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unholyhelbig · 8 months

Note

Can we have the last chapter of oversight??

Title: The Oversight [Part 7/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 7200

Warnings: Blood, (a lot of blood) Gun violence, childhood trauma, a shoot out, murder, and horrible grammar.

[A/n: This is it!! I wanted to thank everyone so beyond much for sticking with this story. I do suck at endings, so I'm sorry if it doesn't live up to expectations (I'm also writing this after the worst case of covid I've ever had). I'm more than happy to continue reader and Nat's story in some oneshots if you want to request some!]

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Sheets of warm spring rain soaked into your clothes. Despite its tepid temperature, you were chilled to the bone. By the time you had taken Ronnie from her car seat in the back and coaxed a drowsy Darcy from the front seat, there was no dry part of you. A light wind had picked up and you were positive that your skin was pale, cold. Your lips are blue and shaking. It felt right to knock.

It was Yelena who answered the door, and she did so sparingly. It was just a crack at first, letting out a stream of golden light that caught the storm in its clutches. Then it was flung open entirely, and you had to squint against the brightness.

Darcy had a good grip on Ronnie’s hand, blinking away the last of her exhaustion as she started into the massive foyer and the house that was built around it. Yelena wore a bubblegum pink robe that was fuzzy. It looked warm. Her collarbone was littered in a smattering of blue and purple bruises. She dragged the two ends together to cover her skin.

“Y/n, it’s late.”

You were well aware of what time it was. This was Yelena’s odd way of asking if you were okay. She stepped to the side and allowed the three of you to enter, sopping wet. That was a good sign. Despite her abrasiveness, Natasha’s sister had more than one soft spot. One was for Kate, another for you, and even a small one for Clint.

“Holy shit…” Darcy whispered.

“It’s impressive, no?”

Yelena frowned, glancing up to the second level. The hall light flicked on, and you knew that Natasha had stirred. You’d awoken the dragon, not something that you were against doing. It felt stupid to have the worry of Ronnie being here in the back of your mind. This was an emergency situation.

Your heart started to pound faster and you shivered into yourself when she appeared at the top of the stairs. There was worry in her fern-colored stare. Why were you there? Why was your misfit family with you? It was late.

None of those questions came with Natasha, however. Instead, she wrapped you in her warm embrace. Your skin was frigid against her own, damp with the brutal attention of the storm. She had no objections to letting you sink into her embrace, wetting her pajamas.

“Dorogaya, chto sluchilos'?”

You pulled back, her fingers still digging into your waist. Yelena had been teaching you Russian, though you only picked up on a few words a time, you understood exactly the tone of her voice. “Carol… she was waiting for me at home.”

A hardness returned to her stare as she glanced at Ronnie who was overly interested in the tile pattern of the floor, and Darcy who was trying to work the pressure from her head with small touches to her nose.

“Did she hurt you?” her voice was a low growl “any of you?”

You shook your head. “Drugged Darcy, but it seems to be wearing off. Ronnie is alright. Carol said she was a friend and shit, Nat, I taught her about stranger danger, but she came straight to the door. I didn’t prepare her for anything like that.”

Yelena had wandered in her silent, cat-like way. She seemed to spawn back into the foyer with warm towels that felt like heaven against your skin. Your fingers were numb along with your emotions. Carol had entered your home. She entered your home.

This fact seemed to sink into Natasha’s bones. While she still held a strong grip on your shoulders there was a certain type of anger that edged through her from top to bottom. A storm brewed behind her eyes and threatened to shatter her cool confidence.

“Lena,” the word broke against her tongue “Will you please take Ronnie and Darcy to a guest room upstairs. I’m sure they’re exhausted.”

There was no objection from any party. You were once again left alone with Natasha, a charged feeling in the air that pulled the two of you together. She pressed her forehead against yours, breath warm on your collarbone.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Nat,”

“I am. I don’t have another choice. There are clear lines that can’t be crossed and she just cut every single one of them.” Natasha hurriedly pushed strands of wet hair behind your ears, clearing your eyes. “She did this as a statement.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“It most certainly is, darling, but that won’t stop us from walking into it.”

Very carefully, you thought about your next words, your next actions. It was easy to throw Natasha off, despite her resolute standing when she made a final decision. You felt her body pressed against yours, innate in its comfort and warmth. It would make you ache if she pulled away.

The words came out as a whisper “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

She attempted to step back, but your hands were tight against the silk of her robe. You held her there and she didn’t resist the tension. It was the first time you had really studied your own hands. They were different, entirely so, from those that serviced strangers at the diner.

There were soft bubblegum pink scars on your palms, and harder, darker ones on your knuckles from the countless hours you’d leaned into the pain of each punch. Natasha’s shoulder against the sand-filled bag as she stood against the strength you mustered.

A bruise from the last time you’d entered the shooting range bubbled under the surface of your palm, and it was this that Natasha stared at the hardest as you gripped her with an intensity she had yet to see.

“Did I ever tell you about my second foster father?” You asked, having released your hold, but keeping your hand splayed on her chest. You weren’t sure if you were holding her steady, or yourself. She shook her head. “Deputy Sheriff Edwards. He was a high school quarterback in Minnesota before he blew out his knee and would never let you forget it.

“And mostly… mostly he was a good guy. But, he worked long hours and had a mean streak that would show itself after a beer or two. If he had more, it was worse. He’d stumble in and find one of us kids to go out for shooting practice in the acreage behind the house.”

Natasha swallowed thickly and clenched her eyes shut for a moment. She hadn’t asked you about your familiarity with a gun and considered it a small blessing that you didn’t’ shy away from the weapon. Not only that, but you were quite nearly an expert shot once you got over the nervous familiarization.

“Locking the bedroom door, it worked sometimes, but not always. I had to pick and choose the nights when I wasn’t up for it. Usually in the winter. Minnesota gets cold, below freezing when the sun goes down behind the horizon. So cold that it burns your lungs to breathe, and you have to force your eyes open.

“Deputy Sheriff Edwards, when he couldn’t have me, he would go for my foster brother Andrew. I could hear the pistol going off, over and over again for hours. There was a distinct change in sound when the bullet actually hit the tin cans and it was… that night it was scarce. When you missed- when you missed, he got angrier.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath and pressed her forehead against yours. She was impossibly comforting, and you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around her and bury your nose in the small of her neck to stave off the cold. But you had to make her understand that you could handle this.

“That night, Andrew missed one too many cans and each shot was pockmarked by a hit to the temple. It was right outside my bedroom window, and the snow, the snow makes everything so much louder.” It was you that pulled in a desperate breath this time, greedy and hungry “a boy can only take so much before he aims the gun at something other than a can and pulls the trigger.”

She had reached up and used her thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t know you shed, spreading it against your cheek. “Malysh, I can’t bare to put you through more pain.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you whispered back, reaching up and wrapping your fingers gently around her wrist. “Whether you like it or not, Nat, you’ve spent the last six months training me to be the protector that you’ve needed. It would be a crime not to have me by your side through this, after she came into my home and threatened my family. This anger, this rage, will do nothing but serve us.”

Natasha let out a watery chuckle, “alright, Summer Sentient, stay on my six.”

There was a shed at the edge of Natasha’s large property that you rarely entered. There were too many memories attached to the location. The first time you had opened the door and clocked the coloring of the floor and the coolness of the structure, you knew that it wasn’t a place you wanted to return often.

When you had first stirred months ago with your arms tied behind your back, your mouth fuzzy and tasting of blood- it was here that they had taken you. Through your exhaustive haze, you figured it was a larger place, a storage unit or even an airplane hanger at the edge of a runway. Instead, it was a simple one-room shed that was kept ice cold and made to look infinite through mental manipulation and large intense lights.

Kate Bishop seemed to sense your simple unease and moved to help your fumbling fingers with the gun holster that was secured around your chest. Like always, Natasha organized a united front and a pep talk before going into a situation that none of you could truly prepare for.

“It’s going to be okay, you know” Kate murmured after she fastened the buckle, clapping you on the shoulder. Her eyes lingered on Natasha, on Yelena as the two of them spoke in hushed voices near a small counter that you hadn’t realized was there in the dark.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Like an open book. It’s obvious how much you care for one another, and nothing is obvious with this family.” Kate moved to the other side of you, you tracked her with your eyes. Clint, in turn, watched the two of you interact from his perched spot near the far wall. “It took two years for Yelena to show any type of affection towards me.”

“Jesus Christ, I know she’s stoic, but shit.”

“Shit is right. I was head over heels for her within the first week. Mind you, I was suffering severe trauma and thrown into something much beyond myself. But I chipped away at her overtime, wore her down until she was comfortable enough telling me what she feels. But with the Romanoff’s, it’s not just about what they feel. It’s how they feel.”

You lifted both of your eyebrows at her. Kate handed you the jacket that was draped over a nearby chair, you toyed with it in your hands, moved your fingers over the brass buttons. It was much too warm in here to put on yet.

“Natasha is one of the scariest people I have ever met and It’s not because of her dripping ledger. It has everything to do with how much she cares. And she cares about you, y/n. It’s why she’s so reluctant to bring you along to something like this. To the end.”

“Thank you, Kate. For leading me through all of this.”

“Anytime, y/n. Can’t have you dying on us, can we?”

The plan was simple; there was no plan. A deal was supposed to met in a quick and clean way. Much like the restaurant, Natasha just needed you to simply be there to back her up. There was neutral ground at the edge of the shipyard that was far away enough from the unassuming population. Carol had agreed to meet there; tentatively.

There was something so civil and political about a business that was saturated in black sticky blood. You had a jarring feeling that tonight would be it for you, the moment of no return. Once you entered in a united front behind Natasha, your life would never be the same.

You didn’t want it to be.

Natasha Romanoff drove you absolutely wild, but had a way of calming that storm all the same. Though she’d never allow it, you would take bullets for her. But, you’d also take bullets for the little girl that you struggled to confront now.

The leather binding against your chest suddenly felt too stuffy. You’d often hid it behind the guise of a jacket or slid it into your glovebox before you trudged up the rickety stairs to your apartment. Now it was hugged as tightly as Kate could get it, pinching the fabric of your shirt.

Ronnie had looked up from the book she’d curled up with at the end of the sofa. She stared at it with quiet eyes. Everything she did was quiet but this time it felt more judge mental than usual. Natasha sidled up behind you, one ringed hand pressing calmly into the small of your back.

“Remember what I told you on the Ferris Wheel?” Natasha asked.

“She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“Mm,” Natasha gave you a soft kiss behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I know that look. She wants to talk.”

The mafia boss gave you a little shove forward before making herself comfortable leaning against the doorframe that you had just vacated. She was begrudgingly right. Veronica had scooted over deliberately and given you room next to her.

Ronnie allowed you to get comfortable next to her, running her small fingers over the leather of the holster. You stopped her before she could reach the sheathed weapon, gently lowering both of your hands to your lap.

“Natasha?”

The woman stood up straighter, looking into the expectant eyes of your daughter. She patted the empty seat on the other side of her and you watched as your girlfriend struggled not to flounder under the weight of the request. Eventually she joined the two of you on the couch, nervously twisting the closest ring around her finger.

“I’m not stupid” Ronnie said.

You frowned “No one said you were stupid, baby.”

Your daughter was glowering at you. It took years to read her facial expressions, but the one that was on her features now was loud and clear. “You can’t come home with bruises like that and expect me not to notice.”

You blinked at her dumbly. Yes, kids were perceptive, Ronnie more than others. But no part of you wanted to expose you to the life you’d been thrown in. Guilt was weighing down Natasha’s shoulders, she glanced at you sheepishly.

“You weren’t supposed to join the mob. I know why you did it, though.”

Good god, she was smart. Smarter than you’d ever give her credit for. Everyone wants to believe that their child is special but there was a certain pride in your chest that rivaled your fear. She pulled her little hand from yours and placed it on the spine of the book.

She seemed to lose interest in you altogether and turned her attention to Natasha. “Don’t let her get hurt.”

“I…Are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“I don’t know what that means, just make sure my mom’s okay.”

Natasha swallowed the dryness in her mouth, it was nearly audible. “You don’t have to worry about that, kid. I promise.”

There was an innate fear coiled in the center of your stomach, and the cacophony of footfalls against weathered docks did nothing to ease your pitfall of feelings. Clint towered over you in height, walking with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets to ward off the chill of the summer wind.

Kate and Yelena stalked behind you both, their shoulders hunched, their conversation a hushed whisper. Six docks altogether led into one hexagon platform, that at one point, must have held a fair much like the one you attended in the early summer.

From the other stretch of docking came five others. Their silhouettes were fuzzy, black against the night sky. Carol held herself with a confidence that rivaled Natasha’s. You could make out Monica amongst the crowd, a man that you’d seen around town that you were sure went by the name Fury; particular to his deeply embedded rage.

A circle of wood in the center of the land stood between the two groups like a buffer. Hands were on guns, puffs of air streaming into the lone portlights drilled into soft wood. The scent of the sea itself seemed to assuage you into flexing your fingers, the salt in the air made everything feel filmy and frigid.

It was Carol who spoke first. Her voice was carried by the wind. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to call a meeting like this.”

“You violate my trust as if it’s nothing Miss Danvers. It’s clear you wanted to invoke something other than a slap on the wrist.”

“Well, there’s been talk around town that you’ve become smitten with your little pet project. Forgive me for wanting to test the theory myself. If the big bad Romanoff sisters are going soft, don’t you think I should know about it?”

Yelena shifted behind you and in turn, so did Monica. No one reached for their weapon, though you itched from the inside out. Natasha even lift an eyebrow at the statement.

“You wanted to discuss the Maroni property. I’m willing to sell, but only with the proper conditions.”

Clint had sat you down a few weeks after your first excursion. The two of you sat at the end of the very diner that you had quit. You never really tried the food but could stomach the fries- even admit to yourself that they were the best in town for their price point. The Maroni property was nothing more than a vacant lot, but it held more than that. It would make Carol the owner of 60% of the town instead of the meager 50% that split everything equally.

If there was any objection to her offer, no one would show it. Peace of mind would not be worth giving up her hold, but you were. Yelena could kick her frustrations out at home later, Clint and Kate were none the wiser to do anything but trust blindly; and you were right there with them.

“And what conditions are those?”

“The same conditions our parents have abided by all these years. There’s an honor in what we do and what we control and when you start crossing lines like the ones you did last night, you pour gasoline on an already raging fire.”

Carol tasked and took a step forward. This time the handle of your gun was in your palm. You held your stance. “So poetic, Natasha. You have been since grade school. I’ll take the land, but you’re mistaken if you think I’ll pay full price.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her eyes darting to the rolling darkness of the sea. The waves were crashing violently against the wooden support beams. There were whitecaps miles from the shore and a storm was brewing that you could almost taste.

“Seventy-five. I won’t go any lower.”

“Alright, Seventy-five.”

Carol stuck her hand out over the circular center of the docks. It was a show of good faith, but your palm grew slick with sweat. You watched her with more care than you ever have before. Clint was rigid with tension, and you could practically hear Kate breathe nervously behind you.

Eventually, Natasha took the woman’s hand. She held it for a moment before leaning closer, whispering something that you couldn’t’ hear over the screeching of the waves. You could, however, see Carols face shaded by the port lights. The golden yellow color enveloped the stark coldness in her stare, the anger that flashed behind hazel irises.

When the gunshot sounded, Natasha’s back was to Carol and those who flanked her sides. It was such a quiet and muted sound that made your ears ring, but it was also a familiar sound. One that flashed back to that snowy night in Minnesota, the spray of pulpy blood on the startlingly white snow.

When Andrew had pulled the trigger, he looked Sheriff Deputy Edwards in the eyes and you had always wondered if the fear cut through the haze of alcohol that night. The split second where the bullet left the chamber, was there penance to be made? He’d dropped to his knees and let out a choking sound that you heard through the paned glass windows.

There wasn’t a wall of insulation, and wood, and glass to garble the sound of the gunshot that rang out tonight. The waves seemed to swallow up your own scream and the commotion that stretched into being.

Carol had waited until Natasha broke the handshake and turned away before she fired her weapon. Something so strong and ever-present was dropped to the sun-bleached wood in a matter of moments. Natasha didn’t make a sound.

“Get down!” Clint yelled next to you.

You caught the anger in Monica’s stare, the way that Carol had moved her target from Natasha, directly to you. At this specific point, with Natasha crumpled at your feet and the woman who had pulled the trigger sneering at you, was when something snapped within you.

A good shot, you had always been a good shot. Not only that, but you’d been efficient too. Clint had given up trying to drag you away and instead made quick work of those that were backing Carol. Kate and Yelena were gone; in the throws of darkness, into hand to hand combat. It left you alone with the woman that made everyone cower in fear.

Natasha’s blood had sopped onto your shoes. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes. She wasn’t breathing. You couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She had curled into herself and hidden her face from you and while you wanted to pull her into your arms at this very moment; that wasn’t possible.

An ongoing war was raging around you. Gunfire and screaming, and oddly enough, the pungent scent of fire. Carol watched, confident in her protection. She smiled at you, a wolfish and inhuman grin.

“Now, you can’t tell me this hasn’t changed your perspective.” She said, sweeping her arms out as if this were her kingdom- as if this chaos, this reign of gunfire and screams amongst the people you loved, was what she wanted all along.

“It has,” you raised your gun, pointing it directly to her chest. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “I just watched you shoot a woman in the back. What’s noble about that?”

She cackled “Noble? That’s the problem with you Romanoff’s, there is nothing noble about this business. To win, you have to play dirty. To win you can’t be afraid to take what you want, and I can’t exactly do that through handshakes and good will. Can I?”

“I suppose not, but how are they supposed to trust you, hm? All of those you’ve promised the world to, the ones fighting for your wellbeing as we speak?”

“I would never betray them.”

“Oh, now, I don’t believe that.”

She frowned at you and readjusted her hold on her gun. In any other world, she would have fired her gun by now, but there was something deep within Carol that had been curious about you. About how Natasha seemed to soften around your presence. Still, she didn’t understand, but she wanted it all the same.

Her finger adjusted on the trigger. You watched every movement she made. There was another, calmer, war in her mind. She could kill you right here if she wanted to, but you couldn’t tell if she did or not.

Natasha let out a wounded noise at your feet; a wet choking sound as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. Carol lifted both eyebrows and glanced down at her. “You can save her or kill me. I don’t think you’re quick enough to do both.”

Kate let out a guttural scream from further down the dock that was followed by two more blows and flashes from a gun. Most of Carols lackeys had been incapacitated in one way or another. You clocked Clint’s trembling form as he kneeled between two dark masses. You couldn’t see Yelena, couldn’t’ even hear her, but she leaned into her silence, her rage.

By the time your eyes had met with Carol’s once more, she had made her choice. She pressed further down on the trigger, and in your blind edge of confidence you fired first. Both bullets were aimed at her stomach, and both hit their mark before her single shot found it’s way to your shoulder.

The pain shot through your arm, down the numbness of your fingers. A deep sound escaped the back of your throat. The force of the blast nearly brought you to your knees. Nearly. You’d felt the heat of the bullet rip through the gore of your shoulder- enter and exit in a clean way that would hiss in pain later, but it was no match for the adrenaline.

Carol let out a groan, one that bubbled with pain. You kicked her weapon away from her, letting it slide against the wooden dock. She blinked up at you dumbly, her hands pressing against the slowly growing crimson spot in the center of her stomach.

The color dripped from the wound on your shoulder, over the silver of the casing. A singular drop of red succumbed to the pull of gravity and landed against the smooth expanse of Carol’s collarbone. When she grinned, her teeth were stained with rust.

“Tell me, Carol, what do you see?” You pulled back the hammer, ignoring her sloppy chuckles and the frothy blood that foamed past her lips. “A broken waitress, or a trained killer?”

“Now you’re getting it…” she swallowed thickly, trying to quell the pain “It’s all about perspective.”

You pulled the trigger for a third, and final time that night. You were so trusting in your aim that you refused to look when you administered the final blow. Her head dropped to the side, the bullet finding it’s way right between her eyes.

Silence seemed to fall over the docks. You could hear the crashing of the waves and the seagulls that circled above at the scent of shed blood. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the gun you wielded was dropped to the dock.

She’d been killed so easily. This big, hulking demon that loomed over the town, and over your life. It took nothing but a rage-filled trigger pull to end it all. Your heart was in your throat, blood rushing past your ears.

And then there was Natasha.

Natasha had shifted onto her back, her hand outstretched in your direction. You could hear the painful wheeze in each breath. Her skin was pale, a bloom of red at the corner of her lip. You wanted to kiss it away, to pull her as close as possible, but you were afraid to move her.

Your knees dug into the coarse wood, your palm finding purchase on her cheek. “Nat, baby, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“The stars, you can see them so well out here.”

You frowned, glancing up at the velvety blue sky. The constellations were bright, making little pictures of lions, and archers, and long stretches of water. It was hard to see them with the perpetual glow of the city. But out here, just like the mansion, they made a map.

“Yeah, baby, you can.” You reached blindly for her hand. It was cold. “You can’t go to sleep. Just keep looking at the stars, for me. Clint! Lena!”

Your voice broke on the second call. Your face was damp with tears as you kept track of Natasha’s stunted breathing, and the tight grip she still held you with. She refused to let you go, and you did the same, pressing the warmth of your lips to her white knuckles.

Yelena was by your side. She was pale and shaking herself. There was a gash above her eye, dripping blood and drying against her cheek. There was a split in her lip, a forming bruise under her chin and against the length of her neck.

“ne ostavlyay menya, sestra. Ty sil'neye etogo. Drat'sya.”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, no hospital.” Yelena shook her head “we do this on our own, just like we always have.”

Your fingers were caked in blood, a dried brown color that was ugly against the beauty of your shared bedroom with Natasha. You wanted to scrub them clean, watch as the water was tinted a toxic orange before it circled the drain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

A glass of water was set on the small table next to you, and you fought back the urge to startle. You hadn’t heard anyone enter. There was a familiar spiced scent to Darcy that you picked up on before registering her presence. She nudged the glass closer to you and lowered herself into the other chair.

“You should really let Yelena look at that shoulder.” She said.

“It’s fine.”

You picked up the glass and considered swallowing down some of the room temperature water, but thought better of it. You held onto it because you could. It grounded you, the cloudy glass stained with coppery fingerprints.

“The news… they’re saying that a wealthy businesswoman snapped. Allegedly, she lured her employees down to the docks and killed them all before turning the gun on herself.”

“Tragic.” This time you did take a swallow of the water before setting it on the table.

Darcy watched you carefully. She wasn’t being judgmental, or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. Her eyes were still darkened with exhaustion but filled with a deep kind of worry. She hesitated, moving to put her hand on your knee, but thinking better of it.

Instead, she directed her attention to Natasha’s unconscious form on the bed. Yelena had called in a private doctor, stubborn in her efforts. He worked mostly alone, and had hushed conversation with those in the room that could comprehend better than you could in your fuzzy state.

Kate had attempted to patch you up, but you pulled away with enough intensity for her to focus on licking her own wounds. Natasha was stable, she was alive. They weren’t sure if she would make it through the night- but you’d remain by her side until they were sure.

“I can’t lose her,”

The admission was whispered and shattered. You didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of Natasha not pulling through. She was the first person you’d met in years that not only accepted you, but pushed you to be a better version of yourself. She had a softness for Ronnie, a commanding nature to her presence.

Darcy cracked a small smile, “leave it to you to fall in love with a loan shark that has a pension for bullets. Something tells me that’s she’s more stubborn than even you. And if that’s the case, then she’ll make it.”

You reached out and grasped Darcy’s hand, allowing her to ground you. Pain ripped through your shoulder, the bandage that you had allowed Kate to apply was dotted with the wounds efforts to gush. Still, you squeezed as hard as you could manage, listening to the heart monitor that hummed in time with the grandfather clock in the corner.

She stayed with you while you fought to stave off sleep. At one point, Clint came in with a tray of food that lay mostly untouched on the dresser. Your eyes burned as you stared at the simple rise and fall of her chest, both feet planted on the floor.

Sixteen hours had passed. You’d paced the room, and at one point, finally allowed someone to address your wounds. It throbbed in time with your heart, which in-turn, mirrored Natasha’s. It was hour twenty when you saw any sign of life, and you nearly missed it, the fluttering of her eyes as they adjusted to the sun streaming into the room.

You’d rolled your head back, trying to quell the stiffness of your neck, the hushed growl escaped your lips. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

To hell with your aching body. Natasha’s voice was so meek that you’d nearly missed it altogether. You were treated with a startling blast of green color. She stared at you inquisitively, trying to prop herself up on her elbows. You were quicker than her in this state, using your palm against her chest to gently force her back onto the mattress.

“Don’t try to move,”

“I don’t do well with orders, y/n.”

“God damn it, I know.”

She gave you a small smile at this, but allowed you to coax her back into a laying position. She let out a protest of pain as you placed your ear flush against her chest, assuring that this was real, that her heart was beating strong and consistently. And it was, it really was.

Natasha chuckled, and worked her hand through your hair. “It’s okay, Zaychik. I’m alright.”

“Nat, you were shot in the back twice. It’s going to be a long road to recovery. You’re lucky that it didn’t shatter your spine, hell you could have lost the ability to walk altogether-“

She cut you off, grabbing your chin and leading your lips to hers. She tasted of blood, of the slightest bit of antiseptic and artificial cherries. She tasted like home. You fretted to pull away, knowing that she had kissed you to ultimately shut you up, but really, did that matter?

Natasha frowned into the kiss and pulled away, her fingers had found the bandage on your shoulder, running across the cross section where your skin met gauze. “You’re hurt. She hurt you.”

“She got a good shot in but had terrible aim. Nothing but a flesh wound.”

“Flesh wounds can be dangerous, Malysh.”

“Mm, so they can.” A few moments passed, your forehead pressed against hers, happy to be in her presence. “What did you say to Carol… right before she…”

Natasha let out a deep sigh and winced at the exhalation. She laid her head on the pillow and glowered at the painted ceiling above you both. You remembered staring up at it after Natasha had exhausted you on more than one occasion. Right now, she was trying to find the words, just like you had tried so desperately to find your solace.

“I threatened her family the way she threatened mine. I thought better of her, I suppose, than to shoot a woman in the back. Though, I would have done the same with the threats I laid out. I just needed to be sure that she wouldn’t… couldn’t hurt you… Ronnie.”

“You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“Maybe not the Danvers family, but there are more just lurking in the shadows waiting for their chance to swoop in. They’re scared now, I’m sure. But fear only goes so far.”

“I’m in this for the long haul, if you’ll have me, of course.” You tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, careful of her wounds. “I don’t care if it’s the Russo’s, or the Sarkissian’s, or any other psycho family that tries to take your power away from you. They’ll have to go through me.”

Natasha chuckled, “Alright, quickdraw, don’t get too cocky. We’ll lay low for a little bit. Heal. Then we can talk about the future.”

Somehow, that was enough for you. Natasha waking up, speaking and smiling, and laughing would always be enough for you.

“Drop the gun,” Kate’s voice was shaking, her hands outstretching in front of her in the ultimate sign of surrender. She looked vulnerable, the sun beating down on her shoulders and her stormy eyes catching the reflection of the water. “I’m unarmed, this isn’t cool, man.”

Her protests didn’t’ seem to matter one bit. Cooper pumped the front end of his gun and aimed the ice cold water directly at Kate’s stomach. His action was a silent call to the brigade of children that ascended on her; some carrying water guns like Coop, and others nailing her with neon colored balloons.

“Ah, the inhumanity!” She fell to the grass, scooping Ronnie up in the process. “Shield me, kid!”

You watched the girl with fondness, fighting back until the end. Clint chuckled behind you, flipping the burgers that had browned evenly on one side. The scent was intoxicating, and though you wouldn’t’ admit your hunger outright; your mouth was watering.

Yelena had ascended on the situation, taking a super soaker and dousing the clan that was attacking, and winning, Kate. She tucked Ronnie under her arm like a football and started to dash away towards the fence, out of earshot.

Clint’s wife, Laura, was pouring a glass of lemonade for Darcy. The two of them watched the scene from poolside chairs with as much amusement as you carried. They spoke with smiles on their faces, cheeks flushed from the heat of the day.

Warm arms wrapped around your midsection, a chin resting on your shoulder. The scent of sunscreen filled your lungs. You had always felt innate safety in Natasha’s embrace. She kissed behind your ear once, and then the side of your neck.

“She’s good with them.” Natasha purred.

“I think it’s because she’s a kid at heart.”

“And you let her protect your assets?” Clint tsked as he loaded the burgers onto a nearby plate. “Seriously, without Yelena training her I never would have taken the safety off her gun.”

“I can hear you!” Kate called back, shifting Ronnie to her other hip. “They are being so rude. I’m more than capable of being a degenerate.”

“Degenerate,” Yelena scoffed “Kate Bishop, you’ve invented the word.”

You shook your head, turning in Natasha’s arms before you draped your own over her shoulders. She wore that same black bikini that she had on when she proclaimed your new rank in her little empire. It seemed so long ago- and she was certainly marred with new markings to prove this. Your fingers tracing gently over the healed scars on her stomach.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips against hers, “Thank you for this.”

“Mm,” She hummed into the embrace “For what, detka?”

You deepened the embrace, whispering against her “resolution.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Yelena Belova #Katelena #Marvel #Mafia au

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talesofesther · 9 days

Text

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: For Aemond's condition, I took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Word count: 4,4k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

Stripes of early morning sunlight bled through the curtains. They kissed over the skin of Aemond's neck, then his scarred cheek, and slowly made their way to his eye.

A low groan came from the Prince when the golden light stirred him awake. He brought a hand to his face and covered his eye from the insistent light, the singing of the first birds told him how early the morning was, and he berated himself for forgetting the blinds open.

A few minutes passed, and Aemond knew there would be no more sleep now that his troubled mind had awakened. He pushed himself up to sit on his bed, covers pooling at his waist, and buried his head in his hands. His palms went over his eye and scar, gently; and fingers into his hair, messy from sleep. The Prince focused on slow and controlled breathing, as he could already feel the whispers of a numbing pain building inside his head. Covering the entirety of the harsh scar on his face with one hand in a sorry attempt at self-comfort, Aemond waited, unmoving—perhaps if he stayed still enough, the pain would go away.

It persisted, of course. And on days like this, he knew it would get worse before it got better. As Aemond got up, he noticed the little jar collecting dust on his bedside table; the maester used to bring him ointments in it, and they had tried it all, from elaborate healing recipes, to cinnamon tea, and to cold and warm packs over the empty eye socket. In the end, the maesters didn't quite understand the extent of Aemond's problem.

When he lost his eye, the pain was bordering unbearable during the first month. The Prince had nearly passed out from it when the first stitches were removed and began the process of keeping ointments on it day and night for better healing. The maester used to say the pain came because of the healing skin tissues, and it should go away eventually, but it never did. Sometimes Aemond doesn't feel the left side of his face, and sometimes he feels it too much—a headache surrounding the eternal wound, at times so strong that his vision blends colors together and he can't eat a single bite of food. He learned to cover up his scar, and the red, ugly line faded a little more as time passed, yet the pain it brought lingered.

Aemond doesn't talk about this. He feels it's a humiliating topic, a weakness for people to pry into. Just one more thing to have people give him weird side glances about. His mother is the only one who knows besides the maesters, because he could never hide something like this from her even if he tried. The pain goes away for periods of time, but it inevitably always returns; and he may never get used to it, but Aemond chose to carry the burden of the worst and best day of his life alone.

Tugging at the collar of his thin white shirt, Aemond made his way to the bathroom in his chambers and threw water on his face, washing away the remnants of sleep. He then slowly wandered to the dark wooden vanity near the balcony doors. The chair scraped the stone floors as Aemond pulled it to sit down. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him, and the Prince held his own stare for several seconds.

He observed the harsh scar, the imperfection, the reason for ladies' stares and whispers, the reason why they cowered when he walked past. He observed his silver hair, now disheveled and uneven, as he grabbed a comb and slowly ran it through the strands, then tied half of it back. He observed his features with a pensive look in his bright eye, he was all sharp edges and marred skin. Imperfect, underserving. so unlike you.

He raised the blue sapphire to his eye socket, and secured his eyepatch over it with a grimace at the small spasms it caused around the scar. Aemond's mind drifted to the conversation he had with his mother just yesterday, and with the thought of it, he could already feel his heart in his throat. After learning of the betrothal, the Prince had yet to see you, and he's unsure if he's dreading it or eagerly awaiting it.

Because you were… his, now. You were his. And he was yours. And between that, and the lingering pain of all your years apart, Aemond didn't know how to feel—or how to process all that he was feeling. Things felt overly raw and fragile.

Yet despite all his doubts and uncertainties, the One-Eyed Prince felt an overwhelming urge to do right by you.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond walked the hallways of the Red Keep, posture straight and a serious expression on his features. The Keep seemed to have just woken up as well, everything remained fairly quiet as hazy sunlight peeked through the windows. Lords, ladies, maids, and knights slowly filled the halls as Aemond made his way to have breakfast with his mother and siblings.

The Prince had always had an attentive ear, choosing to observe silently, rather than actively interact. He passed by two maids who seemed to be deep in gossip, and slowed his pace.

"Princess Rhaenyra has given birth just this dawn." Aemond heard one of the maids hushedly say. "It's a girl!"

Before he could hear more, however, one of the maids noticed him and promptly stood straighter, hands clasped behind her back; the other soon mimicked the behavior. "My Prince." The young girl bowed her head. "Good morrow."

Aemond hummed at the curtsy, grating her a gentle nod in turn, and continuing with his path.

So his half-sister has brought another child into the world. He thought briefly—bitterly—about how much his father would be pleased with the news, undoubtedly far more than he ever was when Aemond himself was born.

Even if the bright sunlight bothered his good eye and consequently his growing headache, Aemond chose to walk through the gardens, relishing in the fresh air, unclogged by the high stone walls of the Keep. Minding his steps so he wouldn't trip on his own feet because of the lingering pain in his skull, he crossed paths with three ladies drinking their morning tea by the shadow of a weirwood tree; and as one of them spoke, the Prince halted his walking.

"Have you heard? There's talk that the Second Prince of the realm has finally been betrothed."

It ate at his insides that futile gossip got to him so much, but Aemond couldn't help the clench of his fists and the quickening of his heartbeat at the mention of the rather… delicate matter involving himself. Begrudgingly, the Prince stood on the other side of the huge tree trunk, away from the ladies' line of sight yet well within earshot of their conversation.

"Prince Aemond, you mean?" Another of them asked. "And whoever is to be his unfortunate lady wife?"

"Yes. From what I heard from the maids it is to be the daughter of Prince Daemon." She then confirmed, her tone quieter yet no less enthused to share the rumors. "The eldest."

"Oh the poor girl, she seems such a nice young lady, not at all fitted for the offputting company of the second Prince, if you ask me."

It shouldn't get to him, Aemond knew it. He knew better than to pay any mind to lesser ladies' opinions. He was no stranger to the comments bouncing back and forth between them each time he so much as entered a room—many called him fearsome, many called him calloused, sometimes they say he's bad company without ever having spoken a single word to him; and many others simply find him unbecoming, too damaged, unbefitting for a Prince of the realm who should exude perfection.

It shouldn't get to him, but it did anyway. Aemond clenched his jaw and hurried away from the gardens. His own mind did a good enough job of reminding him you deserved better, he didn't need the words of others on top of it—he had half a mind to order their banishment from court, just because he could.

The Prince remained trapped in his thoughts, slowly yet steadily sinking deeper into unkind truths he told himself. So lost, in fact, that he missed the faint sound of your voice coming closer and closer to him.

Aemond turned a corner, with rushed steps, and it was only by his quick reflexes that he kept himself from bumping face-first into you and his sister. With a small gasp past his lips, Aemond took a big step back, his wide eye betraying his usual stoic demeanor.

Helaena stood with her arm linked around yours, both of you also having stopped just short of colliding with the Prince. His sister had one of her hands above her heart, as a small yet sincere laugh escaped her; "Gods, brother, you scared us."

Aemond barely heard her words, as his eye couldn't stray away from you.

You clutched at Helaena's arm tightly, a grip that seemed to grow tighter as the seconds trickled by. Your eyes were big and beautiful under the morning light, and your mouth opened and closed several times before you found your voice. "Aemon- My Prince," you stumbled, before bowing your head altogether.

"My apologies," Aemond eventually said, quieter than he intended to. He cleared his throat, also suddenly having trouble finding his voice, "I hadn't seen you."

Helaena's attentive eyes were quick to dart between you and her brother, amusement glinting within her look. "What coincidence, we had just been talking about you, brother."

Aemond raised a curious brow, standing straighter with a small pout on his lips.

"Were not," you almost hissed, snapping your head to Helaena with sharp eyes. "We," you stole a glance at Aemond, gaze softening, "were not."

A low hum came from the Prince. Before he could inquire, however, his sister spoke again.

"Well, I should really be getting the twins ready for their lessons by now." Her free hand came up to squeeze yours that still held her arm. "So I'll leave you two be." Helaena turned to Aemond, "I'll see you at breakfast, brother."

"No, don't-" You tried whispering, but Helaena had already weaseled out of your grasp and continued on her way down the hallway.

Alone with you, Aemond felt his palms become slick with perspiration. The silence lingered heavy and awkward, and the Prince watched as you all but curled in on yourself, refusing to look up at him.

With his heart in his mouth, Aemond spoke your name, in such a soft manner that he even surprised himself with. Oh, it had been ever so long since he dared to utter your name, to you, just like this—he had missed the sweet taste of it on his lips.

It was enough to prompt your eyes up again, and the look within them made Aemond's knees weak—they were all big and vulnerable, a pool of dark engulfed by the blown pupils. Your lips were parted, and Aemond felt the overwhelming urge to trace their shape with his thumb.

"I…" He hesitated, almost afraid. "I trust you're already aware of our parents' agreement?" The uncertain tone of his voice was foreign to him.

You gulped, glancing away and then back, before hugging yourself and subconsciously creating a small barrier between the both of you. "Yes, I am."

The Prince could only nod, your obvious distance and reluctance at his presence tugged painfully at his heartstrings as he was constantly reminded of his lonesome years after you left his side. "It was not… of my doing," Aemond spoke carefully, "I thought, perhaps you should know."

You regarded him with a gaze he couldn't decipher, biting at the edge of your lip as your nails dug into the sleeve covering your forearm. "I know," You told him, voice lacking emotion despite your eyes. "It wasn't- It wasn't mine, either."

Aemond held a pause, unsure of what else to say but not yet wanting to leave your presence. He gestured forward a little reluctantly, inviting you to walk with him. And when you did so, he briefly raised a hand to the small of your back, before reigning in his impulses.

Many steps were taken in tense silence, with a few curious glances from maids and lords alike being thrown your way. Your shoulder brushed Aemond's as you walked. "Did the news of our-" Your tongue got tied at the thought of the word, and you took a steadying breath. "Does it bother you, my Prince?"

His eye chanced a look at you. Aemond clasped his hands behind his back out of habit. "No. As a Prince of the realm, I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty." The words fell past his lips as if he'd rehearsed them several times in front of a mirror, yet Aemond felt a pit form in his stomach when he noticed the way you blinked at them, with a frown on your brows and lips. He almost reconsidered before speaking again, "Mother wishes for peace, and if she thinks this will grant it, then…"

"Right," you breathed. "Of course. Our families will be one again…" Pointedly looking away from him, you added, a quiet afterthought; "That is all that matters."

Aemond couldn't shake how much your aloof demeanor bothered him, how much it confused him. An apology lingered on his tongue, even if he wasn't sure what he'd be apologizing for. "And does it… bother you, my Lady?" The Prince chose to ask instead, regardless of how much he feared the answer.

You closed your eyes and shook your head, halting your steps and taking a sudden hold of Aemond's forearm. He turned to you at the feeling of your touch and his heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

"Aemond, I-" You uttered, fighting to keep your voice from sounding as soft as you felt when with him. Your hand slowly drifted down to Aemond's wrist, and then to his fingers, which timidly curled around yours out of pure instinct—something stronger than both of you that remained burned within your hearts.

The feeling of your soft skin against his forced Aemond to bite back a gasp, his face warmed up and he clenched his jaw when the pain behind his eyepatch became just a little sharper—and yet he could barely register it, for all he could feel was you.

You took half a step closer, and Aemond held his breath. "I just wish we-"

An abrupt call of your name robbed the small moment and cut off your words. It caught your and the Prince's attention, forcing you to return to a respectable distance from each other, hands untangling.

"Forgive me, my Lady." A knight of the King's Guard gave a curt curtsy to you. "My Prince." And to Aemond, before returning his gaze back to you. "But Princess Rhaenyra is requesting your presence in her chambers."

"Uh-" You stammered, slowly bringing yourself back from the daze Aemond had gotten you in oh so quickly. "Right now?"

"She asked that I'd come straight to fetch you, yes." The knight informed with a curt nod.

"Alright," you mumbled more to yourself than anything else, your hands fidgeting with each other. "I… shall see you later then," you averted your eyes to Aemond, taking in how the sunlight fell around him like a halo, how his eyebrows had the softest crease to them that you wished to reach up and smooth away, how the apples of his cheeks matched the faint pink of his lips. "My Prince." You finished with a breath.

Aemond held your gaze for a beat, his mouth parted; before simply closing his eye and gently angling his chin down.

You moved away from him despite not quite wanting to, and followed the knight.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The knight escorted you to Rhaenyra's room, and as you made your way through the hallways of the Red Keep, you could feel your fingers still tingling with the ghosts of what was left of Aemond's touch, the feeling of him—overwhelming, all-consuming. Only a single touch. That's how much you'd missed him.

Upon reaching her door, you slightly shook your head to clear your mind, and the knight pushed it open for you.

Right away, as you walked in, you were able to hear the gentle crying of a babe. The balcony doors were ajar, allowing for the morning sunlight and breeze to seep in, making the thin curtains flow. Rhaenyra sat on a comfortable armchair, with your father kneeling beside her, and in the Princess' arm she held her newborn child.

A soft 'oh' escaped you in a breath as you stood in the middle of the room. It was enough to catch their attention, both adorning easy smiles when they looked at you.

"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra greeted kindly, "Come here, we want you to meet your new sister." she smiled down at the baby in her arms. Her eyes were a little sunken and she had beads of sweat on her forehead—undoubtedly tired after what you could only assume had been a difficult labor—but otherwise the Princess looked as radiant as ever.

Your father did much the same, beckoning you over with a gesture of his hand. So you walked up to them, carefully dropping to your knees beside Daemon so you could be at eye-level with the newborn. Rhaenyra pushed down the soft fabric she wrapped around her baby, revealing a serene little face, with eyes closed and thin hair as white as the clouds on a sunny day.

"Hi," you whispered, biting down on your lower lip in a futile attempt to hold the big smile stretching your lips. Reaching over, you allowed your young half-sister to wrap one of her small hands around your finger. "What's her name?"

"Visenya," Rhaenyra spoke rather proudly, turning her gaze to you.

"A special name, for a special girl."

Peaceful silence engulfed the room for a moment, and you felt warmth blooming in your chest for the family you had been so lucky to have, to be welcomed into.

"Thank you, sweet girl." Rhaenyra eventually expressed, one of her hands caressing her babe's head, yet her eyes remained on you.

You hummed curiously, glancing up to meet her gaze. You felt your father squeezing your shoulder from beside you.

"For agreeing with the betrothal." The Princess clarified, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. "I know it is none girl's wish to be given these kinds of news, so I thank you. There is a hope for peace in this union."

Blood pumped faster through your veins at the mention of your betrothal to Aemond, you could feel it in the way your chest constricted. "Yes, of course," you breathed, "I understand my duty."

Rhaenyra's smile grew wider with affection, her eyes squinting because of it. Her free hand reached to squeeze your arm in a gentle manner. "My sweet girl."

Perhaps until now, you had never entirely understood just how much Rhaenyra had come to see you as a daughter of hers, too.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond walked into the spacious room that housed the long wooden table, now illuminated by sunlight coming through the tall windows rather than torches and candles. Meals where the whole family was present weren't overly common, at least they didn't use to be; but ever since Viserys had fallen more gravely ill, his mother has been making an effort.

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Aegon called as Aemond took his seat beside him. The eldest of the brothers already nursing a cup of wine, which he pointedly tilted away from Alicent in hopes she wouldn't notice.

Aemond hummed at his brother's words, not in the mood for his jesting. He turned to his mother instead, with a gentle; "Good morrow, mother."

"Good morrow, my son," Alicent took a moment to eye the young Prince, fidgeting with the fork in her hands. "Did you have a good night's rest?" She inquired then, her worry escaping her.

In an instant, Aemond knew she'd already skillfully picked up on his barely squinted eye and strained jaw—telltales of his attempts at ignoring the pulsing pain surrounding his scar. "I did, mother." He tried convincing.

Alicent pursed her lips, perhaps not entirely convinced, but didn't inquire further.

They ate their meals in silence for a while, Aemond mostly pushing his food around his plate as the thought of filling his stomach made him partially nauseous today. Until Alicent spoke again.

"I heard from the maesters that Rhaenyra's baby was born healthy," she commented casually, "A girl."

"Not a bastard then?" Aegon asked through a mouthful.

"Aegon!" Their mother was quick to snap, "I will not tolerate such talks anymore, not when we've just reunited again." She huffed, then cast a glance at her second son; "Thanks to your brother," and back to her first, "Do not be the one to ruin it."

The first Prince pouted, bowing his head and looking up as a scolded puppy would. He picked at the bunch of grapes in his hands and mumbled an apology.

"It is lovely that you will marry, brother." Helaena decided to speak then, turning to Aemond with barely concealed joyfulness in her voice, "And such a good friend of ours too." Aemond didn't need to look at her to hear the smile in her words.

"I was telling her just earlier this morning how pleased I was that she won't be leaving us anymore." Helaena finished, recalling her conversation with you with a warm heart.

Aemond gulped at the mere mention of you leaving his side again. His finger tapped the wooden table. He hesitated in his response, lips hovering for a moment, "Yes… her company will be… welcomed."

"Come now, brother," Aegon popped a grape into his mouth without losing his smirk, "Don't sulk. Look who you'll be marrying." He pushed at his brother's shoulder playfully, wiggling his brows even if Aemond wasn't looking at him, "She's quite something, if you ask me."

Fire burned within Aemond's eye then, he clenched his fists on top of the table, barely concealing his growing anger only for the sake of his mother. He averted his gaze to his older brother, voice low, "Careful how you speak of my-"

"Your what?" The first Prince took advantage of his brother's tied tongue, leaning in closer as his taunting smile only grew bigger. "Come on, admit it, you love calling her yours."

Before Aemond could jump at his brother's throat, Alicent intervened; "Boys, that's enough," she spoke with a sigh, not wanting squabbles this early in the morning. "Aemond, have you had a chance to speak with her already?" She took a sip of her steaming tea, "Rhaenyra had been unsure of how she'd react to the betrothal."

"We spoke, briefly. She seems…" Aemond held a pause, thinking back to your encounter from just minutes before and how distant you seemed—as if slipping from between his fingers while standing right beside him. He gulped down the growing emotions. "She understands our duty to the realm."

His mother noticed his solemn tone, her small smile turning sympathetic. "I'm sure she'll come around. The two of you have always been close."

You were, but that had been before—Aemond couldn't help but think—before years spent apart from each other, now left with bleeding hearts who longed for each other, yet couldn't find a path to meet.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The gentle flap of wings could be heard near one of the highest mountain tops near King's Landing. Khamira and Moondancer flew in the skies, playing together and enjoying the calm afternoon; yet never straying too far from their riders, who sat on the rocky overlook of the mountain.

The view was a splendid one, rising way above any tree or building, allowing the eyes to marvel for miles and miles ahead.

"How did you feel…" You began, a timidness to your tone as you kept your eyes on the moving silhouette of your dragon as she danced in the skies. "When you learned of your betrothal with Jace?"

Baela hummed from beside you, casting a glance your way before following your gaze to your dragons. "I was pleased. He's a good person, a kind boy. We get along." She decided, not an ounce of doubt in her words.

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes turning downcast to your hands. And your silence was enough confirmation for your low mood that Baela had been picking up on ever since you left the dragonpit together. "You and Aemond are friends as well," She pointed out, as if obvious, "Shouldn't you be feeling the same?"

Your heart skipped a beat inside your tight chest. "We were friends once, yes. Now… I am not sure what we are." You frowned, feeling your stomach churn. "I uh- I think he blames me for our time apart, and I… don't blame him for feeling that way." You chanced a glance at Baela beside you, before looking back at the skies, running your tongue over your dry lips. The cold wind made your hair flow, and carried your words like a breath; "I think I blame me, too."

Baela took hold of your arm, squeezing it in an attempt at comfort. "It's not like you had much choice, father would never let you come to the capital alone."

"Yeah, I know." You agreed, before taking in a long breath and holding it in your lungs for a moment, "But sometimes it feels like there's an ocean between me and Aemond still."

Your sister pondered over your words, a small pout to her lips. She shrugged, "He's always been difficult, you know that." She met your pleading eyes with a raised brow, "And yet you were always the only one he ever allowed close."

Heat rose to your cheeks as she spoke, and you fought a smile when thinking of the memories of a young Aemond who only ever sought out your company, dismissing any and all others with a scowl and a roll of his eyes—yet he'd brighten up and become all flushed and bashful whenever you called his name, his eyes softening with adoration.

"He'll come around," Baela assured, and the corners of her lips lifted with a teasing grin, "I still see him looking at you the same way he did when we were kids."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #my story #echoes of a flame #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff

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acaaai-t · 2 months

Text

and it was all yellow.

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of cheating, breakups, reader likes yellow

“Let’s live together when we get married! Oh oh, and we can get cat too,” you exclaimed. “Or a dog, if you prefer.”

“No kids?” a smile tugged at the corner of his lips at your bubbling excitement.

Your nose scrunched up at the mere thought of having children. “No, no kids,” you said, shaking your head.

Scaramouche laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling up as he looked at you, eyes filled with just pure adoration and love for you.

“Our bedroom can be painted.. hmm..”

“What about yellow?” Scaramouche suggested. “It’s is your favorite color after all.”

You clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Ooh yes! Great idea. Let’s go look at furnitures, please?”

“I still think you’re thinking too far ahead,” he mumbled, yet nevertheless, he took your hand and guided you out the living room.

“It’s never too late to start planning,” you said, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his lips.

…

“Mmm, no. Too… blue.”

“How about this one?” the sales lady gestured to a simple pastel couch placed upon a soft plush carpet. “This one just came in, part of out newest collection of furniture.”

You looked at Scaramouche, who had an unpleasant expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the colors—nor the shape of the furniture itself. You turned back to the sales assistant and gently shook your head.

She looked slightly disappointed at your rejection, but she quickly led you to another set of kitchen setups, all the while explaining the benefits provided and how nice it looks. You ran a finger over the waxed surface of the wooden dining table. A cloth of yellow and white checkered pattern lay over the center of the table, a vase of yellow daffodils sitting atop of it.

Yellow.

For as long as you can remember, it’d always been your favorite color. You’ve taken quite the liking to sunflowers recently, and coincidentally enough, they were a beautiful shade of yellow too. Scaramouche knew—he somehow always knew—and made sure to surprise you with bouquets of fresh flowers every once in a while, the giant sunflower being the centerpiece.

Scaramouche knew you, inside and out. The good and the bad. He’s seen through with you through your worst and your best. He knows exactly how to cheer you up when you’re feeling down, via a long cuddle session; how you like your coffee, always black with a splash of vanilla creamer; the people you love and hate; that you adore the color yellow.

Never was there a day where Scaramouche would hear himself say that yellow was lovely color. For some odd reason, ever since he was a young child, he’d always hated yellow. But after meeting you, it’s as if yellow had been completely painted in a new light. Everything yellow he saw, he saw you in it. Splashed across the sunset, blooming in a field under the stars—you. You were always there.

“Do you like it?” Scaramouche asked.

You met his eyes and smiled. “Yeah.”

…

“Yeah, its… true.”

You said nothing.

Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably in his seat at your silence. You kept your eyes trained on the nearly dead daffodil leaning helplessly against its ceramic cage. The petals had begun falling off, you noticed. When had that happened? Just a couple days ago everything was fine. It was healthy and thriving. Happy.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Did he think that such a measly apology was enough to compensate for your broken heart? Nothing Scaramouche did or say could soothe the burning ache that hollowed you from the inside-out. He’d been playing with your emotions for nearly two weeks now. Had it not been Scaramouche slipping up, you would’ve never caught on that he was being intimate with someone else that wasn’t you.

Tears brimmed, the water tension so close to falling. You blinked, and it broke, tears trailing down your cheeks. Does he feel anything seeing you cry? Does he regret his actions? Will he hate himself for what he’s done to you? You gritted your teeth. Even if he begged for you to stay, you won’t waver. It’s his loss.

You sniffled and wiped away your tears. It’s useless. Crying won’t reverse what’s been done. “Whatever,” you muttered, pushing away from the dining table. Your heart aches, but you pushed the pain aside and slowly collected yourself.

The place that you’d once shared with Scaramouche—a place that you once dared called home, was now nothing more than a painful reminder of what once was yours. A place where you’d spent creating countless day and nights painting up a paradise where you’d raise your children with your husband. Everything you’ve done was futile. It’s over.

It was bitter. The process of packing your belongings as Scaramouche remained at the dining table was cruel. Everything you wanted to take only serves as nothing more than a taunt to your now dead relationship. Everything you ever loved you shared with him, and now, you don’t think you’d ever be able to look at them in the same light anymore. Your hands hovered over a pot of crocheted sunflowers sitting above the fireplace. Crestfallen, youfelt your heart twist once more.

In the end, your tiny backpack was only filled with everyday essentials. You swallowed back a cry and dialed a friend as you prepared to leave this god forsaken place.

“Hey Xiao,” your voice was quivering.

Scaramouche stiffened up at the mention of your friend’s name. You didn’t see it however, for your back was turned to him. He wanted to stop you from leaving, to stop you from stepping out the door. But he refrained from doing so. He chewed anxiously at his bottom lips. Don’t leave. Please. He wanted to say. I’m sorry.

Yet he did nothing, only squeezing his eyes shut, listening to the sound of the door slamming shut. When it was finally just him alone in the apartment, he buried his face in the palm of his hands and cried.

The yellow curtains fluttered gently, and the last petal of the daffodil fell.

✩ ·┆ masterlist┆ >> part 2 <<

notes—

— quick life update: haven’t played genshin in a year now, and it’s college application season so i’m going to start stressing; sorry if i disappear again it will keep happening, unfortunately

#[💫] acaaai-t #astronetwrk #genshin angst #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche x you #scaramouche #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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talaok · 1 year

Note

Hello!

I was thinking about this a little too much today. I often read fics / drabbles about Pedro being all sweet and flirty or him being very confident and flirty … I just want to read a fic about him being the worst flirt ever 😅 I know he’s a flirt in his interviews , but what if he’s really bad at it when it’s time to really seduce someone. Like he messes up what he wants to say , he makes stupid jokes that don’t land.

Do you think you could write that?

summary: Pedro is a bad flirt

A/n: I'm genuinely sorry this took so long, but I had to study like a bastard just for my professor to be an asshole

"please introduce me to her"

"why don't you go there and do it yourself?"

"because I can't"

"why?"

"please"

"fine"

__ __ __

It was a relatively small party, just a few friends and some friend’s friends, nothing huge.

Vanessa, your best friend, had insisted on throwing it, encouraging you to “live a little now that that asshole isn’t in the picture anymore”.

“That asshole”, was indeed your, as of two weeks, ex-boyfriend.

Neither of them had ever been fans of each other, and thinking back at it now, that should have probably been if not red, at least some kind of colored flag.

Anyway, as always, when it was V talking you into something, you had accepted, with a few conditions of course.

Hence, the small party and your playlist playing in the background.

“Y/n, did you know that?”

right, you should have probably been listening to the conversation.

“Uh, no, it’s news to me” you topped with an awkward laugh you hoped would go unnoticed.

“that’s crazy, you learn something new every day” Ryan commented, making you wonder for a sec if perhaps you had actually missed something interesting.

Just as you turned to Claire beside you to investigate, everyone’s attention moved to Vanessa as she strolled toward you.

Not unusual, you thought, she wasn’t a woman that got unnoticed.

What you found when you turned too, however, did pique your interest.

A man walked beside her, Pedro Pascal.

He fell into the friend-of-friends category.

He was one of Vanessa’s oldest friends from back when she studied in New York. She talked about him sometimes, but you had never actually met him, which, thinking about it, why was that?

"hi there, how's it going?" V asked

"very well, Pyke here was telling us that sharks do not have bones"

There it was, mystery solved.

V raised her brows clearly unimpressed "Wow, well that's great" she patted his shoulder, as everyone made space for the pair.

Pedro still hadn't spoken, and a match of awkwardness lighted as you all came to the same realization.

"Alright then, I think I'm gonna get another drink" The shark expert spoke, and all of a sudden Claire and Ryan both got really thirsty too as they followed him to the kitchen.

A strange smile pulled at V's lips

"Anyway, Y/n, this is Pedro" she gestured "Pedro, this is Y/n"

You felt like one of those women in period dramas when their mothers introduce them to a man they think they should marry.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you" You shook his hand "V has told me about you"

"H-hi" he cleared his throat "it's very nice to meet you too"

" Pedro's here to film a movie"

"are you?" you asked, interested

"yes, I- Uhm- I am"

He looked nervous, and you had no idea why.

"Can I know which, or is it like one of those secret Marvel things?" you joked.

"Oh, no, of course" he laughed, "It's Weapons, it's like a horror movie"

"oh" you winced "Well that's lovely, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not going to watch it. I hate horror movies"

"Oh, why?" he asked looking genuinely perplexed

"I get scared very easily, and... I'll sound like a 5-year-old, but every time I watch one I have troubles sleeping"

"oh that's fine" he laughed " I get it" he nodded "You don't look like a five-year-old at all" he blurted out, his eyes instantly widening as his brain realized what he had just said "Sound! I meant sound like a 5-year-old" he breathed "you look- you look extremely beautiful, not like-" he stopped himself before he could talk again, and just let out a small "oh god"

You shot Vanessa a glance.

"it's fine" you laughed "I got it," you reassured him, placing a hand on his bicep.

"so, since I'm not going to watch it, why don't you tell me what's about?"

His eyes found yours again, something sparking inside of them at the question.

"Oh you know, it's about guns and swords and rifles," he said with a smile.

You couldn't hide your confusion

"I'm sorry?" you asked, half-laughing

"y'know, because it's called weapons" he explained, his voice getting smaller as he realized the joke had bombed.

"Oh" you laughed, actually laughed "Of course! I'm sorry!"

"No, no don't be sorry it was a stupid joke"

"it was funny, I'm just..." You mimicked something with your hands.

"Y/n!" a shout from across the room caught your attention.

Mary was waving desperately at you, which could only mean that she had either broken another piece of furniture or wanted to do shots.

Neither of those options seemed particularly interesting, for some reason you wanted to know more about the man in front of you.

However, you also couldn't ignore one of your best friends.

"I'll be back in a second, I just need to make sure she hasn't broken another vase" you joked with a grin.

"o-ok" he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed harshly.

"get ready to tell me about all those weapons!" you called out, already walking to the kitchen.

Once you disappeared, Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him, her expression an open book.

"Don't say anything"

"I'm not"

"good"

there was a brief moment of silence before Vanessa couldn't hold it anymore.

She busted out laughing

"Guns and swords!?" she laughed, recalling his joke

"Shut up"

"And the five-year-old thing!?" she kept going "Dude you've been drooling over her for two years and that's what you go for the moment you finally get to talk to her?"

He couldn't do anything but sigh "I need a drink," he said "And I thought it was funny"

"Yeah, you were the only one, my friend"

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moonselune · 2 months

Note

hii! i love ur works n headcanons n fics!! u write these lovely characters so well

can i request the boys w/ an autistic reader who has a meltdown in public and feels like an embarrassment after?? (comfort fic 🩷)

Thank you so much ! as someone who is also on the spectrum I completely get what it's like for things out of your control to happen and it all gets too much x

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The marketplace was bustling with activity, the mix of sounds, bright colors, and mingling scents becoming overwhelming. You could feel the pressure building inside, your senses on high alert, and your chest tightening with each passing moment. Then, it happened – the meltdown. You sank to the ground, hands over your ears, trying to block out the world around you.

Gale, who had been browsing a nearby stall, noticed your distress immediately. He rushed to your side, kneeling down to your level, his face etched with concern.

"It's alright, my love," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos. "I'm here. Focus on my voice."

He reached out, gently touching your shoulder, a grounding presence amidst the storm. Slowly, he guided you to a quieter corner of the marketplace, shielding you from prying eyes with his cloak.

Once the worst of it had passed, and your breathing began to steady, Gale held you close, his arms providing a secure, comforting embrace.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," he whispered. "You did nothing wrong. It's just the world being too much sometimes. And I will always be here to help you through it."

Despite his reassurances, you felt a flush of humiliation. "I'm sorry," you muttered, unable to meet his eyes. "I just… I couldn't handle it."

Gale cupped your face gently, making you look at him. "There's nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "Everyone has their limits, and you are incredibly strong for facing yours. Never feel ashamed for being who you are."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The tavern was noisy, the laughter and music growing louder and more boisterous as the night wore on. The flickering candlelight and the press of bodies were too much, and you felt the meltdown coming before you could stop it. Tears streamed down your face as you sank to the floor, feeling utterly exposed.

Astarion, who had been charming a group of patrons nearby, immediately noticed your distress. He pushed through the crowd with a determined look and crouched down beside you.

"Darling, look at me," he said urgently, his eyes locking onto yours. "Focus on me. You're safe."

He wrapped his arms around you, a protective barrier against the overwhelming environment. Ignoring the curious stares of onlookers, Astarion whispered soothing words, his cool voice a steadying force. When the worst subsided, he helped you to your feet and led you outside into the cool night air.

"Don't ever feel embarrassed around me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "This world can be cruel and unforgiving, but you are stronger than you know. And I will always stand by your side, no matter what."

You wiped at your tear-streaked face, feeling a deep sense of shame.

"I made a scene in front of everyone," you said quietly, your voice trembling. Astarion tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Let them stare," he said with a hint of defiance. "You are the bravest person I know, and nothing will change that. You did what you needed to survive, and I will always admire you for that."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The festival was in full swing, the sights and sounds becoming too much to bear. The bright lights, loud music, and jostling crowds all combined into a sensory overload, triggering a meltdown. You dropped to the ground, tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to block out the chaos.

Wyll, who had been speaking with some townsfolk, saw your distress and immediately rushed over. He knelt down beside you, his face filled with concern and understanding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice calm and soothing. "I'm here with you."

He gently took your hand, guiding you away from the crowd to a quieter spot. Wyll knelt beside you, wrapping you in his strong, comforting embrace, shielding you from the overwhelming environment.

"You're incredibly brave," he said softly once you had calmed down. "Never feel embarrassed for being who you are. You're perfect just the way you are, and I'm here to support you through anything."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation. "I ruined the festival," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone must think I'm weak."

Wyll shook his head firmly. "You didn't ruin anything," he said. "You faced a challenge that most people can't even imagine. That makes you stronger than any of them. And to me, you are the most incredible person in the world."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The forest clearing was supposed to be a peaceful retreat, but the gathering of people, the chatter, and the flickering campfires became overwhelming. You felt the meltdown building, and soon you were on the ground, hands clutching your head as you tried to shut out the world.

Halsin, ever attuned to your emotions, noticed immediately. He was at your side in an instant, his presence a grounding force.

"Easy, my heart," he murmured, his voice a deep, calming rumble. "I'm here. Focus on the sound of my voice, the feel of my touch."

He enveloped you in his arms, shielding you from the overwhelming stimuli. Halsin gently guided you away from the crowd, into the serene embrace of the forest where the sounds of nature provided a soothing backdrop. As you calmed, he held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he said softly. "The world can be overwhelming, but you are strong. And together, we can face anything. I'm here for you, always."

Despite his comforting words, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "I made such a scene," you said, your voice shaking. "Everyone was watching."

Halsin kissed your forehead, his gaze filled with love. "Let them watch," he said. "You showed incredible courage today. Never feel ashamed for being yourself. I love you for who you are, and I will always be here to support you."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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sweetandsavageautistic · 6 months

Text

(CW: Cringe, Autism Parents stuff, drunk mention, infantilization)

So I don't have a degree in Graphic Design, but I do have a sense of general aesthetic. I figured that it's April. Let's rate, and potentially verbally tear apart and drag through the mud, some autism shirts and graphic designs, and I'll probably do a part 2, these scores are only semi-arbitrary: First up is this:

Already off the top, I am confusion because it seems to read "I wear puzzle cousin autism awareness". Sounds like whoever made this was drunk.

Puzzle pieces, ew.

The red, yellow, green, and blue look like the shades you'd see in elementary school, so that seems pretty infantilizing.

Autism Awareness, I am very much aware of my existence.

Final Score: 0 out of 10. Designer, go home; you're drunk.

Next we have this:

This one already has a slight advantage over the first because it's at least coherent in terms of the message.

Elementary school colors, but make it extra tacky.

Puzzle pieces; don't try to bullshit me by putting the autism awareness banner over it, I can see the other indents that make them puzzle pieces.

Once again, I am well aware of my own existence.

At least it's a smaller design.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10, and that's being generous.

Next one's not a shirt, but it still counts:

No blue so thank God for that.

This is up to personal preference, but to me, the person-first language is giving "I need to be reminded that someone is a person."

Puzzle pieces. Ew. Don't BS me, I can see them.

Walk down Autism Lane. (it's right below the word LOVE) Sorry, but we don't allow ableists on Autism Lane; you need to be a premium member and to be a premium member, you need to not be a dick.

The pumpkin disturbs me for some reason, and not in the Halloween way; I mean, it just straight-up disturbs me.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10. Bury it in a shallow grave.

Just found this one:

It's easy on the eyes at least.

No tacky elementary school colors.

No puzzle pieces.

The bunny's cute, but this also seems very infantilizing.

Person first language is a no for me.

Why are all of the is lowercase, but the others are uppercase?

Final Score: 5 out of 10. Not great, but not terrible.

Here we have simple:

Elementary school colors, but credit where credit's due; it's not terrible on the eyes.

Why is blessed on there three times?

One big-ass puzzle piece.

"Autism blesses" Yes, because being bullied by my peers, being indirectly told who I am is wrong, having the worst time making friends, always feeling like I'm never truly part of a friend group, being confused when some adults got mad at me, not having anyone to play with at 4 years old is an absolute fucking blessing. /s And that's the tip of the iceberg.

"Fun", "Sweet", "Cute".....it's the infantilization for me.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. No further elaboration.

Then there's this monstrosity:

I call this color Patronizing Paraprofessional Blue, aka the tackiest shade of blue ever.

It looks like something one of those older white suburban millennial moms would wear. Like something a Karen would wear to one of those autism walks or one of those social skills teachers who talk in that slowed-down patronizing kindergarten teacher tone with that fake-ass smile, no matter how old you are. You know the one I'm talking about, right? Yeah, they'd wear this.

Puzzle piece. Light It Up Blue. Ew.

We all know what organization this supports.

Final Score: -10 out of 10. Burn it.

Let's get in a good one to counter that abomination of a shirt and end part one on a higher note:

Nice simple design with a black background.

No tacky elementary school colors.

Identity-first language.

Really counters the....what the fuck would it be called? The UwU autism parent thing? ("I am his voice, he is my heart," "See the able, not the label," etc,.) It counters that.

The light sparkle around "a bitch" is chef's kiss.

Final Score: 11 out of 10. Perfection.

#autism awareness #autism acceptance #autism #autistic #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #sweet and savage autistic

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creator1mpersonator · 2 months

Text

Through the Mirror

00. Prologue

Inspired by Coraline, reader is gender-neutral, no use of Y/N.

This new home was painfully dreary. Based on the copper-colored bricks that built up the walls and the immensely overgrown shrubbery around it, you assumed this was a pre-war building. There were neighboring houses, but they all looked as copper, lifeless, and boring as yours. As you assisted your parents unload the U-Haul, you saw a little girl ride past on her little bike with the expression of a Victorian child—poor thing, so young and living in a place with the mental stimulation of the color beige. Your father procured the key from one of his pockets, slotting it into the rusty doorknob and turning it. The door simply opened by itself, and you heard him mumble something about fixing it to himself before entering. Your mother followed, waving away cobwebs with her hand. You remained outside for a moment, and it wasn’t until you heard your mother shriek your name that you picked up a box and scampered inside.

The inside of the home was, predictably, as depressing as its exterior. Dusty, with cobwebs along walls like terrible little decorations. You screamed when you saw a cockroach scuttle past your feet, its wretched antenna going this way and that before fleeing out the open front door.

“Bugs, great. Just what I need.” Your mother muttered in a rather disgruntled tone, arms crossed over her chest. She seemed even more upset by this move than you were, even if it was supposed to be good for her and your father’s job. Not that you even knew what it was that they did.

“Nothing an exterminator can’t fix, honey.” Your father said in a cheerful tone, ever the optimist.

“Exterminators cost money. Money we don’t have.” Your mother retorted, killing another roach beneath her shoe with a rather cruel stomp that sounded throughout the empty house.

“You’ll see,” your father began, “things will be just fine.”

“Yeah, right.”

Your father sighed, and you gave him a sympathetic smile before setting the box you were holding down on the dusty hardwood floors.

“___” your mother called out, “go pick out your room.”

You nodded, walking past your at-odds parents and heading up the stairs. There was an old carpet that lined the hallway, like in picture books. It was a faded blue and you think there were once flowers printed on the fabric. You decided to walk on the regular hardwood instead when the carpet began to squish under your feet. You don’t think the carpet was supposed to do that.

You peered into different rooms, making keen observations about each one that would help you pick out the least worst one. One room had a hole in the floor, your mother was gonna blow a gasket when she saw it. The next room sent you running out of it when you saw the cockroaches gathered around like a council of terrible little things. The third room you saw was the one you picked. Compared to the last two, it wasn’t in a state of disrepair nor did it make your skin crawl. It was bland because of course it was, but you figured some paint, furniture, and decorations could fix it right up. Two windows let natural light inside your bedroom, there was a closet with bi-fold doors, and a mirror.

The mirror caught your attention the most. It was undoubtedly an antique, the glass of the mirror surrounded by a golden border with swirling decals carved into it. It was beautiful and vaguely reminded you of the Evil Queen’s mirror in Snow White.

“Mom!” You called out, “Come up here!”

You heard footsteps come up the stairs, a disgusted sound when the carpet squished beneath her foot, an angry sigh at the hole in the floor, and a shriek when she found the council of roaches before she finally found your room.

“Couldn’t have told me what room you were in?” She sighed, arms still crossed.

“Sorry.” You said, before quickly changing focus, “check out this mirror.”

Your mother glanced at the mirror briefly, eyebrow raised.

“It’s creepy”

“I think it looks pretty.” You defended.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t wanna get rid of that one and just get a new mirror?” Your mother asked.

“I’m sure.”

She sighed.

“As long as you’re happy, bug.”

You wouldn’t begin to understand the trouble that mirror would get you into until that night.

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the-prettiest-teardrop · 3 months

Text

It’s On Me

Childhoodbestfriend!Steve x Introvert!Reader

Warning- Shy reader, reader like cotton candy ice cream (sorry if you don’t like it 😭), kissing, tooth rotting fluff

A/N- There was inspiration taken from the Cherry series, and this was also based off an ask.

———

You pick at your nails, the blue polish lifting and peeling up. It was the same color it always was, light turquoise blue, you’d stuck to the same color since middle school. You thought people didn’t notice, I mean, you didn’t really talk much, well, not to anyone but Steve.

The two of you met in primary school, both around 6 years old. Some girl had bumped into you, causing you to spill the soup you brought to school for lunch. He had swooped in to save the day, sharing his lunch with you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip since.

In middle school, you watched as Steve gained popularity, and you stayed behind, your once outgoing personality reduced to a shadow of its former glory. You didn’t have many friends, but time after time, he was there beside you, never leaving. This devotion caused you to become attracted to him, something that wouldn’t leave you.

The same pattern continued in high school, but somehow, you made it through all that, and more, and came out the other side.

Now you were here, walking beside him, Robin and Eddie behind you, and the kids behind them. After all the whining and complaining about the heat, Steve had dragged you all out to get ice cream.

“C’mon, walk faster. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can cool down.” He calls back to the rest of the group picking up the pace a bit, grabbing your hand and bringing you with him.

You had always enjoyed the feeling of his hand grasping yours, the slight roughness of his palm, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing the back of your hand. It was familiar, something that calmed you in awkward situations. You thought back to all the things he’d done for you over the years, sneaking chapstick into your pocket, replacing your nail polish, all things he thought you never noticed.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asks, noticing the way you bit your lip and looked off to the side, spaced out in thought.

“Oh, nothin’, just figuring out what I’m gonna get.” You reply quietly, looking him in his big brown eyes. God, you could drown in them, with the way they swallowed you with kindness.

“They’ve got Cotton Candy, your favorite.” He says with a little smile, nudging you with a smile. He remembered your favorite flavor after all the nights the two of you spent together, talking til’ the sun rose.

“Can you two lovebirds pick up the pace? For someone who just told us to stop complaining and walk faster, you’re really slowing us down.” Robin calls out, followed by a chorus of agreement from the kids. Steve groaned and began walking faster, muttering something about how he wished people didn’t say stuff like that to you, that you were just friends.

Although you’d never say it aloud, you kind of liked the teasing, it made you feel like other people would approve if you ever got in a relationship with him that was more than purely platonic.

Once you arrived at the ice cream shop, everyone ordered, and Steve quickly payed. You immediately noticed he got nothing for himself, and you began to get worried. It was easy for you to spiral, something you were used to, the second you got worried, you began to think the worst. As you spiraled, worried about something as small as him not getting ice cream, your eyes drifted to his hands. Before you could think about how nice his hands were, you got distracted by his near-empty wallet. Without another word, you got up from where you were sitting, leaving your ice cream at the table, and pulling out your own wallet. You quickly ordered his favorite, reciting it as if it was something as simple as your own name.

“Here.” You state simply, placing it in front of him before sitting in the chair across from him.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m fine.” He says apologetically, his face flushing red.

“No, I wanted to.” You reassure, taking his hand in yours, suddenly feeling a little bit bold.

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about me, and don’t tell me you aren’t worried, because we both know that’s a damn lie.” His tone is as sweet as the ice cream the two of you are eating, and it melts your heart. He reaches out, swiping his thumb on your chin to rid the bit of ice cream that had melted onto it. You laugh softly, and when he doesn’t move his hand, you suddenly go quiet. “Y’know I’ve liked you for like, ever, right? Ever since middle school, when you dragged me out to your backyard after my first girlfriend dumped me. I was so upset, but we ended up falling asleep out there, and I forgot all about her.” He admits suddenly, his face still flushed a little red.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve liked you since middle school too.” You say, suddenly less worried about what other people think, I mean, he likes you too, finally.

“I was scared, but c’mon baby, I’ve made it pretty obvious.” He quips with a little grin, and before you can reply, he’s giving you a soft kiss. You can taste ice cream on his lips, and he can taste the same strawberry chapstick he had been slipping into your pocket since 7th grade.

“Love you baby.” He whispers as to pill back.

“Love you too Stevie.” You whisper back. These confessions didn’t go unnoticed on the walk home, with cheers from the rest of the group. You couldn’t be happier, you finally had the boy you’d been wanting for years.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine

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blossoming-mind-palace · 4 months

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Chung Myung x Fem! Reader: "100 Years and a Promise" (SFW/Part 1)

Summary: You and Chung Myung grew up in Mount Hua. At first, you despised him, then you became friends, and later in life, you realized how much you loved him. It's a shame that you're too nervous to be blunt about your feelings towards him.

Contains: Fem reader, alcohol, and mentions war. Not angsty (yet).

WC: 2,405

When you realized you fell in love with the infamous Plum Blossom Sword Saint, you cringed. You’ve known each other for decades, and you even hated him when you first met him! You thought he was the worst person you ever met, and yet here you are crushing on this rude old man.

You realized this while you guys were goofing off. You two were sitting on a cliff hiding from Chung Mun, drinking, and conversing while the sun sets on the horizon. You’re in your eighties, and you’ve watched this sunset with Chung Myung countless times. It’s nothing new, but you still think the scene is breathtaking.

While he’s rambling, your drunk ass spaces out while listening to him. Your gaze switches between the multi-colored sky and your friend. You can’t help but notice how the warm lighting highlights his features. You stare at him with an affectionate smile and think about how Chung Myung and the sunset are kind of similar. You’ve seen Chung Myung countless times, too, and yet you still think he’s lovely. You could watch him every day and not get tired of his beau-

“PFFFFTTT-” You spat your drink into his face and start laughing at your own stupidity. “What the fuck, (y/n)!? I know my jokes are funny but that's a bit much!” Chung Myung yelled. You really just spat in your crush's face, huh? Good job, loser.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! Here, let me clean you up!” You apologize profusely while wiping the alcohol off of his face. While doing this you get a better look at his facial features, and your heart rate increases. Your eyes wander towards his, and you realize his eyes are the most beautiful shade of pink you’ve ever seen. This pink puts Mount Hua’s plum blossoms to shame, and you realize that you’re ridiculously infatuated with this man.

You accidentally pause while admiring him, and Chung Myung has to snap you out of your thoughts. “You can stop holding my face now,” he says while taking your hands off of him. You didn’t even notice you stopped wiping and started holding his face! “Sorry, I was, uh, trying to make sure I got everything! You don’t want to return with alcohol all over your face; Chung Mun would not be happy if he caught you like that!” Nice save, y/n! You think to yourself while your hands return to your lap.

“Please, continue telling your story,” You say, trying to divert his attention from what just happened. Except this time you can’t maintain eye contact with Chung Myung, and you keep looking down at your lap while he speaks to you. The scars and calluses on your hands look pretty interesting right now. Chung Myung notices your gaze wavering from his eyes and assumes you’re not paying attention. How dare you space out during his awesome story!?

“Hey! What’s wrong with you?” “Huh?” “You keep staring at your hands! Is there something wrong with them?” He asks and grabs one of them. You quickly yank your hand back and start panicking internally. Just the thought of holding hands makes your face turn red, and here he is trying to grab your hand! “And why is your face so red? Are you running a fever or is it the alcohol?” He asks as he feels your forehead. “It’s the alcohol!” You blurted out. It’s like he’s reading your mind and making you nervous on purpose!

“You’re acting weirder than normal. Did you pre-game before this?” “I might’ve pre-gamed a little bit,” You give him another excuse. “Oh, everything makes sense now! You’ve had a bit too much, so now you can’t focus and you’re running hot. I thought you could handle your liquor better, (y/n). Not only that, but you pre-gamed without me! That’s against the drinking buddy code. Tsk tsk, I’m disappointed in you, (y/n),” He says all of this and pouts. You can’t tell if he’s actually hurt or if he’s playing with you.

“I’m sorry, Chung Myung… hic, sniffle… I’ll do better next time!” You start drunkenly crying into the palms of your hands. The thought of upsetting him makes you sad, and the alcohol amplifies your emotions. “Wait, don’t cry!” He says and starts panicking. He just made one of his closest friends cry, and it looks like he doesn’t know what to do in this situation.

“There, there,” He says while awkwardly patting your back in an attempt to comfort you. “Seeing you sad makes me sad!” You blurt out while the sobbing continues. “I’m not sad anymore! Please stop crying!” After he says that, your crying starts to quiet down. “Really?” “Yes, really! Not stop crying! Jeez, you’re a handful tonight. You’re plastered, and now it’s getting dark. We should go home.” “M’Kay…” You quietly say and attempt to stand up. Unfortunately, the alcohol has made you dizzy and this is a lot more challenging than you expected. When you try standing you fall on your ass, and Chung Myung proceeds to laugh at you.

After having a good laugh, Chung Myung picks you up bridal style and carries you back home. This closeness made you heat up even more than before, and you’d do anything to get out of this situation. Unfortunately, you’re too drunk to walk on your own, so you to let Chung Myung carry you. Needless to say, the walk home was quiet and awkward for you.

Ever since that night, you’ve struggled to look at Chung Myung. You want to avoid him as much as possible, but it’s extremely difficult. You’re both Mount Hua disciples, so you’re expected to live with and fight beside him. The only problem with this is that he distracts you from your tasks with his pretty face. For example, today you were sparring with one of the newer disciples. They couldn’t have been older than 13, so you were going easy on them. There’s no way a newbie could defeat a seasoned senior like you, but everything changed when a certain man walked by.

Your junior was swinging at you, but you didn’t notice because you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Then suddenly thwack! You were overpowered by a child! Not only that, but Chung Myung noticed and started laughing at you. You’ve never been more humiliated in your life. Your pride will never recover from this.

Thanks to those events Chung Myung won’t stop teasing you during tonight’s dinner. “I can’t believe you, an eighty-something-year-old woman, was bested by a child! You’re getting rusty, old friend!” He snickered. “I just got distracted, okay? Please just drop it already!” “Tsk tsk, (y/n), that’s no good. You should know better than to get distracted while fighting. That leads to dangerous consequences.” “I know, I know!” “I think you need to relearn the basics. I mean, you were defeated by a third-grade disciple. Might as well have you train with the kids, too,” he taunts you with a ridiculously attractive smirk on his face. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to smack that smirk off your face, pretty boy!” You proclaim. Chung Myung’s eyes go wide as he asks,” Hah!? What did you just say!?”

Oh, you fucked up. Your face and ears grow hot with embarrassment when you realize what you just said. You just called him pretty boy! You’re not lying, but now he’s going to suspect that you have feelings for him. “Are you trying to fight!?” He yells while he shoots up from his seat. On the bright side he either didn’t notice or ignored the comment, but unfortunately, your crush currently wants to fight you.

A couple of months ago you would’ve gladly said yes, because who hasn’t tried to fight Chung Myung? You’ve had a couple of brawls in the past, and some of them were just for fun. There’s no way you could do that now, though. If you tried to fight him you’d get distracted thanks to your feelings and get pummeled. You can’t even sit beside him without becoming a flustered mess, and if you got close to him during a fight you’d definitely pass out from overheating.

“Goodness, no! I was just joking. I’m not stupid enough to physically fight you, Chung Myung. Let’s just drop it for tonight, okay?” You finish that question with a smile. You’re sweating nervously, and he’s still glaring daggers at you. You know what you have to do next in order to smooth things over. You need to spoil him rotten.

You give him some of the meat that was on your plate and pour him a drink. “Here, a peace offering.” “Hell yeah, (y/n)! You know the way to my heart!” He cheers and he sits back down to enjoy the gifts he’s received. He has the world’s most gorgeous smile on his face, and what he just said made your heart beat rapidly. “If that’s what you think, then here, have some more!” You’re trying to drop hints at this point, but he doesn’t notice. He’s having too much stuffing his face and downing booze to notice your yearning glances and red face. Maybe that’s a good thing because you’ve already had enough excitement for one day.

Your favorite thing to do after training and chores has always been reading under the cool shade of Mount Hua's iconic plum blossom trees. You were trying to enjoy the peaceful scenery and quiet atmosphere, but lo and behold a certain man had to ruin it. Now you have Chung Myung plopping down beside you with snacks in his hand. When you see the treats you think that maybe your day hasn't been ruined after all.

“What kind of goodies are you blessing me with today, dearest Chung Myung?” Calling him that made your feelings so obvious. It's too bad he's either oblivious or just flat-out ignoring you at this point. “Tart candied fruits for a tart woman,” he finishes and offers one while snickering. You roll your eyes and pop one in your mouth. Your attention goes back to your book while Chung Myung munches on his little treats. Besides the crunching, everything is quiet and peaceful.

After a few minutes, you grow bored of your book and decide to break the silence. “So, what do you plan on doing when this is all over?” you turn and ask Chung Myung. He looks puzzled by your sudden question,“ What do you mean?” “Well, Chung Mun and I had a conversation the other day about passing our wisdom down to the next generation. It had me thinking about life after this whole war is over.” “He had that talk with you too?” “Mhm…”

His gaze turns up to the sky and he pauses to think about his response. “I haven't given it much thought. I'm mostly concerned about the present.” “That's fair, bringing down the demon cult isn't going to be easy…” you reply. Every time that cult comes up in conversation a sense of dread pools in your stomach. Your sect has dependable disciples like the famous Chung Myung who's sitting right beside you, but you can't shake off the looming sense of anxiety.

Chung Myung notices the pensive glint in your eyes and for a second you thought you saw a bit of concern in his. He decides to shove the subject onto you,” What do YOU plan on doing?” Now it's your turn to pause in silence. You're trying so hard to formulate a reply, but the demon cult is still occupying your mind.

You hold your chin while your gaze lowers to the grass in front of you. “Hm… I'm not entirely sure either…” your statement trails off and you look back into Chung Myung's eyes. “Hehe, maybe I'll settle down with someone and have a kid or t-” “Please do not finish that sentence.” He deadpans at you. “I'm just kidding; pun not intended!” “That pun was absolutely intended!”

“Why shouldn't I have kids anyway?” you say as you cross your arms and huff at him. You continue,” I'm a grown woman and I can do what I want!” “You're not wrong, but would you make a good parent? Are you even interested in someone else? It takes two to tango!” “I've had decades to think about this, so yes, I think I'd make a good parent. And I've already found someone!” You exclaim and stand up from your shaded spot. Your hands land on your hips in an attempt to make you look assertive.

“Who!?” He says as he shoots up from his spot. “It's a secret!” You smirk at him. “I'm one of your closest friends, and you won't even tell me who you like!? You wound me, (y/n),” he grabs the cloth above his heart and puts the back of his hand on his forehead. He's pretending to swoon, so you laugh at him while rolling your eyes. “You're acting like a drama queen, stop it.” “Thanks, I know my acting is amazing!” “Hey, that's not what I said at all!” “I’m joking, but seriously who is it?” His gaze is intense and his tone drops to a more serious one.

“I'm not telling you!” “Why not!?” “Because!” “Because why!?” You sigh at his replies and pinch your nose. This conversation sounds a lot like the ones you had when you were both kids. You only have eyes for him, but you're definitely not going to tell him after saying all of that. Telling him you want to settle down and have kids, and then telling him you love him would be moving too fast!

He grabs your shoulders and shakes you as he continues,” Please tell me, the curious is killing me!” You shake your head at him. “Please, I'll never steal food from your plate again!” You deadpan and reply,“ You and I both know that's a lie, Chung Myung.” “... Yeah, you're not wrong about that,” he says as he lets go of you.

“Okay, how about this?” He grabs both of your hands and you feel your cheeks flush thanks to the contact. “I'll stop pestering you for now, but when everything is over you'll tell me, okay?” “Okay,” you sheepishly reply. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his pinky finger and you follow suit. You wrap them together and make your promise.

#rotbb #chung myung #return of the blossoming blade #rotmhs #return of the mount hua sect #chung myung x reader #cheongmyeong x reader #cheong myeong #cheong myeong x reader #cheongmyeong #sfw #fanfiction #sfw fanfiction #im so tired #i reread and edited this multiple times in one night

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year

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How about strawhats with a reader who didn’t realise they ate a devil fruit, and they and the crew only realise when either they discover their ability or they start to drown when they accidentally fall (or get thrown by an enemy) overboard? (Tried to leave the devil fruit ability either up to you, or have the ask in a way that you didn’t have to create a devil fruit 😅)

I finally found a way to work this old ask into a request! Sorry to whoever sent it in originally, I just could not come up with a plot for it until I got this one. Apologies for there being little to no yandere content here.

You Are What You Eat

Straw Hats x GN!Reader

1.8k words

Loud growls echoed through the forest. Not the deafening roars of a predator about to rip you apart, no, but the rumbling of a deprived stomach demanding sustenance.

You really shouldn’t have taken off into the woods without grabbing a snack first, but you couldn’t help it. After days of being at sea, you were eager to explore the new island you’d stopped at. Robin said you all would need to split up to find the ruins she was looking for, so you took initiative and threw yourself into adventure the second the ship was close enough for you to be able to make the jump.

Thus far, you’d had no luck. You hadn’t even stumbled across an abandoned pathway or ancient tools. It’s hard to believe this island had ever been populated at some point. Maybe this wasn’t the right one?

At this point you weren’t even really looking for ruins, you just wanted something to eat. Unfortunately, this search was having similar results. Nothing. It appears all the fruit trees on this island are still in a flowering stage, and you didn’t know enough about foraging to be taking your chances on root vegetables in the ground. Restaurants were obviously out of the question, much to your chagrin.

There was some rustling in the tree above you. Your head snaps up to assess the situation, only for something to nail you right in the face. Your knees buckle and you fall on your ass, cradling your face after the blow.

Cracking open an eye, you try to find who just assaulted you, but you were definitely here alone. Looking at the ground, you discover what your assailant really was. A fruit.

Pain is forgotten instantly as you snatch up the strange looking fruit. It’s a light blue color and reminds you of a ball of yarn with the way the skin is textured. You have zero clue as to what kind of fruit it’s supposed to be, but as your stomach growls even louder, you can’t find it in you to care.

Using your shirt to wipe it off to the best of your ability, you take a bite as you get back on your feet. Your face scrunches up instantly. The taste… isn’t great, but it’s not the worst either. If you had to describe it you would say it tastes like an uncooked spaghetti squash. The real problem is the texture. It’s completely stringy on the inside, making you feel like you’re eating a wet clump of yarn.

But… beggars can’t be choosers. You’re starving, and you don’t want to let it go to waste either, so you power through it. As you’re choking down the last bite, a chill runs down your spine, making every nerve light up in a tingling sensation. Then, as quickly as the feeling began, it disappeared.

Weird. Whatever.

“(Y/N)! Where are you?!” Luffy’s voice cut through the thick woods.

Finally! You were starting to wonder how you’d gone so long without running into anyone else. Running towards the sound of his voice, you call back to him, “Over here!”

It’s not long before he comes into view, along with the rest of the crew. Luffy grins and runs to meet you halfway, “Why’d you run off so quick? I wanted to go with you!” He lifts you up into his arms and spins you around gleefully.

“Did you? Sorry, I thought we were all gonna split up,” you scratch at the back of your head and wonder if you misheard.

“We were, but then we found the ruins Robin was looking for straight away, so we’ve just been looking for you this whole time!”

Mortification washes over you immediately and you hang your head in shame, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I ran right past it, didn’t I?”

“You sure did! Pretty dumb, huh? Zoro didn’t even get as lost as you did!” Luffy set you down, smiling the whole time while he mocked you.

“Watch it!” You swatted at him, not that he particularly cared or even reacted to it.

“Now that you’re done being lost, we really need to get going before it gets any later,” Nami was tapping her foot impatiently, no doubt itching to find the treasure rumored to be hidden there.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! Let’s go!” You wanted to move on from this blunder as quickly as possible, thank you very much. There were a few chuckles from the group as you marched on ahead, but they mercifully didn’t tease you about it anymore.

“Are you hungry? You ran off before I could hand you your lunch,” Sanji sidled up next to you, offering a sweet smile while extending the masterfully packed bento towards you. The cook shot a dirty look over his shoulder to your captain, “Don’t worry, I made sure that he couldn’t get his hands on it.”

You’re sure you missed a battle of epic proportions over your unclaimed lunch. Happily taking it into your own hands, you waste no time cracking it open and digging in as you walk, “Thank you, Sanji! You’re the best!” He puffed up in pride at your compliment, assuring you that it was no problem.

It wasn’t long into the trek when you all came upon a wide but shallow river. It wasn’t so deep that you would need to swim to cross it, but it would be enough to pose a problem for your devil fruit possessing companions.

This wasn’t a big deal, everyone knew the drill. Those that couldn’t get in the water would pair off with someone who could to carry them across. Robin was perched up on one of Franky’s shoulders, much to Sanji’s heartbreak. Luffy latched onto Zoro and was telling him to hurry up and get going so they could all see the ruins.

That just left Chopper, who hurried over to you with his arms up. You were his preferred method of transportation in situations like this. Stuffing your now empty lunch box into your bag, you scoop up the reindeer and place him on your shoulders.

Without any additional fanfare, everyone starts wading through the water. At its deepest, it comes up to your waist. Trudging through waist deep water does naturally take a bit of effort, but this felt much harder than usual. Exhausting even. Your head was swimming and you didn’t even realize you’d stopped until Chopper spoke up.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He leaned forward to try and see your face better, but you could hardly even register what he was saying to you, much less respond to it. Your silence must have bothered him, and he started to panic, “Guys wait! (Y/N) isn’t looking too good!”

That was the last thing you heard before collapsing into the rushing river. Logically, you knew you should be freaking out. You were underwater and had dropped Chopper in with you, you know you should be flying into action, but you weren’t. You felt listless. Like a puppet whose strings just got cut. The world around you was rapidly fading to black and you felt powerless to do anything about it.

Just before you could fully pass out, arms lock around your torso and wrench you out of the water. You coughed and gasped for breath. The relief of getting your head above water was palpable, but you still felt weak.

You were carried to the other side and gently sat down against a tree by a very concerned Sanji. His hands were clamped onto your upper arms and his eyes raked over your body looking for literally anything that could explain what just happened, “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Everyone else was crowding around you, too. Chopper wiggled his way to the front, fur still wet from his unplanned dive. Despite that, though, he was in doctor mode, “Give them some space, we need to figure out what happened!”

While he was checking your pulse and breathing, you found it in you to speak again, “I’m sorry about that, didn’t mean to drop you. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Were you already not feeling well? It’s not like you to just collapse like that.”

“I felt just fine until I got in the river. Did anyone else feel weird after getting in the water?” You asked. Maybe there was something in it that makes people sick?

Everyone shrugged off the question, saying that they all felt fine. Chopper wasn’t happy with the lack of any answer for why this happened. Making a quick decision, he stands up and announces that he’s going to take you back to the ship for now.

“No, I’m fine! Give me a minute, and I’ll be good to go, I swear!” You try to plead your case, but no one entertains it.

“You don’t need to force yourself to go on, I’ll help you and Chopper get back to the ship,” Sanji held out his hand to help you to your feet. Reluctantly, you accept the help and wait for him to pull.

He does, but you don’t move. Your hands are still joined together, but your arm is… oh god.

Several things happen at once. Sanji looks down and sees a bunch of blue strings connecting your now disembodied hand to the rest of your arm. Sanji screams at the sight, Chopper faints, Usopp is just straight up gone, and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

“What is wrong with your arm?!” Nami shrieks, looking about as nauseated as you felt.

“I don’t know!”

“Did you eat a devil fruit recently and not tell us?” Robin was the most outwardly calm, but was still visibly disturbed by the turn of events.

“No? How would that- Wait. Hang on. I might have,” everything suddenly clicks in your mind. The out of place fruit, the weird feeling you had after eating it, the water, and now this. You absolutely ate a devil fruit and didn’t even realize it.

“What do you mean ‘you might have’?” Everyone shouts in unison.

“Well, you see, it’s a funny story. You’re gonna laugh,” the unamused expressions on their faces told you otherwise. You continued, “While I was off on my own, I got really hungry. Then I got hit in the head by a weird fruit, so I decided to eat it.”

“You ate a random weird looking fruit and didn’t think that MAYBE you should mention that to us???” Nami looked like she wanted to throttle you right about now.

“... Yes?”

Nami exploded and started laying into you for your transgression, and you were helpless and just had to take it. Until you felt a weird tugging sensation from your arm. Looking over, you see Luffy experimentally poking his hand through your strings with a look of wonder on his face.

“Luffy, get out of there!” Sanji yells while trying to kick him away.

This devil fruit thing is going to take some getting used to.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #monkey d luffy #zoro roronoa #sanji #black leg sanji #nico robin #cat burglar nami #nami #humanoid606 #yandere one piece

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dolliethv · 12 days

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All Of The Girls You Loved Before.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! I was thinking while listening to "All of the Girls You Loved Before" by Taylor Swift and decided to make a little story inspired by the lyrics...

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 2,1k

You are a fashion design and production student, sitting on the floor in front of your work table, adjusting the final details of a jacket inspired by the colors of the city where you and Jude were now living for work—Madrid. It was just another night, one of many you had spent in your new home, surrounded by fabrics, sketches, and the dim light of an old lamp that matched your overflowing creativity. Jude, your boyfriend, would be arriving after a tiring training session with Real Madrid.

The door opened softly, and Jude appeared with a smile that lit up the entire room. “Hey, baby,” he whispered, collapsing onto the couch with exhaustion written all over his face. You smiled. You loved the way he called you “baby,” as if it was more than just a word, a small refuge in the middle of your hectic lives.

He moved closer and sat beside you. You ran a hand through his damp hair. “How was training?” you asked.

Jude nodded, his eyes scanning the sketches scattered on the table. “Yeah, just exhausting, you know. But seeing you is the best part of my day.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and sighed, recalling all those nights when he would tell you stories of his past. You knew that things hadn’t always been easy for Jude. He had gone through failed relationships, disappointments, and abrupt goodbyes. Sometimes, he would share how he stayed up late arguing on the phone, conversations ending in awkward silences.

Jude had faced criticism and pressure from a young age, not just in football. He remembered moments in Birmingham, when coaches pushed him to his limits and expectations felt like an impossible weight to bear. He had dealt with the disappointment of sitting on the bench when he was eager to prove his worth and with the hurtful comments on social media whenever his performance wasn’t perfect.

There were also times in Dortmund, far from his family and everything he knew, feeling lonely in a foreign city. The tough matches, where his mistakes haunted him for weeks, constant media criticism, and the feeling of not being enough had made him doubt himself more than once. “I remember when I got injured just before one of the most important matches of the season. I sat in the stands, watching my teammates fight while all I could think about was what I could have done differently. It was one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had,” Jude once confessed.

“Those moments made you strong, Jude,” you said, remembering how he had shared his journey of overcoming, learning to accept his failures as part of his path. “All of that taught you to value what you have, to never give up.”

Jude smiled wistfully. “It wasn’t easy, and sometimes I felt like I couldn’t go on. But when I finally played that crucial match, and we did well, all the effort, all those tears, were worth it. They made me see that even in the darkest moments, there’s something worth fighting for.”

You looked at him tenderly. “The way you call me ‘baby’… it makes me feel like all of it was worth it,” you said, gazing into his eyes. There was a strength and sweetness in Jude that could only come from someone who had known adversity and decided to be better, not in spite of you, but because of you.

Jude looked at you with gratitude and stroked your cheek. “I don’t know if it was worth it, but it brought me to you,” he replied, leaning in to kiss you softly.

You smiled against his lips and turned back to your sketches, trying to concentrate, but the lyrics of a song kept resonating in your mind. “Have you ever thought about how all those girls and all those situations made you who you are?” you asked, drawing a loose line that, like your thoughts, wasn’t going anywhere in particular.

Jude pondered for a moment, recalling those days of smudged makeup and tears in club bathrooms, the goodbyes without explanations, and the awkward beginnings. “I never thought of it that way, but… yeah, I guess all of that brought me here. And now you’re all I need,” he said, taking your free hand.

“And I’m so grateful for that,” you responded. “Every dead end, every mistake… all of it brought you to me.”

Jude smiled and pulled you into his arms. “And you’re the only one who makes it all feel worth it.”

You snuggled into his chest, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you. You knew that, although neither of you had a perfect past, everything had been a piece of that complex puzzle that had led you to find each other. You wanted to be the one to show him what “forever” feels like.

Jude, trying to distract you from your concentration, started joking. “You know, darling? If you were a fashion design, you’d be haute couture… because no one else could pull it off like you.” You looked at him, pretending to be surprised.

“Wow, Jude! Did you read that in a cheap pick-up line book?” you teased, holding back laughter. “You could use those tricks on the field to throw off your rivals.”

Jude pretended to think for a second. “Do you think that would work? Because it doesn’t seem to have any effect on you. Although maybe I just need a little more practice… with you,” he said, raising an eyebrow provocatively.

You looked at him, trying to keep a straight face. “You? Practice? I think you’ve got more than enough natural talent,” you joked, enjoying the playful banter between you. But Jude didn’t miss the chance, and with an intense look, he added, “Well, if you want, I can show you my ‘natural talent’ up close in a more private place and...”

“Jude!” you looked at him with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. “You can’t just say things like that so casually, you know?”

“Why not? I’m dead serious,” Jude replied with a cheeky smile, getting even closer, kissing your neck affectionately and caressing your stomach.

You gently pushed him away, trying to keep control, though you couldn’t help but laugh. “You know you’re a gentleman most of the time, but sometimes you go overboard.”

Jude pretended to be offended. “It’s ‘natural talent,’ baby. Besides, I’m just trying to be charming,” he said, striking an exaggeratedly elegant pose as if he were in a Louis Vuitton photoshoot or something.

“Well, at least you’re a good actor,” you responded, laughing. “But I’ll stick with the footballer.”

You cherished those light-hearted moments with Jude; it was one of the many reasons you adored him. But what you loved most about him was his chivalry, something that never ceased to amaze you. From day one, Jude had always treated you like a lady; he’d open the car door, hold your hand when crossing the street, and always made sure you felt protected and appreciated.

“Do you know what I love most about you?” you began, resting your head on his shoulder and smiling sweetly. “How much of a gentleman you are. You always treat me like a lady,” you said, squeezing his cheeks playfully. “That’s what I love most about you.”

Jude looked at you with a playful smile. “Well, what did you expect? You’re my princess. I’ve got to live up to that.”

You laughed, giving him a gentle tap on the arm. “How cutie! Who would have thought, a Real Madrid player who’s so dominant with an impressive aura in every match is a total sassy with his girlfriend.”

Jude shrugged and hugged you tighter. “You know I’d do anything for you, even be cheesier if it makes you happy.”

“That’s why I love you,” you said, kissing his cheek. “All of the girls you loved before, made you the one I've fallen for”

“And all the experiences you had made you the woman I love today,” Jude responded, kissing you with a softness that spoke of promises, of a future together, and of everything you both had to go through to reach this point.

The two of you stayed in silence, savoring the simple beauty of being together, knowing that every step you had taken in your lives, good and bad, had led you to this precise moment, in this little corner of the world where everything fit.

Because, in the end, every mistake, every lost love, and every broken dream had been a necessary part of the journey that had brought you here, one in the arms of the other, loving each other more than you ever could have imagined.

"I'm so thankful for all of the girls you loved before, but I love you more..."

#Spotify #jude bellingham #bellingham latest #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham stories #jude bellingham fic #jude x fem reader #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jb5 #jb5 x reader #real madrid

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abbyromanoff · 1 year

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Yeheyyy! Can I req something with pregnant reader x g!p wanda?. Reader's craving for her wife after one week of not seeing her(Wanda's away from mission leaving her 6 months pregnant wife) and some breeding kink & teasing pls?. Thank uuu!!🤗

The Keeper Of Her Cold, Wretched Heart

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 2,049

Warnings: soft sex, angst, comfort, readers prego, we’re pretending like Wanda didn’t get blipped, teasing, mommy kink, masturbation, facial, kinda service top!Wanda

I FORGOT TO PUT BREEDING KINK OMG IM SORRY!!

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

The color of the TV had been the only brightness illuminating your dark room. You were watching the news in fear of the mission your wife had been sent on. You knew the stress it caused wasn’t good for you, Wanda had stated that multiple times after reading many parenting books. But you were worried sick, it had been already two days longer than expected and she wasn’t home. Your mind was plagued with the worst possible scenarios, but you didn’t want to think about your wife being hurt or, better yet, dying. God, the thought made tears threaten to escape and your head throb.

You were alone in your apartment waiting for her, you had even driven yourself to the compound multiple times in the few days in case she was there. But you knew deep down this would be the first place she’d come to, you were her home.

Suddenly, you heard the door slamming shut as the intruder ran through your house. Your fears of who it might be instantly got shot down when you heard the familiar voice of your lover.

“Y/N? Y/N?! Please, baby, where are you?” You heard her speak in a much more frantic voice. You rushed out of the room as quickly as you could with your large tummy and saw her pacing back and forth in every inch of the house to find you. She was still wearing her suit and there were drops of blood on her face that were hiding her cuts.

“Wanda? What’s wrong?” She turned to look at you, running faster than the speed of light to grab you and hold you in her arms. She cried into your shoulder and felt all over you, trying to convince her mind that you were real, that you were in fact still here.

“Oh, my beautiful babies, you’re all okay.” She mumbled through tears, dropping to her knees so she could kiss your stomach holding her children.

“My little Pietro, and my little Anastasia, you’re okay. Momma’s here now, I’m not ever leaving my babies again, okay? Never again.” You smiled at the mention of your twins, but it soon got replaced when noticing her shaken-up state.

She quickly leaned up to face you again, your hands brushing the hair out of her face before you rested them on her cheeks. You wiped away the tears and felt her arms holding yours. She pressed her forehead against yours and wept in sorrow.

“Love, please tell me what’s wrong.” She shuddered, and you could tell she was not quite ready to speak. You nodded to yourself, grasping her hand and leading her to the bathroom where you had her sit on the toilet seat. You cleaned her face with a wet cloth, small apologies leaving your lips whenever she hissed in pain.

You bandaged her cuts and wounds and found yourself removing her clothing. It wasn’t sexual, but you knew Wanda needed lots of help right now. You were about to walk to her clothes drawer when you felt her hand grip yours tightly.

“Please..please don’t leave me.”

“I’m just going to get you some comfortable clothes, I’ll be back in a few seconds.” You tried again, only to feel her holding you tighter.

“No! You- you can’t go, you can’t!” She yelled, but you see the way she gulped away her emotions. Your heart cracked hearing the way her voice broke in sadness.

“Okay, I won’t leave. We can stay right here, alright? I won’t leave your side.” You kissed the top of her head gently and she wrapped her arms around your waist before you could take off, not like you would anyways. She pressed her ear against your stomach and felt a small kick land near her face.

“They’re gone.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. And before you could press on the topic, she was already continuing her sentence.

“Thanos, he-he killed them all. I had to kill Vision, my own friend. He died from my hands, my hands, Y/N. And the worst part, even though I already killed him, Thanos found a way to get the stone from his head and,” She was trying to speak, but she was choking on tears. You waited patiently, stroking her soft hair in a soothing matter.

“And he killed them! He killed everyone like- like they didn’t even matter! Like they didn’t have families to return to. All of my friends, my family, gone with just a snap of his fingers. He wiped out half the universe, so I came home in fear that you and…you and our babies would be..gone.” She struggled when talking about you three, her true family. While the Avengers had over time become what she felt was a second home, you would always be the first.

“I- I don’t know what to say. Wanda, I am so, so sorry you had to witness that. And that fear? God, I can’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through. But I’m gonna tell you this, no matter what happens to me, I will always be right here with you.” You pointed to her heart and she nodded. Her heart beat for you. She had already lost her parents, her brother, and now her friends, she couldn’t bare losing you either.

“Can I kiss you?”

“No need to ask, Wands.” She grabs your cheeks and pulls you in, passionately kissing you and pouring out any emotions she had bottled up. She stood up slowly and you followed, feelings her hands travel all over your body. They went to your back, traveling up and down until they circled to your stomach.

She walked you backward into the bedroom you shared, discarding you of your shirt and letting you sit on the side of the bed. She dropped to her knees in front of you, removing her lips from yours to place them on your thighs. Her hands landed on your knees as she separated your legs.

“May I?” You nodded in approval and you lifted your hips to help her remove your shorts. She did the same with your panties, smiling to herself at the small wet patch.

“Were you thinking about this, love?”

“Y-yeah, was thinking about you all day.” Her tongue teased your cunt, grazing over your folds as you shuddered, grasping her hair in your hands to pull her closer.

“Ah, ah, why don’t you tell me what was going on in that pretty little head of yours all day, then I’ll consider touching you.” You whined, receiving an amused chuckle from the woman between your legs.

“C’mon, Y/N, we’re losing daylight.” Her thumb trailed to your clit as she rubbed slowly.

“I-I was thinking about you a-and this. I’ve been craving you so badly, Wands, I tried fucking myself but it just wasn’t the same.” While you spoke, her tongue returned to your wet slit, drawing in and out of your tight hole. It made it even more difficult to speak, but you did in hopes of a reward. That reward being the orgasm you’d been craving for over a week now.

“Mm, mommy’s so sorry, baby. She was so mean leaving you like that, all desperate.” You hummed along with her alluring words. While her raspy voice was seductive and unbelievably attractive, it only made you all the more frustrated when she’d pull away to speak.

“How can mommy make it up to her angel, hm?”

“J-just keep fucking me. Let me use your mouth, mommy.” She groaned deeply and, without a worded response, dove back into the complete mess that was your cunt. She ridded her tongue from your hole to bring its attention to your clit, sucking the delicate flesh as you could hear your juices swashing around.

“Taste so good, baby.” She tried muttering, only to be interrupted by a pull on her hair. She looked up at you with her tongue still fucking you mercilessly, it was the sexiest look you ever did see.

“Don’t speak, just let me fuck that hot mouth of yours.” She smirked against you due to the control you had over her. You weren’t just the owner of her heart, you were the owner of her body and soul. She belonged to you, she was your Wanda, and she would forever be so.

Your squeezed-shut eyes led you to not pick up on the fact that Wanda’s free hand had traveled to her crotch. She had been stroking herself and could already feel the arriving orgasm begging to be released. But as always, you came first. Quite literally.

Her moans traveled through you and sent shocks down your spine. You were thrashing in her tight hold on your thighs, your legs quaking around her shoulders, and your head was thrown back. Your back arched into her as you bit your lip in order to quiet yourself.

“Let mommy hear you, sweetheart. Let her hear those precious moans.” You didn’t have time to warn her before your orgasm came crashing over you. All of the pent-up sexual frustration for what felt like months but was really only a week was finally let out. Your mouth flew open in a silent moan, and your leg's unbearable hold almost fractured her skull. But she couldn’t have been happier.

“Fuck, mommy needs to cum too, you wanna make mommy cum, baby?” You grabbed her hard length in your soft hands, stroking up and down quickly as you were craving to see her lose it. She was trying her best to hide it, but inside she was going absolutely nuts.

“Yeah- fuck! Mommy’s gonna paint that pretty face of yours, little girl.” You closed your eyes and opened your mouth as her release spurted onto your face. It felt like a never-ending stream and you wondered if the distance had the same effect on her as it did on you.

Her breath was shaky and so was yours, but she used her thumb to wipe your chin before pulling you in for a kiss.

“You look even more beautiful with my cum all over you.” She chuckled, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. She grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and wiped your face of her essence.

“I’m so sorry for what you went through, sweetheart. Nobody should ever have to witness the pain you went through, and the pain you’ve survived though. You’re so strong, and I’m so beyond proud of you for everything you do. You fight to save a world that sees you as a monster, and that…that is a type of courage and strength I’ve never seen until the day I met you.” Her arms entangled around your hips as she broke down crying over your thighs, she could cry all night in your arms, and you’d never get tired of holding her.

She had always thought she deserved the things she had gone through. She believed that all the suffering she’s gone through, all the nights she was too afraid to sleep in fear of another hopeful dream or nightmare, that all the mothers who hid their children when she was in sight, maybe she deserved it. It pained you when she told you her fears of being a mother. It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready, it was that she feared her kids looking at her the same way every other child did, like she was a monster.

She didn’t believe in any sort of God after she lost her parents, and especially after her brother. But that didn’t stop her from staying awake at night, praying over you and her children to be kept safe in a world full of harm.

Truth be told, she didn’t want to keep fighting. She had tried taking her own life at sixteen, then again at twenty-one. And the thought of why, why couldn’t she just be set free from this pain was all answered when she met you. She didn’t believe in love at first sight either, but every time she gazed into those mysterious eyes of yours, she knew. She knew that you were the one. And while it wasn’t always easy, she knew she’d never let herself lose another keeper of her heart.

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awearywritersworld · 2 years

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Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: you and gojo have been more than friends for years, but when geto massacred all those civilians, it left him broken. years later, he finally realizes he needs to pick up the pieces. w/c: 2.1k warnings: smut, kinda angsty, but also fluffy, creampie, gojo being vulnerable, sex with feelings a/n: lovers to it's complicated to maybe we can fix things vibes, fem!reader, softdom!gojo, *NSFW under the cut* masterlist

A steady, slow percussion reaches Gojo’s ears as he stands outside your door late one evening. His hand rises to knock against the wood, though he wonders if you can even hear it over the music. Just as his knuckles are about to meet with the door once more, the melody grows quieter and he listens to your soft footsteps approach. When the door swings open, revealing you on the other side, the sight alone makes the ever-present burden on Gojo’s shoulders feel less crushing.

“What are you doing here?”

A dark shirt hangs loosely from his frame and your eyes trail down to his exposed collarbones before they dart back up to his face. He looks tired and worn, but so do you.

“I just finished that mission, the special grade in Minato.”

His words don’t necessarily answer your question, but you still move aside to let the man in. He notices the drink in your hand for the first time when you bring it to your lips and take a small sip.

Your relationship with Gojo is complicated, a fact that weighs heavily in your chest. It wasn't always this way.

At first, it was simple. You’d never explicitly called yourself a couple, though your actions toward and feelings for one another were those of lovers. Your relationship was left undefined, sure, but never complicated.

That was years ago, though--- before Geto massacred those civilians, before he tore his best friend's heart to pieces.

You alone had been there to see Gojo’s inevitable breakdown. You would never forget how his voice cracked as he cursed the cruel world and malevolent gods that presided over it. His hair had fallen over his eyes, but they were still shining brightly despite the tears that flooded them.

Those memories, seared into your mind, make it hard to stay mad at him. Even though he disappears for days at a time and hides his feelings behind that cocky nonchalance... You remain by his side nonetheless.

As he steps past you and into the room, he squeezes your hip in greeting. The warm, dim lighting of the room brings him a small sense of ease, even as violent images from the mission wrack his mind. He moves toward your small kitchenette, making himself a drink to match your own.

You watch as the amber-colored liquor pours over the ice and fills his cup, grimacing at the sight. You know he hates alcohol more than most things. “Minato was that bad, huh?"

He tilts his head back and lets the liquor run down his throat, trying and failing not to wince at the sensation. He wipes at his lips before nodding, “yes.”

You sit down on the sofa and he grabs the bottle from the counter before joining you, sitting close enough that your thighs touch. He tops off both your drinks, then leans back, slings an arm around your shoulders, and relaxes into the cushions. You whisper your thanks. It's silent for a little while, save for the quiet music.

“I didn’t think saving people would be such a bloody endeavor," you begin. You're no stranger to the gory reality rattling around in his head at the moment. "Wanna talk about?"

He does and he doesn't spare you any of the details regarding his last 48 hours. Over the course of his recollection, you shift so that you're situated more snugly into his side, your fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt as you listen intently. He chokes up toward the end, struggling to recount the worst and final part.

You place your hand above his knee. "I'm sorry you couldn't save them, 'Ru. I know how impossible it is to endure, let alone talk about."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just presses his thigh into your touch. When he takes the last sip left in his glass, it doesn't sting as much now that he's reached the bottom.

“Well, I’ve got no secrets, baby.. Not with you, anyway. Just dirty shame.”

Your features soften and you know the meaning behind his words doesn't pertain to cursed spirits alone.

"You should try to forgive yourself."

You look up at him to find that he's already peering down at you. He wants to tell you he can't ever possibly do that. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't regret how he's treated you over the years.

"You're so pretty," he says instead.

You reach up to pull the blindfold from his eyes, which he lets you do without protest. The praise had made your stomach stir, but the intense look swimming in his irises increases it tenfold.

"So are you."

He leans over and places his empty cup on the table. The loss of contact almost makes you shiver, but it's only a moment before his warmth returns and he reaches up to caress your cheek.

He leans in, closing his eyes and brushing his nose against yours lovingly. When his lips find yours, they taste like whisky, but they're still impossibly sweet.

His movements are slow and deliberate, his hand creeping to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair in hopes of keeping you close. His other hand finds your waist, tugging you toward his lap.

You oblige, shifting to straddle him without breaking the kiss. Your hands rest on his chest, noting the way it rises and falls deeply beneath your palms. He pulls away ever so slightly.

"Tell me you're mine," he pleads desperately against your lips.

"Always have been, 'Ru," you answer honestly.

It makes his heart squeeze and he grabs your face with both hands, pulling it back so that he can really look at you.

"You're so sweet to me."

His tone takes you off guard and all you can do in response is press your lips against his once more. This time, however, it's more fervent--- sloppy, even--- as your hands grab at the other's clothing.

Quickly, you're both left only in your underwear and your now exposed skin is hot against his own. You can feel that he's hardened beneath you, so you press yourself against him and let out a small noise at the sensation.

He grabs your hips tightly and his cock begins to strain against his boxers. As you move, you can feel every ridge of it through the thin fabric.

"Off," you mutter, slipping a finger under his waistband and pulling at it.

He stands, easily supporting your combined weight, and lays you down on the couch. He clumsily slides the boxers down his thighs, his cock slapping against his stomach in the process. The sight of it has you rubbing your thighs together impatiently.

He kneels between your legs, pulling them apart, and pushes your panties to the side. A groan passes his lips in appreciation when he runs a finger up your slit, already slick for him.

He litters your thighs with kisses, moving along so slowly it makes your core begin to ache. By the time he reaches where you need him most, you're squirming under his hold.

His nose nudges your clit as he kisses you there and you exhale sharply.

"Satoru, please," you whine.

Unable to deny you, he hums and slips a finger inside, curling it up to hit that one spot he knows you like.

You clench around his finger, sending a shudder through both your bodies, and you mewl in a way that makes him realize how needy you are.

"N-No," you stammer, pushing his hand away despite the pleasure it was bringing you. A thin sheen of sweat has appeared on your forehead. "Need you inside."

Your plea makes his cock throb painfully and he wastes no time in positioning himself over top of you. He gently presses your thigh to your chest and enjoys one of his favorite views in the world. Lining himself up with your entrance, he rubs his head along your folds.

Leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead, his lips linger there for a moment.

"Fuck, (y/n)," he murmurs in your ear just before pushing in.

A guttural moan escapes his throat when he first splits you open. Once he's filled you to the hilt, he stills, his fists clenching. He'll never tire of the way your warm, tight walls make him feel.

"I'm yours too, you know." He takes his first thrust and relishes in how your mouth falls open in response. "All yours."

Gojo picks up the pace and you grab at his back and bicep, leaving harsh red marks beneath your fingernails. You feel so full it's dizzying.

"Just like that," you encourage him.

He looks down to where you're connected. Everything about the moment is like a drug to him--- your pretty pussy clenching around him, your breathy moans in his ear, his skin flush against yours.

He reaches down to your clit, sliding it between his fingers and rubbing firm, steady circles there. His eyes shift to your face. "Look at me."

You listen obediently, your eyes growing hazy. His mirror your own, heavy-lidded with pleasure. He pushes your other thigh to your chest to match the first. "This feel good, baby?"

You nod up at him with parted lips and flushed cheeks. His mouth finds your neck, leaving a mix of messy kisses and bites from your shoulder up to your ear. "C'mon, cum for me. I know you're a good girl."

You whimper from the over stimulation and feel your core tighten, your thighs tensing. Your grip on his bicep strains and your eyes screw shut. He knows you're close.

"Tsk, tsk," he chides, "I said look at me, sweetheart."

"'M sorry," you cry softly as your eyes pop open.

He hums, a small smile on his face. His gaze is unyielding. Possessive, in a way.

There's a light feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Satoru-"

"I know, baby." His voice is honeyed, "go 'head."

At his words, you feel your climax roll through you, the powerful sensation reaching every single part of your body. Your legs tremble weakly and Gojo thinks the strangled sound you just made was delightful.

He's in heaven. Your pussy is pulsating around his cock and you're still holding his gaze, all fucked out and beautiful.

"You feel so fucking good," he growls.

His hips begin to snap against yours at an unforgiving pace, but his movements soon become irregular.

"Can I fill you up?" He's all but pleading with you.

"Please." He takes satisfaction in the fact that you sound just as desperate as he does.

His hand moves to grab your hip. His is grip painful but elicits a moan from you that pushes him over the edge.

Your name falls from his lips in the same way a sinner begs for heaven. His final strokes are sloppy, but he still nestles himself inside you as deeply as he can

Gojo lowers his face to yours and you kiss along his jawline, before leaving a love bite on his neck. You feel his cock twitch inside you one last time. He rests like that for a little while, but eventually finds the strength to push himself back up.

He's pleased when he takes in the harsh marks he's left on your skin, a reminder that you're his. You watch him intently and Gojo can't help himself--- he leans down to nip at the fragile skin of your collarbones just a little more.

Afterward, he shifts so that he's spooning you, even if the small couch offered little space. Burying his nose in your hair and closing his eyes, his arms tighten around you.

"I love you," he offers.

It's not like you'd never heard Gojo say that he loves you, it's just something you hear a lot less ever since Geto-

You try to shift your mind away from that, staying quiet for a moment. You feel your eyes sting and you will yourself to keep it together.

Turning toward him, he's softened enough that he falls out with the movement. His cum runs down the crease of your thigh and you're left feeling empty.

Propping yourself up, you lean down and press your lips to his forehead. Your eyes well up once more, but this time, you can't make the tears disappear.

"I love you," you finally whisper against his skin.

When you pull away, you know immediately that he's noticed your watery eyes. Loving him has been the hardest thing you've ever done.

He knows that.

Instead of saying anything (he was liable to ruin the moment were he to speak, he knows that too), he pulls you into his chest and strokes the back of your head soothingly.

There's that dirty shame.

But he'll try to forgive himself because it's what you asked. Because he has to fix things before he loses you, too.

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