#(In half these gifs he is listening to another person describe what it was like watching him and Ovi raise the Cup together) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellfirecvnt · 8 months ago

Text

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)

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jedipoodoo · 8 months ago

Note

Hey! I was wondering if I could request a HunterxReader. Something where Hunter is like really possessive over reader with like another guy? Or one of his brother getting a little too close for his comfort, nothing nefarious, just lite teasing.

Thank you in advance.

Again, you’re doing amazing sweetie!

Me reading this request:

I hope you enjoy this one!

Man After Midnight (Jealous!Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: Hunter POV, The Return of The Kyle™, guy gets handsy with reader and Hunter does something about it, alcohol consumption, bar fight, 79s, feel free to check out my personal 79's Playlist here. Spoilers tagged for the gif. Y'all do not know how long it took me to find a season three gif for this one.

Whenever the squad convinced Hunter to join them at 79's, he tuned out the noises and smells to the best of his abilities. The overlapping of a million voices, all too similar to differentiate, the body odors and cologne, the pounding bass of the pop music, it could get to be too much.

But when you asked him to join you, he couldn't say no. He was powerless to the pleading in your eyes and the joy in your smile when he finally said yes. Or it could have been how Crosshair commented on how good you looked in the new outfit you'd bought for clubbing, but he'd never admit it.

The six of you crowded into a booth at the back of the bar, farthest from the speakers. Hunter made sure that he got the seat next to you, only for Tech to remind you that it was your turn to grab the drinks from the bar. You smiled at Hunter apologetically as you tried to climb over him without bothering him too much. He had a better idea though, and gently placed his hands on your waist, easily lifting you over his legs and placing you on the outside of the booth.

Wrecker gave a wolf-whistle at the wide-eyed look on your face, and you quickly looked away, running over to the bar as fast as you could through the crowd.

The others were chuckling as Hunter frowned. Had he messed up? Was he too forward? He didn't consider himself a shy person, but he'd been so sure that you were sending him signals that you were interested.

"Hmm," Crosshair hummed.

"What is it?" Hunter sat up.

Cross smirked, "It seems our resident civilian is attracting some attention."

Hunter quickly scanned the crowd, looking for you. Halfway between the bar and the squad's booth, drinks spilling out of your arms, you were stopped talking with a senate guard. What one of them was doing here was beyond him, but Hunter didn't like the way he was looking you up and down, and half-blocking you from the booth. He wasn't even offering to help you with the drinks.

Hunter slammed his hands on the table to push himself out of his seat and marched over to you, shoving the guard to the side.

"Let me help you with that," He said, taking Wrecker's boilermaker and Tech's martini from where you had kept them expertly balanced.

"Hey, excuse me clone-"

"You're excused," Hunter rolled his eyes at the senate guard and nodded you towards the booth, "Let's go."

"Thank you," You said softly, but he heard it all the same. And you were smiling at him, so he hadn't totally messed up.

The two of you handed out the drinks to their respective drinkers, and Hunter herded you back into your seat.

"Who was that?" Wrecker asked, downing half his drink in one go.

You shrugged, "No one in particular. I think his name was Kyle?"

Hunter huffed. He couldn't tell himself if he was annoyed or amused by this revelation. Of course the smarmy senate guard would have a name like Kyle.

The evening carried on, Wrecker ordered more drinks, Echo found some old friends from the 212th, and Hunter could hear Tech rambling to a very interested Rodian woman who listened to him describe the nesting habits of rancors with stars in her eyes.

You, of course, were on the dance floor. You were always dancing around the Marauder, humming to yourself as you cleaned up your workspace or made the caff. Whenever Hunter saw you dancing, it felt like all was right with the world.

He spotted Kyle across the room. Hunter was surprised he'd stuck around, the senate guards typically didn't deign the clones to be good enough company to make the way across town to 79's.

But Kyle wasn't paying attention to any of the clones. His beady eyes tracked your every movement out on the dance floor. Hunter felt a rumbling in his chest, like a reek warning others to stay back.

Kyle, of course, couldn't hear it, and even if he could, he probably would have ignored it anyway. The senate guard shouldered his way through the crowd on the dance floor, announcing his presence by placing his hands on your hips.

Hunter heard your yelp of surprise and grit his teeth. He launched himself from the booth and marched across the room. Several startled patrons hopped out of the way when they saw the look of pure rage on his face, but all Hunter could focus on were your protests as Kyle grinned.

"Really sweetheart, I'm just trying to give you a compliment, is all!" Kyle laughed as you flushed in embarrassment, trying to push him away. Kyle's grip tightened on you, but Hunter grabbed him by the shoulder. When Kyle turned with a smart quip, Hunter decked him across the face.

"They said no!" He snarled, his arm out in front of you like a shield.

A few clones gave out supporting cheers as the senate's flunkie was laid out across the nearest table, but Kyle wasn't the only one present. Two more men, decidedly not clones, approached Hunter menacingly, trying to defend their friend. He saw them coming, but he had to take a hit from the first one so that the other could get close without suspecting too much. Then Hunter took the both of them with one swing.

"Hunter!" You cried out. A crowd was gathering, and Wrecker was trying to make his way over to you and help Hunter out.

Hunter placed his hands on your shoulder, standing in between you and Kyle.

"You alright?" He asked.

"What?"

"Look out!" Someone shouted. Hunter shielded you with his body to see the senate guards standing up.

Kyle pushed himself to his feet, though he still leaned unsteadily against the table.

"You're gonna regret that, meatdroid!" He snarled, blood dripping down his chin from a broken nose. Kyle charged towards the two of you, but Hunter stepped to the side at the last minute, catching Kyle by the collar of his dress uniform. It was tight enough already, but with Hunter gripping the fabric, Kyle had to gasped for air. Hunter swung him around and right into his would-be bodyguards.

"No fighting! No fighting!" the steward droid waved its arms, but no one was paying it much attention. Wrecker caught the three stooges by the scruff and happily carried them out the door like a mother tooka, dropping them on the veranda where they could hail a hovertaxi.

Once he was certain that Kyle was taken care of, Hunter turned to you.

"Are you alright?" He repeated.

"Am I-?" You shook your head, "You have a black eye!" You pointed out, as if Hunter wasn't wincing every time he blinked.

"Just a scrape," He insisted.

"If I had a credit for every time-" You were too upset to even finish your thought, but you grabbed Hunter by the lip of his chestplate, pulling him over to the bar. You asked the serving droid for the medkit, and brought him back into the bathroom stalls.

"That was incredibly stupid of you. You know what kind of trouble you could get into if you hurt them too badly!" You made Hunter sit on the edge of one of the sinks so that you could treat him properly.

Hunter sighed, "Trouble seems to find me regardless of whether I do anything or not."

You fixed him with a death glare that made it clear he was better off not saying anything until you were done treating his wounds, superficial as they may be.

"Don't do that again, you hear me?" You slathered bacta over his eye, and dabbed some on the cut on his lip. Fortunately, there was one more ice pack in the poorly-stocked kit, so you snapped it in half to activate the cooling gel.

"Sorry cyare, but I'm afraid I can't make that promise."

You froze, the ice back an inch above his eye. He could feel the air cooling around it, and gently took the ice pack from your slackened grasp, pacing it against the swelling skin.

"Hunter," You gasped, "don't say things like that. Even for me, it's not worth the risk." Your hands were shaking, so you busied them by packing up the remains of the medikit.

Hunter grit his teeth as you turned your back to him, "You are worth every sacrifice I have made. Every shot I've taken, every nightmare that haunts me, every humiliation I've had to endure from those miserable excuses for sentient beings," He waved the ice pack in the air, trying to indicate Kyle and his flunkies.

"It's worth it," He insisted, "Just to see you smile."

He heard your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, and he knew he'd gone too far.

"I... I didn't know you felt that way..." You whispered.

Hunter hopped down from the sink and marched out the bathroom door. He needed a nice, stiff drink.

A couple of the other clones gave him strange looks for the eyepatch, and a few who'd seen the fight asked if he was okay. Hunter ignored them all, trying to flag down a steward droid.

"Hunter!" You shouted his name above the din of the music. He decided it was best to ignore you too.

By the time you finally made your way to him at the bartop, he was halfway through a drink he'd regret in a couple hours.

"What do you think you're doing!?" you demanded, hands on your hips.

"Having a drink, what's it look like I'm doing?" He grunted miserably.

"You can't just tell me you love me and walk away like that!"

Hunter spat out a mouthful of alcohol all over the serving droid, leaving his tongue and his nose burning from the taste.

You, however, were unperturbed by his reaction, folding your arms across your chest.

"Now are you going to ask me to dance or not?"

#tbb spoilers #lizart writes #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter bad batch x reader #79s

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dyns33 · 8 months ago

Text

Rafiq alruwh

I'm not sure yet if this will be a Bane x reader oneshot or not.

I like it like that, but I could find ideas for part 2. My only problem being that I still need to finish others Tom Hardy's characters story, while wanting to write Feyd Rautha stories.

As much as Y/N listened to these stories over and over again, she couldn't imagine the feeling everyone would describe.

The moment your skin touched your soulmate's skin, and suddenly everything became clear, better. A feeling of joy and the burning need to stay by this person's side forever.

It was a rare phenomenon that scientists could not explain. It was completely impossible to know when this would happen, or if it would happen, because fate seemed cruel. Most people either didn't have soulmates or didn't have the chance to meet them in their lifetime. The world was too big and time too short.

There were still skeptics, who claimed that it was all nonsense, lies, invented by people blinded by love or who wanted to give themselves a certain gender. Only those who ended up meeting the person changed their mind, the others remaining too jealous to accept the truth, considering that it was only a romantic utopia.

Y/N wanted to believe in it. She dreamed of meeting her soulmate and experiencing this special moment.

Her parents were not meant to be together. It was visible.

In her entourage, she had an uncle who had had this experience, a few neighbors, a friend, and all had said the same thing.

What they had in common was that they were all good people. Maybe that was one of the reasons.

“You might have had to choose another type of profession then.”

"Mom…"

“I’m just saying that cop is not the most popular job in the world.”

"And I would say that choosing to be a non-corrupt police officer in Gotham is almost like being a saint."

"You'll end up getting killed, long before you meet your soulmate. I'll never understand why you wanted to be a cop, especially in this town."

There came a day when her mother's fears almost became a reality. The day when terrorists took the entire city hostage with a bomb, preventing everyone from entering and leaving.

It was probably not what she had thought when she talked about dying, but for several months, hidden with her colleagues, Y/N thought about her soulmate, trying to imagine this meeting that would probably never happen.

Staying mainly with Blake and Gordon, she tried to hide her pain, but it did not escape Miranda Tate, who took her hand with a gentle smile and asked what was tormenting her.

“We’re going to die here.” Y/N whispered. "I mean, I'm not afraid of that, that's the risk of the job. But… I didn't think it would be like this now. I wish I had met my soulmate before."

"Your rafiq alruwh. I didn't think many people cared about it here."

"My what ?"

"That's how my father called soulmates. I grew up with a lot of stories about it, because he and my mother were related. I prayed a lot to be that for one of my friends, but no. Our destinies are linked, but not like that.”

"Sorry."

"Even if I would have liked him to be mine, I wish him happiness and that he meets his other half one day. A being worthy of him, of his love and his protection. He deserves to be happy. You too, you seem kind. Maybe you shouldn't have been here."

Her words were strange, but Y/N didn’t tell the others. It wouldn't have changed anything anyway. Even though she had discovered that Miranda Tate had the detonator, that she was the real leader of the terrorists, the streets remained controlled by the militias.

As always, they were saved by the Batman. She had never really known what to think of the vigilante, protected by Gordon and hated by everyone else. He clearly wanted to help Gotham, but his methods remained illegal, and not necessarily effective in the long term.

His death was a tragedy, but not necessarily the end of a symbol. Hope was still there, even stronger, and the Gotham police were determined to ensure everyone's safety.

Y/N felt this determination too.

Still, she froze as she inspected the sewers with Blake and Ramirez. They too had a moment of hesitation, as their lamps illuminated a body. A huge body, sitting against the wall, face hidden by this frightening mask.

There had been a search for Bane and his men after the explosion. Witnesses said the Batman fought him, and won, but they found nothing.

Obviously, the terrorist had managed to drag himself here to die.

"What do we do ?" Ramirez asked shyly. “Should we put a bullet in his head ?”

"What ? Why do you want to do this ?"

"To make sure he's dead. I've seen a lot of movies, man, I know the mistakes to avoid."

She didn't approve of the speech, but Y/N agreed, it was necessary to check it out.

Feeling almost stupid, she moved forward slowly, her hand reaching towards Bane to see if he felt a pulse.

She didn't expect the large hand that quickly grabbed her neck before she could touch him.

Fear paralyzed her body, and yet there was something else. An indescribable, incredible feeling, which resembled happiness but more intense, which was absurd in this situation.

Y/N felt so lost that she didn't realize the hand was relaxing, just resting against her skin instead of squeezing and snapping her neck like it easily could have done.

"Habibi…" was the word spoken with difficulty by Bane, who stared at her with an indecipherable expression.

“Let her go right now, you bastard !”

Maybe he was as confused as her, or maybe he was too weak, but the terrorist didn't avoid Ramirez's punch, while Blake grabbed Y/N to pull her as far away as possible.

She stood still, not understanding what was happening, as Ramirez called for reinforcements, proud of having been able to knock out the giant, even though he knew as well as anyone that he would have had no chance. if his mask hadn't been damaged and he wasn't half dead. It was not possible.

Bane couldn't be her soulmate, Y/N refused to believe it. A man like him had no soul, not after everything he had done, and above all why would he be destined for her ? She didn't feel like she had committed a crime that deserved such punishment.

She was probably never going to see him again anyway.

If he survived to Blackgate, he would be locked there forever. Even if she had permission, she had no intention of visiting him.

But the feeling remained there, strong, impossible to ignore, demanding more. An incomprehensible need to be close to the one who had touched her, so that he would touch her again.

Y/N resisted. She gave her report to Commissioner Gordon, forgetting a few small details, and indicating that she did not wish to follow this case, leaving Bane's case to better agents than her.

This seemed to surprise him, as he considered her one of his best people, but he accepted.

However, it was impossible not to think of her soulmate, since the whole town was only talking about him and his arrest. The television was on loop every day, and her colleagues thought they were doing the right thing by keeping her informed of progress.

"They say his face is horrible. I think there are photos in the file."

"I'd love to see that ! I can't imagine that fucker at all without his weird mask. Do you think he has a normal voice without that thing ?"

“I can go get it so we check.”

Ramirez's gaze met hers as he stood, and without her needing to speak, he knew it was best for him to sit back down and change the subject.

Y/N didn’t see the photos. She absolutely didn't want to.

After several weeks, she asked to take a vacation, claiming to still be traumatized by what had happened to her, in addition to the near destruction of Gotham. She needed some time to rest.

Turning off all the screens and her phone, she tried meditation to clear her mind, so she could get some sleep and forget that her soulmate was a crazy, half-dead terrorist who would soon be judged.

This miserable attempt being a failure, she turned her phone back on shortly after midnight, only to be bombarded with calls and messages, coming from several colleagues, Blake, and Gordon.

"What is happening ?" she asked, calling the Commissioner back.

"Damn, I almost sent men to check on you, you weren't responding ! Where are you ? Are you okay ?"

“I’m at home, why ?”

"Don't panic. Blake will come get you."

“Gordon, what’s going on ?”

"He hasn't said anything since his arrest, keeping very quiet, and then yesterday Bane spoke. He asked to see you, giving your name. The other agents are categorical, it's impossible that he knows ot, no one told him. The agent simply replied that you were not on the investigation, and even on vacation… Damn, he…"

“Gordon, what ?”

"He escaped, Y/N. We don't know how. No one knows where he is, or what he's going to do. But since he talked about you, I don't want to take any risks. Don't move, John will come right away."

She could have told him that she knew very well why Bane had spoken about her, and that it was undoubtedly necessary for her to leave without delay, but fear held her back.

Even if it wasn't her fault, what would the commissioner think when he learned of her connection to the fugitive ? He was a good man, but all men had their limits, and she would be the first to be wary of someone designated as Bane's soulmate.

After hanging up, she jumped out of bed to grab her gun and shoes, ready to wait for Blake to arrive in her living room.

Y/N froze in the middle of the hallway, seeing the huge figure standing between her and the front door.

His face was covered by a scarf, his posture a little less proud than in the videos she had seen of him during his city hostage situation, he appeared to be in pain, but it was obvious that if she tried to pass, he would retain her without the slightest difficulty.

“Habibi.” he whispered, and indeed his voice was different without his mask, more human. "What a joy to see you again. More beautiful than I remember or on pictures. Will you come with us without resistance ? I don't want to hurt you."

"Hands in the air." she replied, pointing her gun at him, ignoring the urge to hug him. “Don’t move, my colleagues are coming.”

"I admire your sense of duty and honor, Habibi. But I will not return to prison, ever again. And I will not leave you either. I thought of you every day. Is your neck healed ? I need to repair my wrongs to you.”

“I said, put your hands in the air.”

“So you leave us no choice, Habibi.” he sighed, looking behind her.

We. He said we, and someone gave him her name. Y/N reacted too late, one man grabbing her gun, and the other not holding her shoulder, injecting something into her neck with a syringe.

In an instant, she found herself on the ground, her vision blurring, but her body not panicking, as it was invaded by an incredible sensation. Bane had reached out to hug her, his eyes smiling as he ran a hand over her cheek.

"It's okay. I'm taking you home, rafiq alruwh."

All her life, Y/N had waited for this moment, this feeling, this sentence. She told herself that the stories we said to children were really stupid, as her eyes closed.

#the dark knight rises #bane #bane tdkr #bane x reader #bane fanfiction #bane imagine

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cookie-crumblr · 8 months ago

Text

Lucky

Shy M!Reader x F!Yandere OC

Part 1~

Her Info: 🪓

Next Part>>>

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: M! Reader, Reader has a penis, Reader referred to as he/him, psychological horror/trauma, reader is on meds for night terrors, blood, implied sh on FL, oral on M!, explicit language, partial handjob on M!, exhibitionism, non con cumplay, reader voms(not described), overstim, not proofread.

song rec: Personal Pornstar by Bludnymph <3 (lol it’s not the MOST fitting for this part, but i had it on replay for like 5 days and it’s def playing in Lucy’s lil head too)

anything in red reader isn’t aware of.

Your room is pitch black in a block wide black out and something… Smells off? There’s a rusty tang in the air. You try to close your eyes anyway. It’s just your imagination. It’s always just your imagination. That’s what they’ve always told you.

Why does your room always smell metallic?

It’s fake.

It’s not real.

Sometimes when you close your eyes your walls are bleeding, and sometimes there’s a woman crying blood above you on your bed… Sometimes, someone’s standing in the corner of the room with an axe, and that’s the one that really makes your heart beat loud, yet you have no idea why.

It’s just your night terrors.

That’s what the meds are for.

You reach around in the dark, fingertips tap against the pressed wood table, and slip down to find the knob. Before you can even pull it out-

*Creak*

You freeze.

A footstep down the hall draws your eyes to your doorway adjacent. You can’t see shit, but you know the door’s there. And wide open.

*Creak*

You’re breathing through your mouth as silently as you can, listening for anything other than-

*Creak*

It’s a night terror.

You’re asleep right now. or hallucinating while half asleep.

That’s all it is.

She’s standing just down the hall.

She feels like dancing, she’s really in your appartment!! and you’re in here! She can hardly contain herself!

If you saw who she was, instead of just a dark silhouette, you’d recognize her. She went to the same school as you growing up. She goes to your college now. And she’s always just been, around.

Lucy is really cute! and has a lot of the same interests from what you’ve gathered… She’s just extremely shy, so when you try to actually talk to her she either whispers, or just “eeep’s!” and runs away. She’s a trust fund baby. For one reason or another you never perused her, not that you never thought about what’s under her clothes, or wanted to get to know her more.

And now, she’s in your apartment, like she is most nights since the first day she saw you. Well in the beginning she was going into your parents house. Now that you’re all on your own, she gets free reign of your apartment.

She’s been getting bolder.

You pop a med and close your eyes.

The last time she was in your room she checked your browsing history, and found some porn that must’ve interested you!

She’d look again today, but she got carried away in her fantasies and cut the wires down the road!

You have at least one responsibility every day, but your college days only take up about 3 hours. So it isn’t that bad… You sigh.

When you get dressed, and pull a shirt from under your bed, something rolls out with it over the woodgrains…

Is that…

A glass bottle, about the length of your hand, full of blood??

You gag.

How did this get here!?

Maybe, you think, it was just here when you moved in! yeah… That’s probably it…

You end up throwing up into the toilet and throwing the bottle into a trash bag and immediately taking it out.

Lucy is already in class, she isn’t looking as giddy as normal. She’s glaring daggers straight ahead, not really looking at anything that you can see.

“Hey Lucy! you alright?” you wave gently.

“Y/N!” She peeps! “H-hey! Um, yup! I’m just a little sleepy today! sall…” She fakes a yawn and stretches, bringing her arms up over her head. Her very full chest bobbles as she does.

You sit next to her and she shakes for a second. “You sure that’s all?”

“Mhm!” She confirms.

“Okay, I won’t press you but i’m here if you need to talk”

“Th-thank you” She says as she shudders.

She’s always a little strange, but she’s nice, and probably means well.

“H-Hey Y-Y/N…” she audibly swallows.

“Hm?” You respond right before she puts her hand on your thigh, and even though the professor isn’t in yet, she’s staring straight at the board. her pale face already as red as a strawberry.

You look down, surprised, and back up, and down again.

Your pants feel tighter it’s unfair. All she had to do was touch you in one little spot so close to where you really need attention, but so agonizingly far.

You were never really friends, so there’s nothing there to ruin… If this is what she wants. She’s probably just messing with you anyway.

Even her ears are red, she has her orange hair over her other shoulder. giving you full view of the couple freckles that spot her neck.

Her hand glides over your lap until her hand has climbed Mt.YourPants and is now pressing down rubbing almost painfully through the fabric against you.

You put the back of your hand to her bare thigh and feel her jump, with a cute “ee!” Slowly you flip it over, caressing her with just the tips of your fingers. She shudders.

You press your palm flat against her skin, she’s soft and warm. Even her thighs have a few freckles. Slowly you slide your hand under the hem of her skirt, you pass over the jagged feeling of a long cut healing, and further up there’s a lot of big bandages.

“A-are you alr—”

“It’s nothing!” She assures you, but it doesn’t settle the feeling in your gut that something is off. She takes your hand shakily and puts it on your desk.

Immediately following, her hand moves back to your thigh and creeps back into place at your center.

You kinda forget about what just happened.

Her nails have little hand painted angel wings over pale pink polish. She’s so cute.

Your still half-hard dick against the fabric is really uncomfortable. She can’t be planning on taking it too far since you’re in class, so you try to relax a little, and you think this is probably the extent of it.

She turns in her seat, placing her other hand in your lap, and is now unzipping and unbuttoning your pants. You jump up a little and shoo her hands away. Your head frantically swivels around the room before turning back to her, “Lucy!” You hiss, “We can’t do that here!” Your face is hot.

“Why not…? I’ve seen people do it before.” She tries to match your volume, still just barely above her usual whisper.

“What!? Here!?” you feel bad that she even had to witness something like that!!

“You know what else i’ve seen…” The words exit her mouth ominously, and her face deepens a shade.

You gulp…. Do you wanna know? “Wh-what?”

She gets up, and scoots her chair back a little…

Then she climbs under the shared desk and gets in front of your legs.

“Wh-What are you doing!! Lucy!!” You try to keep your voice down, but you can’t help but raise it in a slightly higher pitch.

“What?… Do you not—I really want to… Please Y/N?” she looks down, her big brown doe eyes looking away sheepishly.

Your dick twitches. Her cleavage is on display just below you, and presses against your legs. She’s practically begging to play with your cock. But if you get caught… You gulp yet again.

Your brows are hiked up in worry, eyes locked on her chest and how red even they’re getting. “O-kay Lucy… B-but please be careful!” You cannot believe what you’re letting her do.. In class!!! Your dick must be talking for you.

Eyes now alight with pure joy and excitement, she opens your jeans and gets your cock out.

Your tip was really getting irritated in there! It feels instantly better even though it’s a little too cool— “Haaaah!!” She wraps both her hands around the base of you, fingers interlocked. She definitely doesn’t know what she’s doing, but you appreciate her enthusiasm.

Her thumbs massage the underside of your length, it isn’t too bad. They come up under your tip and press teasingly against it. She scooches even closer burrowing her way between your spreading legs. You slouch more in your chair, head resting on your thumb and finger as you try and look nonchalant.

She finally brings her hands up all the way and rubs them over your head. You aren’t looking so when you feel her hot breath on you, you can’t help but jump!

She kitten licks you first, just savoring your flavor, you think you feel her kiss your dick before you feel yourself get swallowed up entirely. She gags on you, so you reach under the table and place your hand on her soft hair. “Please, Lucy… Be quiet…” You start to shudder, her throat contracts around you and she’s sucking you so hard by the time she pulls back.

She’s eagerly licking up your pre and you even hear her slurp, it’s so hot, but someone is definitely gonna hear! “Mmmm!” She moans around you.

You look around and almost everyone has earbuds in. You sigh in relief and your dick starts to pulse and twitch more and more in her warm mouth. You almost let go in that moment, but it feels so good, you don’t want it to end.

Her tongue is flat against you and licks your underside. She keeps running it over your head, and teasing your slit and when she pulls away she sucks even harder, everytime you almost “Ooo” out loud, but you try to hold it in.

You hear her moan again and can’t keep it in this time, “Hnnng!” You shoot your load into her, which she seems to keep in her mouth…

She takes some onto her fingers from her mouth before swallowing the rest.

You feel her wrap her lips tightly around your softening, leaking dick again and knee the table in surprise. “Mm!”

“Okay Lu-Lucy!” You pat her head to tap out, but she keeps going. Your stomach flutters from overstimulation.

Your dick re-hardens without pressure building up, you just feel the excess of pleasure around you.

She presses her fingers against her tight pussy and rubs while she continues to suck all the soul out of your body.

She’s whimpering and shaking now, you imagine she’s fingering herself… You want to look.

You slouch further in your seat so that there’s a slit between the table and your body that you can see your dick completely swallowed up by a shuddering girl.

Her face is hungrily pressed against you, “mm!” her whimpers continue to vibrate around you, when is the last time someone’s been this enthusiastic about your dick?

You see her arm violently moving as she fingers herself with your cum.

She can barely fit two of her little fingers in her tight pussy, it’s such a stretch for her… And she’s imagining your dick inside her! Oh she really can’t stand it! The thought of you stretching her instead of her stupid little fingers.

“Mm!!” You watch her twitch and then settle, but she keeps sucking on you, it’s getting to be too much for you, you don’t understand this sensation, you already came, but you’re still hard and feeling extremely hot.

“Lucy…” you plead. You aren’t even worried about the other people in the room but your getting fatigued.

She pulls off of you with a small *pop* “S-s-sorry… Y/N… Hah… I g-got carried away…” She looks down, filled with guilt.

You find her chin with your hand and pull her face to look up at you. Your dick twitches between you two, and you feel embarrassed for a second as if she wasn’t just sucking the life out of you. “come back up here please,” You smile at her.

As she climbs back up her seat, you fix yourself, and the professor walks in.

From Cookie!

Lemme know how i did! this is my first ever x M! so i hope i can get better and make more!!! 🙈✨

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sterlingarcher23 · 3 months ago

Text

The power of subtle imagery...

Haven't noticed this until recently, so in regard to other moments, they are mirroring each other.

Ice cream in color code hands - El, left hand, blue hair tie/bracelet and Max right hand, yellow watch respectively

Swapping ice-cream in the opposite hands (heart hands) - crossing blue and yellow while doing this.

Ice-cream again in the color code hands, now high five with heart hands (same moment gives Max the ability to fight back in the mind lair)

You may not even notice it consciously, yet you have seen it nonetheless. It's put in your brain so that one day you go back and be like "Why haven't I seen it?" as the Duffers would say.

And I call them heart hands because on the right side of El's shirt, there's a "blood" stain in shape of a heart - and she places her right hand on Max's chest on the left side.

Again mirroring each other.

Like it happens in this scene - interesting wouldn't you say?

Well, they have their arms up for different reasons, but the idea is to create a reflection point I'd argue since we have these reflections, these mirrors again and again.

The power of mirroring. And you may also heard the phrase: As above so below. Max's reflection and the walkie talkie nearby basically means that her mirror image is El. (like in the poster artwork for the stage plax of Henry that shows Vecna as his shadow but similar to Max's reflection in this scene)

El's heartbeat is reflected by Max's heart monitor - the window in the "This is Max" moment gives us a window from our perspective and a mirror image from El's perspective (we see El through Max and she sees the drawing of Max as her own "reflection") it's like a one way mirror.

And especially the heart connection is made just as subtle as possible yet for all to hear how they meld El's heart beat and the beeping of Max's heart monitor - this is El's heart that is monitored there. Figuratively and literally.

Reflections and mirrors are used many times, the context is what matters.

I mentioned it before - Kubrick did the same, he used shiny objects (polished doors, reflective metall, mirror glass, shiny walls) to mirror the characters and have conversations with themselves (like Jack is actually talking to himself - he looks in the mirror and then Grady is in exactly that spot).

Danny touching is own reflection aka Tony when he touches the door knob. Followed by a brief image of the twins even though they have nothing to do with the room 237 - it's his "twin", his other half Kubrick points to - This is even underlined by the hotel's boss, Ullman, who doesn't describes the Grady girls as twins but says they are 8 and 10 in the film. Kubrick kept the description but he shows something different in what Danny sees. The twins are not the Grady girls. Ullman also says "Charles Grady" but Grady calls himself Delbert (who might be just Jack's shadow/mirror as Jack looks in the mirror and Grady is then placed in front of the mirror)

In the bathroom Danny even has a conversation with Tony. He's talking to his mirror image. Tony is so to speak another personality of Danny and he probably talks to him again in the kitchen with Halloran representing Tony ( he's probably not even "real") - Note how they mirror their gestures.

Just saying that this is not new in the visual language of cinema or TV. - And we have it in the Rainbow Room, we have it with the literal inversions of numbers like 00I - 0II on one side (holding their arms to actually mirroring the numbers) and 011 and 110 on the other, how Max and Vecna mirror each other, and Max and Will having those parallels AND mirrors etc etc etc (putting everything into one post is impossible)

Bonus: the TV screen used as a window. But while they look at us and we at them through our technological looking glass, they do look at what from their perspective?

So, magic mirror on the wall who is fairest One of all?

....oh. 11, I see.

This turned out to be longer than I wanted - it was actually just about the ice-cream swapping moment and how they purposely mirror each other. And that it's so subtle yet directly in front of us, so blatant and yet we also get distracted with stuff - like literally using characters (just saying Will's arm) to distract so that the focus of the audience is somewhere else. At the same time you need litter your clues to subtly and so obviously that you say "They can't mean it literally, can they?" over a show

#max mayfield #stranger things #elmax #el hopper #stranger things analysis #eleven and max #max x eleven #max stranger things #stranger things eleven #stranger things theory

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fakesimp · 1 year ago

Text

Am I falling in love with the one that could Break my Heart? Or no?

Warning !

[ A Surprise ! Nothing bad I swear ]

A/n !

The sound keep on appearing in my fyp, it's driving me insane, and yes it's dua lipa, break my heart.

➶◜◝➴

He was kind, always helping the others.

Always there whenever someone ask for his help, ar first you're all strangers. It all started from a deskmates, slowly knowing each other.

Then sharing each other's contact numbers, to playing games together if you're a gamer. He will teach you the games he likes if you're interested, will also recommend you games to play! Together with him too lol.

Late night games and calls together with him happened after both of you got even closer, there are also times when you both got different classes. But he somehow, just there after your class.

No matter what time it is for him, he'll always be the first one you see when you finished your class, with his identic smile he greeted you.

It went on like that for quite sometime, making you feel things that you know you shouldn't, your heart beats faster whenever he's close to you.

His laugh made your stomach flutter, filled with butterflies. His voice echoes through your ears everyday, running around your mind 24/7. Making you slowly go insane.

One time.

It was only one time.

You heard his friends mentioning, this other person that he had been keeping an eye on. Your heart clenches at that rumor, but you tried to shake it away. Trying to push it off your mind, you covered it up with excitement on who could be the lucky person is.

They were as excited as you, they didn't specifically tell the name, they just described how they are as a person. Your curiosity increased, along with your broken heart it also increases.

And the next few days, you heard another rumor about somebody confessed to him. You asked your friends about does he accept it or not, and they haven't known about it just yet.

But days after the rumor spread, the time both of you spent on each other decreases as the time pass, it usually could go for hours, by means like almost all night, to 3 hours, down to 1 and a half hour.

You noticed the change on him, and it seems like he accepted the confession.

Ah..

You didn't realize you were crying, you're looking up at the night sky. Wishing this is only a nightmare, but as the day goes on, your heart hurts even more knowing that your interaction with him lessen.

Your friends noticed how down you are lately, even his friends! Come to you to comfort you, you have no idea how they knew about your feelings towards him. Did you tell them? If you did, then you don't remember when.

Or maybe, your actions says louder upon your feelings. That they knew you liked him, you could only thanked them for their comfort. They tried at least, weeks, months passed.

Your feelings still lingers, but you believe that one day you'll move on.

That is until you received a message from him, it's been awhile since you've talked with him. He reached out to you asking if you want to play with him, you contemplated at first, but in the end you accepted it and played with him.

It was a bit awkward at first, but eventually the awkwardness disappeared. You didn't realize how long it has been, when you look at how long you've been calling it has been 6 hours. It's late night, both of you stayed in a call for a bit longer. Talking about how each other's been, since it is been awhile.

And the talk last for another 2 hour, why is it when you're trying to move on, he reached out to you. The feelings started to bloom back again, you silently listen to him rambling. Lowkey wishing to the gods up there to not wake you up from this dream, but you know very well you shouldn't.

Especially when he got a lover already, but can you be foolish for once? You silently wished for him to come back to you, to let your friendship back to the way it was.

. . .

You woke up to the sound of alarm, you looked at the time, and it says 8 am, it's sunday. You laid on the bed, thinking about what happened last night, you checked on your phone, and see the call history.

It's not a dream after all, it actually happened. You sighed softly as you put your phone away, silently thinking, what's gonna happen next? Your mind going around, questions flooding in. Yet none you could answer.

The day after you talked with him, you notice the subtle change coming from him. Instead of not talking to you at all, sometimes he would reach out to you and asked you to play with him.

It lowkey make you feel giddy, what is it that he's trying to do, didn't he got a lover? You shook your thoughts away, you tried to think positively. Maybe he just needs a playmate or some sort.

You tried, so hard. To convice yourself, but it all breaks when he sent one message in the middle of the night. He wants a company from you, your mind and heart did not cooperate with each other.

Your mind said no, but your heart said yes.

. . .

And now here you are, next to him. He looked down, something upsets him so badly. He rarely shares his problem and you understands that, and decided not to push it.

You sat next to him, silently waiting for him to talk whatever it is that's bothering his mind. You can hear his shaky breath, you gripped your arms tightly, and then you slowly reach out your hand to his arms, gently patting his arms, silently telling him that you're here for him.

He looked up at you with his glossy eyes, he looked like he was about to cry at that moment. You, by instinct, moved your hands to his cheeks, rubbing your thumb along the corner of his eyes. And at that exact moment, he cried.

God your heart breaks into pieces when he cried, his hands reaching out to you, holding your forearms so tightly. You gently pull him into his arms, giving him the comfort he needs. Him, crying in your arms. Holding you so tightly.

You don't know what to feel about this, but your feelings for him now only increased. You've seen his vulnerable side, a side that you never expect coming from him. He seems to be a cheerful and kind guy, and now to see him crying in your arms.

Make you want to hold him forever, making him yours. But you know you can't do that, he already got someone by his side.

You felt guilty for his lover, you doesn't know why he didn't reach out to his lover. Now you're questioning on why is he reaching out to you for comfort instead of his lover, but you didn't bother to ask.

So you silently give him the comfort he needed.

. . .

Both of you sat in the comforting silence, his half lidded eyes looking down at himself, while you at the other hand looking at him. Genuinely worried, "Are you okay now?" You gently asked him, he turned to you and slowly nod his head. "Thank you, .. I'm sorry for making you come over at such hour" he apologized he sounded so guilty for calling you over to comfort him, "hey, it's all I can do"

You smiled at him, he stared at you for one second before you see his identic smile on his face, the smile that you missed for a long time.

You pat his arms again, "I'll always be here whenever you need comfort" you said to him. He nodded his head once more as he placed his hand over yours, as a silent thank you before letting your hand go.

. . .

Now you're back home, laying on the bed, the image of him crying in your arms is now nailed into your mind. You can't forget how vulnerable he was in your arms, you frowned as you stared at the ceilings.

Silently questioning yourself,

Are you,

Falling in love with someone, who could break your heart? or,

Are you,

Falling in love with someone that would keep your heart close to theirs?

You ran your fingers through your hair locks in frustration, silently cursing at the cupid for being so complicated to understand, wait.

Do they even exist?

You shook your head, trying not to add more questions into your head and head off to sleep.

. . .

You woke up with the sound of your alarm, it's 6 am, you groggily gets off the bed and went to shower, getting yourself ready for the day.

When you arrived, you saw him standing by the gates, smiling at you. With his identic smile, you blinked confusedly for one second. Earning a laugh from him, "Why do you look so confused? Come on, the class is starting soon" he said pushing you into the building.

You let out a small squeak when you felt him pushing you, you let out a chuckle as you started walking, next to him.

Maybe, just maybe you can be a bit foolish and indulge into your wishes this once.

Maybe, you can make him yours.

. . .

If only you knew.

A/n !

Boo!! How is the fic? I hope y'all are okay with the ending, I mean, I can make an alternative ending, but eh (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠).. we'll see fufu~

Oh ! also, who do you think this fic fits with ? Just wondering (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

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emilykaldwen · 8 months ago

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Three

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two

CHAPTER THREE - SORROW IN IDLE MIND

Aemond is the most put upon person in the entire history of Westeros. Aegon is the most navel gazing, half drunk prince to ever hold the title. Alyn Hull is just here for figs and a good time.

Traipsing through the narrow, winding alleyways of the Street of Silk was not how Aemond Targaryen wanted to spend this evening. Nay, this was not how he wanted to spend any evening. He mourned the cloak he wore, for he was certain that amidst the cloying scents of perfume and incense, and of the sour of human stink beneath, he’d never get the evidence out.

He wished for the quiet comforts of mother’s solar with a thick tome upon his lap as he read aloud to Mother and Helaena as they sewed. Better yet were the times when he could retreat to Helaena’s room and read only to her. She would card her fingers through his hair, brush and braid the long strands back as she always had. Other times, she’d lean into his side, soft and warm and smelling of the peppermint tea she always drank before bed. Her long curls would tickle against his neck where her head tucked perfectly, like it belonged there, on his shoulder. Aemond would adjust the warm blanket over their laps to ensure she was cozy. The book would span across them both and he would wrap an arm about her, fingers playing with her beautiful hair.

He’d read stories of the lands beyond. The tales of djinn promising wishes and sphinx spinning riddles from the furthest parts of the Essosi continent. The monstrous woman with half a snake body, and hair made of living vipers from the Basilisk Isles, would always draw gasps when he’d describe the garden of stone heroes the monster made. Helaena would gasp at all the appropriate places, look at him with wide eyes and would ask, “Do they make it out alive?” He’d brush a soft, reassuring kiss to the crown of her head and with a grin, tell her to listen.

They’d read into the night, and then when it was time for bed, Aemond would relish the sleepy kiss he’d receive, chaste and innocent, and still able to make him flush. “Goodnight, dear brother,” Helaena would murmur and he’d eagerly press a kiss to the warmth of her palm, over the lifeline, the blood they shared thrumming beneath.

Dear brother, she always said with such love and reassurance; such care and surety that he was her dearest brother, her favorite brother.

“Goodnight, my sweet Helaena,” he would tell her before floating his way back to his own bed.

Instead of all those pleasant options, he was left grimacing as a patron from the tavern they were passing expelled the contents of his stomach all over the cobblestones. His brother called his name with obvious exasperation.

“Uncivilized,” Aemond muttered, and narrowly avoided pitching forward into the mess when Aegon’s hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up between him and Alyn Hull, who clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

The smile that Aegon gave was not a jovial one, although the drinks he had at the previous tavern made him less sullen and more focused, more intent on forgetting; running as far as he could in another direction. Though not so unusual for Aegon, the lone man in his brown robe and bare feet on the corner beseeching men to return home to the loving embrace of their wives had turned Aegon’s frantic need to flee into something darker when his gaze turned inward.

Aemond saw nothing wrong with what the man said. After all, he wanted nothing more than to return to the warm fire and loving embrace of his wife.

“Gellys!” Aegon called and Aemond immediately tried to hide behind the elder boys at the woman in the doorway. “A room for us! Best Arbor you’ve got. Some Dornish as well.”

“Milord,” Gellys drawled with that familiar smile - the one burnt on the backs of his eyelids - knowing better than to address the one before her as Prince. “We’re happy to serve.” Eyes swept over the trio and Aemond tilted his head down enough that his hood made it more difficult to see, yet it did little. “And you’ve brought this sweet one again! How lovely. Bess, the usual for his Lordship.”

The brothel had changed little since Aegon had dragged him here for his nameday nearly two years ago. The tapestries which draped the sandstone walls were not so dissimilar to the ones his mother had moved into the gallery back in the Red Keep. It portrayed men and women in acts of carnality and some kind of sexual acrobatics. The acts portrayed were ones that Aemond is not so certain of, but he’d rather study the ones back at the castle and not amidst the ribald laughter that clashes with the music. Aemond was sure that beneath the flicker and shadow of the torchlight, they were littered with worn spots and moth-eaten edges.

Heleana would know the kind that dwelled amid the fabrics and he wondered if he might find a dead one to bring back to her. Something good could at least come from this ridiculous adventure.

Laughter and gentle music permeated the first floor, and Aemond was grateful to be here and not in the boisterous racket of the last tavern they’d been kicked out of.

A sandy-haired bard, pug nosed and red-faced, strummed his lute with a flourish. Along with his three minstrels behind him, also clad in various clashing frocks, the four held court along the far end of the room while women flitted between light and shadow to entertain the men. Aemond thought he also spied a few feminine patrons as well, among the settees and tables, surrounded by a variable spread of fruits, wines, meats, and cheeses.

Another yank on his shoulder by Aegon’s hand hauled him towards the staircase, and his stomach lurched with the unpleasant memories of the last time he was in this place.

It’s different this time, Aemond reminded himself while being jostled up the stairs, following his brother’s silver head, Hull bringing up the rear. He did not need to ‘wet his wick’ on this particular sojourn into The Pearl and Oyster; instead he was here to make sure that Aegon did not end up going too far off the drunken path. And as little as he paid Alyn any mind, Aemond knew that the elder boy would also ensure that Aegon did not end up dead in the river or with a knife between his ribs.

Why was this a concern now? Aegon had frolicked about Flea Bottom for years. Not even three moons ago, his brother was dragged back to the Holdfast with a split lip and double black eyes from his broken nose by two broad Gold Cloaks who’d pulled him spitting and scratching from a tavern brawl.

He gave his brother credit where it was due. Though Ser Criston taught him how to wield a blade, Aegon taught him how to throw a proper punch.

‘Blades are good for when you have them, but in a pinch, use everything you have’, Aegon had said as he whipped the apple he’d been eating with surprising accuracy straight at his forehead.

It had hit hard enough to momentarily daze him, but luckily no one was around to see.

Wariness kept Aemond from immediately divesting himself of the cloak when they entered the room on the third floor. A roaring hearth was set along the outside wall and the primary source of light for what Aemond assumed was some attempt at ambience. Swaths of dusty, crimson fabric wound through the rafters and draped down to give the illusion of some Dornish pleasure tent and not a private room of a brothel in King’s Landing. A thick rug, far too fine for an establishment like this, muffled their footsteps as they crossed the room. Woven strands of scarlet and cream, embellishments in gold etched a design that would not be too out of place in his sire’s room.

Past further drapes of fabric, Aemond could see an enormous bed in the corner. His stomach twisted uncomfortably with nerves that barely eased at the reassuring sight of his companions taking to the table by the hearth and no women bursting from behind the fabric like shrieking ghosts in the night.

When Aegon and Alyn weren’t looking, Aemond tugged aside a drape to confirm that there were none silent and hiding - assassins or whores or some secret, third option that was just as unwelcome, if undefined.

It wasn't long before a stream of women and girls arrived, bearing plates of simple fare to go with the bottles of wine bearing the marks of familiar orchards of the Arbor and the Dornish sun, and a bottle of what he was certain to be a golden vintage from the Jade Sea - the kind his sire ordered to be served only in the company of the most important foreign dignitaries.

There were young girls with downcast eyes and soft blonde curls, women with bold gazes and plump red lips, ones with Lyseni features and hair that glowed in the firelight - though nowhere as fair or pure as his Helaena. Brunettes with messy curls and giggles batted their eyes at him. A pair of raven haired twins with lilac eyes and hair shorn to their bared shoulders brought up the rear.

Alyn already claimed the twins before they even finished setting their plates of meats and fruits on the scarred wood, giggling as he pulled them in. Aegon’s half-sullen, half-hungry expression gave way to heavy-lidded eyes as a buxom brunette carded her fingers through his hair.

Aemond wondered if this was the best the brothel had to offer, for they were perhaps pretty at most, but none truly stood out. He skirted away from the curious hand of the Lyseni and narrowly avoided bumping into a little redhead swerving around him with a quiet, “Excuse me, m’lord.” Young, and pale, with straight hair, she cut a path between the other whores and set a platter of figs and dates before his brother.

The scrape of the platter against the wood drew Aegon’s eyes from watching the woman who was crooning to him up to the new arrival. His eyes opened slowly, a frown pinching at his face, and Aemond watched his brother’s hands flex against the edge of the trestle. In a fascinating display, Aegon lifted a hand to reach for a lock of that red hair, eyes glazed and face flushed deeper.

“Aye, this is one of our new girls. We thought she might be to your liking, m’lord.” A laugh shook from her, breasts jiggling close to Aegon’s head but his brother didn’t even turn to look. Instead, whatever spell overtook his brother shattered and the hand that was reaching out for the girl’s red hair smacked on the table.

“Out!” he roared at the assembled women. The redhead gave a yelp of fright and stumbled back, toppling over a chair as the brunette crooner came to get her up off the floor. It was difficult to tell what fed Aegon’s angry outburst more: the mess she left in her wake, or the mere presence of her. “Get the fuck out!”

Alyn looked stunned. The whores about them looked stunned. Aemond was stunned.

Aegon’s jaw clenched as he rose to his feet. His brother was not a large man, not like their grandfather who looked above all, but the fury on his brother’s face ignited a flame of unease in his gut. Out of the pair of them, Aegon was, strangely enough, not the one most prone to outburst especially without an obvious reason for it. “If I have to tell you again, there won’t be any money for you to share tonight. Get out!”

The room fell quiet as the door slammed shut behind the girls. Aemond slowly took off his cloak and looked at Alyn, who met his gaze with confusion and then something like dawning realization. Aegon ignored them both, pulling over one of the Dornish bottles to fill his goblet.

“For fuck’s sake, Aeg-”

“Don’t you start with me, Hull.” A pause and then Aegon reached to his right side, grabbing the chair and sliding it out. “Aemond, sit your pissy ass down and eat something. Mother’ll have me locked up should I bring you home in a cart faint from hunger.” He took a large swallow of his third cup of wine that night, garnet liquid dripping along his chin like blood and staining the old linen tunic and along his pale chest, revealed from where the laces were undone.

Alyn shifted in his chair, striking with the way his freckles stood out along his darker skin with the silver twists of his hair leaving his expression clear. Aemond met his gaze as he took the chair his brother offered. Alyn did not have purple eyes - his were a vivid jade color, but he looked far more Velaryon than his own nephews. Aemond reached a hand up to adjust his new eyepatch. He ran his thumb along the strap, where he could feel the embroidery in the leather that Helaena had worked so hard on for her dearest, favorite brother.

Aemond tried not to sigh. He would not get his goodnight kisses tonight.

A sharp kick hit his shin and Aemond gave a startled, “ow!” Indignant and annoyed, he focused back on Alyn who raised his brows with the clear look of what in the name of the Seven is going on with your brother?

What wasn’t going on with Aegon?

They both looked back at the man in question, who was tearing into a fig with his glowering expression and greedy fingers. Aemond’s stomach growled, and he grabbed one for himself before his brother could devour them all. He sniffed it first, unsure about trusting brothel food, but it smelled of warm honey. Biting into it, the taste of apple and strawberry burst on his tongue. Alyn was helping himself to one of the dried meats on another platter. It was a higher fare than Aemond had expected, but the relative cleanliness of the room belied the money that lined the pockets of the one who owned the place. At least Aegon hadn’t dragged them to something filthy and (obviously) flea ridden.

He recalled the first and only time his brother had brought him to a brothel. This very one. It was a different room, him alone with that Gellys woman who kept pestering him about the type of girls he liked, or if he’d ever touched himself. She’d brought in a Lyseni girl, young but still older than him. She had a sweet face, and for a moment he wondered if he could just pretend to get through the night.

Instead, she listened rather sweetly while he spoke of saving his sister from the unwanted betrothal with Aegon. His brother had not relished in the duty, but Aemond did. He had a dragon now, Vhagar, the largest and oldest of all of them. It was with his dragon, he explained to the Lyseni girl, that he had enough power to storm in and break up this farce of a betrothal, And they listened to him. Helaena was ever so grateful about it, charmed, and touched, and gave him a kiss on the cheek and called him her gallant knight. She didn’t even protest when he told her they would be married instead. Helaena had only hummed in her little agreeable way while mother tried to protest that they shouldn’t be too hasty. Aemond did not share that marrying Helaena, riding Vhagar, and having his mother acquiesce to his demands, might even mean that he would be who they wanted to make heir. Of course their father wouldn’t put Aegon on the throne over their eldest sister. But Aemond? Aemond rode his grandsire Baelon’s dragon, and he’d marry his sister, and he had started to outpaced Aegon in the training yard.

Aemond had proven them all wrong. They had laughed and gave him a pig, and he’d gotten Vhagar.

He was grateful Aegon was disinterested in throwing women at him this time, let alone in taking any for himself. He could at least sit here and eat decent finger foods and wait for his brother to either pass out from drinking or give up and head home.

“Did you get called into the tower as well today?” Aemond ventured in ill-disguised casualness, reaching for a piece of cheese this time. He didn’t meet Alyn’s curious gaze, for both of them were watching Aegon refill his goblet already.

A grunt was all the answer he supplied.

“What got you pulled into that old fucker’s room?”

Another grunt and a roll of his eyes. “Not blamed for once,” he muttered. “Just bullshit.”

How taciturn. Aemond shifted in his chair, and carefully offered, “You know, Abrogail got pulled into his office as well. He came to Helaena’s room himself to retrieve her.” Aegon’s flushed face reddened more, pink eyes narrowing over his goblet he held to his mouth but did not drink from.

Aemond pursed his lips and thought of the scene in the gardens earlier. Abrogail came back from their grandfather’s office far quieter than usual before so harshly snapping at his sweet Helaena and squashing one of her bugs. At the moment, Aemond had been rageful at the behavior, for his Helaena didn’t deserve that. But hours later, he had realized that, mayhaps, he’d been a little harsher than he ought to have been. He would not apologize, of course, but Helaena was always getting on him about his temper. It had been rather unusual for his cousin. He could not recall the last time she spoke so angrily that wasn’t caused by someone doing something reckless in the training yard - however that was far more mother hen than annoyed and snappy.

“Abrogail?” Alyn rolled her name around his mouth and drew it out in a tease. “And here I thought it was simply wine not getting your cock up. But Abrogail, hm? All of that yelling over some red hair?” A lazy shrug, dagger stabbing into a piece of meat before him. “Makes sense now.”

“I told you not to start,” Aegon warned once more before taking another mouthful of the Arbor red. His eyes were dark, a smirk slashing across his soft face. “Came to Helaena’s room himself, you say? Spend the night, little brother? Has our sweet sister finally let you beneath her skirts or did you creep in again even though Mother forbade it?”

Aemond felt his cheeks color, and he slapped his hand on the table. “Don’t talk about her like that.” A deep breath, the way his book from Bravos recommended. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center. Stay within the moment. Aegon’s eyes were slicing through him, as if he could peel back the layers of skin and see what lay beneath. A gaze even more dangerous, given his brother’s dance into the land of inebriation, but Aemond simply continued. “Abby got upset with us. Her eyes were red. It looked like she’d been crying.”

His brother made a sound and took another swallow. Alyn caught his gaze again and pinned him there until Aemond gave a slight nod, confirming that this was what in seven hells was going on. Whatever had happened in their grandfather’s office, whatever had his cousin crying and Aegon ready to bite everyone’s head off like Helaena’s pet mantis.

“Both of you pulled into the old Tower’s office this morning? Maybe it’s less about those two-” Alyn waved a negligent hand towards Aemond. “And more about, say, you finally getting under your little Maiden Marchpane’s skirts?” A laugh and the bastard Velaryon snagged up the Arbor red and pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it out towards the fire. “Then you what? Left her before sunrise covered in-”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that!” Aegon lifted the plate of figs and flung it across the table, sending the fruit scattering and the plate clipping off of Alyn’s surprised shoulder to shatter against the hearthstones. Aemond’s single eye widened, and he pressed back in his chair even though the trajectory was nowhere near him. “I didn’t fucking touch her.” The hand that flung the plate still hung in the air, trembling as his brother loomed over the table. He lacked any sort of threatening implement but Alyn raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “I didn’t lay a hand on her. I wouldn’t. I never do.” Defensive, as was Aegon’s nature. Defensive in the face of accusations that were true. Except for once, Aemond thought, phantom pain lancing through his face. Except for maybe now.

“Well, you mope about her enough. Fuck me, no wonder you got so worked up over the redhead. So what happened, hm? Did she accuse you of something? Did they say no more rides on the back of that dragon of yours?” A smirk at the double entendre, but he raised his hands in surrender before Aegon could throw something else.

Silvery hair, limp with sweat, fell into Aegon’s eyes as he shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” He raised his goblet for another drink and collapsed back in the chair, slouched and melancholy in the worst of ways. Aemond tried not to roll his eye again at the display of dramatics. “Worse.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “Worse?” he asked, confused. Dramatic, yes, but he also wanted to know what had happened.

A log in the grate popped and cracked from the heat as conversation fell silent. The brothel outside the door continued to bustle. There was the distant shriek and laughter of someone down the hall, but no sounds of violence. Aegon was staring into his drink as if it held all the answers he could ever need. Aemond supposed that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. His brother had gone to drink before anything else for years now. This wouldn’t be any different.

“They brought us up to go over all the missives asking for her hand,” he finally said. Aemond strained to hear him and Alyn leaned forward in his curiosity. “Had an entire basket of scrolls wanting the heir of Harrenhal. Mother was there, and her dog, who said nothing regarding his sister.” Aegon made a face and shook his head. “I’m marrying Abrogail.”

That wasn’t what Aemond expected. “Is that why she looked like she was crying when she came back to the gardens-”

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly fucking why,” Aegon hissed through his teeth and pelted him with one of the figs scattered on the scarred tabletop. It bounced off Aemond’s chest and rolled across the table where Alyn snatched it up. “Told her to be fucking grateful, stop lying about - it doesn’t matter. Made her cry, and she best get used to it.”

“Then why the hell are you complaining about it?” Alyn asked with a shake of his head. “Aeg, you’ve panted after her for years, now here she is. You don’t have to marry your weird sister, you get to bed someone you actually like. Sounds as if for once, Tower’s done right by you. What are you so fucking upset about? That you weren’t the only choice? You’re a jealous prick, you know-”

“Done right by me?” Aegon raged, his hand holding the cup gesturing out and splashing arbor red up his wrist and across the floor. He hissed and shoved at his sleeve, where deep red scratches stood out against his pale wrist.

Alyn looked at him with an almost bored expression. “They’ve given you a cherry ripe wife-”

“No, you fucking cunt, they gave me the fucking Maiden!” Clay and wine smashed against the wall as he flung it at his friend’s head and missed this time. “The last uncorrupted, perfect thing left in my life.” A stabbing finger punctuated each point, and the resemblance to the angry, spitting rage their father rarely showed was never more pronounced. “The last one who doesn’t look at me like they wish I were someone, anyone else. They give her in all that innocent glory on a fucking gold platter-”

Alyn bit into a date. “And you made her cry.”

“And I made her fucking cry!” Aegon’s sharp bark of laughter held the familiar, manic edge and it rang in Aemond’s ears. Tears spilled down Aegon’s face amidst it. Sad. Pathetic. The self-loathing in his brother’s face made him feel sick and uncomfortable, and Aemond said nothing, couldn’t find anything to say and left it for Alyn to navigate for the time being. “I’ve never fucking touched her ‘cause I… I can’t ruin her. I won’t. Get her sick with whatever the fuck is wrong with me. No. No, and you know what’s worse?”

“The others-” Alyn began patiently, prising open the fig.

“The fucking others! Bastard had a whole bloody basket filled with little more than filth not worth to look upon her, wanting to shove their cocks in her till she breaks giving them their muddy fucking brats.”

“But you wouldn’t break her.”

“I wouldn’t! Not unless she asked me to, and I’d make it so good for her. But no, she’d burn me as soon as I touched her. Too unclean to fuck her, get her belly full of me.” Aegon groaned and collapsed into his chair, palm on his chest. “She’d burn me and I’d sing her praises. Burn my filthy damned soul just to touch her, Alyn.”

Aemond did his best not to sigh, warring feelings of relief and annoyance that Aegon’s focus was on the baseborn Velaryon across the table.

On the one hand, he didn’t mind that his brother was mostly leaving him alone. Aegon knew he was only here because of their mother’s insistence on Aemond being his brother’s keeper. While he’d rather be anywhere but here, Aegon wasn’t poking at him or trying to get much of a rise.

On the other, every time Alyn Hull opened his mouth, every time the two silver-haired miscreants shared a laugh over some inside joke, Aemond wanted to scream. They spoke with easy familiarity to annoyed tavern keepers, and every time Alyn showed how close he was to Aegon, it burned something in the pit of his stomach.

He was used to jealousy since the day he could understand his place among his siblings. He was used to the jealous feeling that he would not be Aegon, had grown used to the jealousy that Helaena had been born for Aegon and not him. It was only with the breaking of the betrothal that Aemond felt a cooling of his blood towards his brother. However, now in the face of his so-called friendship with the bastard, it reignited. Aemond still felt awkward speaking up or inserting himself into the conversation, and both of them included him to a minimal degree.

Yet, Alyn was waving a hand at Aegon’s dramatics, and while Aemond also felt annoyed at it, he knew there was more. Aegon was snappish, perpetually amused, arrogant in the way of dragonriders, and thus closer to being a god.

His brother was moody and glassy eyed, flinching whenever their mother raised her voice or moved too quickly with wild gesturing. He became wide eyed like a little child whenever Ser Criston praised him in the yard, preening beneath the encouragement. Whenever Abrogail laughed in that bright and honest way of hers at one of Aegon’s dumb jokes, Aegon looked like he’d sprouted his own pair of wings to hover above the ground. She always laughed at his jokes. Every stupid one. She always had an encouraging word for him, for all of them, but he saw the way Aegon’s shoulders would straighten, the pink on his cheeks ill disguised.

It had been like that for as long as he could remember. For as long as there was the jealousy that he was not the eldest, that Helaena was not born for him, that Aegon had a bond with a dragon so innate that no matter how much of a disappointment he was, it seemed to be the only thing truly good about him.

Aemond had thrown him into their father’s jaws, and though surprised, Aegon didn’t even flinch. Aegon had stood stoic in front of the fire and without hesitation, had spoken the truth to their father’s face, to everyone’s face.

Alyn Hull would never have Aegon stand before their gathered family and protect him, them, and their mother. Aegon would for Aemond, and so Aemond would do his best to help.

He had the most relationship experience out of everyone here. Him and Helaena were practically married already, regardless of mother’s insistence on finding him a Baratheon marriage. Confident in his unique qualification for such a moment, Aemond would rise to the task the way their grandsire did. A true Hand, when his brother needed one most.

“Did you mean to make her cry?” Aemond broke the silence that had descended with his carefully worded question, and Aegon’s pink eyes, glossy and red from drink and the tears that threatened, gazed incredulously back through the strands of his silver hair. “You can be an idiot and careless, but you’ve never been cruel to her.”

Aegon had been plenty cruel to him and Helaena, the trio of them rolling in the dirt or knocking over side tables with the bites they took out of one another. Abrogail was different; she may have grown up with them and shared blood, but she wasn’t their sibling, rather, an innocent bystander to the theatrics of his family.

Alyn looked as if he might try to catch his eye but Aemond did not grace him with a return look. Hull needed to learn his place, and be reminded that he was Aegon’s brother, and knew him best.

“Skoros mōris aōhys issa, valonqus?” Aegon’s tone was flat and sullen and did a poor job of masking his wariness. His shoulders shifted quickly straight to the way he held them when Mother would broach the subject of Aegon’s doing better and Aegon’s acting more princely and Aegon’s doing anything but being Aegon.

What is your point, little brother?

What is your end, little brother?

Fuck, Aemond thought, fingers tapping on the edge of the table. Aegon never used their mother tongue, and only did so in the most dire, dangerous moments. He’d have to tread lightly.

“Have you bothered to ask her?” Aemond tried a different approach. Surely, his brother couldn’t know her inner thoughts without asking and the obviousness of such a thing shouldn’t stoke his brother’s ire. He was never certain of Helaena’s mind until he asked, and they were twin flames who rode the eldest dragons. Two halves of a heart like those songs that she so enjoyed.

It was foolish of Aegon to think he knew Abrogail’s mind, but luckily, he was here to offer guidance.

Aegon pointedly ignored him, turning his glare to Alyn. The older boy chuckled, “What? He’s right.” Alyn muttered something but he couldn’t hear. It did not truly matter.

Aemond continued, emboldened by the agreement, “Only, when Helaena and I argue -”

Aegon let out a laugh, his usual nervous idiocy replaced with a cackle and still with that mad sounding edge. “When you and Helaena argue? You, Mother’s Holy Voice of Reason? Dreamy little Helaena and her kingdom of bugs? Arguing?”

Dreamy little Helaena had left a scar on Aegon’s forearm from when she’d bitten him so hard she drew blood when they were young, but Aegon’s memory had been dodgy of late. Even in his growing annoyance and the heated flush creeping over him, Aemond could forgive.

He could try to forgive. Later. When his patience wasn’t running out and he wasn’t grinding his teeth so hard they might break.

“That’s not -”

“Which riveting topics ignite such quarrels between you babes? Whether you obsess over your blade and books too often? If Helaena’s upset about her stupid bugs being in the wrong place? Whether she actually likes you over the attention she’s been giving that squire lately and how she giggles for him instead of you? Do not presume to know my dealings with my Maiden, valonqus. You wouldn’t know passion if it were riding your cock.” Aegon was rarely cruel, but he was good at it, and the smirk that twisted his features was just that. Cruel. “Seven knows our dreamy sister has no interest in riding you, or she probably would’ve done it already..”

It felt foolish that the first thing Aemond thought of was that no simple squire could ever be a better option than he, for he was a Targaryen and above the laws and expectations of the simple, common man. They were as close to gods as any could hope.

The second foolish thing burst from him as Vhagar burned inside, his fury and embarrassment pulled him to his feet to lean across the table and get into his pathetic brother’s face. Aegon no longer loomed over him, and was no longer as intimidating as he once was.

Aegon may have the perfect bond with his dragon, but Aemond had Vhagar.

There was nothing left to be jealous of his brother for.

“At least I know what love feels like,” Aemond snarled, his single eye locked on Aegon’s face and his teeth bared, every inch of him vibrating with the insult, the desire to curl his hands around his brother’s flushed neck barely suppressed. “At least I’m not too stupid to recognize it.”

The air in the room vanished in the wake of his outburst. The world held its breath and not even the logs popped. Not even baseborn Alyn with his japes and his commentary made a sound.

Aegon was still before him, eyes bright and sharp with a focus he’d never seen before except in the eyes of a dragon. The instinct to pull away was screaming at him but Aemond remained pinned in place. His jaw shut with a click, his eye widening when he finally registered what he’d said.

Oh yes, he’d fucked it up.

Aemond could feel Alyn’s gaze fixated on him but he didn’t move. He felt like if he moved, Aegon’s teeth would sink into his throat and rip it out. He couldn’t move as the fear and horror trickled ice through his veins, quenching that jealous, angry fire.

Aegon’s face had gone ashen; the horrid, blank look he got when Mother or Grandfather screamed at him came over him. His wisteria eyes continued to pin him. Aemond’s mouth grew dry as his brother’s ashen pallor turned pink, and then slowly red.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and it was like Aegon was releasing him from a spell.

“Aegon,” Aemond rasped. “I didn’t-” He could speak but the abject regret and humiliation strangled him from being able to form any words.

Aegon’s face had turned a shade of purple and with a feral yell and the distant sound of a dragon’s scream coming from the open window, Aegon lunged across the table at him.

They went crashing ass over chair, food and goblets scattering and Aemond hitting the floor hard enough to knock the breath from him. A startled shout sounded somewhere, distantly, but it took everything in Aemond to focus before his brother’s fist connected squarely, solidly with his jaw. His face erupted in a million bursts of pain with a crack in his ear, yet Aemond’s fists reached up to push Aegon off, wordless yelling doing nothing to prevent his brother landing another blow.

Instinct drove Aemond now, Ser Criston’s training discarded in favor of the overwhelming voice that compelled him: get up or he’ll kill you. Get up or he’ll pummel you like Harwin Strong pummeled Ser Criston in the training yard until he was beyond bloody.

Even with his incandescent fury, Aegon was still closer to drunk than sober, and after spitting in his face, Aemond got his leg up and kneed his brother in the stomach, pushing him off and scrambling away so he was no longer pinned like one of Helaena’s favorite bugs to the display board.

Viscous blood spat from his mouth. “I take it back!” he yelled, shoving the chair in Aegon’s way while he scrambled to his feet.

With a roar, Aegon threw the chair and Aemond darted out of the way, the wood crashing against the stone wall. Alyn shouted Aegon’s name, another dragon call sounded over the city, and then Aemond felt Vhagar’s bond vibrate in his own chest, concern that was not his own clouding his mind.

Oh fuck.

“Aegon! Stop!” Aemond darted around the table to get it between them.

Alyn, the useless bastard, backpedaled out of the line of fire.

Aegon was on his heels and yanked him back by his long hair, landing another hit square on his nose. A sickening, dizzy feeling swept through Aemond at the stab of pain through his face, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Aegon reared back again.

Sunfyre was screaming across the city.

Aemond could not reach for the platter on the table to smack his brother with, and so he did the only other thing he could do: as Aegon went to throw his next punch, Aemond grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the balls.

Just like how Helaena taught him.

[Chapter Four]

#house of the dragon #asoiaf #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy

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skylinesnsunshines · 1 month ago

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riccardo calafiori: personality reading

hi hi!! i wanted to do a reading on this man because i am obsessed w him (face card and left foot are LETHAL) <3 I'm gonna start to do some readings on footballers too cause i have a few requests in my ask that asked to read for them. as usual, i'll def be more picky on who I'm reading so PLEASE read the guidelines before requesting thank you <3

personal readings | dividers | tips | guidelines

DISCLAIMER: this is all speculative and for entertainment purposes only, so take it with a grain of salt :)

(italicised is the card on the bottom of the tarot deck which is meant to represent the subconscious/blind spot of the situation + rx means reversed)

king of pentacles rx, 3 of cups, 2 of swords, king of swords, 8 of cups rx | sagittarius: optimism, exploration and freedom | scorpion | mediator

the reversed king of pentacles with a taurus sun AND leo moon tells me he is quite rigid and stubborn when it comes to his beliefs, values and how he approaches life. this can also mean that he's a workaholic and sometimes will sacrifice himself for the betterment of the people around him. i get the vision that he might be someone who's highly depended on (likely financially) whether that'd be with his family, friends, etc. and that his injury 6 years ago made him feel unsure of how his career will go. he places a large importance on his career, as it gives him the ability to provide for those around him which could attribute to why he is so stubborn and work-oriented. the 3 of cups tell me that he places a large importance on others' happiness rather than himself, he finds it fulfilling to see others' happiness and loves celebrating and could even enjoy parties as well as being social with others. he approaches life with a glass-half-full attitude and is often smiley when surrounded by others, as he seems to enjoy collaborating and exchanging stories with others. the 2 of swords can describe someone who is indecisive and takes a long time when making a decision, which i think is influenced by his stubbornness. he likes weighing out all the options before making a decision, and he cannot be rushed. another interpretation could also be that he is a great mediator and very diplomatic, as he values balance and listening to different perspectives. if a disagreement or fight breaks out, you can bet that he's probably in between them trying to diffuse it or even encouraging communication so the problem can be solved. riccardo tries to be impartial and does a very good job separating the emotional and logical side of himself. he seems to make his decisions based on facts and data rather than what feels right, and he's very calculated before making any moves. he's very authoritative and intelligent, as he's able to almost always see the bigger picture and not have it be deviated. he's likely looked to as a leader due to his knowledge and trust from his teammates as well as coaches (crazy to think so cause he's only 22). With the card on the bottom, this enforces the feeling of indecision he has and can portray him as a more passive character when it comes to certain things. he seems to be the type of person to not be content when it comes to staying in one place, it's as if he needs constant stimulation or challenges to fulfil his inner self.

i feel like the messages from the oracle just reiterate what's been said from the tarot so i apologise if some of it sounds like it's repeated. anyways, he looks like such a sagittarius to me so i wasn't surprised when this card came out. i feel that he could be a serial optimist and doesn't let any hardship consume him. he could be the type of person to always expect the best and not understand others who see life through a negative lens. he seeks constant growth to be able to challenge himself and transform into the best version of himself. he could enjoy travelling and experiencing different cultures, cuisines, environments, etc. i know that he speaks italian, english and spanish at the moment so i wouldn't be surprised if he has a knack for languages and picks up other languages from his surroundings. the scorpion card describes someone who is passionate and determined and places great importance on their career and those closest to them. interestingly, his taurus sun opposes this scorpion card, as taurus and scorpio are sister signs. I felt libra energy as well when shuffling for him, so i think he has a lot of duality within his personality. again the mediator card tells me that he really values equality and possesses good characteristics to be a leader. i honestly see him being one of arteta's most trusted players in the next couple of years, and even though he might not have the armband, he still acts as a leader amongst his peers. i keep seeing the image of him mediating arguments and calming others down when things start to get heated. i know people always talk about his aura and charisma, and arteta wasn't wrong because from these cards i truly feel like he has a bright future ahead of him if he continues to persist and challenge himself.

so that’s it for the reading! let me know if you have any feedback, questions or requests! my askbox is always open for a chat as well <3 sending you love and light always :) hope you enjoyed!

#tarotblr #free tarot #free tarot game #free tarot reading #tarot reading #riccardo calafiori tarot reading #riccardo calafiori astrology #riccardo calafiori tarot #arsenal tarot readings #arsenal tarot reading #arsenal tarot #divination #witchblr #predictions #football prediction #football predictions #riccardo calafiori astrology reading #riccardo calafiori astrology readings

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holdmeclosebutdontloveme · 2 years ago

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Part 1

He chose you out of the women all gathered in a matchmaking party. It's your beauty that captured his attention but, beyond his shallow decision, your disinterest in romance accompanied by a declaration for a mutually beneficial relationship a married couple have in society, strengthen his resolute.

Devil Hunters already have high salaries for a profession that most die on action or quit after a few missions. It's even higher when hunters have a spouse or children to care for; sometimes both.

Although, the spouse does hold a certain percentage of the money. Not like Kishibe cares for that detail as his wallet was thick enough to finance his vices for a very long time once you two finally got hitched.

The other half eventually becomes his wedding gift to you to invest on your business.

Which you took as a sign to look away when your husband comes back from his field missions, extremely intoxicated while completely painted with someone's lipstick.

You still care for his wellbeing and always managed to drag him to his room. You also made sure he lies down on his bed, tucking his blanket underneath his chin while hesitant in whether or not you can, at the very least, take his socks off from his feet.

But such decision should be left said than assume in silence and so you left his room with the door slightly ajar. To listen for potential accidents, you say to yourself.

You are the woman in the household but the position doesn't put you down on your marriage. You cook because you enjoy it; it's what your business is entirely about too. So it's normal that there's always food on the table, always tasty and never less of a waste as Kishibe has an appetite of a black hole.

He denies your idea of a homemade bento though.

You accept his rejection with ease.

Kishibe, however, brings his co-workers to your shop. And once he's there, he's simply a Devil Hunter who is a regular of your business and eats your food like any customer that pays for their meal and leaves once they're done.

You are a wife but not to him in everyone's eyes and it's better that way.

Devil Hunters, while feared, aren't actually respected by the majority of people. Crazy, deranged, and psychopaths were words that many described the hunters. Such disrespect goes as far with a rumor that being acquainted with them, regardless if you are uninvolved with their work, brings bad luck. All those were spoken and heard throughout your life but you never really paid close attention.

It's only when you're married to one that you feel a tug of emotion but uncertainty to what it is leaves you quiet. It could've be the unease from the other customers as Kishibe rounds his group to a table at the corner.

As if your husband wants to hide from the attention. Such attempt failed when boisterous laughter and recognizable uniforms magnified their presence from the rest.

"Are you going to do something?" A customer approaches you with a question, expressing their disdain both in voice and expression.

And you look at them, your blood boiling either by the heat from your kitchen or from the person whose life is spared for another day because of your husband.

"If they can pay, they can stay," you answered and immediately walk away from the conversation to work on your dishes.

Unknowing of Kishibe watching you throughout the interaction.

#kishibe chainsaw man #kishibe csm #kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #kishibe x you #kishibe fanfic

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soranihimawari · 1 year ago

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Be my Light

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader// platonic! Gojo x reader

Warning: none(?)// mentions of alcohol & death

Rating: fluff & dark humor

Part 2

Notes: saw the .gif and thought yep! reader is a baddie.

“So curses are real, huh?”

The cafe is busier today than normal. You’re sitting down with your childhood neighbor’s friend, who is stabbing a poor blueberry to death. To the right, his best friend, the man in white and black, sits humming an affirmative answer to your question.

“And you two… ‘kill’ these things?”

Your jacket and jeweled hand rest easily on your shoulders as you pause to drink your hot latte. It’s autumn now, so your leather jacket comes out of storage and your dark academia jewelry is on display. You were warned by parents and loved ones alike about how you shouldn’t be too friendly with the Gojo heir since his friend is also troublesome, but you don’t take their worries to heart. For the last decade or so, you helped soothe their fears before a mission or especially after tiring ones, you offer your home for them to rest their weary heads. You always left a lamp on in the spare room when you know they’d come back. You don’t know what has transpired since they went off to help keep a young woman safe, but what you do know now is how much Geto and Gojo seem to be affected by her loss.

That was half a year ago now. Here you three were, discussing curses and you asking them questions you might not want to know the answer to, but you press on until Geto stands up and snaps at you for poking into their lives:

“It’s dangerous,” that is all he says and leaves. He doesn’t want to let you know he’s on the precipice of spiraling, so you shrug it off.

Gojo apologies and pays for his and Geto’s drinks.

You don’t hear from them for a week.

In that time, you decide enough is enough. Your parent at home is asleep when you sneak out a quarter to midnight and your feet take you to their dorm area on campus. As quietly as you can, you climb and tap on Geto’s window.

“Su? It’s me,” you say low enough for your voice to travel through the glass. “I-I just haven’t heard from you in a couple days & if Satoru won’t answer me, I jus— ”

The window slides open and you’re pulled into his arms as he gives you the tightest embrace. He smells of cheap alcohol, no doubt an adviser bought it for him to help cope. He just casually lifts me and sits me on his lap when he sits on his bed; he says nothing, but you know he knows and you see it. Bags under his eyes, his thinning face, his baggier than normal clothes. You cup the side of his face, slightly smiling giving him some hope for this to pass.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do,” you whisper. “Or what you should be doing…”

Geto grunts before he growls, “tell me not to go murder every damn monkey in that church. Please.”

You realize he’s proud and arrogant to a fault, but he listens. He adheres to whatever code of friendship he has with Gojo; he has respect for his fellow sorcerers; and you notice whenever Gojo’s not around, he clings to you. You’re an innocent in all this, yet yesterday at the cafe, you asked more questions and the last one caused him to have an epiphany that perhaps a new world order needs to be started. Especially if you have the ‘Eye’.

There is something your childhood neighbor hasn’t told you while you were at a park hanging out over the last couple of days and Geto is around a few feet away—

“Boys, considering your last mission did not go as planned your next one will be a bit easier: considering you know your target.”

Their teacher slides the file of a person with a familiar name and Gojo glances up saying it was a mistake.

“You’re joking,” he’s amused and serious when he passes the file to Geto.

Their teacher and an elder sits down and describes what may occur if they choose to deny this mission: “you either protect your friend and ensure y/n lives to see another day or you have her killed just like…”

“Don’t,” Gojo stands abruptly. “We’ll accept, right Geto?”

Geto asks more important questions like why and what significance does keeping you above ground serve.

The elder straightens up and right as Gojo is about to leave, the elder states: “the Eye can see weak points in a cursed humans body—they can extract the curse without even touching the human—originally found in Korean lore, the Eye is usually passed maternally, from mother to daughter, typically their abilities are active once the mother is dead or hunted. Your friend, yn, is one of the last few remaining in the known sorcerer world.”

Gojo freezes and turns to tell his raven haired friend it’s time to leave. Later in Geto’s dorm room, Gojo reads into the file more. Geto, on the other hand, listens to how his friend rambles on.

“Satoru, you know what to have to do,” Geto sighs as Gojo’s rambling ceases.

“But how can I hide yn, the person you also claimed to be your light in these times, in my void? YN would die there,” Gojo says, a deep melancholy floats heavily on his last words.

Geto, leans forward with his chin resting in a prayer hand pose, elbow to his knees.

“If you don’t do it, I can.”

“You’d do that? You’re cruel.”

“But if it protects yn…”

The conversation lives rent free in Geto’s mind, even now when he hears how you fret over him. Calmly tracing his features, one thing you discovered when you saw Gojo with him the day after your turned nineteen. You tell Gojo you’d rather hang out win your friend; when asked why, you nonchalantly say, “Suguru needs a break from consistent sunshine, right Sugu?” And your smile, your smile brought a solar flare to his hardening soul even if Gojo walked ahead saying you two should date. Your cheeks blush though, as Geto chooses to walk past you, he hears you muttering, “I’d say yes if you’d asked me.” His heart must have stopped immediately the moment you lock eyes with him, soft with affection, understanding that this might be the first-last chance at a youthful romance given where life was taking you, he had no qualms of hiding your relationship while he went on missions.

Gojo finds out naturally one day when he catches his best friend hiding a familiar onyx ring.

“When?” Gojo asks him quietly.

Geto says quiet. It’s been a month since their disastrous mission with the middle schooler. You are consistently checking in with Geto even if it’s by proxy through calling Gojo since the other won’t answer his phone for hours at a time. Geto might not seem like he appreciates it, but he does. It’s the one went that is making him not snap and kill everyone on sight. One night, when you were walking home with him after a series of dead end conversations, you present him the onyx ring, telling him it’s ok to lose himself for a little while. He tries to give it back, but instead, you press it into his palm, close his fist around it and press that fist against his sternum. You cup his frowning face, kissing his forehead lightly, whispering against his skin in the autumnal air: “you have every right to feel these emotions. I’ll be right here to help you if you like.” And just like that, Geto bows his head and he crumbles just a little bit; strong arms shake asking with his shoulders and you, you who seem so small, you soothe him until the sadness, the fatigue, the everything-wrong-with-the-world leaves Geto’s soul alone for minutes, hours even. You don’t know how long he plans to sob into your already soaked shoulders, but you don’t stop him.

“How tragic and full of sorrow you must be,” you whisper against his cheek, running your fingers in his hair. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”

Waving your free arm behind his crouched form as you calm him, several of the most hideous creatures burn away above him. Your warmth is something he cannot get enough of, only then does he see through blurred eyes just how bright you can shine. He calls your name and you glance at him, his tear streaked face now dry, his lips quiver. At the end of the day, you two part ways, but not before Geto, tall and proud, kisses your lips praying he doesn’t fall further in his spiraling descent.

Back in his room, the ring is still in his hand. Geto feels six eyes on him, he knows. Even if Gojo will never attempt to admit loving someone else whether romantic or not, Geto finally has something Gojo cannot have. The onyx ring warps their reflection a bit as their conversation continues.

“Geto Suguru,” Gojo is warning in his tone. “YN is like my family. You already knew what our next mission entails. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

Geto picks up his long hair and puts it up in a half bun. His dark eyes focus on the ring and turns to Satoru.

“YN deserves to hate one of us,” his voice is calm yet loaded with livid undertones.

“Can you live with it being you?”

Gojo had this annoyed look in those gleaming eyes, but his friend, his dear friend, his charcoal haired brother in arms, turns and with a smile throws back the question to the self-proclaimed strongest:

“Can you?”

Gojo slams the door when he leaves, his mouth dry and feet heavy. He believes he needs to find the resolve to ensure you can survive his technique—like those princess stories where they are cursed sleeping for eternity. Meanwhile, Geto calls one of his seniors who buys him cheap alcohol. It’s the only way he might be able to deal with what they had planned for their mission later in the week.

You’re here now, resting a head against Geto’s shoulders, your ministrations cease as you tell him about what Gojo told you just earlier that night on the phone.

“I know, you don’t have to hide it,” not an ounce of regret in your tone when you kiss his furrowed brow.

Geto’s grip loosens, then tightened, then loosens again. His head is bowed in shame because you were read into this mission, their world, their jobs…

“I won’t hate you,” you continue, voice quiet and Geto has a pained look on his face. “Sugu, I don’t think I ever can.”

You feel his hand reach the back of your neck, circling the nerve that will make you go limp. Grinning, you nod, understanding the implications of the boys’ plan. You persisted to stand by his side, help him through a majority of his darkening times, and for some odd reason in the shower, when he stood there for an hour, both naked and with soaked clothes on, your countenance enters mind—the comfort you provided and still do makes his heart ache. Gojo was wrong, Geto thinks leaving the dorm showers, we never should have accepted this mission.

“You should,” his hand retracts from that spot on your neck and he pushes you forward by the small of your back to kiss you instead.

Your hand presses against his chest as your eyes close and he hums approving of how you move. Geto entices you to follow his lead to deepen this kiss when his canines nibble gently at the top of your lip; you taste the fear and uncertainty but the love and genuine compassion is there. His lips leave yours momentarily, his nose tickles your jaw and his teeth graze your neck before he bites you, sucking the flesh, bruising you. And you bite your bottom lip, sort of chortling away at his eagerness to show you that you too can drive him mad. You call out his name and he pauses, hungrily ready to receive more of your sweetened warmth.

After a moment’s reprieve, you brush away his loose bangs, noticing the hurt and soft loving expression in his dilated eyes.

“Shh...” your breath is hot and you kiss away the tears that escaped his eye. “It will be ok. Everything will work out.”

He is frustrated, you know he’s caught between a rock and a hard place, yet you make him want to try to be better.

You kiss his brow when he holds you tighter, his mouth close to your ear, you hear Geto Suguru, special grade sorcerer, “Don’t make me lose you too.”

You nod, bringing his forehead to rest against yours as you slide your lips over his with more igniting a passion more fierce than earlier. Your fingers tangled in his hair and with a light nudge, you feel him press his tongue against your lip, asking, imploring you to let him memorize the taste of green tea cheesecakes and the shapes of your teeth. He almost moans into your mouth, making sure you are breathing still because heaven forbid Gojo finds you both like this, Geto believes he’d be a dead man. He inflates your lungs in order for you to stay with him longer. Your kisses are powerful, filled with a light that seems to make his shattered heart become filled with gold like those old art pieces. He kisses you like he knows you understand his betrayal and the best part of it? Geto’s the first and last person whom you’d expect to love you—so yes, you do get that teen romance a been craving. Ah, but alas, Geto makes up his mind: he would sacrifice the world to have you back. Even if you’re frozen in time for an eternity. He will watch the universe burn if it meant you breathe again tomorrow.

“Stay still,” are two words you’d never think you’d hear from Geto, yet you obey.

“Let me look at you one last—”

Right outside the door to his dorm, Gojo Satoru drops a bouquet of gardenias along with the resolve to confess how he truly felt since you crashed into his bicycle when he just turned six.

As you stay still, your words are interrupted, Gojo enters the room through a rip in his own void, taking your now unconscious body out of his best friend’s hold. Gojo doesn’t get very far when he hears Geto run behind him and the door to the void closes, snipping edges off Geto’s hair. The last time Geto Suguru sees you is when you are encased in a written and glass coffin in a quiet meadow in Gojo’s void. Gojo Suguru seals it with several layers of a barrier before picking up the ruined gardenias and placing them atop the coffin. You look so peaceful here. Your eyes closed, the bouquet eventually withers, but you stay youthful. Gojo, once the void closes, bows to your sleeping corpse, whispering words of a confession and apology.

Geto memorized that place, so if he does indeed fail, he can find you once more. Panic, depression, obsession. Those three words and their definitions finally cause Geto Suguru to snap. He leaves for his hometown for a fresh start the morning after you are pronounced DOA by a hospital, although you sleep in the glass coffin in one chamber of the limitless void. You dream of Geto finding you; out of the blue you’d forgive him and Gojo by default.

After that night, Gojo retreats into himself a little more while his peers think of other missions they’d get assigned to. The elders and the principal are happy this mission ended successfully; somehow Gojo finds himself walking past the cafe, a random memory blooms in his mind.

“The void is a dangerous place,” you’re reading in the Gojo family library with Satoru on your right. You’re both finally the same age of eight. Right before you turn nine, though, Gojo asks you to read the prophecies book his nanny left out. “Once you enter, it is limitless.”

Gojo’s phone lights up with the news that Geto Suguru has killed everyone in his hometown.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #haikyuu x reader #🎋jjk🎋#🎋jjk.angst🎋#geto x reader #plantonic! & pining gojo x reader

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