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awearywritersworld · 5 months

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she mumbled that i was peculiar

sukuna x reader summary: impressively, sukuna is still trying to find ways to deny his feelings for you. nevertheless, he keeps you safe from harm when a late night trip to the store doesn't go as planned. will seeing his violent nature for yourself change the way you feel about him? he seems to think so. w/c: 4.2k (oops) tags/warnings: angst to fluff. attempted kidnapping. canon typical violence. depictions of blood. reader throws up. reader is in shock for a bit. cursing. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: i'm sorry this took so long! im ngl, i struggled quite a bit to write this chapter. i'm still unsure about the pacing, but here it is anyway. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! series masterlist // masterlist

it's not often that you go out for the evening, but tonight is one such occasion. you leave around seven, excited to meet nobara and maki for dinner.

when yuuji falls asleep a few hours later, sukuna doesn't take over right away. he spends a while in his domain, engaging in what some people might call sulking.

before long, however, he begins to feel restless and he tells himself it's because he's grown accustomed to his finite hours of freedom. of course, it has nothing to do with your absence.

so he assumes control of his vessel's body and pulls a short novel from your bookshelf. settling on the couch, his fingertips brush over the cover: the stranger by albert camus

it's the first time he's ever been alone in your apartment, a fact he's well aware of, and his eyes wander to the front door. it'd be all too easy to pull it open, to make his way downstairs and out onto the street.

how long would it last before yuuji regained control? are you nearby? would you get caught up in the havoc he'd doubtlessly wreak?

the thought makes him grimace. returning his focus to the book in his hands, time seems to pass by faster as he makes his way through the pages.

even so, he deems the narrative a bit boring. in his (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, dead mothers and nagging girlfriends don't make for the most captivating story, so his mind begins to wander once he happens upon the quote:

"so why marry me, then?" she said. i explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all i was saying was yes. then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. i said, "no." she stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. then she spoke. she just wanted to know if i would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with whom I was involved in the same way. i said, "sure." then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way i could know about that. after another moment's silence, she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

sukuna thinks about you— the woman who forced her way into his solitude.

although, what if it hadn't been you? what if the brat had been involved with another woman? would he have eventually taken an interest in her too?

are you really that special, or is he just going crazy inside the cage that is itadori yuuji? the latter is much more likely, right?

he supposes he prefers the idea of madness over... feelings for some human.

all of a sudden, your apartment door seems much more inviting. would it be so bad if he were to step through it? what did he really have to lose?

yeah, that's right. he'll get up any second now and act on every horrible impulse he's been repressing. any second now... any second...

he can't quite figure out why he's unable to bring his limbs to move, weighed down by some force that's beyond him.

it's at that moment the door clicks open and for a split second, he thinks it must be his sign to go, but then you come waltzing in.

"'kuna!" you greet in an excited manner, disrupting the peaceful quiet.

kicking off your shoes haphazardly, you make your way over to him and promptly drop yourself into his lap. it elicits a bout of unwelcome clarity for the king of curses.

no, he wouldn't have taken an interest in just anyone, that much becomes obvious. it wasn't through a medium as flawed as chance that he came to... tolerate you. you're much too annoying for that to be the case.

"hello???" you wave your hand in front of his face. "i'm home."

"i can see that."

"welcome home, darling," you say in a deep voice, a poor imitation of him. "i missed you so much— that's what you're supposed to say."

yeah, definitely too annoying.

"but i didn't miss you." one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh, a betrayal of his preceding assertion.

"you're sitting alone reading—" you pause to inspect the book lying open beside him. "existential fiction about a nihilistic frenchman. of course you missed me."

he changes the topic rather swiftly. "you're drunk."

"i'm tipsy, at best." you roll your eyes. "can't i just be happy to see you?"

"you'd be the first."

"i don't mind making history."

you place a kiss on his lips, casual and affectionate in way that makes sukuna's body stiffen, and stand up.

"i need to get ready for bed, then we're gonna watch tv together because i missed you— gosh, see how easy that was?"

you run off to the bathroom and his body doesn't fully relax until he hears the shower turn on.

the thought of missing someone is a strange notion to him, because it implies eagerness and desire. for as long as he cares to remember, those emotions have been reserved for proclivities much more sinister.

so he hadn't missed you. he just would have preferred it if you stayed home. that's all.

when you return to the living room around fifteen minutes later, you're wearing one of yuuji's shirts, and as far as sukuna can tell, very little otherwise.

making yourself comfortable on the floor between his legs, you pass a hair tie behind you. "can you braid my hair?"

he's watched you get ready for bed enough times that he's fairly certain he can manage it. taking the tie from you, he still asks "why can't you do it?"

"because i'm sleepy," you frown, reaching for the tv remote.

gathering your hair in his hands and carefully dividing it into sections, he sighs. "you require so much looking after."

"you're not going to die if you can't have cookies tonight." sukuna states dryly, glancing at the clock that reads eleven o'clock.

"please don't trivialize my struggle," you begin, pulling on your jacket. "i want miso butter cookies— my grandma's secret recipe."

most of what you need can be found in the kitchen, but a trip to the store is in order for a few final ingredients.

"my mistake," he huffs, rising to his feet. "how insensitive of me."

"oh, it's alright. just don't let it happen again."

"sure. i'll keep that in mind, princess." sliding the apartment door's chain lock off the track, he does little to hide the vexation in his tone.

just as he reaches for the handle, you stop him and wrap a scarf around his neck, forcing a hoodie into his hands. "put this on. you'll be cold."

he looks at you as if you're crazy. "i don't have to worry about things as insignificant as the weather."

"well, put it on anyway," you insist.

he decides that acquiescing will be easier than arguing for the next five minutes and slips the hoodie over head. when you both step out into the chilly air of night, there are still a decent number of people traveling the streets.

stopping at a crosswalk the next block over, you begin to prattle on about what you need to pick up and the different steps in your recipe. naturally, you completely miss it when the pedestrian sign turns green.

"come on," sukuna commands, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you along with him. "i don't have all night."

you scoff. "to be fair, i didn't say you had to come with me."

"yeah well it's late. you shouldn't be out alone." there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, like he truly had no choice in the matter.

despite that, once you reach the other side of the street, his fingers slide down your palm and thread through yours.

you glance over at him and find he's looking off to the side, so you bite your lip to suppress your pleased smile. is he avoiding your gaze intentionally? you decide that bashfulness suits him better than you would have expected.

offering him a light squeeze of the hand, you hope it conveys your appreciation of his small display of affection.

"so, are you going to help me make the cookies?"

his lips press into a thin line. "as thrilling as that seems, i don't particularly have a penchant for baking."

"you think you'd humor me a little! you know, since i'm your only friend and all."

"if anyone else asked me such a ridiculous question, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow." you ponder whether he's joking and quickly decide that he isn't. "this is me humoring you."

"you're so mean to me."

"hardly."

"fine," you pout. "then you can't have any!"

"now, hold on." the threat does make him hesitate. you've come to learn that if there's one thing he loves as much as reading, it's food. "let's not be hasty."

you're approaching the store, the sliding doors just a few strides away.

"it's only fair! besides, you're not going to die if you can't have cookies," you throw his earlier words in his face.

he exhales deeply. "have i ever told you how irritating you are?"

"woah! now you're definitely not getting any, mister!"

"alright, alright," he groans as you step inside. "i'll help you bake your stupid cookies."

"perfect!" you exclaim as if you knew he'd give in eventually (you did). "then you can start by finding the miso paste while i get everything else!"

you scamper off before he can tell you not to order him around like some common servant. he's never even been grocery shopping, how the hell is he supposed to find anything in here?

wandering the aisles, he stews over how domestic this is. for god's sake— the king of curses, shopping for ingredients and making baked goods. what have you reduced him to?

just as he considers giving up, he spots the item he's looking for and grabs it so aggressively that it knocks a few packets of instant miso soup to the floor. wrinkling his nose in distaste for the entire experience, he sets off looking for you, though his efforts are to no avail.

he wonders where the hell you could have gone off to when a flickering light catches his eye, filling him with a strange sort of unease.

it's emanating from a narrow hallway tucked away in the back corner of the store. at the very edge of the hall, a phone with a familiar case is lying on the floor, the screen shattered.

his blood runs cold, a sensation that is fully unknown to him, and the miso paste slips from his fingers. he appears in the hallway the very next second and the sight that greets him ignites a furious hostility in the center of his being— heavy and consuming.

you're struggling against one man as he drags you out of the backdoor and into an alley. another man is holding the door open, urging his partner to hurry up.

the hand over your mouth keeps you from yelling, but you're unsure you would have been able to make a sound regardless.

one second you're cast into darkness, and the next, the light seems blinding. the flashing is unceasing and it makes your head hurt.

two limbs are wrapped around your torso, keeping you firmly in place, and your arms are trapped at your sides. you might be kicking your legs, but they may just be dragging along too. you really can't be sure.

there's a thrum of a heartbeat at your back. it's pace is unforgiving, the intensity mirroring that of your own. you've a vague concern that your heart may very well beat right out of your chest.

then there's an abrupt shift in the air and a sickening crack echoes through out the night. crumpling onto the concrete, you think it must have started raining before you realize that the droplets on your face are warm.

you wipe at your cheek and your fingers stain crimson, the color matching that of an increasingly large puddle seeping across the pavement beside you.

there's a heap lying a few feet away and you recognize that it's wearing clothes. it's a sight you struggle to make sense of.

needing to focus on something else, your eyes find sukuna and the expression he's wearing is fierce and unreserved. "tell me what you wanted with her."

you've never heard him speak in such a way. his tone is low, his cadence nothing short of threatening.

"s-s'kuna?" your own voice sounds foreign to you and it goes unheard by him.

he has your attacker pressed against the brick wall of the alley, both hands wrapped around his throat. he's too livid to realize the pressure on his windpipe is preventing him from answering.

sukuna throws him to the other side of the alleyway out of frustration, the man rolling onto his back and wheezing to appease his lungs.

"tell me!" sukuna commands again, louder this time. less collected.

the man scrambles away from his looming figure. "th-they sent us, told us they needed her for an important matter."

"who?"

"they'll kill me if i tell you—"

sukuna crouches down, laughing dryly. "and what do you suppose i'm going to do?"

his eyes are almost unrecognizable to you. they're frenzied— a few shades deeper than the scarlet you've grown so fond of.

"you'll k-kill me either way, so at least i'll die with honor—"

"tch. useless." sukuna waves his hand, and you can hardly comprehend what happens right in front of you.

neat red lines appear across the man's body, then it ruptures into nothing at all. the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is his blood.

the stench of which is perhaps the worst part— intense, coppery, and hot. it makes your eyes water, and before you know it, you're hunched over and emptying the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

sukuna is at your side in an instant, pulling your hair away from your face, but while one of your hands is braced against the concrete, the other endeavors to push him away.

his body doesn't budge at the contact, but he takes a step back anyway in an attempt to respect your wishes.

your mind is a mess filled with racing thoughts— what the fuck? this cannot be happening. what the hell even happened in this first place? that man was there and then he wasn't.

inhaling sharply, you wipe at your mouth and shift to pull your knees to your chest.

"what..." you trail off, surveying the unutterable, incomprehensible scene before you. "what did you do?"

he doesn't respond, though his features noticeably soften. somewhere in the back of your mind, you know very well what he did, but you can't help repeating. "what did you do?"

"we need to leave." it's not that sukuna couldn't handle whoever might show up, but seeing as this is your reaction, he has no desire to. "if you let me touch you, i can take us home."

you take a moment to think about it, then nod wordlessly. as soon as his hand falls on your shoulder, you're met with that same sensation you felt the night gojo teleported you and yuuji home after one too many drinks.

though this time, the sick feeling in your stomach isn't caused by liquor. you don't stand up, you don't so much as move a muscle when you feel the surface beneath you shift from concrete to carpet.

sukuna breathes out your name, his uncertainty evidenced by the way he's shoved his hands into his pockets. meeting his eye, you reiterate the same inquiry once more. "what did you do?"

it's almost as if you want him to tell you that he didn't do anything. that the whole experience was some disturbing nightmare.

"those men would have hurt you."

"that doesn't mean they deserved to die." you choke on the final word.

"yes— it does."

with that, silence hangs in the air like a suffocating miasma.

looking to your hands, you're reminded of the blood you've been spattered with. "i need to wash up."

you still don't move from your spot, too fixated on your flesh and the dreadful hue that it's been painted with. sukuna notices now that you're trembling.

he approaches you hesitantly before extending his hand. "let me help you."

you decline his offer, shying away from him. "i think you've done enough already."

god, the look in your eye is utterly despondent. he struggles to swallow the lump that forms in his throat.

his arm falls limply to his side and he looks across the room, your copy of the stranger earning his attention.

he's overcome with chagrin when he realizes that his concern brought about by camus' quote the other night was wholly misguided. he'd been focused on his own feelings, whether they were genuine or simply wrought by his isolation.

how foolish was he to ever question what you truly mean to him? with the anguish that's settled in his chest at the sight of your current state, the fact he ever doubted it makes him feel like a hopeless idiot.

had he any sense at all, the part that resonated with him would have been—

she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

disgust. is that what you're feeling now? he's certain it is.

it was just last week that he relayed the story of his past. you're the only person alive to know the truth of how his wickedness came to be, and you met him with unconditional sympathy and understanding.

you pulled him close and embraced him, but now that you've seen him for what he truly is...? you can barely stand to touch him and it's like a knife to his heart.

you're so fucking warm— like the sun against his skin after weeks of endless rain.

and if you're the sun, surely he is the moon— cold and barren on his own, but brilliant when in the presence of your light.

to be without that? to be without you? it's a prospect too terrible for him to bear. it makes his stomach twist miserably.

you're startled (as is he) when his form falls to the floor, his knees meeting the carpet with a dull thud. he calls out your name again, but this time, his voice cracks as he speaks. "please."

he doesn't have a clue what he's even asking for. a chance to explain? forgiveness? a way to turn back time?

you don't say anything, but you do shift your gaze to him. he knows that he needs to fix this, so he wracks his mind for the right words.

"i didn't enjoy killing those men." he's somewhat surprised to find he's telling the truth.

"you didn't?" your voice is so small and timid that he can hardly decipher your words.

"no. my only concern was to keep you safe— to make sure they never put their hands on you ever again. all i felt was rage and... and... guilt. i should have never left you alone and it's my fault—"

"stop," you interrupt him.

there are tears welling in your eyes, making it difficult for sukuna to breathe. he's positive you're going to tell him that his intentions were of little consequence and that you never want to see him ever again.

instead, you push yourself forward and collapse against his body, your own wracked with violent sobs. the reality of the situation is only just now hitting you. it'd been much easier to focus on what sukuna had done, rather than what almost happened to you.

"i was so scared, 'kuna."

and still, despite the way you're clinging to his shirt and burying your face in chest, he's under the impression that it's him you were afraid of.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly. "i never meant to frighten you."

"n-not of you. those men." you're struggling to speak in between desperate gasps. "why did they do that? what did they want with me?"

"i don't know." though, he is going to find out.

sukuna is not a man well versed in comfort, so he's not entirely sure why he begins rocking you back and forth, but he does it anyway.

when you finally start to breathe a little easier, he mumbles into your hair, "come on. let's get you cleaned up."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. setting you down on the counter gently, he searches the linen closet for a cloth.

it's quiet, save for your intermittent sniffling, as he runs it under warm water and wrings it out. his free hand moves to rest against the side of your neck and he dabs at the blood on your face, rinsing the washcloth every now and then.

he tries his best not to show it, but sukuna is agonizing over what might be going through your mind.

do you still feel safe with him? have your feelings changed? do you still love him, even when you've been so harshly reminded what he's capable of?

when you speak for the first time your words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. "thank you for saving me, sukuna."

he thinks about telling you not to thank him, not when it shouldn't have happened in the first place. he left your side, an error in judgement he'll never forgive himself for.

he considers your mortality— your weakness— in relation to his feelings for you. he's always seen this exceptionally human quality as despicable.

but now? all it does is terrify him.

"in the past, i was only concerned with my own whims and desires." his hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb running over your cheekbone. "though after tonight... you have to know..."

it's clear that he's struggling. his eyebrows draw together and his mouth twitches as he ponders his next words.

"i care about you, angel." his voice is hushed when he adds, "very much."

your eyes widen briefly and you murmur his name, but your mind is still reeling from the events of the past twenty minutes and you can't think of anything more to say. you're emotionally exhausted in a way you would have never thought possible.

it's plain to him too, so he knows his next question is selfish, but he can't go on without knowing. "does what you saw tonight change things between us?"

the silence preceding your answer seems to stretch on forever.

"i thought it would," you confess eventually. it was as if you'd put up a wall in your mind separating sukuna the king of curses from sukuna the man you spend your evenings with.

and it's difficult to reconcile the fact that the hands you saw used to murder two men are the same hands that are caressing your face so delicately.

at some point, however, you realized that the only time you felt fear tonight was when you were without him. his arrival and ensuing actions inspired shock and apprehension, though in some twisted way, you knew it meant you were safe. "but it doesn't."

the next question tumbles from your lips thoughtlessly. "does that make me a bad person?"

he chuckles and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "i think i'm the last one on earth that can pass moral judgement on you."

he tucks your hair behind your ear and scans your face, relief coursing through his body when he sees you smile. in this moment, there isn't anything else in the world he would have asked for.

"i guess you're right."

and now, the hand over your mouth is your own, an attempt to stifle your tired giggles. the light of the bathroom is warm and steady. sukuna's hands rest atop your hips, his touch firm but comforting. while you can't feel your own heartbeat, you're positive it must be beating in time with his.

when you crawl into bed that night sukuna pulls you close, your back pressed to his bare chest. you're thankful for the softness of his demeanor, because you need it tonight more than ever.

he doesn't recede to his domain until yuuji wakes up the following morning. he's determined to keep an eye on you as you sleep, to watch the slow rise and fall of your chest with newfound gratitude.

he knows he needs to speak with the brat about what happened. someone is after you and while he hates to admit it, he knows he can't ensure your safety alone.

and he will keep you safe, no matter the cost.

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luveline · 9 months

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you start to second guess your relationship when eddie doesn't waylay you with his usual abundance of kisses after work. meanwhile, eddie tries to work out what's upsetting you, how to fix it, and most urgently, how to ask you a super important question. fem!reader, 5k

cw: eddie skipping meals at work, suggestive flirting

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

Eddie's borrowed headphones slip down your head as you dance. Nothing dramatic, a shoulder wiggle as you do the dishes. You can't hear the racket you're making, plates crashing into one another on the drying rack, the hot water pounding the basin, the clip of your sock-clad foot against wooden slats as you tap it.

Your hands burn at the high temperature. Your fingertips are pruned, palms chapped as you finish washing Eddie's mountain of dishes. His whole apartment was in similar disarray before you arrived, laundry to the eyes and one of his haphazard book towers collapsed in the bedroom. The dishes had been scraped and rinsed but not washed, the laundry designated to one corner of the bathroom; Eddie's not unclean, necessarily, but unfocused.

You had time. You don't mind coming over to help him out.

Though if he knew you were here doing this he'd blow a gasket. I don't want you wasting your time doing shit I should've done a week ago, he'd say.

It isn't time that matters to you. You'd take a couple of days out if it helped him, if it meant he could enjoy the place he lives to the fullest extent. Plus, you spend time here too. And you get to borrow his Walkman the whole time. Eddie has the best tapes.

You hum along to the finishing line of the song and set the last clean cup upside down on the draining board. Satisfied at a job well done, you wipe the sink basin clean, drain suds from the sponge, and turn off the water. Cool air floats in through the open window, kissing your lightly perspiring skin hello.

You dry your hands on a cloth and push Eddie's headphones carefully down to your neck, more than careful with his things. He works hard for everything he has, days and nights and any shift they want him to take. Most of it goes into his savings account. His spare change gets dropped into a washed out pasta sauce jar on the sill for a forthcoming rainy day. Ridiculous amounts of it get spent on you, and if you asked Eddie he'd say it was perfectly reasonable, sweetheart.

You're not asking him. You don't think new clothes and sweet treats nearly every time you see him counts as reasonable, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't appreciate it.

Hence your unsanctioned use of his spare key. You buy him treats too, but money can't buy the satisfaction of a clean home. (Well, it could. Hiring a day maid might've been quicker and cleaner in the end, but would a day maid have put their heart and soul into dusting his figurines with a makeup brush for fifteen minutes?)

You turn around with Eddie on your mind, feeling grateful and tired at once. Your thoughts stutter at the warm body standing casually in the doorway, his shoulder pressed to the jam, a rucksack and a carabiner of keys hanging from his curled fingers.

"Hey," Eddie says.

You flinch like he's coming at you, startled by his sudden appearance.

His laugh is apologetic, at least. "Woah! I thought you heard me, where's your head?"

You slap a hand to your racing heart and huff out a breath that fans up your face. Eddie straightens from his cool guy slouch, dropping his keys on the counter and sliding his bag beside them.

"It's around here somewhere," you say through a smile, trying and failing to glare at him as he puts his hands on your waist. "You scared me bad."

"It was accidental."

He pulls your hips to his and leans back. A close pressure without being particularly sexual. It's obvious that he's looking you over, like you might've miraculously run into harm in the sixteen hours you've been apart.

"I didn't think you'd be back yet, sorry," you say breathlessly, still recuperating from your scare.

"I'm the sorry one."

He brings a hand to your face. If there's one thing you can count on with your boyfriend, it's that he's going to find an excuse to touch your face at least once a day, whether it be with the back of a ring-heavy finger trailing down your cheek lightly, or a flat, hot palm, calluses scratching ever so slightly as he squeezes it into whatever shape he feels like. Never cruel, but melding.

He's in a mood.

Not salacious. Teasing at most, he pulls a rough line down from the corner of your eye to your lips.

"Why are you doing my dishes?" he asks.

His hands smell like citrus scrub and white vinegar. They must've had him cleaning in the kitchen at work again.

"So you wouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to let them pile up."

"I'll find my laundry in the dryer, I'm guessing."

"Nope. Folded in your dresser, more like."

He pulls your chest to his, the heat of his breath kissing your nose. It smells like the spearmint gum he chews obsessively during his morning shifts. Eddie has a theory that eating in the mornings is breaking a seal —you'll be much hungrier for the rest of the day than you would've been otherwise. Better to wait for lunch.

You hate his theory (three meals a day plus as many snacks as he needs would be perfect, if he could find the time) and his gum for what it represents. It reminds you that he likely hasn't eaten today, and you're quick to start brainstorming ideas for dinner from the ingredients you'd seen while cleaning. He has ground beef, enough eggs to make pasta, and a tupperware of frozen soup from last Wednesday. The world's your oyster.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. You don't have time to answer. "I wish you didn't do all the laundry, babe. Those stairs are a fucking killer."

He leans that last inch. A kiss is coming any second now, your pulse capering between your ears. A hundred kisses shared between you and you wait for the next with the same calibre of excitement as you did for the first.

"I owe you a deep tissue massage, right?" he murmurs.

You beam at him, pushing the heel of your palm against his chest to widen the distance between you into something a little less heart-pounding. "You haven't eaten today, have you?"

"I'm pretty hungry," he says, his voice smooth as angora silk.

He looks, again, like he might kiss you. His eyes dip to your lips, a molten brown shining in the kitchen light. You wait, and you wait, but he doesn't close the gap.

You push your smile to one side, your eyelashes twined in the corners from the force of it. Your smile isn't entirely genuine. It's cool if he doesn't wanna kiss you… sort of. He can do whatever he likes, of course, you'd never force him to kiss you just to keep you happy or for any other reason, but you're a little down at the idea that he doesn't want to. You love how they feel. You're used to them as both hello and goodbye.

Eddie might not want to kiss you, but he isn't putting on a show, his amorous smirking a reality you battle with (read: give in to, enjoy, daydream about) on the regular. Perhaps he isn't eager to ravish you after a full day bussing tables. That's more than okay.

However he might be feeling, you aren't going to let him go hungry a minute longer. "Dinner?" you ask.

"I was thinking sloppy Joes," he says, his hand running down your arm. He turns for the fridge. You follow. "Brioche buns?"

You step in front of him, the fridge door a cacophony of glass rattling as you tug it open. "I'm making them."

Eddie wraps his arms around you, moving you bodily to the side. It's too quick for you to dig your heels in.

"You used to be a gentleman," you complain.

"No, I didn't." He taps your ankle with the rubber toe of his converse.

You make dinner together, to each other's chagrin. Eddie steals spatulas and frying pan handles from your grip. You bump his hip away from the stove grill to toast buns. When you sit down together on the couch, it's at war, elbows digging into soft spots and cups placed out of reach on the coffee table.

"Dick," you say.

Eddie takes a bite, says, "You're the dick, dick," and starts shovelling fries onto your plate. "Giving me more fries is ridiculous. We should eat the same portions, we're the same age."

"But one of us had breakfast and lunch, and one of us didn't," you say, using your fork to give his gifted fries straight back.

And here's where you get the first inkling that something's making him not want to kiss you, emphasis on you.

Eddie loves kissing you when he feels loved. For obvious starters, whenever you tell him you love him he makes sure to kiss your lips. When you make him laugh, when you wash his hair in the shower, when you draw stars into his palms, all those things garner a fond peck to the temple. He kisses the space just under your ear so often you're sure there's a contusion in the shape of his mouth there, permanent and purpling, his go-to whenever he's laying on top of you or hugging you from behind.

You can count on a mildly greasy kiss no matter the meal. Eddie loves eating dinner together. He waits for you to get home, sometimes for hours, to share a plate with you. You've never not indulged him with a kiss. Tonight, he doesn't ask.

It would be here. Name-calling dripping in affection, you elbow glancing off of his as you cut into your sloppy Joe, and the TV failing to cover the sound of a quick kiss before he digs in. You're gutted at the lack and surprised to have noticed it, but you don't go so far as to mourn the loss: Eddie's likely too hungry to think about kissing, that's all. Right?

Despite attempts to convince you otherwise, he's hungry. He finishes his plate in what feels like five big bites, hair tucked behind his ears, an innocent but far off look about him as he wipes his fingers in a piece of kitchen towel and leans back into the couch cushions with a small groan.

"We should stop eating on the couch," he says.

"You told me you wanted to sit here." You're confused.

"It's like, testing fate. I'm a mess. I'll ruin it and have to get a new one I can't afford."

You chew on a fry. "I mean," —you put your hand over your mouth, pleased when he turns to you with a ready-made smile, like the act of just looking at you is one he enjoys— "even if you drop something on it, we can Didi Seven it. Or get one of those fancy water vacuum things."

"It's my couch," he says. "You wouldn't have to clean it."

"You're my boyfriend," you respond, "so I wouldn't mind."

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side.

His lips close, his eyes tracking up and along the lines of your features with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. You'd like to say that it's love, but you're starting to think it's something else.

"Don't say it like that. You sound too unsure," you say.

Amusement dances across his face. "Are you finished?" he asks, opening his hand for your tray.

"No," you say, faux-stroppy. You take another fry.

Eddie grabs his tray. He skirts around your legs and stops at your side. In his more dopey moods, he'd take your face into his hand again and hold your head still as he kisses your crown.

He squeezes your shoulder. "I'm not unsure about anything," he says warmly. "I'll get you a drink, yeah? Ice?"

A chuck under the chin with his forefinger and he's gone, leaving you sitting there wondering what's wrong with him. Home an hour now and not one single kiss? Is this the end of the honeymoon phase? How do people survive this shit, you think. It's agonising.

Your chewing turns morose.

You and Eddie go through phases, waxing and waning, as most people do. There's always love there, but sometimes there's so much of it you don't know what to do with yourself besides lavish in it. Only yesterday morning he'd been in your bed, shirtless (as you often wish he'd be), dark ink like bruises in the low light where it climbed the lengths of his arms and his bare chest. You were lax under his touch, his nose and lips pressing to your skin as he kissed you from rib to soft tummy. Slow, kissing you as though he had nowhere else to be but there. As though his next shift wasn't thirty minutes around the corner.

You were mortified when he blew a raspberry. Now you're thinking you might peel out of your shirt and ask him to do it again if it means he'll kiss you in any definition.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he returns, his hand sliding along from your shoulder to the other while he steps over your legs.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

"Feeling very repetitive today, are we?" he teases, no consideration for your dinner tray as he collapses into the seat beside you.

You're expecting his cheek on your shoulder, his hair tickling your upper arm. It doesn't come. Worried he's discouraged by your tray, you place it on the coffee table and sit back. You really want him to kiss you.

Kissing someone isn't something you thought you'd want to do before you met Eddie. To be kissed, sure. To give a chaste peck, absolutely. But to have someone put their weight on you, to press at the seam of your lips with their own and to wade in like a steady wave, one breath at a time, until you're unsure where the boundary of your mouth begins and his ends, that was all new. Eddie kisses like he loves, loud and brash, rough and eager. Gentle when he needs to be but arduous.

He makes you feel wanted in a thousand ways and the first is his greedy penchant for stealing a kiss or three at every opportunity. It's weird that he hasn't kissed you yet. He's acting weird.

"You're being super weird," you say. You feel like a pressure cooker with steam pouring from the release valve.

Eddie smirks at you. "That so? Any explanation attached to that, or are we name-calling? I have some names for you, if we are."

"Oh, I have to know."

"Figured you would." He throws his leg over your thigh. The firm muscle of it tenses as he wiggles his foot.

"What were you gonna call me?" you prompt impatiently.

"Sweetheart. Angel." He turns his cheek into the back of the couch, bringing his pinky to your face and drawing a line from the smoothest skin under your eye outward. "Pretty. Very pretty."

"Says you," you murmur. If he thinks you're so pretty, why won't he kiss you? "I can't work out your angle today."

"Am I acting differently?" he asks, seemingly unperturbed.

No. He just hasn't kissed you. There might have been a moment when he first came home where you thought he was hesitating to kiss you, but since then he's acted exactly as he usually does (minus kissing, therefore making it unusual).

You sigh, half serious and half wanton sadness. "No." His nose twitches. You startle. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What, do I have bad breath?" you ask, bringing a hurried palm to your mouth to try and test it.

Eddie pulls your hand down, admonishing through a laugh, "You obviously don't. You know I'd tell you, babe."

"Oh."

"I got gum though, if you want it."

You bat his chest. "I bet you do… I don't know what it is, then. I give up."

"What's what?" he asks. He takes a curl of his hair around a painted fingernail. It coils on his finger, where he pinches the end, bringing it up to your chin and drawing a smile under your lips with the tip.

"I… do I have something in my teeth? A zit? What's the issue?" you ask, lost.

"There's no issue!" He laughs, and he curves his hand gently around your neck. "Why do you think there's an issue?" he asks. A thread of his voice wavers. Impossible to notice if you didn't know everything about him, down to the stray hair.

"No, because," —your voice shrinks— "you're being off with me." You won't cry, but it's impossible to stop the doubt that seeps into your voice. "You're not…"

Eddie strokes your neck with his thumb, growing serious. "I'm not what?"

"You haven't kissed me." You avoid his eyes. "Not since you saw me."

"I'm sorry," he says, immediately dipping forward.

You pull back. "Wait–"

Eddie waits. "What?" he asks.

"I don't want you to kiss me just 'cus I asked you to."

Eddie pushes his hand upward, his index finger shaped to your jawline. He rubs a quarter circle from your chin to your jaw tentatively with his thumb, an awful sorry look in his eyes that he gets whenever you're upset. "Well, I always want to kiss you," he confesses. His eyebrows furrow. "You know that, right?"

"But you haven't, today."

Is that pathetic? you panic. Noticing, caring, it feels so, so silly all of a sudden, you can't believe you spilled it that easily. You may as well have written clingy loser across your forehead in glaring pen.

Eddie sees it. He doesn't cringe at you like you fear he will.

"Ah," he says, almost humming, his lips barely parted, "that's just not okay, is it? My girl waiting on a kiss."

He leans in. You shy away, wanting his kiss but wanting the run up more. Eddie follows your lead, keeping space between you, rubbing a diligent and affectionate circle into your cheek. His touch is soft enough to tickle.

"I'm not trying to act desperate, I just figured– I thought there was a reason you hadn't," you say.

Eddie asks you in his softest, most genial tones if he can kiss you.

You don't say yes so much as you lift your chin and close your eyes. Your relief is sharp as he closes the fizzing space between you, as he guides your face to his and holds it there like a treasured pearl cupped in two palms. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that kills any doubts of his affection stone cold dead. Your lips part a millimetre if that, and Eddie slots into the gap, his hands growing less and less careful by the second, the pressure of his touch amping up. He moves back only long enough to turn his head, your noses bumping, another breathy sound slipping past his lips. You smother it gracelessly with a rougher reciprocation.

It's not your longest kiss, but it works. It's the reassurement you needed. Eddie pulls away to suck in a harsh breath, the feeling foreign against your tingling lips. His face dips, his eyes out of view. His hands move in twin down the slope of your neck, languish, feel along the thin layer of your t-shirt as though he's looking for some secret answer.

"I'm not trying to act weird around you, I'm just nervous," he says.

You feel your back aching, stiff as a rod. "Nervous?" you ask quietly.

Eddie rests his forehead on your chin. He whispers a cuss, and then he sits up very tall and looks you in the eye.

It takes him five seconds to tell you what it is that's making him anxious. In that time, you come up with a handful of things. I lost my job. I don't want to be with you anymore. There's someone else. There's no one else, but you did something that pissed me off/made me uncomfortable/disgusted me. I'm sick. None of your guesses are good, and none prepare you for what he asks next.

"Would you wanna move in with me?"

His hand meanders along your thigh. An awkward smile catches his lip like a fish hook, tugging it up on one side.

"I… what?"

"I think it's a good idea. I was trying to ask you yesterday, and now today it didn't feel right. I don't want you thinking I'm asking because you did my laundry." His hand warms your thigh, a pervasive heat. Your face is similarly hot. "We could split rent, and you could keep saving. You wouldn't have to deal with your shitty neighbours. You'd be closer to your job, and– and to me. It's a good idea," he repeats. "There's a ton of reasons it would be good for you, but I'm asking 'cus I missed you so bad last night I couldn't sleep. I wanna be with you whenever we can be."

"You'd really want me to?" you ask.

"You'd never have to wait for a kiss again," he says hopefully. "I know it's a big move. I get it if you're not ready."

"I'm ready," you say. You don't know it's true until you've said it aloud.

Delight sparks and catches like sun-dried tinder. Elation lights his eyes. "Holy shit, yeah? You want to?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding emphatically, trying not to yell. "Yes, I want to. I'd love to! That would be–"

"A dream," he finishes, snatching your waist into his grasp, basically yanking you into his arms.

"Amazing," you say, your arms forced over his shoulders.

You wrap your arms around the back of his head, curls that smell of almond oil and a generous dollop of hair mousse crushed to your face. Your eyes slip closed. You suck in an inconspicuous breath, though your self-indulgent action is interrupted by a groan, Eddie squeezing you hard enough to make the bones in your back click three at a time.

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. I don't kiss you for an hour and you think there's something wrong?" He laughs.

"I'm spoiled," you say sheepishly. To draw his attention, you add, "I can't believe you, afraid to ask me that! Why would I say no? I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, pulling the small of your back tighter still so he can dig his nose into the side of your head.

He kisses you all over the side of your face until you're painted in little warm patches from overexposure. A loved up mess, and dizzy with relief.

Relief and excitement. "How soon do you want me in here?" you ask, sitting back.

"How soon do you want another kiss?" he asks.

"Will we be stealing each other's questions all day?" you ask.

"For the rest of time, if I get my way."

"That's so corny," you whisper, ecstatic.

Eddie pushes you down onto the couch cushions. You know before he so much as pulls up a knee that he's going to climb on top of you. You make room for him, your heart feeling like it could breach through your ribs one bone at a time.

"What are you doing?" you whisper with a smile.

"Making up for lost kisses."

—

Two Weeks Later

Eddie wakes to a kiss.

Your arm thrown over his waist, your hand feeling greedily at the trim curve atop his hip, you've well and truly wrapped yourself around him. Like an octopus. He imagines the popping sound of your suckers if he tried to detach you (not that he'd want to).

You're dotting shy, soft kisses down the column of his throat. "I love you," you say softly between them, a melody that turns him to jelly. "I love you. Love you, love you, love you."

Your kisses are a compromise —after the general holy fucking shit-ism of your conversation a fortnight ago, Eddie put his foot down. He was out of his mind knowing his apartment was about to become yours, but he was also incredibly unhappy about the faces you'd made before he asked. He remembers your voice, your apprehension as you mumbled, "No, because, you're being off with me."

Eddie had been totally off trying to figure out how to ask what was potentially the second most important question he could ever ask you; he was distracted enough by it that he totally forgot about kissing you senseless. And your worrying asked a totally new question he hadn't thought of before. Why does Eddie always kiss you first? And why had the lack of a kiss been seen as a bar, and not an invitation?

Hence Project Kiss Me, Stupid. Or Project Kiss Me Stupid if he's feeling particularly in love (because you aren't stupid at all, but you may have made an unintelligent assumption (Eddie not kissing you for a few hours did not mean even slightly that he isn't gross in love).

The project was more like a proposal. Eddie decided you should be making the first move more often, so you weren't ever left feeling like something was wrong between you for lack of a kiss again. "If you ever think I'm mad at you, plant one on me. I promise I won't be mad much longer," he told you.

You're passing with flying colours, as far as he's concerned. Eddie thinks your moving in was gift enough, but fuck, all these kisses? He's been a walking vestibule of love, and lust, and sickening fondness for two weeks now. Project Kiss Me Stupid is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's a genius.

"Good morning," you say into his neck, a hint of teeth scratching him with the greeting. Eddie cups the back of your head with a weak, tired groan as your lips close over his pulse.

"Morning," he says. His voice is thick with the grit of sleep.

"This is okay?" you ask, pausing in your kiss.

Eddie tips his head back heavily into plush pillows, your pillows, fresh with new bedding to match the nightstands you'd decided on together. "Please," he says. His arm slides behind your back to belt you in. "I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore if you take any longer."

"Very funny," you murmur.

He knows he's forgiven for teasing when your face dives back into the crook of his neck. His eyes shutter closed, blissed, thinking, God, I could get used to this, when you nip him.

"You didn't like my joke, I take it?"

"It was funny," you say, giving him a scratching kiss.

"That's counter-intuitive," he warns. "I like it rough."

You fall away from him to cover your face with both hands. He knows he's rubbing off on you at the sight, your head shaking a theatrical side to side that fails to hide real embarrassment beneath it. You look especially tortured.

Eddie knows exactly how to fix it.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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alxtiny · 2 months

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hi i hope your requests are open 😓😓😓 i was wondering if you could do an ot8 comfort fic thing for when the ateez members find out that reader used to selfharm because of the scars left behind. if you dw to do ot8 then just mingi is fine.

thank you sm!

I’m so sorry it took this long i got sidetracked 😭😭 but i hope you like it

Ateez reacting to their SO’s self harm scars

Synopsis: ateez comforts the reader after finding out about their self harm scars

Pairing: ateez x gn!reader, domestic au

Genre: fluff, comfort

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of past struggles with self harm

masterlist

• Hongjoong

The soft hum of music filled the cozy studio as Hongjoong focused on the delicate dance of his fingers on the MIDI keyboard, his laptop screen glowing with various tracks and effects. Beside him, you were nestled in a comfortable chair, engrossed in a book, occasionally shifting to find a more comfortable position.

As you moved, your shorts rode up slightly, revealing faint scars on your thighs. Hongjoong's eyes flickered with concern as he noticed, surprised to have not seen them before. He paused his work, turning to you with a gentle furrow in his brow.

"Jagi, what happened to your thighs?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You looked down at your scars, a small sigh escaping your lips. "Oh, those? Just old battle wounds," you replied casually, trying to not fall back into painful memories.

Hongjoong's heart sank at your casual response. "But... how did you get them?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

You inhaled sharply, setting your book aside. "It's... a long story. But really, it's all in the past. They don't bother me anymore."

Hongjoong's heart clenched at your stiff tone, but he chose not to pry further. He reached out to gently trace the scars with his fingertips, his touch hesitant, as if it might hurt you, but you found it comforting. "I wish I had noticed sooner," he murmured, his voice laced with regret.

You met his gaze, offering him a small smile. "It's okay, love. I got out of it. It not exactly pleasant to remember but I’ll be fine," you reassured him, squeezing his hand affectionately. "Besides, consider it character development."

Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he could shield you from any pain. "Don’t make jokes now," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But remember, you don't have to bear it alone. I'm here for you, always."

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling With warmth spreading through your body, grateful for his presence and understanding.

• Seonghwa

Seonghwa sat comfortably on his bed, his back resting against the pillows as he played Animal Crossing on his Switch. You snuggled close beside him, the warmth of his body against yours, as you watched the screen together.

You continued watching with fascination, occasionally pointing out cute details or offering suggestions for his virtual paradise.

"Hwa, look! You should put a little picnic area by the beach," you suggested, your voice filled with excitement.

He glanced at you, a warm smile gracing his lips as he listened to your ideas. But then, as the light from the screen shifted, he noticed something on your forearm. Faint scars, barely visible except for when the light from the screen illuminated them but it was enough to catch his attention. He paused the game, concern flickering in his eyes as he gently traced his fingers over them.

"What are these?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with worry.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a wave of vulnerability wash over you. But then, meeting his gaze, you offered a reassuring smile. "They're old scars," you explained gently. "I'm better now, Seonghwa. You don't need to worry."

He furrowed his brows, his concern evident. "But... how did I never notice them before?"

You shrugged lightly. "They're not something I like to talk about, anyways being with you makes me feel confident and content with myself and I don't dwell on the past when I'm with you."

Seonghwa's heart swelled with love and admiration for you. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're so strong, Y/N," he murmured, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "And you're not alone. I'm here for you, always."

You smiled at him, feeling absolutely content as you relaxed further into his arms.

• Yunho

Yunho had always been passionate about his work, especially dancing. So when he dragged you along to the KQ dance studio one evening, you couldn't say no to his big puppy eyes, even if it meant sitting on the sidelines and watching him move with such grace that not even the best could replicate.

As he swayed and spun across the polished floor, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His dedication and talent were mesmerizing, filling the room with an energy that was infectious.

"That was amazing," you whispered as he finished a particularly intricate sequence.

He grinned, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Thanks, love. But you know what would make it even better?"

You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating his answer.

"If you joined me," he said, extending a hand towards you.

You shook your head, chuckling softly. "No way, Yunho. I'm not half as talented as you are."

But Yunho was persistent, and before you knew it, he had pulled you up from your seat and into the centre of the studio. You stumbled a bit, feeling a little self-conscious as you stood next to him.

"Don't worry," he reassured you, placing his hands on your waist. "Just follow my lead."

You moved together, following his lead as best you could. It wasn't long before you found yourself lost in the music, the worries of the day melting away with each step.

But then, as you spun around, your shirt shifted, revealing the faint marks on your shoulder. Yunho noticed immediately, his expression shifting from playful to concerned. He stopped dancing, his hands dropping to his sides. You froze at his sudden shift in demeanour and looked at him in confusion waiting for him to say something.

"What's this?" he asked, gently tracing the marks with his fingertips.

You bit your lip, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. "Oh, um, it's nothing. Probably just from a cat or something."

Yunho raised an eyebrow at your answer, he wasn't convinced. "You sure about that?"

You sighed, knowing you couldn't keep it from him any longer. "Fine, I used do it when I got frustrated or angry with myself. It's stupid, I know."

Yunho's eyes widened in horror, his fingers still lingering on your skin. "Why would you do that?"

You shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "I don't know. It's like a subconscious thing, I guess."

"You don't have to do that anymore," he murmured against your skin, kissing the scars lightly. "You have me now. Whenever you feel like that, come to me. Lean on me, use me however you like. I'll be here for you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

• Yeosang

Yeosang had gone out for a while to run some errands, leaving you to enjoy a peaceful nap on his large bed. You decided to steal one of his shirts, the comfort of which immediately sent you to sleep. Unbeknownst to you,in your deep slumber as you shifted around, the shirt had slipped off your shoulder, exposing the healed scars that adorned your skin.

As Yeosang returned home, his heart swelled at the sight of you, peacefully sleeping. He couldn't help but smile fondly, thinking of how cute and tiny you looked in his clothes, quietly he approached to admire your peaceful face. Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, as he did his gaze shifted to the scars that marred your skin. Concern flooded his features as he leaned in closer, his fingertips hovering over the healed marks.

You stirred at his touch, blinking awake with a soft smile as you recognized him. "Hey, Yeosang, you’re back, " you greeted smiling at him, your voice still laced with sleep.

But as your eyes met his, you noticed the concern etched in his expression, his eyes fixed on the scars. "Is everything alright?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

Yeosang's worry spilled out in a rush of questions. "What happened? Are you okay? Why didn't you tell me?"

Confusion flashed across your face before you realised what he was looking at, and you gently reached out to cup his cheek, soothing the furrow in his brow. "Yeosang, it's okay," you reassured him, your voice gentle yet firm. "Those scars are old. It's been nearly a decade since then."

You could see the relief wash over him, but he still looked troubled. "But... why? Why did you...?"

You placed a finger over his lips, silencing his questions. "I was going through a tough time back then," you explained softly. "But being with you... you make me so happy, Yeosang. I haven't had any bad thoughts since."

His eyes softened, and he pulled you into a comforting embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay," he murmured against your skin.

You smiled up at him, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I'm more than okay," you whispered, leaning in to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. "I'm better than I've ever been, all because of you."

• San

After a warm evening shower you wanted nothing more but to get into your fluffy pyjamas and go to sleep. You stood in front of your mirror, carefully putting on your clothes, when the door unexpectedly swung open, revealing San on the other side. Startled, you instinctively grabbed a towel to cover yourself.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize you were in here," San stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"It's okay, San. Just give me a moment," you said, adjusting your shirt as you continued dressing. You had been with him long enough not to feel entirely uncomfortable with him seeing you like this.

As you finished, you noticed San's gaze lingering on a particular spot near your hips. Sensing his stare, you furrowed your brows and glanced down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, your voice laced with concern.

San blinked, seemingly snapping out of his trance. "Oh, no, it's nothing," he quickly replied, though his expression betrayed his curiosity.

You sighed softly, knowing he wouldn't let it go that easily. "They're just scars from my past," you explained, gesturing towards the faded marks on your upper thigh and hips. "Back then I struggled a lot with my confidence," you winced slightly at the painful memory.

San's eyes widened in realisation, and his features softened with empathy. "I had no idea," he murmured, stepping closer to you. "You're perfect, you know? I can't believe you would ever think otherwise."

A small, appreciative smile tugged at your lips, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, San," you replied softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm in a much better place now."

Without hesitation, San reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. "I'm glad to hear that," he whispered, his gaze filled with adoration. "But just know, I'll always be here to remind you of how incredible you are."

His words melted away any lingering insecurities, and you couldn't help but lean in to press a tender kiss against his lips. "Thank you for always being so understanding," you murmured against his mouth.

"Of course," San replied, returning the kiss with equal fervor. "You don't ever have to worry about anything when you're with me.

• Mingi

After ages of going to the gym, lifting weights and what not, you had finally convinced Mingi to join you for a workout session at home. He was a bit hesitant about it at first, but eventually agreed, eager to spend more time with you. You chose something slow and peaceful, as opposed to the usual fast cardio routine.

You rolled out your yoga mats in a quiet corner of the living room, ready to start your session. "Alright, Mingi, let's begin with some simple stretches," you said, gesturing for him to follow your lead.

Mingi nodded, a determined look on his face as he mirrored your movements. You guided him through various yoga poses, explaining the significance behind each one with patience and encouragement. As you moved gracefully from one pose to another, you couldn't help but notice Mingi's intense focus on you.

Eventually, you transitioned into a seated position, stretching out your legs. That's when you saw Mingi's gaze flicker down to your thighs, his expression shifting slightly.

Sensing his sudden shift in mood, you paused, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. "Is everything okay, Mingi?"

Mingi hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "Y/N, I... I didn't realize..." His voice trailed off, his eyes fixated on the faint scars adorning your skin.

You followed his gaze and realized what he was looking at. You never made an effort to hide them, but you hadn't expected Mingi to notice them either.

You shifted closer to him and reached out, gently placing your hands on his. You took a deep breath, deciding to address it calmly. "Those are just old scars from before. I don't hide them, but I understand if it's a bit surprising."

Mingi blinked back tears, his emotions bubbling to the surface. "I... I never knew. I'm sorry, Y/N. I should've noticed sooner."

You shook your head, squeezing his shoulder gently. "You don't have to apologize, Mingi. You couldn't have known. What matters is that I'm here now, and I'm okay."

Mingi's eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice filled with sincerity. "Y/N, please... promise me you won't struggle alone anymore. I'm here for you, always."

You nodded, a warm smile spreading across your face, as you hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek, making him crack a smile too. "I promise, Mingi.”

• Wooyoung

It was one of those lazy afternoons when you and Wooyoung were both off from work and free from all worries, allowing just the two of you to enjoy each other's company. Of course the best way to spend it was by annoying each other and generally goofing around, engaging in your usual banter and playful teasing.

As you playfully jabbed at Wooyoung's side while he was attempting to pour himself some water, successfully making him spill it, he retaliated by attempting to tickle you. You squirmed and laughed, trying to evade his grasp and running around the apartment, but he managed to corner you and began tickling your sides mercilessly.

"Ah! Wooyoung, stop!" you squealed between giggles, your cheeks flushed from the laughter.

His hands slipped under your shirt, tickling up and down your sides with no mercy as tears escaped your eyes from laughing too much. Abruptly his movements stopped, and a concerned frown creased his forehead as his fingers brushed against thin ridges on the side of your ribs. Gingerly he lifted your shirt, his eyes widened to discover pale white scars strewn across your skin.

"Hey... what's this?" Wooyoung's voice softened as he traced the scars with his thumb, his playful demeanor instantly replaced by worry.

You glanced at him, puzzled by the sudden change in his demeanor, until you followed his gaze down to your ribs. Realization dawned on you, and you gently placed your hand over his, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Ahh those, it's okay, Wooyoung," you said softly. "I'm okay now. You don't need to worry."

He searched your eyes, silently asking for confirmation. Your reassuring words seemed to ease his concern, but he still couldn't shake off the worry completely.

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss against the scars, his lips warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered softly, his voice filled with sincerity and affection.

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, and a giggle bubbled up from within you. Wrapping your arms around him, you hugged him tightly.

• Jongho

As you walked through the door after a painfully long day at work, Jongho couldn't help but notice the weary expression etched on your face. His heart clenched at the sight, knowing all too well the burdens you carried. He had always known of the battles you fought within yourself and the scars they left behind. Yet, out of respect and understanding, he never broached the topic, letting you open up at your own pace.

Today, however, he felt compelled to reach out, to offer you the comfort you so often extended to him.

"Hey, love," he greeted softly, setting aside his book and rising to meet you.

You managed a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Hey, Jongho."

He stepped closer, his gaze gentle yet searching. "Rough day?"

You sighed, nodding slightly. "Yeah, you could say that."

Taking your hand, he led you to the couch, where he enveloped you in a warm embrace. "I'm here for you, you know? You can always talk to me."

You tensed slightly at his words, your gaze flickering to the floor. But Jongho's reassuring touch grounded you, as he smoothed over the jagged lines on your arms, easing the knots of anxiety that tightened within you.

"I'm just... tired," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silence settled between you, but it was a comforting silence. Jongho pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his arms secured around you.

Jongho nods, his hand finding yours, offering silent support. "You know you don't have to carry it all alone, right?" he says, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you're grateful for the dim light that hides the vulnerability in your expression. "I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

So, obviously you don't gotta do this request if you are not comfortable, and you can totally delete it, don't feel like you gotta, really.

I was wondering if, you could write some like angst-comfort-fluff type thing with poly!marauders? Where they have been dating reader for a hot minute now, but during (and long before they started dating) reader has been on-and-off cutting herself? And the boys don't know?

Like I said you do NOT have to write this, and just like any request do NOT feel like you EVER have to write a request.

Have an amazing day <3 <3

Hi lovely! I appreciate the disclaimers. I was a bit hesitant to do this because I feel like I'm not always sure where the line is between comforting/validating people who experience this and inadvertently glorifying self-harm, but I hope the general message of getting support and help comes through. Thanks for requesting and hope you're having a good week <33

cw: self-harm scars, mention of current self-harm

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James doesn’t see so much as feel them, hands roving under your clothes as has become his favorite pastime when you’re both feeling lazy. A series of neat, raised lines starting at the skin of your hip. Curiosity moves his hand upward, following the rows up to your waist. It’s impossible to tell how many there are. They just feel like vague ridges to James’ touch.

His heart takes on a too-familiar heaviness, and he strokes the lines absentmindedly as he thinks of what to say.

In the end, he doesn’t have to. You’d been on the precipice of sleep, your form lax between James’ legs, but suddenly you’re startling, an almost imperceptible jolt and your hand covering his own.

“What’re you doing?” you ask dazedly.

You sound panicked, and James hurries to placate you. “Sorry, I should have asked before touching you there.” Your alarm attracts Remus’ attention, and he peers over the top of his book from where he sits on the opposite end of the couch. James isn’t sure what to do. He wonders if you’d want this to be a private conversation (based on the fact that you haven’t brought it up yourself, he doubts you want it to be a conversation at all), but he can’t just not mention it and have you think he doesn’t care. He does what he can to keep the wariness from his voice. “Do you want to talk about it, lovely?”

Remus lowers his book as you slide down James’ torso, shrinking yourself. “Talk about what?” he asks, concern already infiltrating his tone.

James won’t speak for you. You’re quiet for a few long, heavy moments, and he can feel you growing tenser with each one. Finally, you say, quietly so that Sirius can’t hear from the kitchen, “It’s okay. I was going to tell you at some point.”

“Tell us what?” Remus asks again.

James sends him a look that begs for patience, bringing his hand to your shoulder to knead tenderly at the taut muscles around your neck. “Okay, thank you sweetheart. Would it be alright if I pulled your shirt up a little?”

He knows he’s handling you in that extra-gentle way that sometimes frustrates you. You resent kid-gloves, and he can’t tell for certain if this situation is an exception or if you’re just too embarrassed to say anything. You only nod, and James pinches the hem of your top between his fingers, bringing it up to just below your ribs.

The lines look thinner than they’d felt against his fingertips. Remus sets his book down, forgetting to save the page as he leans forward, palm moving up your leg as if to keep you in place while he looks. He fingers the waistband of your shorts, looking to you for permission before drawing it down until the lines stop where your hip bleeds into your upper thigh.

“When—” He swallows, voice painfully quiet. “When were you going to tell us?” There’s a sound from the kitchen which signals Sirius has finished preparing his snack.

Your eyes are almost frightened. James can tell there’s a myriad of placations vying to be the first to leave your tongue, but what makes it out is “Please don’t be mad.”

“Ooh, what do we have?” Sirius hears and comes running at the first whiff of trouble, perching on the armrest and sidling up to Remus. “A secret tattoo or—” You turn your hip into James’ thigh, and he doesn’t try to stop you, but you’re too slow, and Sirius’ voice seems to run out of air. Usually mirthful gray eyes flit up to yours looking almost betrayed. “Baby.” The word sounds as if it’s been hooked from some wretched part of him and dragged forcibly out. “When did…how long has this been going on?”

James can feel your ribs expanding and contracting faster as your breaths come quicker. You feel cornered. He puts his hand over the marks on your waist protectively, and you flinch.

“Hey,” he shushes you. “You’re alright, darling. Nobody’s upset with you, okay?” He lets his eyes flit up to meet the other two boys' warningly. Okay? “We’re just a little worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and your tone is so fraught James’ heart very nearly shatters. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“We don’t mind worrying, love.” Remus’ voice is still quiet, but the gentleness in it is more apparent now. “But whatever you’re comfortable sharing, we’ll take it. Has this been going on a long time?”

You nod. James begins stroking up and down your side.

Remus’ lips pinch, but he doesn’t waver. “Is it still going on?”

Your shoulders stiffen and your breathing stops. James’ insides fill with concrete, but he forces himself to peer around the back of your head to see your face. You’re biting down on your lip, hard.

“Even now?” Sirius sounds devastated. Remus reaches behind him, setting a pacifying hand on his knee.

Silver lines your eyes, but you take a slow, shuddering breath, and your voice comes out calm. “I’ve almost got it under control,” you say. “I’ve slipped up a few times, but…but I’m working on it.”

“Alright,” Remus replies, giving Sirius’ knee a squeeze and you a kind, if thin-lipped, smile. “Is there anything we can do?”

You shake your head immediately, but Sirius shoots you a look. “Don’t,” he says, and his voice is so uncharacteristically stern that even James startles, hand faltering on your side. It’s quiet as Sirius can manage, though still strained with emotion. “Don’t try to shelter us by keeping it to yourself. There have to be things we can do.”

James recollects himself, wrapping both arms around your middle and drawing you closer until the back of your head rests against his collarbone rather than his stomach. “Maybe,” he suggests, “you could let us help by telling us when you think you might slip, and we could try to find ways to distract you. Does that sound alright, lovely?”

You turn your head to look at him, and James steals a selfish kiss to the skin just near your eye. The corner of your lips twitch, and he hits there too, the little peck aiding the spread of your smile.

“That might help,” you say, quiet, tentative. Your smile fades as you turn your gaze to the other two boys. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck again on the scars lining your side, but he looks up when you speak. “Are you…do they bother you?”

Remus’ eyebrows stitch together, but he lets Sirius answer. The raven-haired boy looks almost surprised. “The marks?” he asks you, and despite James’ sympathy for the shock of all this, he sort of wants to kill him. He couldn’t make it easy on you, could he? Your hand finds James’ where it rests against your side, fingers worming between his, and he gives them an encouraging squeeze. You nod. “Baby, of course not,” Sirius says, ardent, and James swears he can feel you relax against his chest. “It bothers us—it bothers me that you’ve been upset, and that you’ve been dealing with it by yourself for so long, but I couldn’t give less of a shit about the marks. I care about you, your pain, not how it—how it looks on your body.”

“I agree,” Remus says, smiling a little as he pats Sirius’ knee like settle down. “Honey, so long as you’re doing what you can—and letting us do what we can—to help yourself feel better, the scars don’t matter.”

“Thanks.” Your voice is quiet, but more bashful now than ashamed, which James considers to be some improvement. “It’s just awkward to talk about, you know?”

“It’s not,” James tells you. “Or, it doesn’t have to be. Listen, we don’t have to talk about it like, every day, but you should be able to tell us when you’re feeling down, okay?” You rest your head against his shoulder, and it feels nice, but James gives you a playful little jostle to let you know his question wasn’t rhetorical. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” The words leave you in a sigh, and Sirius rolls his eyes amusedly while Remus watches you with a knowing look. You were on the brink of a nap before, and the weight of this conversation has thoroughly tuckered you out.

“Good,” James says, mock stern as he tucks his chin into the juncture of your neck. Wordlessly, Remus pulls Sirius down from the armrest and into his lap, picking up his book again. Your breathing slows, and James’ thumb strokes at your side underneath your shirt, indiscriminate between smooth skin and scars.

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sfehvn · 6 months

Text

intruder

Part 2 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,717 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tears threatened to spill as you gazed upon the man before you. One that you so loved, so craved; one that you have proven loyalty to time and again. Nervous fingers fiddled with the luxurious silk that adorned your body. The material was something you had always eluded before. When your heart was still pumping and breathing was a necessity. You didn’t have much use for those actions anymore, yet you still felt the deep red gown to be constricting.

“My, red really is your color, isn’t it darling?” Astarion’s words encouraged your eyes to wilt towards the floor in submission.

“Yes, love.” They didn’t sound like your own anymore, regardless you still spoke. A gnawing ache permanently etched into your chest as you had come to realize. How long have you been doing this dance with him now? Time was simply a construct of another time for you. One reserved for your long-gone, rosy-cheeked self. Your heart weighed heavier than you could comprehend these days.

Your master’s pale fingers effortlessly land under your chin leading your eyes to his own. His brow furrowed with indignation, you assume at least. “What’s got you down?” He questions, eyes never faltering. You wanted to laugh, though you didn’t; of course. What a ridiculous question it was. You could have prepared a book on the things that are wrong.

The ridiculously lavish gowns you are confined to, for starters. So different from the armor that had once adorned your body when you had first met the fearful spawn. The complete lack of your feelings. The fact that you weren’t allowed to freely-think any longer. Astarion would argue that letting you pick the color of the sheets in the bed-chamber was sufficient enough. You missed the daylight. When light flooded from the doors of the manor, you fantasized of running out. Of making a bed out of the fresh flowers blooming in Baldur’s Gate and basking in the warmth of the rays above. Parts of you longed for it no matter the banishment those same rays would cast on you.

“I’m fine.” You utter instead, a weak smile splaying saddeningly across your face. The lack of attention from Astarion in the past months had taken its toll. Mind convinced he no longer wanted you for love as you had desired. The reason you had given your life to remain in the shadows for its eternity.

“Do not lie to me, darling.” He spoke firmly, a gentle thumb brushing your surely paled cheek. Instinctively your eyes shut and you lean into the touch yearningly. “What is wrong?” It came more as a demand but you were too distracted to comprehend his words. It had been so long since he had shown you the attention he showers you with now. Too long. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, cold fingertips caressing your cold neck, lingering over the raised flesh of scar tissue.

“I miss the sun.” You spoke hesitantly, your eyes fluttering to meet him once more. He nodded in encouragement, a silent word spoken for you to continue. “I miss being able to come and go as I please.” Your words became more confident. “And I hate this dress.” This elicited an amused chuckle from Astarion.

“What else, pet?”

“I miss you Astarion. Most days I can’t tell if you’re bored with me or not. I am reduced to shadows while you galavant over Baldur’s Gate. I-”

His eyes hardened, an indication to you that you had spoken too freely. “Galavant.” He sneered in distaste, releasing his hold on your chin and dropping his hand from your shoulder. “You think what I’ve been doing is galavanting? I work, without thanks, might I add. I did this for you. To ensure you can have a comfortable existence. To ensure you would never have to put yourself in harm's way again. So that we could spend eternity together. As we are fated.” The distaste in his words seared you.

This was a mistake you had decided. “Right, I’m sorry.” Quiet and meek, you pondered if he knew exactly how frightened you had become of his ruling hand. He had never hit you, no. He did not need to. You felt like another pawn in his game, and here you had let your guard falter just for him to bare his teeth again. Sleep, eat, fuck. That was the comfortable existence you were to live. If this was fate, she had a cruel and unkind hand played to you.

“The dress is nice on you.” Astarion added flatly. “The least you could do is be grateful and wear it without complaint. That is your duty. You look the part, you act the part. That includes not sulking around the manor and ruining my good day.” He sneered, his previously sweet demeanor gone. “I expect you to help me greet our guests. They will be here soon. You will not embarrass me with your sour mood and you will be a dutiful hostess tonight.” Without another word he leaves the bed chamber.

Stinging tears pooled in your eyes. You often wondered if your Astarion was still in there. The one who speaks charmingly to you when he does, the one who touches you sweetly to allow you the briefest moment of comfort and relief in his presence. Or has he just become an expert at fiddling with your strings, at manipulating you to get exactly what you’re thinking out of you. You suppose that is more likely. Astarion had often said the old him died the day of the ritual, something you had chalked up to a figure of speech until recently.

The old Astarion really did die that day, and you were stuck with a monster who moved about in his beautiful skin. You know that now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“You were a good girl tonight.” Astarion delights as the two of you prepare to rest. His body bare, while yours is adorned in the finest nightgown the gold in his pockets can buy. You say nothing as you blindly pull each pin out of your hair. Running your fingers through the strands you discover another pin. Your maid had done an intricate updo in preparation for her master’s guests earlier in the evening, and you had only wished there was a way for you to admire her handiwork. Suddenly a pair of strong hands are on your shoulders. “I believe a reward is in order.”

You stiffened. “Something I receive every night can hardly be viewed as a reward.” You mull as you begin brushing through your hair. The grip on your shoulders tighten in contempt and just as quickly, they loosen.

“Tav?” Fear stricken words grace your ears, and you can’t help but turn quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Astarion was never fearful. Not anymore. Your eyes are wide with confusion, desperation as your eyes shift over Astarion’s face. “Gods, what has he done to you?” Your stomach sinks. For a split second, you think of just how sickly you may look.

“A-Astarion?” You sputter, wide eyed. His eyes held an admiration you hadn’t seen since the ritual had taken place, since the Astarion you loved dearly had fallen prey to his own quest for power.

His knees buckled beneath his weight, head bowing into your lap. “What have I done?” His body shakes as sobs erupt from him, back rising and falling with each heartbreaking sound emanating. Naturally your hands reach for him, hands splayed over the deep scars on his back. Your own tears stream silently down your cheeks, unable to comprehend whatever is going on.

“Astarion… Is it you?” Carefully spoken, afraid of being deceived once more. What if this was some sort of sick test? What if you're banished to your bed chamber for two months again? You can’t do that again… You won't.

His head lifts slowly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s me, my darling. It’s me.” It is spoken brokenly, voice cracking in defeat. “I’m not sure how long I have. I, gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Please don’t leave me again Astarion.” The thought of being punished pushed to the back of your mind. This is him. You both grabbed at each other with sorrowful hands. “What do you mean you don’t know how long you have?” Louder than you expected, desperation oozing from every word. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ve no choice.” Astarion’s voice is weak. “I’ve been trying to break through since the ritual, love. He…” He trails for a moment, “He’s too strong.” He shakes his head, disgust evident on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He begins, stating his apologies over and over again, as if he was stuck in a melancholic daze.

“Where will you go- where are you?” The tears sting at your eyes again, moving down your face and you don’t bother brushing them away, feverishly lavishing in every second you have left with him. “Are you in pain?” You ask shakily.

“I’m here. I’m not in control.” He shakes his head, eyes distant. “It’s dark. The only pain I feel is being away from you.” Infinitely succumbing to darkness, the very thing Astarion had wanted to avoid. His body has become a vessel for something evil. “I can’t-” The words were painful as he seemed to struggle internally.

There is a brief flash of pain upon his face before that same face of contempt reappears. His eyes are dark and he swiftly stands to his feet. He would not kneel to you. Perhaps it was because he had been bested by the soul that lurks deep in his depths, the embarrassment too great, he simply leaves the bed chamber.

You’re left disoriented. You were momentarily glad that the other Astarion wouldn’t punish you for the indiscretion of indulging the spawn that had fought his way out of the darkness for a juncture, perhaps it would come at a later time.

Your mind was plagued, but at the forefront was your love. Suspended in time, in darkness, alone.

#astarion x tav #ascended!astarion x tav #ascended astarion #tav #astarion x reader #ascended!astarion x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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fairysluna · 1 year

Text

Cregan was tired, you could easily tell by how slow his movements were. His eyes closing by themselves as he tried to dry his now long hair with a small towel. You could just sit back and stare at him, contemplating his tall frame with all the devotion in your heart; you would bet your eyes were shining as bright as the stars in the night sky.

He was walking towards the bed and sat down to your side as he groaned softly. You were quick to toss the book between your hands aside as you kneeled in the bed behind him. Your touch quickly was felt by his warm skin, sweet and delicate caresses were left followed by kisses that were proof of your pure and genuine love for your handsome and gallant husband. His long hair soon became a victim of your hands, and he let out a soft hum as he felt your gentleness.

"You're tired, love," you stated, whispering against his nape. You left a kiss there before you started to brush his long, dark strands with your fingers, "let me take care of you."

You started to grab sections of his hair, crossing them against each other and trying not to harm him or being too harsh with your actions. Cregan was basically purring under your arms after a few seconds, completely relaxed and feeling how all the stress of the day left his body as you braid his hair. This was probably his favorite time of the day, when he could just go to his chambers, and find your gentle touch inside of it, making all his worries disappear as soon as you lay your hands on him.

There was no need to use words, for the physical contact was enough for you both to know how deeply in love you were with each other. These were your little moments of peace, where you were just two lovers enjoying the mutual company and the beautiful sensations that grew within you both after seizing the loving touch.

Once you finished, his arms did not waste any time and they soon were wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him, laying in bed with you between his thick limbs under the exaggerated amount of blankets. You sighed as you smelled the fresh scent of lavender in his scarred skin. Your fingertips tracing the small protuberances in his skin, looking at them with admiration and care. Those were battle wounds, which he had earned after he almost gave his life to protect your home, and to protect you.

"Only the gods know how much I love you, my love," he whispered as he looked down at you, "for there are no words that could describe the feeling, and they are the only ones who can see into my thoughts."

You pressed your lips in a soft and devoting kiss that did not last long but that it was more than enough. You could spend your eternal nights this way, and you would never complain.

#liv writing small stuff #cregan's thoughts #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon

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annetictac · 4 months

Text

As you wish CL16

Summary: Charlie helps you out when batteries run out. One - shot.

Warnings: smut below.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything F1 or CL related, this fic is for fun!

It was silly really.

She’d been so frustrated, so sexually deprived that she had run to her room not locking the door. Then her trusted companion, the little bullet vibrator that could get her off under 5 minutes had decided enough was enough and it slowly died on her before giving her release.

She really had to begin reading all those mediating, calming books she had piled next to her bed. She’d been so annoyed by the timing of the bullet demise that she had thrown it to the wall, hitting a lamp, making it break and fall loudly on the floor. And also, the quick unplanned movement - from her unstable one leg up position, dress wrinkled up, panties still hanging from the upper leg - had finished to unbalance her making her also fall loudly.

It had taken less than a minute for Charles to barge in, without knocking of course.

“Are you ok?” he’d asked, his lovely innocent green eyes looking for any sign of harm quickly before they jumped to look to the ceiling once he realized her panties – black lace, he noticed – were not on. They both had the decency to blush wildly.

“I – I-“ she began stammering, quickly closing her legs and pulling her panties up. And before she could think further. “Sorry, my vibrator broke and I threw it against the wall, bad aim, bad-”

“It broke?” he interrupted, his eyes meeting hers again, still a little blush remaining over his cheeks. She blushed furiously.

“Not like that! Batteries run out,” she stood, smoothing the flowy fabric of her skirt to cover what it could of her upper legs. She noticed Charles’ pretty eyes followed her hands in movement.

“Did you at least get off?” he dropped without thinking, keeping the red on her cheeks.

“N-no,” she mumbled, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Hence, the violence…”

“Do you want me to help?”

She blamed their sheer bluntness on the ridiculousness of their situation. They were friends. The’d been friends for a long time and not once had he given her any sign that he regarded her as anything but. In fact, every time someone would confuse her for his inexistent sister, he would always avoid to deny it.

She stood there for what felt like hours, but was probably a couple of seconds and it wasn’t until she saw him physically give a step back that something snapped her into action.

“Sure!”

It was unclear to know if they both felt the need to act so quickly before the bravado ran out. Both met in the middle before Charles grabbed the ends of her dress, his fingertips brushing her legs slightly. Giving her shivers and heating her centre surprisingly quickly.

“I-“ Before he could say anything, her hands went quickly to grab his neck and she helped her self on her tips to kiss him. Bless him for his quick reaction times. In less than a second his big hands grabbed her naked ass from under her dress to flush her against him. “Fuck…” he muttered against her neck as he dropped wet kisses and licks around her collarbone.

“Fuck…” she agreed nodding slightly as she leaned her neck back to grant him access. She thanked the makers of her dress for buttons that opened too easily as he pressed down and down into her chest. She sighed when he sat bringing her into his lap, putting pressure to the apex of her long legs. She rolled her hips brushing her pussy against the costures of his jeans. Frustration beginning to build.

And then nothing. He felt his strong arms pushing her away from where she wanted him.

“Patience, love,” he muttered as he finished taking her dress off, pushed completely away her soaking panties. She didn’t wait for him to open her bra’s lock, quickly discarding it on the floor. His hands had been grabbing her ass cheeks, probably leaving red marks in their wake. He paused, taking her in and slowly closing his eyes, he gave her a kiss over her belly button, his fingers moving forward ‘til they found her folds. She hissed, her hand jumping to his strong neck.

“Charlie,” she whispered in awe as her eyes slipped closed, she leaned her weight into his knees as she stood in front of him as he explored her softly. “I’m going to need way more than a finger to come, darling,” she muttered, her fingers threading into his brown locks, nails scratching him, as he entered further in his exploratory index and took it out completely. She opened her eyes confused to watch him suck his own finger.

“I’m going to need you to lay down,” he instructed, sucking again on his finger. That image would be on her top three she would need in the future to touch herself. He smirked and didn’t wait for her to move, he pushed her into bed, as he laid on his side, mouth near hers. “If I’d known you tasted this good, I would have barged into your room a lot sooner…” he whispered, making her flush again, as he returned his finger into position and placed a second one as his thumb lazily toyed with her clit. She sighed in content, as he picked up the pace. “Tell me how you want me love,” he kissed her lower jaw, his fingers not loosing pace. She looked at him, her eyes drawn into his pretty lips. Her thoughts must have showed because he grinned widely. “As you wish,” he said giving her a quick peck before changing positions, opening her legs, raising one over his shoulders. Fuck his shoulders. She felt the first wave of her orgasm arriving when his tongue began dancing over her clit. It took her little to crash but instead of stopping he slowed his space and rode her wave with her.

Once he felt her relaxing, he picked up the pace until she reached a second one too easily. When she was younger she would have been embarrassed, now she knew better. She sighed his name, moaned and pushed her feet ‘til his shoulders. She could swear she felt him grinning as he continued to leak her climax away.

“Charlie,” she called lazily as she felt herself relax for the second time. She pushed his face away softly, rubbing her wetness from his lips with her thumb. He climbed ‘til he was on top of her before kissing her sloppily. It was then she noticed he was unfairly fully dressed.

“You look so pretty like this, love,” he mumbled into her lips. “So pretty,” he repeated as his hand held her jaw before kissing her fully. She felt her belly filling with butterflies while she returned his kiss with enthusiasm. She felt the tension in his jeans but before she could release him, he said. “I would have offered to find you batteries sooner,” he mumbled to her lips. She frowned confused.

“What?” He blinked at her confusion.

“I was offering to help you find new batteries for your toy,” he explained. She flushed red in embarrassment and she was tempted to flee in shame but his strong arms held her in place. “I think I liked your idea of help much better than mine!”

#f1 2023 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female oc #bestfriends au #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 #cl16 one shot

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builtbybrokenbells · 20 days

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Partners In Crime

The cure for heartbreak is truth, but what do you do when the truth is the source of heartbreak itself?

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, unrequited love, mentions of cheating/cheating, lots of pining and yearning, unreturned feelings, self doubt, anxiety, anger, depression, marriage/weddings, breakups, crying, mentions of blood/bleeding, being left at the altar, self sabotage, self doubt, eloping, kissing, confessing feelings, drinking, swearing, childhood friends to lovers, sorry if i miss any!

some Jake angst bc i guess I’m not suffering enough right now. much love, hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Jake’s POV

A rose, so strikingly beautiful in its own simplicity. The petals, blood red with intent to steal attention, surrounded by pillowy emerald leaves to frame the picture of her. The smell, sickeningly sweet. The perfume could choke you, suffocate you with its fragrant aura all whilst convincing you that you were okay, and that it would never hurt you. The silk of the petal against the skin of your fingertips, soft and inviting, forever making you wonder how anything could ever be so easy to love.

And then the hand slips, tumbling recklessly past the flowing leaves and grazing over the violent stem. The thorns, the only protection for the beauty above, sticking into your skin as the aching pain begins to spread. Crimson, not just from the leaves, now flows effortlessly from the wound produced by the one thing you’d fallen hopelessly for, reminding you that sometimes, not even love is enough to spare you from the hurt.

The skin, barely even broken, makes you wonder if you were even harmed at all, or if it was a figment of your own imagination, showing you the plausible outcome as it begged you to take a step back. As you brought your hand to the high quality wool of your suit jacket, swiping away the memory of your injury, you knew it could not be false. It hurt too badly to be anything but true, for even dreams did not sting quite the same. As you raise your fist to the oak door, one fancier than you’ve ever seen before, the ache suddenly spreads far beyond the tip of your finger, settling deep in your chest and wrapping around your spine as you wait for an answer.

Not even a shuffle is heard from the other side, and you wonder if maybe you should walk away, or if knocking was a good idea at all. You wonder if she’s in there, weepy-eyed with a smile while she stares at her reflection in the mirror and a dozen hands worked to zip up the back of her dress. You wonder what the dress looked like, if it was intricately beaded or plastered with lace, or maybe it was a silk slip that screamed elegance that matched her entirety.

You need not wonder, because wondering was never something you had to do on her behalf. You knew her, and you knew her better than the back of your hand. More than that, you were certain you had studied her far beyond what you’d ever known about the rosewood fret of your SG. You knew she was in the room, dressed perfectly in white lace extending down to her wrists, cascading delicately to the floor behind her as she walked. Her hair was twisted up, the loose pieces by her face hanging down to accentuate the warmth of her cheeks, just like always. Her hands, perfectly manicured and searching too busy themselves as she tried her best not to break a nail or chip away at the polish. She was tapping one foot against the ground, her heart beating so hard in her chest you could nearly hear it from the hallway, but despite her anxiety, she held a soft, warm smile on her lips.

She was not an open book, but you’d dedicated a lifetime to knowing her. Months and miles could separate you, and you would find her again the exact same as how you left her. Sometimes, things never changed, and thankfully, she was one thing that never wavered.

You knew her so well, and seeing her after so much time away, the same picture as you’d seared in your mind every night alone in a hotel room, was always comforting. It wrapped you in a blanket of warmth, filling your heart with so much love it might burst from your chest. She was everything, and she reminded you of that fact every time she graced you with her presence.

Unfortunately, her company often came with more than just that.

When the door opened, revealing the picture you’d already created in your mind, you were reminded of that fact worse than ever before.

“Jake?” She breathed, her lips glossy and her eyes sparkling to match. Her hair was twisted up, just as you’d imagined it would be, dazzling with a clip covered in gems. The soft locks of hair hung around her face, the same ones she could never seem to get a handle on. This time, it was purposeful, and you knew she’d given in to the lack of control rather than fighting it. “I can’t believe you made it.” The smile on her face was striking, but as breathtaking as it was, it hurt worse than it helped your aching heart.

“You didn’t really think I would miss your big day?” You forced the words out, wondering why you couldn’t just appreciate the moment rather than dread the future. You extended your arm, holding out the flower, you realized it had nothing on her. As beautiful as you once believed it was, seeing her stand in front of you dressed in the wedding gown and dolled to perfection, you knew nothing could ever hold a candle to her. Not even the blood red petals and the emerald leaves.

No, especially not something as simple as that.

“Here,” you said, watching her gaze down upon the single flower held in your hand. “Figured there would be lots of white today, so maybe some color would break up the monotony a bit.” Another smile graced her lips, so big the apples of her cheeks would start to ache if she held it for any amount of time.

You wanted to see her smile, so why did it hurt so much?

More than that, why did it hurt so bad to love something that was so easy to fall in love with?

“You always know what to say, Jacob.” She whispered, grabbing it from your grasp, her eyes never straying from the ruby red petals. “I never should have doubted you.” It looked a million times better in her hands than it ever did it yours, and you couldn’t help but notice the thorns never once thought to prick her skin, fearful of harming something so beautiful.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You chuckled, finding the ache ease the more she spoke. The soft sound hit your ears, quickly making itself the most important thing in the entire room. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” And it was the truth, even if you knew you shouldn’t be saying it. “Not that you don’t look beautiful every day.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, finally looking up to catch your eye. She held the stare for a moment, and just like every other time, you could have sworn there was something there, something deeper than the surface level shit the two of you were spewing to each other.

If there was, you were still a coward, and when you thought about addressing it, your palms broke into a sweat and your stomach twisted in a knot.

Maybe if you had found the courage all those years ago, you’d never be standing before her now, watching her get married. Maybe, you would be the one waiting to marry her.

“Do you want to come in?” She asked, her eyes flickering past you, settling on the wallpapered drywall in the hallway. She blinked a few times, seemingly trying to bring herself back to reality. You wanted to ask, but you were afraid of the answer.

“F’course. Think we’ve got some catching up to do.” Catching up before she could never be bothered to think of you again, is what you should have said. After all, it was the truth, no matter how badly it hurt.

“Definitely.” She let out a giggle, throwing the door open and stepping back. As soon as you let yourself move forward, you felt like you were punched in the stomach. In the air lingered a perfume you’d spent a lifetime trying to forget. It was the sweetest smell that you’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing. You’d spent nights with your head buried under the covers, your lips ghosting the skin of other women to try and drown the memory of her, but it never worked. When you woke in the morning, you always seemed to yearn for the same thing. Everything paled in comparison, soured just by the knowledge that something so special existed. “Everything got pushed back a little bit, but I’m trying not to panic. The day is still good, we’re here, we’re happy, even if it is a little bit later than expected.”

Happy.

Bold choice of words, sweetheart.

“What happened?” You asked, your eyes floating around the room, taking in everything it had to offer. Bridal suites were always so feminine, divine in their own special way. Billowy curtains, a stunning aerial view of the yard, porcelain white bathrooms and neat towels folded at every corner. It was perfect, everything in place, but it wasn’t her. Although she was perfect and pristine at first glance, she loved mess. For her entire life, she’d strewn clothes across the floor, leaving water bottles behind wherever she went. She loved nature, the feeling of earth on her skin and sand between her toes. Many times you’d walk in on her, paint covering her clothes and splattered on her face because she tried to repaint her bedroom all on her lonesome.

She was perfect in her chaos, and it was one of the very things that made you love her in the first place.

You wondered if her soon to be husband loved her for the very same things. You didn’t know him, nor did you know much about him. When you talked, it was never about him, but rather the life you two once dreamed of building together. Your job had taken you away from home, away from her, and as much as you missed her, you were grateful you never had to watch her fall in love with someone else. At the same time, it made you uneasy, unsure if you could watch your best friend fall into the arms of a man you knew nothing about. You dreaded the idea that he did not love her for those quirks, and that in your time away, his subjective love had made her change.

You looked to the bed, where she would have slept the night before, noticing the sheets pulled from the corners and the pillows nearly falling off the sides. The bag that once protected her dress was flipped inside out, thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed and long forgotten. A sadness washed over you, knowing that he did love her the same way. Then, you felt guilty for being sad at all; you should be jumping for joy that such a wonderful woman was being loved the way she deserved.

Even so, you could not shake the feeling of knowing you could love her better than anyone ever had, if she’d just give you the chance.

Then again, how could she ever give you a chance when you had always been too afraid to ask?

“No point in getting into it. Doesn’t matter now, does it?” She said, her tone light and the look in her eyes far away. You took a step towards the window, taking a long look outside. Rows of chairs were placed in the large field, the pond in the background decorated with lily pads and the birds sat upon trees in the distance singing love ballads. You wanted to be happy, but your stomach felt like it was filled with lead and your bones were heavy with the weight of your grief.

Tell her.

“It is important, sweetheart. It’s always important, to me at least.” Of course you could not tell her. Every time you thought about voicing your love for her, your throat closed around the words and your tongue petrified. Your heart raced, your whole body vibrating with the intensity of the emotion you felt for her, yet sentenced to a lifetime of never being able confess your sins.

Loving her in itself was not a sin, but by god did it feel like one. It was your biggest secret, and your largest skeleton in the closet. It loomed over your head wherever you went, and it clung to the fibers of your being no matter how hard you tried to shake it off. At five years old, with mud streaked cheeks and grass stains on your knees, you loved her the same. At twelve, with cracking voices and awkward statures, you still thought she was the most beautiful thing in the whole world. At eighteen, when you were lucky enough to bring her as your date to senior prom, you swore you would never feel the same for another woman, and you still hadn’t. Just a few days ago, thousands of miles away, she was the only thing you wanted. With her wedding invitation folded in your wallet, her name in your phone with a heart beside it despite the years being unkind to your friendship, she was the only thing you ever wanted to come home to.

“No, because if I talk about it, I’ll psych myself out again.” At that, a spark of hope ignited in your chest.

“Again?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, looking out at the yard too. A few guests were sat already, preparing for the main event. The event in which would forever haunt you. “I mean, it’s my wedding, the biggest day of my life. I think it’s normal to be anxious?” She posed it like a question, like she wanted you to tell her she was wrong, but you couldn’t. If you were to have her, it wouldn’t be like this. It wasn’t fair to ruin this for her for your own selfish purposes.

“Talk me through it, maybe I can help.” You offered. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, gentle and quiet as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress.

“I didn’t picture it like this.” She whispered, looking towards the floor. “I always thought I’d wake up on the morning of my wedding day, and I’d be overjoyed. I-I mean, I am, just not the way I thought I would be. I woke up, and it was cloudy outside. The sun’s not even shining, Jake.” You wanted to sit beside her, to pull her into your arms and tell her the sun was not shining because he was not the man she was supposed to marry, but you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, yearning to be the one who she was excited yet nervous to marry. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” She huffed, shaking her head at herself.

“Stop it, you always do that.” You said, stepping towards her. She looked up at you, noticing you were closer than before. Her stare paralyzed you, ensuring you could not progress any further. “You always act like how you feel isn’t important, but it is, Y/N. To me, it is.”

“But it’s not, Jake. I just have the jitters. Once I get out there and say my vows, it’ll be better. I know it will be.”

How do you know?

How does she know that when the curtain closes and the sun draws near the earth, that she’ll be happy with her decision? How does she know that even under the warm golden hue on the earth as it prepares for the night, the uncertainty would flee? How does she know that she won’t decide he’s not the one for her, only after it’s too late?

“If you say so, sweetheart.” You nod, biting back a sorrowful smile. She was looking at you, studying you, waiting for you to say something else. You wondered if she was waiting for you to say the very thing you’d sworn yourself to secrecy about.

Of course she didn’t. She was getting married, and not to you.

Still, there was this hint of hope in her eye you couldn’t help but pick up on. It was the same hope that you so often felt when you were with her.

“Anyway, enough about me and my woes… how was Europe? I’m sure much more exciting than consoling a pitiful bride.”

Never.

You would console her every minute of every day and you would never get tired of it, nor would you wish to be anywhere else. She was what you wanted, no matter the circumstance. You wanted her for all she was, the sadness, happiness and anger combined. You didn’t want her on technicalities nor did you want only the good parts. You loved her so dearly that you’d even take the worst from her, if that was all she was ever willing to give you.

“It was good,” You cleared your throat as you spoke, finding a lump steadily growing within it.

“That’s it?” She forced a chuckle out, clearly picking up on your distance. “Give me more than that. How can I live vicariously through you if that’s all you have to say about it?” There was humour in her tone, but she meant what she said. She still wanted to be there with you.

“Yeah, it was good.” You nodded, feigning a little more excitement. “It’s beautiful there.”

“Was it everything we ever dreamed of?” The simple question hit you like a brick, the sheer weight of her words nearly making you double over in pain. Suddenly, you were sixteen again, crowded in her tiny bedroom and sharing a comforter on her twin mattress. The air was chilly and the lights were dim, your bodies close, but never as close as you wanted to be. Laughter hung thick in the air, keeping you warm just as well as the blanket as you talked about dreams and fears of the future.

Out of all the fears, you never seemed worried about her not being a part of your biggest dreams.

Maybe you had been scared of all the wrong things.

“You would have loved it, Angel.” You confessed, looking away from her so you did not have to see the sadness on her face. “I wished you were with me every step of the way.”

“I should have went,” she whispered, pain clear in her voice the same as it was in your own. “In the beginning, I should have went with you when you asked. Maybe we could have done all the things we used to talk about.”

“You still can.” The words slipped out effortlessly, and you wished you could take them back. The sentiment hung heavy in the air, both of you knowing the meaning was much deeper than it seemed. “I mean… You know, you can always come visit, see the sights and stuff.” Your cover up was pathetic, but it was the best you could do in the moment.

“You guys still want me there?” She asked, surprising you with her intrigue. You’d expected a blunt rejection, but she was humouring your ideas. You turned to look at her again, unable to keep your eyes off of her. A small smile blossomed on your lips, a real one that could only be accredited to her.

“Y/N, there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t want you there with us.” It was the truth, even if it was heavy. She took in a long breath, looking down at her attire for a moment before catching your eye again.

“I think about it more than I should.” She admitted, shy about still living within that same daydream whilst oblivious to the fact that you’d never left it. Your heart fluttered at the idea of her still thinking about spending her days with you, sharing hotel rooms and building a new life together, away from your hometown, away from him. “Come sit with me?” She asked, hopeful that you would oblige.

Josh had told you not to walk into the building, not to knock on her door with sad eyes and a broken heart. At the time, you thought he was ridiculous for suggesting such a thing, knowing you needed to see her. Now that she was looking at you, more beautiful than ever, you knew he was right. It was a bad idea to come, and a worse idea to sit beside her when you knew it would do nothing but break your heart further. As you stepped towards the bed, sitting next to her, you just hoped that you would not break her heart the same as you were breaking your own.

You were still, staring forward instead of turning your body towards her like you so badly wanted to. Then, without warning, her hand reached out for yours, settling so cautiously over the back of your hand. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, just as wonderful as it was all of those years ago. You could not remember the last time anything felt so good.

Tell her.

“I’m really glad you came, Jake.” She said, quiet as a mouse as if her confession was a crime.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do,” She agreed, but it was strained. “It’s just… been so long since I’ve seen you. I was worried I might not be as important to you anymore.”

She wanted to be important to you. Even now, when she was minutes away from being someone else’s, she would always be a little bit yours.

She had never been yours, but in some strange way, you both had the inkling that she was.

“You’ll always be important to me, angel.” You said, feeling her perfume begin to suffocate you. It was lethal, but you knew if you walked away, you would beg to come back just to die at her hands. “Do you remember when we were kids and you used to dream about this day? How I always told you I’d be here to hold your hand through it, just so you don't get scared and run away?”

“Yeah,” she let out a small laugh, but her mind was far away. You wondered what she was thinking, and you wondered if you even wanted to know. As terrible as it was, you hoped she was thinking about you. “How tightly can you hold my hand?” She asked, her tone airy and light, like she wheezed the words past her lips.

“What?” You asked, keeping the smile on your face as you turned your head to look at her. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes.

She was afraid.

For the first time in your life, you had to swallow the fact that the bravest person you knew was afraid of the future. No matter the circumstances, she had always been prepared. Even when your bags were packed and you held a plane ticket in your hand, ready to fly away from everything you’d ever known, away from her, she was not scared. You were terrified, tears in your eyes with shaking hands, but she never wavered and instead, encouraged you to follow your dreams. She kissed your cheek and hugged you tight, reassuring you that you could do anything you put your mind to.

If that was true, you would be able to say the words.

Jesus Christ, Jacob. Tell her. Time is running out.

You felt panicked, waiting for her to respond. You needed to say the words, but they were stuck in your throat again. You didn’t want to lose her, but your own cowardice was seeing that through.

“I want to run.”

Please, Y/N, run away.

Don’t do this.

“Why, sweetheart? I thought this was what you wanted? You looked so happy in the pictures on the invitation.” Convincing her to leave would be selfish, and she needed you to be selfless. You would be anything she needed, even if it was not what you wanted. “Is… is he good to you?”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded, solemn in her answer. “He’s great.”

“…but?”

“But, I don’t think he’s what I want.” The words were like a breath of fresh air, a million pounds lifted off your shoulders. You were so featherlight that you felt like you were floating away. Hearing her say it was a relief, but it did not stop you from feeling guilty about it. “Everyone said it was okay to be nervous, but I don’t think it’s normal to doubt it. My mom said she was nervous to marry my dad, but she was so certain he was what she wanted. I’m… I’m not. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up my freedom, my last name. I don’t know if I can commit to him for a lifetime, because I can barely even commit to him right now.”

You wanted to ask. You needed to know if that meant what you thought it did.

Fucking tell her.

“I woke up today sick to my stomach, and it hasn’t stopped. I’m sitting here, and… ugh, fuck.” She groaned, her free hand flying to her forehead in exasperation. “I’m the worst, Jake. He’s so good to me, and I just… I don’t want him to be. The last few months, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to leave. If I do and nothing changes, then I’m the bad guy, and I don’t want that. It’s just… I love him, but I’m not in love, I don’t think. It’s boring, and every day is the same. When you’re in love, boring is nice, but this boring is just… boring.”

“Keep talking.” You encouraged, knowing that no matter which way it went, she needed to speak her mind.

“He doesn’t want to do anything. We don’t go anywhere, we don’t go on dates. We just sit at home and stare at each other. It’s been months since we’ve had fun, and I don’t know if I want a lifetime without fun. Even today… I didn’t want this. The big ceremony and the expensive dinner… it’s not me. I hate it, and he thinks I love it.”

You knew it wasn’t her, but you wanted to believe that she was the one who picked it. Hearing her say it broke your heart, knowing that this was not what she dreamed of when you two were kids. It was not what you wanted for her, either.

“I kicked my bridesmaids out because I needed time alone to calm down, and I thought it would work being away from the wedding stuff for a minute. I guess it did, but it wasn’t in the way I hoped it would be.” You reached into your suit jacket, your fingers searching for the inside pocket. They closed around the cool metal, pulling it from its hiding place as you extended your arm towards her. You knew you would need it to get through the day, but you didn’t expect her to need it, too. She looked down at the flask, her lips quirking into a soft smile. She grabbed it from you, placing her painted lips against the opening and throwing her head back.

“I’m your best man, y/n. I need to know if you want me to hold your hand so you’ll stay, or if you want me to start the car so we can get you out of here.”

“Don’t give me that option.” She chuckled, shaking her head as the whiskey burned her chest. Her cheeks turned rosy in reaction to the alcohol, reminding you she was still the same girl she was all of those years ago.

“Why, ‘cause you’ll take it?” You challenged.

“Yeah,” She nodded, answering without hesitation as she watched you take a sip, too.

“Then that’s your answer, doll. Don’t force yourself to stay when all you want to do is run. You feel that way for a reason.” Suddenly, convincing her to leave was no longer your best interest, but hers, too. You did not care what happened outside of the room so long as she was happy, and it appeared to you that she would not be so long as she stayed.

It just so happened to be the option that would make you the happiest, too.

“Thought you were supposed to hold my hand and make me stay? That’s what I always told you to do.”

What if I don’t want to do that?

“Is that what you want?” You asked, noticing your hand still held tightly in her own. She didn’t seem to want to let go.

“No… maybe? I don’t know.” She sighed.

“I always promised I’d do what’s best for you, Y/N, and if holding your hand and making you stay isn’t what you want, I don’t know if I can do it.”

Tell her.

“Would you hold my hand and help me run away?”

“That’s what best friends do, is it not?” You grinned, taking another sip from the flask.

“A best friend would tell me I’m insane, I think.”

“Right,” you give a slow nod, chuckling to yourself. “We’ve always been more like partners in crime, I think.”

“I’d say.” She laughed, nodding with you. “I missed you, Jake.” Your hand tightened over hers, your heart beating a million miles a minute. She held your stare, again adorning that same hopeful glimmer.

Is this what she wanted, or were you only seeing it in such a way because you wanted it so badly? Was she dropping you hints, or were you crazed by how dearly you loved her? Worst of all, should she actually run, or were you encouraging it because you couldn’t stand the thought of her staying?

“I missed you too, sweetheart. More than you know.”

“I feel good, Jake. Better than I have all day.” She confessed, intertwining your fingers with her own and rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Maybe you just needed to get it out and get on with your day?” You offered, saddened at the thought.

“No,” she shook her head, her voice quiet again. “It’s ‘cause you’re here. Been looking forward to today, but I think the only reason why is because I knew you’d be here.”

Love could not begin to describe how you felt for her, especially after hearing her say such things.

“Is that bad? I’m more excited to see you today than my future husband.” She said, her face plagued with guilt and her beautiful smile fading into a frown. In an instant, your hesitancy faded and you reached your hand out to cup her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, relief showering the both of you. Touching her felt like finally being home after a nasty bout of homesickness. You ran your thumb over her cheek, the makeup littering her skin not even thinking of smudging under your touch.

She was not the thorny rose that hurt you. She was not a beautiful thing that hurt to love. She was the petals, beautiful and breathtaking, and you were the thorn drawing your own blood.

Not once in this lifetime had she ever hurt you. You had become the one who was an expert at harming yourself. In that moment, the ache in your chest had nothing to do with how easy she was to love, and everything to do with the fact you had always been too scared to say it aloud. Relationships with others and miles between you could not dampen the adoration you felt for her, but that was not her fault. If only you had the strength to tell her, maybe the hurt would ease for both of you.

“I want to have fun with him, like the two of us used to have. I want every minute to seem easy, like it does with us, but it isn’t. It’s hard more than it’s ever been simple, and I don’t think that’s how I want to live my life.”

Was she saying it? Were you hearing the words you’d forced yourself to hold back? Was she saying everything you had been feeling all this time?

Tell her, Jacob.

“Even if I do change my mind, I’ve been in here all day saying these terrible things. How can I go out there and marry him after doubting it so much?”

She wanted you to answer her questions, but it was a dead end for both of you. If you encouraged it, it would be an admission of betrayal for her. You were her best friend, the one person who promised not to hurt her. If you encouraged her to run, you might be hurting her far more than it would help her. If you told her to stay, you were faced with the haunting feeling that both of you would look back on this moment and regret the decision.

“Answer this,” you said, keeping your gaze on her as you spoke. “In thirty years, if you marry him today, will you regret staying? Or if you leave, will you look back in thirty years and feel like you made a mistake?”

“I-I can’t answer that Jake. I don’t know.” There was a glossy look in her eye, one that spoke volumes. It was louder than any word she had spoken thus far. The fear and hesitation was clear in her face, and you wanted to comfort her, but you did not know how.

When you got on that plane, flying home to her, you never expected to be faced with such a situation. You never expected to feel hopeful about today, especially after you had spent so many months dreading it.

“I guess… it would be easier to regret leaving than regret staying, right?” She breathed. “If I stay, I’m wasting thirty years. If I leave, I can spend that time learning to love life in other ways, and maybe I’ll never think it was a mistake at all.”

“Right,” You nodded, looking back out the window, noticing people filling chairs. Your heart dropped to your stomach, wondering if she would follow through with her thoughts, or if she would stay out of obligation. Could you keep her occupied for long enough so she could come to the right decision? “I can’t tell you what to do, sweetheart, but I can support whatever you decide.”

“Will… will you take me to Europe with you?” She asked, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. “You’re going back, right? I-I… I want to do what we talked about. I want to travel the world Jake, with you.” She stammered out, as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “I know I sound crazy, I know I do, but I’m not. You’re… you’re my whole world, the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. You’re my best friend, and there’s so many things we promised that we never got to do. I don’t want to miss out on that, or be stuck in my hometown knowing I made a mistake by letting you walk away again.”

“Y/N,” You warned, wondering if she realized the extent of what she was telling you. Suddenly it all became real, and it was much larger than the fantasy you had been living in since you sat down beside her.

Josh was right, and you were breaking your own heart by entertaining an impossible idea.

“No, don’t tell me I’m wrong. I dont want to hear it.” She shook her head, silently pleading with you to be honest with yourself just for one second.

She felt it too. You have to tell her.

“Jake, take me to Europe. I want to see the world. I want to be with you again, and Josh and Sam, and Danny too. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted this. I don’t want to wait a year before I see you again and… I just, I can’t.” She was saying it in every way she knew how, without having to say the actual words aloud. “He’s not the person I should be marrying, Jake.”

You wanted to tell her everything, how you wanted it even more than she did, but it was not right. She was nervous, second guessing because of cold feet on the biggest day of her life. You could not take her away from this and ruin everything. You could not take her away and have her regret choosing you. Making her unhappy would be the biggest mistake of your life, and you would never be able to repent from it.

“Listen to me,” you said, taking her face between your hands, gentle and telling of all the love you had for her. “You wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t right, sweetheart. You are the most self-assured, smart, and level-headed person I know, and right now, this isn’t you. You’re getting married, angel. You’re going to go outside and walk down the aisle and steal everyone’s breath away, because you are the most beautiful thing that’s ever graced this earth. You’re getting married, and you’re going to be happy. I promised you I’d be here to hold your hand so you couldn’t run, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Jake,” she protested, her bottom lip quivering as tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “What happened to whatever I decide? What happened you supporting me no matter what? Why would you let me say all of that just to tell me I’m wrong?”

“Maybe I lied,” you whispered, swiping away a stray tear. “Trust me when I say, I want you to come with us so badly, but I don’t want you to regret it. Right now, I think you will.”

“I won’t, Jake. Been thinking about it since you got on the plane last time. Every time, really.” She shook her head, panic beginning to set it. More tears made an appearance, and you did your best to wipe them away as soon as they fell.

You loved her enough to do what was best, even if it killed you to do it.

“Don’t cry, angel. Only happy tears, today.” You hummed, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you as if her life depended upon it. You held her just the same, knowing she had no idea how much it meant to you to have her in your arms. She had no idea how much it meant to you that she wanted to go with you, instead.

That was the reason you had to make her stay, though. You could not in good faith allow her to run away, because deep down, the motive would always be just a little bit selfish.

“I love you, Jake.” She said it with so much conviction that it was hard to ignore. She said it like a confession, rather than a fact.

“I love you, sweetheart.” And yours was a confessional statement too, even if she did not realize it. Just as the words left your lips, a knock sounded on the door. It forced the two of you apart, even if it was painful for the both of you. You brought your thumb to her face again, carefully swiping away the specs of mascara that had fallen. Her sadness plagued her, but it did not stand in the way of her beauty. Once she was back in perfect condition, you urged her to answer the door.

She stood, white gown flowing angelically behind her as her fingers wrapped round the golden doorknob. She pulled it open, now face to face with her mother, who was so busy jittering with excitement she failed to notice the grief written across her daughters face. She looked in the room, her eyes landing on you and widening with a joyous shock, happy to see you had made the occasion.

Would her mother be this happy if she knew you almost ruined her daughters big day?

She barely uttered a greeting before turning back to the girl you loved so dearly. “It’s time, sweetheart. Your dad is waiting outside. Are you ready?”

Are you ready? The question pounded in your ears like a drum, louder with every passing moment.

Is she ready?

Are you ready?

Tell her, Jake.

She looked back at you over her shoulder, stunning and breathtaking as if she was waiting for you to answer for her. Her mother watched you, only slightly concerned about the tension in the air.

“She’s ready.” You forced a smile, nodding your head. Her eyes caught yours as she pleaded with you to stop, to stop everything and stay in the room with her for just a little while longer.

She wanted you, the same as you wanted her, but you were not good for her. You were just the thing that was standing in the way of her forever. If it was meant to be, it would have happened all of those years ago.

Right?

Tell her.

“Will you walk with me?” Her voice, sweet as honey and smooth as silk, settled deep somewhere in your heart with no intent to leave. Would you walk with her? Could you handle such heartbreak?

“Of course, sweetheart.” You nodded, taking a stand. You straightened out your jacket, drawing in a long breath as reality began to take hold.

This was it. The very thing you’d had nightmares about your entire life. The love of your life, vowing to love someone else for the rest of hers.

Her mother straightened her hair for her, running a soft hand over the line of her shoulders where lace met soft skin. She ensured she was pristine, not a thread out of place before kissing her cheek and promising to meet her out there. She looked at you only, her gaze never faltering.

She wanted you, Jacob. Only you.

Her mother disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in heavy silence once again. It felt like weights were tied around your ankles, holding you there and sentencing you to an eternity spent in limbo.

Tell her.

“Let’s go, angel.” You said, taking a step towards her. Her eyes, pleading again, but her mouth did not move. She stood, stoic and statue-like. She was petrified from her own heart, unsure if she could take the heartbreak of having you give her away.

“Okay.” She whispered, her throat scratchy and her hands trembling. She reached out to you, the action telling you she still needed you to hold her hand and make her stay. You grabbed on to it, lacing your fingers together once more, unable to ignore how right it felt. “Please stay with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you.” Your chest was tight, burning with rage towards yourself. Why couldn’t you do it? Why were you biting your tongue if it was only hurting the both of you more? You swore yourself to secrecy, letting yourself believe that the truth was more painful than silence, but that was no longer true. The truth would set you free, and possibly even allow you to love the one thing you never allowed yourself to have.

The hallway was barren, but voices were in the distance. Happy, bubbly, excited. The echoes were the exact opposite of the emotion hanging between you two. She should feel that way. Why didn’t she feel that way? She was happy before you showed up, stealing the light from her eyes even on her biggest day.

Was she, though? Really and truly happy?

You two walked together, the personification of grief becoming you both despite the joy you were supposed to be feeling. When you neared the end of the hallway, you had to stop. The world was spinning, seemingly crumbling before your eyes. Your stomach was sick, your palms sweating and your knees ready to give out under your weight. You couldn’t do it, even if you promised her you would.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, panicked at your sudden loss of confidence.

“I…” you trailed off, looking over her face. “I can’t,” you shook your head.

“You can’t?” You can’t what?” She pressed, anger bubbling inside of her. She needed honesty, and she needed it now. Why couldn’t you muster the strength?

“I can’t go out there.”

tell her.

Tell her.

Tell Her.

Fucking Tell Her, Coward.

“I can’t… I can’t watch you marry someone else.”

The world appeared normal, the sun still desperately trying to peek out from underneath the clouds and the birds still singing their pitiful love songs. The chatter remained in the hallway, unchanged and unbearable. Her hand still rested in your own, and her eyes were still watching you. Your heart was still beating, and your knees did not give way. The same look was on her face, and the glimmer in her eyes never changed.

The world looked the same, but everything was different.

Finally, after a lifetime of holding it back, you told her the truth.

“Why?” She asked, desperate to hear you say it. Her expression was not one of horror, but one of great hopefulness. “Tell me Jake. I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you, Y/N.” You rasped, your own throat dry as your words came out with a nervous wobble. “I can’t watch you marry him, because I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck, Jake.” The words hit you hard, like a knife even though she did not brandish them like a weapon. “Took you long enough, don’t you think?” You we’re too immersed in your own confession to care about her chastise. You opened the flood gates, and now there was no sign of stopping.

“When we were five, I loved you. Way back when we used to make mud pies and play pretend in my parents’ front yard, I wanted to do it with you for the rest of my life. When we were twelve, I loved you. We didn’t know what love meant, but we knew how much we meant to each other. When we were sixteen, making plans in your bedroom to travel the world together, I loved you so much it hurt. Right now, I love you the same as I did then, but even more so, because I know what it means, and I know it’s never going to go away.” You confessed, feeling the weight of the world being lifted from you. “Europe wasn’t everything we dreamed of, because you weren’t there. You weren’t there, Y/N, and I spent every night wishing you were. I came home to watch you get married, but I can’t do it, because I love you too much.”

“I can’t get married, Jake.” She said, looking over her shoulder to ensure nobody was onlooking the situation between you.

“I wanted to encourage you, to make sure you followed through with it because you deserve this life, sweetheart. You deserve the house, the dogs and the expensive ring and fancy wedding venue. You deserve everything, but I was always so afraid I couldn’t give it to you. Right now, I’m afraid that nobody could ever give you what I could, because nobody could ever love another person this way, this much.”

“You give me everything, Jake. You gave me the world when we were five, and you’re giving me the world right now, without even knowing it.” She said, the tears rushing to her eyes again. “I can’t get married to him, because I only ever wanted to marry you.” Her cheeks were damp with her misery, feeling guilty on behalf of a man she did not love nearly half as much as you. “I made this life, this new dream because you left, and I was afraid I’d never get the chance to live out the dream we made when we were kids. I spent all day unsure if I was making the right decision, but you showed up at my door, and now I know that I’m not. Marrying him has never been the right decision, and if I go out there, I’ll be looking for you in the crowd, wishing it was you standing beside me, instead.”

“Make the right decision, then.” You pleaded, knowing you could not make the first move. “Make the right decision, Y/N, because I’ve always been too scared to do it myself. Make the right decision before we lose our chance, please.”

She sprung forward, her hand slipping from yours and instead wrapping around your neck. One hand anchored on her hip and the other cupped her cheek, drawing her into you as she pressed her lips to your own. It was a feeling you’d been waiting a lifetime for, but the daydreams never came close to how it truly felt.

You told her, and she made the right decision, just like it was always meant to be. You’d been so afraid of something you never needed to fear, because she loved you just the same.

You could feel her tears on your cheeks as she pulled away, but the smile on her face contradicted the inkling of sadness that lingered on her skin.

“Happy tears, Jake.” She said, her face still so close to your own. “I’m happy, now. I’m not second guessing it, because I’ve spent the last six months making sure this was how I truly felt. Today was the last piece of the puzzle. You walking in that door made everything make sense. As much as it hurts to leave him here, it would hurt him much more if I married him while I was in love with someone else.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You said, running your fingertips over the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed again, enamoured with the feeling of you touching her.

“Don’t be,” She shook her head. “I could have said it too, but it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is we said it now, before it was too late.”

“You’re dad’s gonna kill me.” She let out a laugh, the first genuine one since you got there.

“No, he’ll be fine. He likes you much more than he likes him.” She assured you. “My mom, though, is a different story. She’ll get over it.” She promised, leaning forward and pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “But, if we’re gonna make a break for it, we should go now, before anyone comes looking for us.”

“Right,” You grinned, nodding in response. “Let’s go get your things. I’ll text Josh.”

“He’s here too?” Her face lit up at the knowledge. You nodded, smiling at her joy.

“Everyone is.”

“Oh, god. They’ll be a witness to my craziness.” She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. The emotion was high, surging through the both of you like never before.

“Your crazy is mine too, angel.” You said, giving her hip a squeeze. “Partners in crime, remember?”

“Right.” She said, grinning up at you.

Without another word, she led you back towards the suite. You closed the door behind you, giving her just enough time to grab the most important things. You watched her scribble a note down on the back of a wedding invitation, likely an apology for the now ex-fiancé she left hanging. As you watched, you couldn’t help but smile, falling more in love with her by the second and only feeling slightly bad for the man she was leaving behind. He was losing the best girl in the world, but you could not dwell on his loss, because it was your gain. You were walking away with the love of your life, and he was losing a fiancé. You were sure the poor guy could find someone else.

To you, if you lost her, you knew there would never be another. Even before you lost her forever, you knew that to be true.

She turned to you, frazzled but still stunning despite her panic. She had a few things clutched tightly in her hand and a change of clothes in her arms, walking towards you and showing you she was not regretting her choice to leave. If anything, she was over the moon, and you could see it in her eyes. Instead of uncertainty, there was happiness sparkling within the beautiful hue of her irises.

“You want me to take that?”

“Yes please.” She breathed, handing the small items off to you. As you grabbed them, you noticed her finger was now ringless. The shiny diamond was sitting atop the goodbye letter, which was stuck in plain sight. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not.” You assured her. “Like I said, if you are, I am too.”

“I’m okay with being crazy together.” She said, more light in her eyes than ever before.

“The guys are gonna meet us in the lot out back, so you can get out of here without any questions. We can worry about the rest later.”

“Okay,” she nodded, a nervous jitter running through her.

“Hey, we’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

“More than anything.” She said, certain in her answer.

“Then let’s get out of here.” You grinned, opening the door for her. She was still in her dress, her change of clothes held tightly to her chest. Before she stepped back into the hallway, she kicked off her heels and kissed your cheek as she passed by. As she sprinted down the hallway, your whole body flooded with love, but this time, you did not need to hold it back. After a lifetime of surpressing it, it finally had somewhere to go.

In true crazy fashion, as you sprinted behind her, another idea popped in your head. You wondered if her crazy had run out, or if she was just crazy enough to go along with it.

You thought you ought to try, because the day had been full of pleasant surprises. After all, the worst she could do was say no.

“Hey,” You called out to her, laughing as she looked back at you over her shoulder. “Slow down for a second.” You pleaded, childlike joy reflecting on both of your faces.

“What’s up?” She asked, a little breathless as her feet slowed to a stop. “Please tell me you’re not changing your mind.”

“What? F’course not.” You waved the idea off, knowing it was completely incredulous. “How impulsive are you feeling right now?”

“Considering I just ran away from my own wedding, I’d say very. Why?” She grinned, her fingers lingering over the handle of the back door, ready to flee at a moments notice.

Perhaps she wasn’t impulsive at all, and the idea of staying was harder for her than trying to leave. She was waiting for you to ask, all of this time. Even as she forced herself to marry someone else, all she ever wanted was you.

“Why waste the dress?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. She watched you for a moment, stunned at your words and unsure if she understood.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you began, checking over your shoulder to ensure nobody was looking for her. “Why waste the expensive dress? Marry me instead.” Her eyes widened, but she did not look horrified at the prospect. “I mean, come on. You’re in a wedding dress, I’m in a suit, I can buy flowers anywhere, and I want to be with you so bad I was willing to object the whole thing in the middle of your vows. If it hasn’t changed in twenty years, I’m sure it won’t change tomorrow.”

“A-are you sure? Like, really sure? You won’t regret it in the morning?” She asked, curious if you were in your right mind.

“I wouldn’t regret it in a million years, my love.” You promised. “I promise I’ll do it right, I’ll buy a ring and we’ll do a ceremony when the smoke clears from this disaster.” You both let out a laugh, knowing that’s exactly what it was. “But why waste the dress, especially when we know what we want?”

“Okay, crazy.” She nodded, cracking the door open. “I’ll marry you. Why waste the dress?”

“You mean it?” You followed behind her, noticing the rocks littering the paved lot and her shoeless feet. You reached out, grabbing her arm before she could step outside. She looked at you, then looked down at you taking your shoes off for her to wear. Her cheeks tinged red, a silent thank you dancing in her eyes as she jumped into the shoes that were just a little too large for her. You looked out into the lot, finding your three brothers standing by your car, waiting for you to join them.

“F’course I do, Jake.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze. “Partners in crime, right?” You couldn’t seem to stop the smile from blooming once again.

“Partners in crime.” You confirmed, stepping outside into the warm afternoon air.

“I love you, Jake.” She said, the sun shining down on her beautiful face, illuminating her in the most perfect picture. You wanted to remember this moment forever. “Feels so good to finally say it.”

“I love you, Y/N.” You replied, taking in your surroundings. As you watched the sunlight shine over her face, your heart soared with affection. “Look,” you said, catching her attention. First, she looked to you, then followed your finger to the sky, where she could see the sun had finally broke free from the clouds, shining down without a single thing brave enough to stop it. “The sun is shining after all, sweetheart.”

As if you needed anything else to solidify that you had made the right decision, but the sun shining, eager to carry you home to start over only correctly this time, was enough to assure you of the importance of your choice. As you led her to the car, watching her eyes light up as she greeted your brothers, you were sickened at the idea you ever had a single shred of doubt at all. She was your partner in crime, whether that be at five years old, or eighty, and you were eternally grateful for that fact alone.

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barbieaemond · 4 months

Text

Red Bird • I

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen x Alysanne Hightower oc, Daeron Targaryen x Alysanne Hightower (minor)

Word count: 4.8k

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @chompchompluke @bunbunbl0gs

(English is not my first language)

Red Bird.

That's how her father called her. For that crimson shade in her hair. For the old tale.

He did it when she made him laugh. He did it to comfort her. He did it on his dying bed. He called for her. But she was far, far away, locked up in a gilded cage of redstone bricks. Dreadful winged beasts to guard it.

Lord Hobert Hightower was a good man. Loyal and dutiful. He lived to serve his House and he did, ruling the most ancient city of the Realm with a firm hand but a kind heart. He had a gentler soul than his younger brother.

“Otto began to pull the strings from our mother’s womb. That’s why he was born before time.”

Joke or not, Otto was a born politician. And his older brother was proud of the stature with which Otto had incensed their noble House. No matter the cost. But King’s Landing had wrapped its coils around Otto and Hobert had watched its poison spread behind his brother's eyes, making him wary, cold, calculating. Losing his lady wife had only made things worse.

At least on that, Hobert could understand.

He had lost his Lynesse two days after Alysanne’s third nameday. She had given him three healthy sons and one daughter, but she had never recovered from her last birth. And the Lord had mourned her for many moons.

Alysanne Hightower was raised by a Septa. With each passing year, despite the strictness dictated by the clergy woman, Lord Hobert caught glimpses of his lady wife through Alysanne’s stubbornness, through the wrinkle between her eyebrows when she disagreed on something, through her loud laugh.

She was tough to yield.

He should have scolded her for that, but he hadn’t.

Ormund, his first son who was almost fifteen years older than Alysanne, periodically accused his father of spoiling her. But the Lord didn’t care, for he knew. He knew that sooner or later, Alysanne had to put aside her beloved books, forsake her fantasies, her little trips outside the castle. He knew he ought to sell her to the highest bidder.

Thus, he let her do as she liked. And she did.

She knew that in the Age of Heroes, the Ravenry of the Citadel was supposedly the stronghold of a pirate lord who robbed ships as they came down the Honeywine.

She knew that during summer nights, the cobbled streets and stone bridges below the castle would smell of moonbloom and nightshade.

She knew you would find melons and peaches in Ragpicker's Wynd. But the Thieves Market was the only one to sell pomegranates.

And if she closed her eyes, she could trace the way the beacon on the mighty Hightower would reflect on the water of the Whispering Sound, guiding the ships to port.

Oldtown.

A place she made her own, to the point it had become mental, intimate, conjurable by her fingertips wherever in the world she would be. And she knew her future would eventually led her somewhere else.

She stored everything in her mind as another library she could reach anytime she wished. She drank the words and painted thousands of images in her mind, her memories like colorful brushes.

Her father kept saying she got used to lock herself into it, amongst the dark and dusty shelves; that it was a childish habit, not properly suited for a lady, a Hightower lady at that.

But she didn't listen, she never did, to the point that once, her lord father had to forbid her any access to the libraries and no further trips downtown.

"I don't understand." she said pleading that night. Large tears were trapped into her big blue-green eyes, making them red and blurry "What wrong am I doing? What's the harm in reading?"

Her Lord Father had shaken his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the dinner plate.

"Nothing wrong with reading, red bird. But you're neglecting your other duties. Septa Brenna tells me you missed your needle work twice last week."

Alysanne took the advantage of her father not looking to roll her eyes. A tear escaped running down her cheek. "I was just late. I thought she already left my chambers."

"And why were you late?"

"Because I didn't want to go."

Lord Hobert leveled her with a reprimanding stare but she simply shrugged. "I'm awful at needle work. I’ve accepted it. The Gods accepted it. Why can't you and Septa Brenna do the same?"

"All that reading is a waste of time." her oldest brother peeped in.

It was no secret that the first and last child of Lord Hobert had little love for each other. Ormund was to inherit Oldtown, everything was due to him. No one would ever question his word, even the dullest one. She ought to fight to even state her own.

Alysanne looked at him, sitting proudly beside their father, content for having done absolutely nothing except spending the morning sparring with a sword, blabbing about hunting or jousting, or some other physical activity for which her ears were still too young to hear.

Out of pure spite, she raised her chin and faked genuine curiosity. "Can you even read, brother?"

Ormund only glared at her. "That mouth of yours will get you hurt one day, little sister. No Lord of the Realm would want a woman beside him who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth."

"Ormund, that is enough." their Lord father said, and that was the end of it.

But they used to go on the matter on regular basis until Alysanne had to cave in. She began to attend her needle work again, gaining the scowls of Septa Brenna at her awful embroidery and her father's permission to reaccess the libraries.

Thus, she went back to burying her nose in books and pages so old they seemed like dead leaves between her fingers.

Two moons after her twelveth name day, she was reading about the legendary Symeon Star-Eyes in a book she had secretly stolen or, how she liked to phrase it, accidentally borrowed.

Maesters didn't allow their precious books to be borrowed from the ancient libraries of Oldtown, not even by the only daughter of Lord Hobert Hightower.

"You have to return that."

Alysanne didn’t bother to answer, keeping her eyes focused on the book but she did raise her head to scowl at her Septa when the woman pulled her dark auburn hair a little too much.

"That was intentional."

"So was your ignoring my statement."

Alysanne and Septa Brenna didn’t exactly see eye to eye on many levels but in time they had managed to find some ground. The Septa was a rigid woman, assigned to educate Alysanne as a proper Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, a perfect Lady Hightower. Loyal and dutiful.

Too bad Alysanne had little care for duty.

She was Lord Hightower's only daughter, the last of her siblings, three brothers who had abundantly fulfilled their highest duty, carrying on the Hightower name. She was the spare and a woman, her destiny was to leave Old Town and her name behind and marry into another. She had even come to accept it in a way, as long as they leave her alone and let her do what she liked. She felt it as a blurry thing, way far in the horizon and in the future.

Until it wasn’t.

"What are you doing still up?"

Her father’s voice finally managed to make her look up from the book. Through the vanity mirror, she saw the man on the threshold, a slight dip between his eyebrows.

"Father, you know I stay up till late."

Lord Hightower sighed and closed the door. Approaching his daughter at the vanity table, he tied his hands behind his back and said "We should do something about these…rebellious attitudes of yours."

Alysanne frowned, watching his father in the mirror, his tense shoulders. He smiled briefly and put one hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

"Tomorrow is going to be a long day, daughter. You should take some rest."

"Tomorrow? Why? What is happening tomorrow?"

"The Queen will be visiting her ancestors’ home. Along with her brother, Ser Gwayne and her youngest son, Prince Daeron. I have accepted the Queen’s request to make him my cupbearer and my squire. Naturally, I said yes. How could I refuse? A Targaryen prince, here? It’s an honor."

Alysanne turned on her chair to look at this father. Eager anticipation blowing her eyes wide.

"Do you know if he will bring his dragon? I’ve read that dragons and dragon riders share a fierce and mysterious bond! Some texts claim it’s magic, from Old Valyria! Can you believe it, Father? A dragon flying over Old Town!

Lord Hightower chuckled and helped his daughter rise from her chair, escorting her to bed.

"We’ll see, red bird. Now, do as your father says and go to bed."

Alysanne sighed and went under the covers. Before leaving, Lord Hobert turned on the doorstep and looked at Septa Brenna, the wrinkles on his forehead seemed suddenly sharper.

"Make sure she’s wearing her finest dress tomorrow."

"As you wish, my lord."

When she was escorted to the hall, she felt like she was going to pass out.

Never, not once, Septa Brenna pulled the laces of her corset so tight like that morning. She had looked into the mirror and thought the dress was beautiful, yes, but she felt a bit uneasy. It was different from what she usually wore. More womanly. Even more so when Septa Brenna lowered the green straps, fully exposing her young shoulders.

She entered the room and felt many pairs of eyes on her, all the pleasant talking instantly ceased. Her father, her brothers and their ladies, they were all there. So was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Alysanne looked at the woman, a young woman, clad in green, her dark hair braided and tied atop her head with threads of gold, shining brightly as the Queen inclined her head to take a long and better look at Alysanne.

The young lady almost startled when she heard Septa Brenna hissing on her neck. "Seven Hells, child, what are you doing? Go pay your respects to the Queen."

And she did. She approached the Queen and bent her knees.

"My Queen. It is the highest of honors to meet you."

Silence followed for almost a minute, then the Queen smiled warmly and took Alysanne by the hands. "My dearest cousin, how much you have grown. It warms my heart to see what a lovely lady you’ve become."

Alysanne managed a smile, looking down at the Queen’s hands holding her own. She couldn’t but notice her nails, all red and chapped.

"You honor me, your Grace. It is a delight, for all of us, to have you here, back in your ancient and noble house."

Queen Alicent smiled again, with distant nostalgia, even sadness. Whatever it was, it didn’t reach her eyes. Then she turned, beckoning someone to come forward.

"This is my youngest son. Prince Daeron Targaryen. Son, meet Lady Alysanne Hightower."

A young boy, maybe a year younger that her, stepped forward, one arm behind his back and the other outstretched to her, palm upwards.

"My lady." he said politely, waiting for her hand.

"My prince."

Once he kissed her hand, he straightened his back and smiled. Although she was taller than him, Alysanne was slightly taken aback by his appearance.

She had never seen a Targaryen before, save for book illustrations, and the princeling before her looked the spitting image of Old Valyria: shining curls of silver falling around a delicate face and two violet eyes. He wore black, but the cloak resting on his left shoulder was green, tied to his doublet by a three-headed silver dragon.

Stepping back, the Queen and Lord Hobert shared a long look.

"I think it’s best to retire for a while before the banquet."

"Of course, your Grace. I have had your old chambers prepared for you."

Alicent smiled and took her leave with a nod. When she was out, Alysanne saw the lady wives of her brothers do the same, so she went for the door as well.

"Not you, sister." Ormund said, and she stopped.

She was standing in front of Septa Brenna, who gave her a small sympathetic smile, a genuine one, before leaving the room.

Alysanne turned on her heels to face her family and clasped her hands on her green gown. A dreadful feeling began twisting her stomach.

For a moment no one talked, but then her father stepped forward and grabbed her softly by the shoulders. "My daughter. My sweet only daughter. You’re young but I dim you wise enough to understand the consequences of the Queen coming here."

Alysanne swallowed and lowered her gaze, feeling that blurry thing suddenly becoming limpid, and then blinding.

"I—"

"It’s true that the Queen wanted to escort her son here. She cares deeply about her children. But that is not the only reason."

"She wanted to see me."

"Indeed. And you know why?"

The young lady looked up in her father’s eyes and saw her future, arranged and sealed like one of the ships leaving port. Duty was calling.

"I am to marry the prince."

Lord Hightower only nodded. Then he smiled, kindly, taking her daughter’s face between his hands.

“You need not worry, red bird. We will stand by you, always. We will light your way."

Her lip started to quiver but she refused to cry, not in front of her brothers. "Father, I beg you. I will do as you command, just…don’t make me leave Oldtown so soon."

At this, Lord Hobert stopped looking at her and withdrew his hands.

"You must understand, Alysanne. There will be preparations to be done."

"What kind of preparations? Can’t they be done here?"

"Preparations regarding your education." her oldest brother intruded again.

Alysanne turned her head to look at him, a grimace twisting her mouth. "My education is perfectly fine, brother. I’m afraid the same cannot be said about yours."

"Meaning?"

"Enough." said Lord Hightower, but Ormund laughed and pointed a lazy finger at his sister.

"That is what I’m talking about. Your education is quite alright sister, it is your tongue that needs to be educated."

"I said enough!"

This time Lord Hobert almost yelled, shushing his bickering children. Then, with a loud sigh, he looked at his daughter and his tone became commanding, like it never was before.

"Prince Daeron will stay here until he becomes a knight. You will have the chance to stay close to your future husband and get to know him. A chance most ladies are not granted in the matter of arranged weddings. But when the time comes, as in when Queen Alicent decides so, you will leave Oldtown and take a place amongst Princess Helaena’s ladies in waiting, in order to learn and live the court.

"Father—"

"It’s an order, Alysanne!" the Lord snapped "You are not suited to marry a prince now. But you will be. Your brother is right. You are too willful. You can’t allow yourself to speak out of turn at the Red Keep. Not with my brother, the Hand, there. Not when the King’s health worsens day by day and the winds carry whispers of war. Not when the House of the Dragon stands more divided than ever. House Hightower must stay united. This is a duty we all must endure. You too, red bird."

Alysanne fixed her eyes on the floor and swallowed, tasting salt in the back of her throat. "As you command, Father."

The banquet was a grand thing. Cooks outdid themselves with their best skills to honor and impress the Queen. She was given the best seat at the head of the table, with her son sitting next to her and Alysanne right beside him.

The young lady spent the afternoon in a bubble of doubt. She knew this day would eventually come, she had feared it, but now that it was actually happening, she didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. She wasn’t scared, but neither was she happy. What she knew for certain was that she didn’t want to leave Oldtown so soon.

And about the dragon prince, well…he had been polite, kind even, and it was indeed a great honor to marry a prince of the realm. But a kind smile was not enough to judge his character yet, and royal didn’t necessarily mean decent.

She was nervous when she sat at the table, but the more time she spent sitting beside him, the more she found that the prince was very pleasant company. He was young, yes, but it was clear he had a gentle soul and gentle manners. And this warmed her heart. Love in a marriage was rarer than a white raven, but so was a gentle husband. She found out he was fond of sweets, especially of cream, since she saw him set it on the left side of his plate, saving it for last. She smiled fondly at that and then she turned to him.

"My prince, if you don’t mind me asking, I was wondering if your Grace had brought your dragon here."

The young Prince set down the spoon and smiled eagerly. "I did, my lady. She’s flying somewhere but I can feel her close."

"You…you can feel her?"

"Yes. I can’t explain it...it is the strangest of feelings." he paused as to find the right words and said "Like…having a second heart, beating outside of you."

Alysanne smiled dreamily as if she was witnessing a mystery unraveling in front of her and the Prince smiled back.

"If you wish, I can take you to see her tomorrow."

Her heart jumped in her chest with trepidation.

"You are too kind, your Grace. I would love to be granted such a privilege."

Prince Daeron kept smiling and nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

When she went back to her chambers, the heavy grip on her insides had loosened. Septa Brenna began to untie the laces of her dress while Alysanne started to remove the hurting pins stuck into her auburn hair which, after so many hours, were positively piercing her skull.

She cast a glance at her Septa through the mirror, then set the hair pins down on the vanity table. "You knew, didn’t you?"

"I did." was all she said, keeping her gaze down and her hands busy on the laces.

Alysanne was quiet for some moments, then she turned forcing the older woman to stop her job.

"Will you come with me? To King’s Landing?"

Septa Brenna simply raised an eyebrow. "You silly child."

"Need I remind you you’re addressing a future Princess of the Realm?"

"I’m yet to see that day, princess." Then she sighed heavily, looking at the young lady with a patient motherly stare. “Do you really think I would let you go into that viper’s den all alone? Your head would be on a spike in less than a moon."

Alysanne couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. "That sounds a bit too dramatic. I am the Queen’s cousin."

"And you think that matters? History has taught us well that blood is more than often shed among kin, not strangers."

"You sure know how to lighten the mood."

Septa Brenna helped the young lady putting on her night gown and saw her grabbing a book left on the nightstand and going for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I need another book." she said, matter-of-factly.

"A future princess of the realm does not wander around at night in dark libraries."

Alysanne paused on the door and turned her head, smiling like a fox.

"Well, I’m yet to see that day."

She could reach the libraries blindfolded and walking backwards.

They were a bit ominous at night, the majestic walls swallowed by the shadows and yet Alysanne find them comfortable, found shelter in them. Thus, it was a bit surprising for her to see the light of a single candle moving between the massive shelves, a solitary ghost basking in the darkness. She was even more surprised to see that the ghost had taken the shape of Queen Alicent.

The woman was still wearing the green dress she wore at dinner, but her hair was loose, falling down her back in a cascade of dark curls. She stopped in front of a shelf and looked at the titles. Alysanne made her presence known by softly clearing her voice.

When Queen Alicent turned her head, Lady Alysanne bowed.

"My Queen. My apologies for intruding. I didn’t know you were here."

The woman smiled reassuringly. "No need for apology then."

She took a long look at her and noticed a book clutched to her cousin’s chest.

"Last time I was here, Maesters didn’t allow to borrow books from the libraries."

Alysanne widened her eyes like a deer caught in the middle of the wood but the Queen smiled again and said "Fret not, cousin. Your little felony is safe with me."

The young lady visibly relaxed and stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do or what to say to the most important woman of the realm and more than that, her future good mother.

"If you have any trouble finding sleep, I could fetch the maesters to bring you some lemon balm, your Grace."

"There’s no need, cousin. Thank you. I believe no kind of balm would soothe me enough to stop worrying about my children."

Alysanne slightly furrowed her brow. The Queen’s children were Princes of the Realm, living in the Red Keep, alongside the King. Why was she so worried to the point of not finding sleep?

"Sometimes books can soothe our nerves, take our mind somewhere else." she offered, glancing at the book shelf beside her "were you looking for something in particular?"

The Queen sighed clasping her hands on her womb. "I’m not sure. I’m looking for a gift. I wish to take a book to my son. My second son, Aemond." she gave Alysanne a knowing look before whispering "I know it’s not allowed to borrow books but surely the Maesters will close an eye for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Your little felony is safe with me, your grace." she promised, returning the same look. "Does he like to read? Prince Aemond?"

"Too much, I’d wager. Mostly history and philosophy. I would like to give him something more…entertaining. But I can’t make up my mind."

Alysanne glanced back at the book shelf but then she remembered what she was holding.

"Take this." she said, offering the book to the Queen.

Alicent took it and read the title. "The legendary chronicles of Symeon Star Eyes. I’ve heard about it."

"It tells the legend of the blind warrior."

"And you believe it to be just that? A legend?"

"I believe legends always hide an ounce of truth, your Grace."

The Queen nodded and cast another glance at the cover.

"Thank you." she said finally, clutching the book to her chest.

"I saw you talking with my son earlier at dinner."

"Uhm, y-yes. Yes, your grace. The Prince was very kind and patient enough to suffer through all my questions about his dragon."

"I trust your father has talked to you, did he not?"

"He did, your Grace."

Queen Alicent nodded again and remained silent, looking at the young lady before her with a distant look. She seemed almost absent, as if her body was there but her mind was lost somewhere, in a thought, or some memory.

Then she sighed and stepped closer to Alysanne. There was an urgent honesty in her brown eyes.

"Unfortunately, we live in a manly word. Made for men and ruled by men. Our choices are not ours to make. But you can trust me with this, cousin. My son will treat you kindly. He is just a boy but he has a sweet disposition. And who knows…in time you might even learn to love him."

"Did you?"

The question left the Queen utterly stunned.

Alysanne immediately realised she had gone too far.

Did you learn to love him, the King?

For a moment she thought Ormund was right. She seriously had to learn when to shut her mouth.

It was the silly curiosity of a young girl. For everyone, in Old Town and even outside of its borders, knew that it was Otto Hightower who had put the royal sigil on House Hightower.

But at what cost?

The very same clad in green with chapped nails and tired eyes. The same woman who once was just a girl, just like Alysanne, with dreams and hopes—what was she now? A Queen, yes. But the more Alysanne looked into her eyes, the more she realised how old she looked. How miserable she seemed.

"I’m deeply sorry, your Grace. It was completely unacceptable for to me to ask you—"

"It’s quite alright, cousin." said Alicent, smiling reassuringly. Then she took a step closer and simply said "Thank you for the book. I bid you goodnight."

Before the Queen could leave the library, Alysanne reached her at the door.

"Your Grace, uhm…before you leave, I was wondering…how long will I stay here before joining you in King’s Landing?"

"There are quite few years ahead of us before the wedding. Have you had your first blood?"

"Not yet, your grace." she embarrassingly admitted.

"Do not worry about it. There’s plenty of time."

Young Prince Daeron kept his word.

The next morning, he summoned Lady Alysanne outside the castle and showed her Tessarion, or how she was called, the Blue Queen.

Much like her rider, Tessarion was still young, so her size was small. But small or not, Septa Brenna made her feelings about the creature quite clear while escorting Lady Alysanne.

"You hear me child? I’m not going anywhere near that thing." she warned, trying to keep up with the pace of her young lady. Alysanne laughed, eager to join the prince on the small hill where Tessarion had chosen to rest.

She widened her eyes when she saw her and stopped altogether. She couldn’t believe her own eyes. There was a dragon in front of her. A dragon in flesh. And she was beautiful, her wings and scales were dark blue, like cobalt, while her claws, crest, and belly took the shades of copper.

Her mouth fell open and she dared take one step closer, but the young Prince stopped her, raising his hand.

"I think it’s best to stay there, my lady. Tessarion is young and she doesn’t know you yet."

Alysanne nodded dutifully and looked back at the dragon. A growing smile bloomed on her pink lips. "She’s...so beautiful."

Daeron smiled proudly and looked at Tessarion, who was curiously observing the young lady through her golden eyes. The Prince touched her on the snout and even though she was several steps away from them, Alysanne could have sworn she heard the dragon make a low rumble, much like the purring of a cat.

She watched the prince say something to the dragon and not a moment later, the beast lurched onward and took to the skies, her blue wings blending with the sky.

"I guess she didn’t like me." the lady joked when the Prince approached her. He chuckled, his wavy silver hair ruffled by the wind. "I’ve told her to do as she likes. She needs to know the sky."

Alysanne watched the winged shape disappearing above the clouds and asked "How many dragons are there now in King’s Landing?

"Three, my lady."

She turned to him furrowing her brow and he heard her silent question.

“My brother, Aemond, he doesn’t have a dragon. His egg didn’t hatch.”

“Oh.” was all she said.

She remembered reading about the Targaryens and their mighty dragons. She read everything about the custom of putting a dragon egg into the crib.

She also knew that if the egg didn’t hatch, it was considered a gloomy message from the Gods. A bad omen.

“One day…” Prince Daeron’s voice shook her from her memories "when Tessarion has known you better and she’s big enough to saddle two…one day I will take you to the skies with me, my lady."

Alysanne smiled fondly at him, feeling the adrenaline flowing through her veins at the mere thought of flying on dragonback.

A silly dream. A childish dream. Yet destined to come true.

Though it will not be the Blue Queen who will take Lady Alysanne to the skies, but Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons and Ruler of the Skies.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💚💚

#red bird #liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #ewan mitchell #hotd fic #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond imagine #house of the dragon fanfic

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natashaismylove · 2 years

Note

hey I rly like your writing and was wondering if you could do anything related to dark!possesive!g!p wanda? It’s fine if not though :)

Forever |W. Maximoff

Summary: Wanda has lost herself to the darkhold trying to find a reality where she can be with y/n again. They are finally reunited, but things don’t go the way Wanda wanted them to…

Pairing: dark g!p scarlet witch x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, g!p Wanda (she has a penis), unprotected sex, dub-con, thigh fucking, possessive Wanda, lots of dirty talk, degrading, mocking, praise, small mentions of blood, magic use during sex, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, slight breeding kink, size kink. 18+

Word count: 2736

---

Your fingers tapped the wooden surface as you held a book in your other hand, quickly scanning over the page before your thoughts were interrupted by the kettle screeching. You absentmindedly threw the book onto the counter and walked over to bring the kettle off the stove, tilting it to pour the scorching hot water into your cup that already held a bag of your favourite tea.

You steeped your tea as you walked back to the book, reading over the recipe once more before deciding on it. Lavender sugar cookies from your cookbook sounded amazing right now, and you were lucky enough that you already had the ingredients. You turned around and went to the fridge, pulling out some butter and eggs before closing the door with your hip. You found your jars of flour and sugar before getting out a bowl to mix your ingredients. You spent the next few minutes measuring out everything and placing them all in separate bowls so it would be more organised for your baking.

You reached for your cup of tea, bringing it to your lips before blowing lightly on the hot beverage, slowly cooling it down. You dipped the tea bag a few times to make sure it was properly steeped before taking a sip, closing your eyes at the relaxing feeling as you warmed both your hands on the cup. You breathed out with a smile, looking out your dark window when you caught a glimpse of someone behind you. Startled, you dropped the cup onto the floor, hot tea spilling onto the wood and splashing up on the cabinets under your sink.

You turned around hurriedly, catching eyes with the person who had been secretly watching you for the past few minutes. A smile was on her lips, one you might’ve found adoring if it wasn’t for the blood running down her forehead and arms, the smallest splatter noises could be heard as the blood dripped onto the floor from her fingertips. Her eyes showed relief, perhaps satisfaction as she looked over you, her feet slowly taking a step closer to you. As she inched forward you took a step back, your body hitting the counters and leaving you nowhere to go.

“Y/n…” she said softly, her hand reaching out for you, her body still far enough away to not actually touch you.

“W-what…” you said in a breath, so much confusion clouding your mind. “Wanda?”

Her smile grew as you said her name, a nod following as she looked at your face. “Yes, darling. It’s me.”

Your head shook slowly, as if this would help clear your mind as you felt your eyes were deceiving you. “No… no, you're dead. You died years ago.”

She let out a breath, gazing at the floor for a second before looking back at you. “I did. In this reality. I’m not technically the Wanda you knew, but I promise, I love you just as much.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to believe. “So who are you?”

“I’m still Wanda. Or, maybe the scarlet witch. Both.” She said, as if she wasn’t quite sure herself.

You tried to remain as calm as possible, not wanting to do anything that could potentially harm you. “What are you doing here? And what do you mean ‘in this reality’?”

“I lost you. In my reality, I’m the one who lost you. All I wanted was to be back together with you, and now I am. I did whatever it took, and now all I want to do is hold you in my arms, darling.” She said softly, taking another step forward.

“Stop. Stay away.” You spoke, trying to sound sure of yourself.

Her face twisted, a sorrowful expression now on her features. “What?”

“I don’t know you. My Wanda is gone, you’re not her.”

She let out an emotionless scoff, her head tilting just slightly to the side. “I’m your Wanda, darling.”

“No.” You stood your ground.

Her face turned angry, her feet moved her closer and closer to you. “I’m finally home with you.”

Your breathing picked up as she neared you. “No.”

She stood directly in front of you, her hand reaching out as her blackened fingers hovered over your cheek. “I’ve done so much to finally be here with you. I’ve been through hell after losing you, I’m not letting this slip away from me. You're mine, y/n, always.”

You tried to not show your lip quivering, her smell was the same as the Wanda you had known, her face, her body, everything except for her eyes. This Wanda had an unmistakable darkness in them, one you couldn’t unsee. Her fingers met your cheek so softly, a gentleness you wouldn’t expect from someone who simply radiated evil.

“I don’t want you.” you got out quickly, your voice wavering just enough for Wanda to notice.

“My sweet love…” she whispered. “How I wish you wouldn’t have put up a fight like this.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, questioning the meaning behind her words when you felt yourself unable to move. You switched your gaze down to your hands and noticed the familiar red glow around them, keeping them still against your sides. You looked back up at Wanda, or, the scarlet witch, fear settling in you as she made a tsk noise while looking over your face.

“You shouldn’t have talked to me like that.” she said as she stepped backwards, your body moving towards her against your will. “You shouldn’t have said those words to me.”

“Wait-”

“No no, no waiting. If this is how you’ll act with me then I guess I’m going to have to show you just who owns you.” she said with a shrug of her shoulders as you now stood next to the kitchen island. “It doesn’t matter if this is my reality or not, you’re mine in every single one. I’ll just have to make you believe it.”

Your hands moved onto the counter, her fingers waving in the air as she moved your body how she pleased. Your chest was pushed down onto the surface of the island, your legs parted on their own as your brain stayed in its confused daze. It was like you wanted this, you needed to feel Wanda again, but you tried to fight against your own thoughts as you knew this wasn’t the woman you married.

Her hands slid up your back, moving your shirt up with it to expose your skin. You felt her lips on you, kissing up your spine softly. Your eyes fluttered, just like they did every time your Wanda would do that. You started to question everything, could this actually be her?

“We could’ve avoided this, but you decided to act like a brat and say all those mean things to me. Maybe you’ll learn some manners after I fuck some sense into you.” she said in a near growl, anger laced in her voice.

You felt a coldness and a shiver as your naked chest was suddenly against the counter, your shirt gone with a wave of Wanda’s fingers. Her hands ran over your ass, pulling down your pants in a hurry as they and your underwear pooled around your legs.

“Kick them away.” she spoke.

You didn't say anything, didn't move an inch as you argued with yourself in your head. One part of you wanted to give in, let Wanda do whatever she wanted with you, the other kept thinking about what she must’ve done to get here, and the blood covering her that obviously wasn't hers.

You gasped as her hand landed on your ass, a stinging feeling left behind from the slap. Your body flinched as she slapped you once more, harder this time, to the point where you wondered if she had made you bleed.

“I told you to do something, it’s your job to obey.” she seethed as she spoke from behind you. “Kick. Them. Away.”

With a small whimper you did as she told, kicking the clothes away from you.

“Well done, darling. At least your dumb little brain can still listen to me.” she said as she smoothed over your ass, shushing you gently as you took in a sharp breath in pain. “My little baby…”

Her hand slid over your hip, keeping her palm on your lower stomach as she pushed up against you. A gasp left your mouth as you felt a warm and almost vibrating sensation directly on your clit, knowing very well just what that feeling was.

“See how I’m taking care of you?” she spoke into your ear, her hand on your stomach glowing red as she used her powers to pleasure you.

You bit your lip to keep back a moan, not wanting to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing how deep you were in bliss. Wanda leaned forward to continue placing kisses up your back, determined to make you break sooner or later.

“Come on, give me a noise, my love…” she said slowly, kissing your warm skin as you stayed as strong as you could. You could tell she was amused by the way she would increase the intensity of her powers, only to decrease it after a few seconds, leaving you frustrated and her to only give a chuckle.

She removed her hand, her powers stopping with it but you were still unable to move. You could hear her movements, still you were unsure of what would happen next. Her hands found your hips and she let the head of her cock hit your ass as she stepped as close to you as possible.

“I would do some more foreplay to get you ready, but…” she leaned over to your ear. “You’re dripping onto the floor.” She whispered and your eyes widened in embarrassment, your cheeks heating up and you were thankful she couldn’t see your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed, my love.” she said, and at that point you were sure she was in your mind. “It’s nice to see just how much of an effect I have on you.”

She pushed your legs together, nudging her dick between them slowly as she breathed out a moan. “That’s it…”

She slowly pulled out, enjoying the feeling your thighs gave around her cock. She took her time, slowly fucking your thighs as you kept holding back your moans each time she rubbed against your clit.

“See how nice and wet you are? Making it so easy to fuck those gorgeous thighs of yours.” she said as her hands held onto you harder.

She removed herself from you after a few minutes, kicking your legs apart to open you up for her. She pressed her dick against your hole, slipping only the tip in before pulling it back out. “Perhaps you’ll act nicer once you’re full of my cum. Brats need to learn their lesson and I think the best way for you to learn is with a pussy stuffed with my cock, don’t you?”

She bucked her hips, moving her cock into you until it was about half way in. She made a tutting noise as she pulled out just a bit and thrusted back in, still only half way. “Huh, is your pussy too little for my cock, darling?” she said in a smug tone.

“You’re too big…” you whispered, a whine coming through as she moved a bit.

She hummed, her finger tapping your hip absentmindedly. “We’ll make it fit.”

She pulled her hips back, moving forward again as she fucked you as deep as she could at the moment. Your teeth dug down on your bottom lip, enough to draw just a tiny amount of blood as you kept yourself quiet.

“Almost in, my love…” she said in a breath.

She thrusted a few more times before you were finally able to take all of her. She moaned, slowing down a bit as her hands caressed your hips and sides. “There we go. Nice and full.”

“Fuck…” you said in a whisper, hoping she wouldn’t hear you.

“That’s more like it. I don’t want to hurt you, darling, trust me…” she said calmly before speeding up her thrusts. “But I better hear how good I’m making you feel or you’ll regret it.”

You tried to muffle a moan, keeping your mouth shut but she still heard you. Her hand was in your hair, tugging your head back with a tight grip. You strained your neck as she made you look up, not at her but just forcing your head up from the counter.

“Say it.” she bucked her hips faster. “Say. it.”

Your hair received another tug and you winced in pain, but she just fucked you harder.

“Tell me I’m making you feel good.” she said sternly. “Tell me how much you love my cock in your pussy.”

You couldn’t keep your sounds at bay anymore, your moans filling the room along with the slapping noise of your skin. This seemed to satisfy Wanda, but just a bit as the hand not in your hair landed on your ass with a slap, leaving a red hand mark on your other cheek to match the other one.

“Is someone a little cockdumb? Can you not understand what I’m telling you to do?” she said mockingly. “Who does this pussy belong to?” Your eyes closed on their own as she fucked you, not able to ignore just how good it felt anymore.

“I own you. If anyone ever touches you I’ll cut their hand off, ok? You're mine forever.” she loosened her grip on your hair a tiny bit. “My y/n, only mine…”

“Y-yours…” you moaned, so fucked out that you weren’t aware of what you were saying.

“You're my love, no one gets to come near you.” her thrusts faltered for a second as she moaned. “It’s my pussy to fuck, my body to kiss, you are all mine.”

“Oh my god!” you whined as she hit deeper inside of you, making you lose all self control.

“I’ve needed you so badly, darling. Can’t stop fucking you, never stopping-” she said, almost in a babble as she herself was losing control.

“Oh!” you exclaimed as she found that one perfect spot inside of you. “Oh, fuck me!”

She decreased her speed, only giving slow, harsh thrusts into you, making your body jolt forwards with each hard movement of her hips. “My. Fucking. Girl.” she said with each thrust before she sped up again.

“See? I told you you just needed to be fucked to obey. You needed my cock deep inside of you to listen.” she was out of breath, clearly holding back her own orgasm.

“Need to- gonna cum- fuck, I’m gonna-” your eyes rolled back as you tried to get your words out, too blissed out for your brain to function properly.

“Cum on my fucking cock, make a mess. Fuck, cum for me-” she kept the same pace, bringing you to your orgasm quickly.

Your stomach tightened before you came. You moaned loudly as you felt your pussy pulse over and over again. You felt a wetness before everything went black, your body going limp as Wanda held onto you.

---

You slowly blinked, and you were thankful that the lights were dimmed in the room you recognized as your bedroom. You felt Wanda’s fingers on your cheek as you looked at her, her body propped up on her forearm as she laid beside you on the bed.

“W-what happened?” you asked groggily.

She smiled with a chuckle. “You came a little too hard, squirted all over my thighs too.”

You winced in embarrassment. Suddenly you realised your arm was laying straight above your head, the position tiring so you tried to move it. Something kept you from doing so and you raised your gaze, only to find your wrist handcuffed to the headboard. Panic set in as you hurriedly looked at Wanda.

She kept stroking your cheek, her face calm as your breathing picked up. “I just need to make sure you won’t go anywhere. Can’t lose my darling again.”

“Wanda please-”

“Shh.” she leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “You’re not getting out no matter what you say. I love you so much and I will take care of you for the rest of our lives. You’re mine, forever…”

---

taglist: @carnagewidow @sayah13 @aflopmop @milfvillainssaysry @thenazwife @romanovaxnat @shayzulia @jadechasesworld @elenaguarnieri @mrsromanovaa @therealwanda @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @meshuganna @luciiana @alwaysgoodnight @olsensnpm @sheneonromanoff @mrromanoff @lesbean-slut @alwaysharmony @peggycarter-steverogers @wizardofstories @gitasor @the-night-owl-blr @riveramorylunar @wandaspropertyonly @amonatewanda @inluvwithfictionalwomen

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hitoshiyoshi · 2 years

Text

shiggy with a chubby partner | shigaraki tomura

synopsis ↬ headcanons of shiggy's love for his chubby significant other

warnings ↬ swearing, 18+ suggestive themes, this is seperated into different section, use of 'girl' here and there, some mention of self-esteem issues but you can skip over it if you don't want to read it

pairing ↬ chubbychaser!shiggy x chubby!fem!reader

tumblr please stop deleting this post from the tags, thank you

hi, welcome to my tedtalk. today i will be presenting why shigaraki tomura would love to have a chubby/plus-size partner. this isn't to make up lies, shiggy likes his girls chubby and that's final. once i started thinking, it all made sense...

Tomura has a thing for chubby girls who are immune to his quirk, you can't change my mind. I think he's someone who has always been cautious of touching other people because of his quirk and probably doesn't want to harm people he cares about.

So, if he learns he can't make you decay, he would go crazy over you. Feeling your skin against his fingertips becomes his drug, he'll do it all the time. I think he is someone who doesn't care about what his partner looks like because he has his own insecurities with his body. He follows the principle "don't judge a book by its cover".

Shiggy wouldn't care if you have acne, stretch marks, freckles, blemishes, or eczema — this guy does not care. He's very accepting of people regardless of their appearance. I think he would be a place of comfort if you ever had any insecurities. He knows the right words to say and make you feel better because of his own experiences.

Shiggy knows the feeling of not fitting in or having the world against him. Look at the people in the League of Villians. Although I'm not completely familiar with some of their backstories, I know that Toga had to repress part of her identity and quirk in order to appease her parents. Touya is similar to Shiggy in the sense that they both had fathers who neglected them emotionally in order to fulfill their own agendas. Jin was alone and rejected by society to the point where he turned to clones of himself in order to fill his void.

Shiggy invited them into a space where they wouldn't need to worry about the opinions of others. They were free to be whoever they wanted without worrying about judgment. There is no way that he wouldn't accept his partner or ostracize her insecurities as flaws.

He craves touch, physical communication, and being loved. Remember when All For One helped him during his origin story? Society rejected him solely based on his appearance, people ignored a helpless child. The first thing AFO offered him was a helping hand and a hug after being outcasted by everyone. This guy craves touch; he wants to touch and be touched by someone.

Let's return to my point about why he'll like chubby girls and people immune to his quirk. Shiggy does not care about your size; the more, the better. It's not even perverted, he just wants to feel your flesh between his fingers. Does he care that you're bigger than him? No, there's more for him to hold.

Being able to fully touch someone without worrying about his quirk is something that I think he would enjoy. He won't even need to wear his stupid gloves; he could get off on the feeling of his palm massaging your squishy thighs.

Shiggy is in love with your tummy and your arms. He doesn't know why you always insisted on wearing long-sleeves or baggy clothing when he was around, but he doesn't push too much. It's your body and your choice, he's okay with it as long as you are.

It wasn't until one summer day when he saw you with a dark hoodie on while you were sweating bullets. Now, he's concerned. He asks why you're wearing that when it's scorching outside and you confess to him about your insecurities. You're worried he might dislike your stretch marks and hate showing your arms too much. Shiggy's staring at you like "...have you seen my skin?"

When you two are alone, he manages to convince you to wear something lighter and show off your arms. Shiggy can't help but want to touch and caress your body, peppering kisses along your arms and shoulders until you relax. He gives you constant affirmations that your body is stunning; Shiggy will do anything to build up your confidence and teach you not to care about what others think. He'll dust anybody that says mean stuff to you, the most overprotective boyfriend.

You might be too scared to let him see your stretch marks but he's so infatuated by them, not in a bad way. He'll trace along the marks and lines before asking why you're insecure about them; Shiggy thinks they look like waves along your skin, each one is so unique.

Shiggy can't help but be the bigger spoon when you guys cuddle, he just loves having your body close to him. His arm is always safely wrapped around your tummy as he inhales your scent and drifts to sleep. Shiggy loves to knead your skin and sides whenever you cuddle, it always reminds him that you won't decay.

He always uses your chest as a pillow; in fact, you'll probably turn into his own personal pillow, he literally can't sleep without you. When he's playing games or watching TV, he loves to rest his head in your lap or chest while you braid his hair.

Shiggy loves to give and receive hugs. Whenever he hugs you, his arms will engulf you in his embrace as he plants kisses along your forehead, cheeks, and neck. Please give him lots of hugs back, his survival depends on physical affection. He loves your cheeks so much, it's his favorite place besides your lips. He'll give them so many pinches, although they sting. Nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck whenever he's sad or just wants attention.

Shiggy is so observant of your behavior and mood, it's scary. He might not act so considerate to others, but with you, he's your servant. This man depends on your love and affection so much that he'd sulk any time you were mad at him. He loves buying you gifts, especially clothes and things that go with any hobbies you have.

At first, you're a bit skeptical when you see him come home with bags from the mall. When you try them on, they fit perfect — this guy has been memorizing your sizes, where you buy clothes, and your favorite style.

!! !!

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 is a chest man, you can't change my mind. Whether you have none or big ol' bitties, he doesn’t care. Somehow his hands always find themselves to your chest, they’re his stress relievers. He’s so heavy on nipple play; it doesn’t matter where he is, his hands always manage to slip under your shirt and graze along your hardened buds. Decays your bra and shirt because they’re always in the way — you’re immune to his quirk but not your clothes…

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 might not have experience — you were probably his first — but any position that gives him control and let’s him get a nice view of your body is best. Traditional missionary, c0wg1rl, mating press, divide and conquer.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 doesn’t care, he just wants to feel your flesh in his palms. Just wants something to wrap his fingers around, grab. Something tells me he would love choking, to be choked and to choke. Loves to grab your chest for support as he’s pounding on top of you. He will literally get off from watching your body jiggle with each of his thrusts.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 loves to hold down your thighs, pressing them firmly and close to your tummy while his tongue plays with your swollen clit. His hands glide upwards across your thick thighs, caressing your tummy as he moans into your heat at the taste.

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐘 is obsessed with you skin, simply because he can touch, feel, and grasp it — I know I’ve said this already, but I really NEED to emphasize. Shiggy is obsessed with fingering… just the feeling of your gummy tight walls clenching around his fingers drives him crazy.

thank you for reading my presentation/rant. have a wonderful day

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #tomura headcanons #shigaraki tomura headcanons #shigaraki smut #tomura smut #shigaraki tomura smut #mha x plus sized reader #shigaraki x chubby reader #shigaraki x plus sized reader #tomura x chubby reader #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha headcanons #bnha smut

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emsgwenstan · 6 months

Text

Papers and ink

Larissa Weems x student reader (platonic)

Warnings: mentions of sh, blood, traumatic experiences?

Words: about 4K.

Idk what this is just came out, it is a lil bit heavy but very quick, a lot more details could have been said but I’ll leave that to ur imagination. I used ‘mum’ instead of ‘mom’ because one I’m Australian and two Larissa is English so… enjoy xx

———

Sitting on your bed with your so called diary; the one you criticised other’s for having because it’s such a cliche for a teenage girl to have, you drew on todays page, no words wanting to form from your brain to paper. Your doodling was interrupted by a knock at the door, if it were your roommate she wouldn’t have knocked.

“Principal Weems.” You said, moving the book and pens to the side and asking her to sit. “Afternoon y/n, how are you darling?” She asked, tilting her head down trying to catch your gaze. “Well, I suppose, and you?” You wondered, meeting her gaze with a superficial smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine, I wanted to check up on you.” She pressed. “Yes, a welfare check up on the poor depressed, sick, burden of a student, right?” You sighed, feeling a little guilty at your backhandedness. “That’s not funny y/n, I’m serious I need to know how you are, not as a care provider or principal, but as me, I need you to talk and confide your trust in me, you can’t shut down again, not after what happened last time.”

You dropped the sarcasm and caught onto her tone. Larissa was referring to a couple of months ago when she asked for students help with carrying some things to a classroom, but in the midst of moving a box, your jumper sleeve rode up and she saw the markings embellished in your skin, and the slivers of blood seeping through the material. Since than she makes it a routine thing to check on you every four days, as annoying as it is, you understand her worry and have come to enjoy her company.

“I’m fine, honestly.” You spoke through your teeth, pleading to what ever she would just leave it alone, you weren’t that lucky. “Show me.” She said. “What?” You were shocked, knowing exactly what the principal is talking about. “Your arms, I will believe you if you show me.” She calmly asked. “No.” You said avoiding her. “Than you are in fact not fine, sweetheart.” She said placing a hand on you knee.

After a while of silence you decide to lift off your hoodie all together, Larissa didn’t move a muscle, instead just waiting for where your going with this. You outstretched your arm and lay your palm face up in her lap. Larissa’s gaze went from the floor to your skin, blinking slowly almost as if it were painful to do so she was met with the familiar red raw lines that stared back at her in torment.

“When was the last time?” She asked, placing her fingertips round the raised wounds. “Night before last…. I’m sorry.” You whispered. “Don’t apologise, I understand. I cannot stop you but it’s disappointing darling, not that I’m disappointed in you, just how you have fallen to having the need to harm yourself.” Larissa’s voice broke and her eyes glazed over. “I’m still sorry though, I… I don’t want to hurt you.” You said with furrowed brows and a heavy bottom lip. “You aren’t y/n. I just wish I could take all of you pain away from you, but I will spend as long as it takes to make you feel better ok?” She curled her hand in yours and used the other to cup your cheek showing her sincerity.

You could see the internal debate with herself displayed on her face before she spoke. “I’d like to share something with you.” Larissa said stroking your cheekbone. “Ok…” You breathed. “when I was your age I shared the same illness, I was in a downward spiral for a very long time. I used to be someone that did everything for everyone and didn’t get a single thing in return, I had crushes and had enough courage to tell them and I was humiliated every time I was turned down. I tried my best in every aspect, academically and socially, every bit of my life and it never seemed to be enough, all parts just crumbled, at least that’s how it felt.” Her face contorted as she reminisced her dark past.

You placed your free hand on top of your already intertwined ones, trying to show your interest and support wanting her to continue. “So… I turned to harming myself.” Her words twisted in your stomach feeling the sense of dread set in, releasing how she must feel about you. Larissa readjusted the way she was sitting, removing her hand from your face to the hem of her dress, also revoking your grasp on her hand to shimmy up the fabric until it bunched around her hips and the tops of her thighs were displayed.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the faded lacerations that adorned her legs. Your mouth fell open as your gaze switched between the principles eyes and her legs. As if you couldn’t control your actions, fingers went curiously towards her scars, but snapping back to reality you slowed. “May I… can-“ you stuttered not exactly sure of what you want yourself. Larissa however, knew what you wanted, she hooked her fingers under yours and brought them to her old wounds.

The feeling of her healed but raised flesh was bewildering, tracing every line with astonishment, curiosity and admiration you didn’t know how to comprehend words. “It’s been a very long time, 26 years actually, but I won’t lie to you… I do have thoughts of doing it again, but I don’t because I have young ones like you I have to set an example for, but also because I don’t really need to either.” She admitted.

“So… how did you get better?” Your small voice hoping for a easy remedy. “I-.” She started before you cut her off by quickly searching your bed. Grabbing a pen you told her to continue. Regaining where she was up to with your question she began to speak again. “I had to let my self feel bad and try to help myself, find healthy coping mechanisms and get out more, socialise and do the things I enjoy instead of putting them off, anything to keep the voice in my head at bay, after a while it got easier, less feeling the need to hurt myself, more moving forward from the dark and into the lighter parts of life.”

You open the pen and with out asking started to draw little stars over her scars, Larissa knows you function and concentrate best whilst using your hands. “What made you do it in the first place? If that’s ok, you don’t need to answer.” You paused to look deep into her eyes showing your interest and wanting her to know your care. Larissa hesitated before speaking, it’s only now she comes to realise herself that this is the first time she’s ever told anyone about her history.

“It was a few days after the 1991 rave’n, my best friend was my roommate and also happened to be my first serious crush, I hadn’t mentioned I was interested in woman, partly due to the times, but because I thought I hinted it enough that she’d know, we told each other everything and were more like sisters than friends, so a couple of weeks before the night of the dance we were talking and I tried to ask her If she’d like to go with me, but she somehow assumed I wanted to go with the boy she liked. The whole situation spiraled out of control and I couldn’t find the strength to admit to her she was the one I wanted, things after that were strained to say the least, she switched rooms and hardly spoke to me, my parents at the time were quite forceful and invasive so I couldn’t turn to anyone, no family and no friends.” She took a long deep breath once she had finished her confession.

“I’m so sorry principal Weems, that must have been really tough, although I’ve had similar experiences to.” You said avoiding her gaze. “Would you like to talk to me about it?” Larissa questioned, hoping that her confession might have been an icebreaker too breech your own conflicts.

“A couple of months ago I finally admitted to myself that I liked girls… I mean i still like boys to but, I don’t know I just feel like because it’s such a common thing now, I don’t want to seem like I’m only saying it to fit in or try to be apart of something if that makes sense. I also understand the parents thing, probably more than most people you will meet, I’m a child of a divorced marriage as your aware and I’ve been manipulated and shaped since a young age, coming here is the only stability I have, I’m just grateful that I don’t have to go back and fourth between families and homes anymore, but also at the same time I feel more lonely than ever.” You spoke unabashedly, laying it out for her to understand, Larissa is your mother figure witch makes you feel safe enough to talk bout things you would dare tell anyone else, but because she’s not biologically a parent it gives you the notion that Larissa has no obligation to treat you like a small child but a daughter she’s never had.

Larissa stored the information amidst her heart as you spoke. “Have you told anyone else?” She asked. “No. Only one girl I had a crush on, but she turned me down and we haven’t spoken since.” You said with tears welling in your eyes, remembering the feelings attached to the time. Larissa was so touched at your openness to her she began to cry. “Oh sweetheart.” She tutted. “So am I the first person you’ve opened up to about this?” She asked shakily. You nodded in response. Larissa’s flood gates opened as she embraced you in the tightest hold of your life.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” You said in a delicate tone, sincerely sorry for making her emotional. “No darling girl, I just- I love you so much and I know that may be somewhat inappropriate, but it’s the truth.” Larissa spoke into your hair while stroking it. “You know, Your exactly the kind of mother I’ve always wanted.” You whispered. Larissa drew back and let out a watery chuckle as she tucked strands of hair behind your ears. “Than I shall do my best to be that person for you sweetheart.” You smiled and wrapped your arms back around her torso and buried your head in her chest.

A little while later, Larissa was still by your side, but propped up on her elbow with her shoeless feet tucked behind her laying on the bed listening to you explain some of you favourite things and how connected you are with art, she adores how passionate you are and how you find the underlying meaning behind the most simple of things like music, poetry, books and paintings. Larissa finds herself realising how similar you are to her and will never have a problem finding a topic to discuss.

Hours went by and she left before your roommate came home, telling you to have a wonderful rest of your night and she will catch up with you tomorrow before kissing your forehead and murmuring sweet dreams. You felt full of happiness after your heavy afternoon, you couldn’t help but decide to find every sharp thing you own and wander down to the large bins that were placed at the back of the academy, the second the things were disposed you took a deep breath and watched the sunset, knowing that you will never mark yourself again, a turning point, a new beginning you owe it to yourself and to Larissa.

———

Two months had passed and it was spring break, being back at your houses with your family’s was exhausting, already after only three days things started to fall back into pattern with them, however you decided that this was it. No more suffering to survive in a place that should be a haven. No more pleasing the unpleaseable. You have a voice and used it, the world did feel like it was coming to and end but it was only the beginning of a next chapter.

Collecting your belongings that you really wanted, you packed and said goodbye for the last time, no hug no forced physical affection, nothing. Both of your parents were to offended to care about your decision, leaving you with no respect for the pair whatsoever. Nevermore was your home, and Larissa was your mother. With the last bit of money you had left, a one way ticket to the academy was bought, with a pit stop on the way.

———

Arriving back at the empty school, your excitement mimicked the first time you drove through the iron gates two years ago, except now you know where you are and that this is the place you belong.

Making your way up the steps with three suitcases was a difficult task but with the determination of discarding them in your room and finding Larissa was all it took to power through the maze of stone.

The principal gave you her phone number not to long after your heart to heart conversation so you bring up her contact on you phone and called her whilst walking to her office. You knew she would be here she told you that and you’ve come to know she keeps her word in every aspect. The second it starts dialling, butterflies erupted in your stomach. ‘I’m coming’ you thought releasing your breath in a chance to settle the nerves.

“Hello darling, are you ok?” She picked up. “Hey, yeah I am, I was just wondering how you are?” You wondered grinning to yourself as you were approaching the stairs to her office. “I’m ok, I do miss you though, how are you holding up?” She sighed. “I will be very well soon.” You said. “Oh? Why’s that?” She asked. You knocked on her door hearing it both from your perspective and on the line. “Just a second, that’s odd someone’s here.” Larissa paced to the door and opened it holding her phone to her chest. Her face lit up at the sight of you.

“Oh y/n! Your here!” She squealed. You hung up and launched yourself towards her engulfing her in a bear hug, with your arms around her neck and legs around her waist. “My goodness, how are- why are you here!?” She giggled tossing her phone onto the nearest seat, wrapping her arms around you. “It’s a long story but it can wait. I missed you so much.” You mumbled into her neck, smelling her perfume that has become quite nostalgic. Hopping down you grab her hand and drag her back to the office chair whilst you sit on top of the desk In front of her. Larissa really let’s you get away with everything.

“I have a present for you.” You said excitedly. “for me?” She asked incredulously. “Yes, although I don’t know how you will feel about it.” It came out very weary, all of a sudden the nervousness set back in. ‘Fuck it’ you thought, pulling out the papers from your back pocket. “I got these on my way back in Burlington. I may or may not have somehow stolen them, because they wouldn’t just give them to me but… I have them.” You handed her the folded papers and bit your lower lip in waiting.

Larissa gave you the look after your statement, the look that you so desperately wanted for a long time, the look that says ‘really? Well your lucky I love you’ look. She slowly opened up the paper and gasped. You swallowed thickly, not knowing if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “Y/n.” Larissa breathed as she looked at you in shock, her hand came to rest over her gaping mouth. “Is that ok?” You wondered. She was silent for a minute trying to wrap her head around what was happening.

“Ye-… yes.” Larissa choked out. “You want… you want me to adopt you?” She asked. “I would want anyone else to be my mother but you.” You said as if it were the surest thing you had ever spoken. “So would you… want, to be my uhh…?” Larissa stood and opened her draw without saying anything and pulled out a pen and started to sign every page.

Putting the cap back on and tossing it back in her draw she turned to you and cupped your face. “I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have as my child.” She said kissing your hair and pulling you to her chest.

“I actually have a surprise for you to.” Larissa said taking a step back. “Really?” You asked. “Yes, we’ll sort of.” She began. “The pen you used to draw on my leg a couple of months ago was a permanent marker… and after a few days it was starting to fade, so I thought before it disappears I should make it literally permanent.” She says while pulling up her skirt. “I traveled to Burlington and had it tattooed.” You sat there in shock as you saw the stars exactly the same as when you drew them on there. “Oh principle Weems, I- I don’t know what to say.” Larissa chuckled and smiled down at you. “I will forever have a piece of you with me sweetheart.” You grinned and realised she really did love you as much as you love her.

“I was just trying to find the right time to tell you.” She stated. “Weren’t you telling me that you didn’t approve of tattoos?” You said cheekily. “Well… I’m a hypocrite, but this was special.” She said. You giggled at her words and flexed forward to give her a kiss on the cheek and thank her. “You know when this goes ahead, I was thinking you would like to stay with me?… as in live closer, I have a spare bedroom attached to the other side of my office across from my own quarters?” She quietly questioned, waving her arm in the direction of the room. “Of course!” You shrieked with excitement. “But um, do I still have to call you principle Weems?” You asked sheepishly. “Oh god no. Larissa it’s fine or mu-…what ever you prefer.” She cut herself of before she could finish the word, Larissa didn’t want to overstep due to the fact that she still doesn’t know the situation with your own family, but she doesn’t feel selfish to think that she could be a better mother than your own. “I like that.” You stared at her with a grin, she said cocking a brow hoping you’d continue. “Mum.”

————————————————————————

Obviously it’s very difficult to stop a habit like sh and it’s not always just an immediate stop but for the sake of this story I think it was wise to just put a graceful end to it. If personal experiences are revamped please be safe, love you and ur doing great xxx

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principle weems #larissa weems x y/n #wednesday #larissa x reader #platonic

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