden sharp twitch was felt in your stomach. You pulled up the fabric of your tailored garments and noticed how your scars expanded and retracted with each breath. Triss had healed your wounds weeks ago, and you had just stopped taking the burn elixirs, so you knew this pain was another phantom sensation. Suddenly, you weren't hungry anymore.

You looked up and saw yourself in the mirror perched in front of you on the desk. The young girl whose reflection you'd seen in lake surfaces and the odd dirty mirror on a market was gone. Instead, a young woman, aged by her terrors and trauma and the change and knowledge of her new life looked back at you. It pained you how you didn't recognise yourself anymore, for that meant your family wouldn't either. Perhaps that was for the better, for you to see them as two different versions of yourself. One was blissfully unaware of her future, the other bitterly acquainted with her past. One had seen terror, and was filled with regret and grief at her own actions. The other had been given a second chance, but at what cost?

Was your family here with you now? Was that even possible? Was your mother looking at you with pride in the resilience you'd shown? Was your father's heart aching for the little girl he'd once held for the first time? Were your siblings standing behind you, hovering over your shoulder to keep you company wherever you went? Or were they resenting you that you had been given a new life? A promise to live one of status and power, of great wealth, at the cost of their lives? Would they fear you would forget them and your sacrifice as you turned older and bitter?

You stumbled away from the desk, threw yourself under your covers and clung onto your pillow as the sobs racked your body. You found the sachet on your nightstand and pulled out the lepidolite, but despite Tissaia's words, it could never replace the warmth of your mother's warm embrace.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Tissaia's steel gaze watched as novice upon novice started to fill the room. As expected, Yennefer was the last to appear through the door and trudged to her designated seat in the corner, but the seat in front of her was still vacant. You were nowhere to be seen, and this was the first time you hadn't shown up to a class. First, you hadn't dared to miss one out of fear of breaching your deal with your rectoress, and later out of intrigue for your classes.

"Has anyone seen Y/N?"

"Probably too afraid to show up after yesterday's miserable display in Miss Grethel's class."

"No wonder Rectoress De Vries calls her pup. Even after being her lapdog, she still cannot seem to get anything done."

Yennefer heard Amalie whisper to Jutta. She clenched her teeth and glared at the back of their heads, hoping they could feel her thundering stare.

"Or maybe she magically disappeared like I've heard all the pathetic ones do after the first few months."

"If that were true, you two wouldn't be sitting here now, and Y/N would be sitting in your seat." Yennefer sneered. Amalie and Jutta turned around, snickering behind their hands as they looked at her, clearly unaffected. She sat straighter when they clearly looked at her crooked posture.

"Please, as if."

Yennefer's knuckles went white as she gripped the edges of her table, "You know how hard it is to use your Chaos when you're filled with emotions? No, you don't know, you don't have any, and that's what will make you lousy, useless mages."

"Enough." Tissaia lifted her hand, diffusing the situation, "I asked a simple question that could be answered with yes or no."

A collective 'no' sounded through the classroom.

"Yennefer?" Tissaia tilted her head when the girl had kept quiet. She'd noticed an imperceptible unspoken connection wavering like an invisible cord of Chaos between the two young mages as of late, which she was sure the girls weren't even aware of themselves yet. If there was anyone in Aretuza who you'd started to subconsciously let in, even slightly and superficially because you had to for detention, it was Yennefer.

"No," She muttered through gritted teeth, still reeling. Though, she could not help but feel curious about where you were. She hadn't seen you in the central hall yesterday evening for supper either, no matter how often she'd glimpsed at the entry each time someone had walked in. And now that she thought about it, something felt off. The skin on the back of her neck had been constantly prickling and her stomach had been burning ever since she'd woken up. Her Chaos was restless, waging a war inside of her the more attention she gave it.

Tissaia closed her eyes momentarily, trying to single out every bubble of Chaos currently residing in the tower. It did not take her long to sense yours, as it was screaming and raging and tugging at the borders of its confinement. Something was terribly wrong, and although she had taught you a great deal already, it felt like your emotions were too out of sorts for you to deal with them yourself.

"Everyone- get a set of runes and one of the level three scrolls and stay seated. Study the phrases until I return."

No one dared to defy Tissaia as she glared at each one of them, making sure they got the message.

"Is she in trouble?"

Tissaia heard Yennefer's voice wonder as she walked past. She stopped, stared at the girl, really stared at what was within, and walked out of the classroom, towards your bristling Chaos.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

A sharp pain shot through your temples and numbed your eye sockets, its tension travelling to your jaw and neck. You wanted to tear the skin off your face but were too busy sitting through the shivering of searing white hot heat tearing through your limbs. It was hard to stop yourself from shaking, it was as if someone had put you in the back of a cart driving on a gravelly road. Each inhale drilled an intense pain to the places where you'd been burned that damned day.

It had been like this all morning. It had started last night after you had no more tears left to spill. You'd thought the pounding headache was a result of all your crying, but when the phantom pain picked up and the heat started to simmer through you, you knew something else was going on. It was your absolution, you were certain. You could've yelled for help, though you were sure your whimpers wouldn't have even reached the other side of your chamber, but perhaps this was your end. The Chaos within you was probably spluttering and taking the reigns, burning you from the inside. You would share the fate of your family. And it was okay. You could have peace with that.

Someone else clearly couldn't.

You caught a breath as two arms pulled you out of your heap on the bed and against their torso, delicate hands slapping your clammy and bloody cheeks to keep your burning eyes from falling shut. A handkerchief was pushed against your nose and a smell which you could only describe as a freezing sensation whirled into your nose. You coughed, spluttered and fought against their hold. They were taking your absolution from you, willing you to stay and live with the consequences of your actions.

"No-" You twisted and turned, regaining some of your strength, but sagged against their lap as soon as you heard the muttered incantation. You recognised her voice immediately, though it lacked the usual harshness and sounded more... frantic this time.

Tissaia de Vries.

The incantation immediately did its thing. It was as if you started to float out of your body, and when you fell into a slumber, everything was clouded in darkness.

It could've been minutes, maybe hours, perhaps even days or weeks, but when you opened your eyes, you knew you had been out for longer than what had been expected, going by the wilted flower on the nightstand beside your bed in the infirmary. The fresh smell of the lilac had long ago turned to a sour one, penetrating your nose together with the heavy smells of lavender, sage and incense. Immediately, your throat tightened as you remembered what had happened. For you, it had been no more than a few seconds ago. However, you calmed down when you realised no pain or tension was stirring within you.

The early Spring sun was blaring through the tall window on your right, lighting the infirmary and showing your bed was the only one occupied. It was how you caught a shadow moving and when you realised your rectoress was staring at you from underneath the arch of the doorway.

"You finally felt safe enough to let it all go.''

Her heels clicked on the cold tile floors as she approached your bed.

"I overestimated the potency of your trauma, though I should have realised how such an event would cling to you, despite you concealing it. That miscalculation is on me."

Although exhausted, you managed to sit up, "What?" You hated how much your voice quivered, and how much you sounded like a younger version of you, wanting to cling to your mother like an infant child after a scraped knee.

"You stored what you've been through in your body, locked away because you were thrust onto this new road in an unfamiliar environment. You've been stuck in what some might call a state of constant fight or flight, a state of distress. With everything else going on lately, you have subconsciously shelved your trauma, and it has therefore taken root inside of your body. It shook you awake last week, willing you to deal with it as soon as you finally sensed some resemblance of safety. You are quite fortunate, for it can often take others years to get to that moment of salvation."

Her casual announcement that you had been asleep for over a week flew over your head, "Salvation?!" You spluttered, feeling incredulous, "I don't care. I don't care about any of it."

Her fingers grazed over the sachet next to your head, where you figured your rectoress had put it.

"You experienced the stimulus of the lepidolite."

"Fuck you and your stupid stone," You protested, chest heaving with rage and a new set of unshed tears "Why didn't you just leave me be?!"

"Because the fire still stored inside, the fire within the cells beneath your burns, was threatening to obliterate you. You absorbed the flames of the pillaging going on around you that day to use for the destruction, and some of it has still not left you. Your Chaos has clung to it, like two birds of a feather. It sees it as its equal, as its predecessor and creator... as it was what awakened it... and you were letting it take over."

All these words hurt your head again, or perhaps you simply did not care enough to try to see sense in Tissaia's explanation.

"I fear you will forever have to be cautious not to succumb to the contusion from within, especially when your emotions plummet to a level low enough for your trauma to take the upper hand again. Like a mother giving birth to a babe, you will always be bonded to fire in a way, whether you want to or not."

"You took my freedom from me. Twice."

"Would you rather have been left to die than to see what it'll be like to reach your full potential? Do you really think your parents would rather see you dead among them than living and persisting?" She stood by the edge of your bed, "Is that really what you want? Is that how you want to compensate for their sacrifice? Do you want their deaths to be in vain?"

The window started to rattle in its hinges, your fingers shaking and your breathing ragged as images splayed across your mind. You heard their screams, smelt their melted flesh and hair and saw their figures run around in desperate need to quell the flames. You felt your control gripping out of your reach all over again as you relived their deaths. Then you heard the loud rumble that followed, the sound that had haunted your nights, the one that had left you sitting within the safety of the fire-free ring you'd subconsciously cast around you.

"Do you not want to explore the possibilities of your gift? Many girls would die for a chance to be here, do not be mistaken. They would not give up so easily, they would want to live." She urged.

"Stop talking," Your voice was low, a clear warning that she was on thin ice. You would have never guessed you'd use such a tone on your rectoress again after her icy heart had started to thaw around you, but here you were, begging- no, demanding her to keep her mouth shut. How dare she blame you for not choosing this life. And how dare she berate you for not wanting to live. Because what was the use of life when you were all alone?

"If you are not confronted by it now, then it will happen when you least want it. It will continue to block you from reaching your full potential and keep your terror and aches stored inside until you succumb to it."

It was incredulous, how your rectoress could ever think you would not carry even a little ounce of regret, pain and anguish with you for the rest of your life after your actions. Even after her so-called confrontation. You would never heal from it or forget about it. Nor would you ever forgive yourself. Though, you knew she was right when she said you'd bottled it and put it on a shelf. You'd thought that, perhaps, if you heeded it no mind, the pain and memories would cease to exist. Realisation dawned on you how stupid and naive that thought had been.

Tissaia continued, "It is not a matter of if, but a matter of when you'll succumb to it. This is your blockade, so how do you plan to tackle it?"

You jumped out of bed, surprised by your own agility after a week of being bedridden, albeit unknowingly, "What would you have me do?!" You yelled in Tissaia's face, whose expression didn't falter for even a split second.

"Exactly this." She gestured at your fury and frustration taking over and clearly needing to finally be spilt, "Let it all out now."

"And how do I do that without tearing up the place, like you forewarned me about?!"

"You need to learn to balance your emotions without heading for a collision."

A huff escaped you, "Is this all part of your trial-and-error plight?!"

"It can be. If you let it." She sighed and dared to take a step closer, "Your Chaos is giving you a chance to let it go now, to start anew."

"Didn't you say we are energy, and that our energy is our Chaos?! So how exactly am I giving myself another chance when I can't look past the horrid things I know I am capable of?!"

"Your subconscious has made the decision for you, to push you to accept yourself and let it rest. It has finally let your trauma resurface. Take the chance and do something with it. Heal. Give it a place. Don't let it start to deteriorate you from the inside. Use it as your strength, hold it as a reminder, as a warning. Let it guide your Chaos to know what boundaries to never cross again." Her calm demeanour rubbed you the wrong way.

"Let past... be past." She whispered softly, sensing she'd finally reached you.

A sob curled out of your mouth, and you furiously shook your head,

"I can't."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Yennefer mindlessly wandered through the halls of Aretuza. Though she rather practised some more, she could feel her bottle was empty. There was no more energy left for today, and perhaps that was okay. It at least gave her the chance to explore.

The past week had been torturous at best, with her classmates singling her out for jests and looks and with Tissaia's full attention on only her now that you were in the infirmary. Your rectoress had informed your class about your whereabouts, simply to stop any rumour that would further badmouth your name. Despite Tissaia's statement, rumour still had it that you were too afraid to show up and persist in your classes. Yennefer wasn't stupid, though, she knew it wasn't just a fever that kept you bedridden. Tissaia had seemed too on edge for that when Yennefer confronted her about it the other day. She'd brushed her off too quickly and hadn't berated her for sticking her nose in someone else business again.

Yennefer knew she'd find out soon. If not by asking you directly once you returned, then by trying to take a peek in your mind. She'd gotten better at it the past week when she'd been paired up with Anikka. The girl had been her first friend at Aretuza and although she still counted Anikka as someone she didn't hate, she had to admit that she didn't really hate you either.

It was boring to have to read books alone and spend hours studying runes by herself without anyone to keep her company the way you had, in silence, without judgement, and with a serenity that had calmed her. She despised herself for it— how she could feel the attachment growing. She loathed it with a burning passion. She detested it even more when she realised where her feet had led her.

Shadows danced across the walls in the orange hues of the torch flames. She locked her jaw and stared down the hallway. No one was around. They were all enjoying their rest in the sun of Aretuza's terraced gardens, no doubt. Spring would soon be upon them.

Yennefer's ears perked when she heard a muffled sound coming from within your chamber. It was odd, as she was sure you were still in the infirmary, but when she realised the muffled sound had been a sharp and wobbly inhale followed by a sob, she realised it had come from you.

She walked less assured as she had done the two times before, caution and care in her steps as she pried open your door. The hinges of the old oak door creaked and whined, and she watched as your teary doe eyes locked with hers in fright. You seemed to settle when you saw it was only Yennefer. The welcoming sense of acceptance she felt when she looked into your eyes came with a tormenting feeling of unworthiness and guilt. Unworthiness, because she knew she didn't deserve the acceptance you seemed to have given her, and guilt, because she felt a weight lift off her shoulder the second she'd stepped into your room, while you seemed anything but cheerful. Still, she could not deny the fact that for some reason, she felt lighter when in your presence.

You quickly wiped your snotty nose with the hem of your sleeve, your fingers going to play with the loose thread on it. With your gaze directed to your lap, where droplets of your tears fell, you held your breath and waited for Yennefer to move or say something. She did neither. Seconds passed and she stood still like a statue, and it got harder and harder to keep your breath and not make a sound.

Utter horror crossed Yennefer's features when you dropped your head in your hands and continued letting the tears fall freely. Your entire body shook and shivered, and the sounds of pure heartache that left your mouth had Yennefer's own heart breaking, too. She wasn't used to seeing people like this, but she knew the feeling all too well.

She approached, hesitantly, step by step, hoping you would yell at her to go away so that she didn't have to worry about what to do with you now. She knew she couldn't leave, she wouldn't, she wasn't that heartless, but what was she to say or do? And would you even accept her comfort, even if it was silent?

Her eyes flit to the blanket forgotten by the foot of your bed. She threw it around your shoulders in a swift motion, then stood by your side feeling the most awkward she'd ever felt.

She hovered. To ask if you were all right was a stupid question, even a blind person could hear you weren't. Asking you what had happened would probably also not be the best thing to ask when you barely had enough air inside your lungs to push out another strangled sob. And were you even close enough for you to spill your worries to her? She hadn't exactly been kind the last time you'd talked, when you had been the one to try and comfort her.

Feeling brave, she dared to sit beside you, leaving enough distance between the two of you for another two people to sit in between. But when you started to heave and cough and battle for air, she scooted closer, laying a hand on your shoulder.

The contact made you look up into Yennefer's violet eyes. They looked at you shadowed by her dark furrowed brows with a tender care you had longed for for weeks. The memory of who had last looked at you like that sent another wave of whimpered sobs to leave you.

"Ssh, breathe," Yennefer whispered, "Breathe."

She squeezed your shoulder, her sense of discomfort gradually fading as she realised you weren't taking unkindly to her touch.

"Rectoress de Vries- she-," You wept, sending a wave of anger through Yennefer at the hint that your rectoress was to blame for your breakdown, "I'm not supposed to live, not after- I don't deserve- I don't want to!"

Yennefer held a pained expression as the words shook out of you.

Your big, teary, red eyes found hers again, and they begged her as if Yennefer was the one able to fulfil your wish, "I want my family back."

Yennefer swallowed, having a sense of the grief you were going through. Despite all these months, she still missed her family as well. She had no idea what had happened that had made you grieve their company this badly, and even if she assumed the worst, it would never come close to the truth.

"I want them back. I want them back. I want-" Yennefer closed the distance and pulled you tight against her chest as you lulled yourself into a state of grieving hysteria. Muttered words got silenced against her shoulder while her garments dried your cheeks. She froze for a split second when your arms clawed their way around her waist. She could feel the dread settle in the pit of her stomach, realising she was letting someone in. But perhaps, this time, if it meant it could soothe you, someone who had been kind to her from the start, it wouldn't be so wrong after all.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

#yennefer of vengerberg x reader #yennefer x reader #yennefer imagine #yennefer of vengerberg imagine #the witcher imagines #yennefer of vengerberg fic #everytime you leave

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